That was Fiyori's first real injury, now that she thought about it. Two shots to the torso. Hit something, something important. Now she got blood all over her goddamn shit. All over it. And the worst of it was the pain. No, not that it was there. But the fact that it wasn't.
Oh you got shot? How you feeling?
Oh just a bit damp and dense down there.
Oh fucking no. Why was it like this? Where was the pain? Where were these sensations she had promised herself? How could she. How could she feel hatred, anger or anything at this point if even two bullets to the meat got just a bit of an ache out of her. Unfair. Terrible. Absolutely gorgeous.
Fiyori scratched the scar in her face. It opened a bit, blood trickling out, accompanied by a shudder ascending Fiyori's spine. How'd she got that scar again? It was a bit ago... it was, maybe in the kitchen. There was a cafeteria. There was a kitchen, so yea. That was it. A knife. She got it from... a knife. In the kitchen. Back then.
Fiyori straightened her back.
"Jae..."
Soon, she had found embrace. Her arms wrapped around Min-jae, with the tender love and care that he so deserved.
Rivers in the Desert
Gervais Frans Lambotte 
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Nate couldn't do it.
Jae had hoped. Some time before, he would have been angry with Nate for making him hope, but there was nothing inside of him now but the last few scraps of stubbornness and spite to cling to.
Nate had let him down, and though he had hoped, he had also expected it. He knew how to respond.
Nate couldn't do it, but Jae could. He'd proven it five times over.
He never got the chance to lift the rifle.
Fiyori hit Jae like a train, and he offered all the resistance of a rag doll. The breath was driven from his lungs as they crashed to the tile together, the gun flying out of the grasp of his mangled hand without his good one there to steady it. It tumbled off somewhere among the peaks and valleys and weeds, long gone by the time he grasped for it again.
There was an instant of pressing, crushing darkness after the collision, and then Jae was torn out of his fog and into a dazzling final rush of fury and pain. His numerous injuries sang with deep, dull pain, and he breathed again. Jae twisted in Fiyori's grasp with a hiss and sank his bared teeth into the nearest part of her.
He didn't know what Fiyori intended to do, but he wasn't about to make it easy for her.
Jae had hoped. Some time before, he would have been angry with Nate for making him hope, but there was nothing inside of him now but the last few scraps of stubbornness and spite to cling to.
Nate had let him down, and though he had hoped, he had also expected it. He knew how to respond.
Nate couldn't do it, but Jae could. He'd proven it five times over.
He never got the chance to lift the rifle.
Fiyori hit Jae like a train, and he offered all the resistance of a rag doll. The breath was driven from his lungs as they crashed to the tile together, the gun flying out of the grasp of his mangled hand without his good one there to steady it. It tumbled off somewhere among the peaks and valleys and weeds, long gone by the time he grasped for it again.
There was an instant of pressing, crushing darkness after the collision, and then Jae was torn out of his fog and into a dazzling final rush of fury and pain. His numerous injuries sang with deep, dull pain, and he breathed again. Jae twisted in Fiyori's grasp with a hiss and sank his bared teeth into the nearest part of her.
He didn't know what Fiyori intended to do, but he wasn't about to make it easy for her.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Nate squealed as Fiyori collided with Min-Jae, sending them sprawling into a heap. He fell backwards, tripping over his own feet, landing on the soaked roof with a hard thud. The gun in his hand rattled from the impact with the ground, but didn't leave his grip.
He sat there watching, speechless, as the two went at each other, full of teeth and blood and anger and hate. Even there and then, right when Min-Jae had been ready to die, when he wanted Nate to kill him, this was all he was reduced to. And Fiyori, who Nate had spoken to so casually not minutes ago, was mirroring him perfectly. A blood drenched ball of horrible, overwhelming killing intent.
His hand reflexively tightened round the gun, squeezing it as if it would offer him some reassurance. He wanted to shift backwards, away from the brawl, away and far away, and it didn't matter that the roof only went so far back behind him before it cut off to nothing. But, just like every other time, he couldn't. Just like every single other time, he was too scared to move.
"Stop it!" he cried out, for the fourth time on that roof. And, just like every other time, it didn't mean a damn thing. It was as if, to Min-Jae and Fiyori, he might as well have not even been there.
With everyone he'd met, he realised, he might as well have not been there.
He couldn't do anything.
He couldn't change anything.
He was just useless little Nate Turner, who couldn't save anyone.
He kept watching.
The gun was still in his hand.
He sat there watching, speechless, as the two went at each other, full of teeth and blood and anger and hate. Even there and then, right when Min-Jae had been ready to die, when he wanted Nate to kill him, this was all he was reduced to. And Fiyori, who Nate had spoken to so casually not minutes ago, was mirroring him perfectly. A blood drenched ball of horrible, overwhelming killing intent.
His hand reflexively tightened round the gun, squeezing it as if it would offer him some reassurance. He wanted to shift backwards, away from the brawl, away and far away, and it didn't matter that the roof only went so far back behind him before it cut off to nothing. But, just like every other time, he couldn't. Just like every single other time, he was too scared to move.
"Stop it!" he cried out, for the fourth time on that roof. And, just like every other time, it didn't mean a damn thing. It was as if, to Min-Jae and Fiyori, he might as well have not even been there.
With everyone he'd met, he realised, he might as well have not been there.
He couldn't do anything.
He couldn't change anything.
He was just useless little Nate Turner, who couldn't save anyone.
He kept watching.
The gun was still in his hand.
Fiyori didn't have a plan. If she had one, it would've been all according to it. Well, not all of it. Most of it. The most that mattered. Fiyori didn't care too much about that detail. Couldn't care. Not with Jae sinking his teeth into her right biceps.
She let out a cry of pain, that was drowned as fast by the rain as it rose from her throat.
Jae was tightly embraced by her, but that was good for nothing. They both tumbled, and fell backwards. Her nose got close to Jae's hair. Too close. She took a sniff. Then she freed her left arm. Reached for his face with her fist closed. As much force as she could muster trying to punch someone from behind, she hit.
She let out a cry of pain, that was drowned as fast by the rain as it rose from her throat.
Jae was tightly embraced by her, but that was good for nothing. They both tumbled, and fell backwards. Her nose got close to Jae's hair. Too close. She took a sniff. Then she freed her left arm. Reached for his face with her fist closed. As much force as she could muster trying to punch someone from behind, she hit.
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
The punch wasn't especially powerful, but Fiyori's knuckles dug into the raw, split skin of Jae's cut cheek and what little breath he could draw in was exhaled again in a thin screech. He gave back to her an elbow in the gut, equally weak and equally vicious.
They rolled over the slick tiles, Fiyori clinging to Jae's back and pressing close like some kind of gross mockery of a lover's embrace. She was wounded, bleeding; Candice had hit the mark at least once.
Fiyori struck him again, another ripple of pain through his head, and he reached back with his good hand to grab a fistful of her hair and yank as hard as he could.
Dorothy's knife was still stuck through the back of his belt, just out of reach.
All he needed was some distance.
They rolled over the slick tiles, Fiyori clinging to Jae's back and pressing close like some kind of gross mockery of a lover's embrace. She was wounded, bleeding; Candice had hit the mark at least once.
Fiyori struck him again, another ripple of pain through his head, and he reached back with his good hand to grab a fistful of her hair and yank as hard as he could.
Dorothy's knife was still stuck through the back of his belt, just out of reach.
All he needed was some distance.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Nate was still just sat there, still doing nothing, still useless. Jae and Fiyori continued paying him no attention, more concerned with ripping each other to pieces than a useless nobody who hadn't done anything for anyone.
He tried to yell again, but choked on his empty words. It wasn't even about the fact that Min-Jae or Fiyori weren't going to listen; it was because there was no point trying to pretend. He knew that saying something wouldn't do anything, that it wouldn't stop them from killing each other right in front of him, and he knew that he couldn't keep the charade up anymore.
He gritted his teeth hard as tears and rain ran down his face.
Images flashed across his mind as he watched the two in front of him. Corpses, gunfire, violence. Everything since he'd gotten on that bus to the science museum, everything since that last normal day of his life: everything came back to that, and that was all there was to it. He'd kept thinking that that didn't have to be the case, that maybe people would see reason, but why? Why had he been so damn stupid? Why couldn't he just accept that this was reality, that his life was over, and that this was what everyone wanted?
He shook his head again, clenching his eyes and shutting out the sight, but it did nothing for the sounds. He tried to cover his ears, only to feel the grip of the gun pressing against his head. Cold and unflinching, it hadn't been broken by the island at all.
The unfamiliar feeling of the metal on his head triggered a strange, bizarre, mad thought: Nate realised, in that moment, that he wished he was more like a gun.
If he was a like a gun, uncaring, unfeeling, then he'd be going home by now. That's what Matt had wanted, and that's what he'd wanted. He couldn't remember if he still wanted it, but that wouldn't have mattered if he'd been a gun. If that was the case, then he'd have killed Fiyori, killed Min-Jae, and he'd win, and their deaths wouldn't mean anything to him.
That's all he needed to do, to end this right now. He just had to be like a gun.
He just had to use his.
He tried to yell again, but choked on his empty words. It wasn't even about the fact that Min-Jae or Fiyori weren't going to listen; it was because there was no point trying to pretend. He knew that saying something wouldn't do anything, that it wouldn't stop them from killing each other right in front of him, and he knew that he couldn't keep the charade up anymore.
He gritted his teeth hard as tears and rain ran down his face.
Images flashed across his mind as he watched the two in front of him. Corpses, gunfire, violence. Everything since he'd gotten on that bus to the science museum, everything since that last normal day of his life: everything came back to that, and that was all there was to it. He'd kept thinking that that didn't have to be the case, that maybe people would see reason, but why? Why had he been so damn stupid? Why couldn't he just accept that this was reality, that his life was over, and that this was what everyone wanted?
He shook his head again, clenching his eyes and shutting out the sight, but it did nothing for the sounds. He tried to cover his ears, only to feel the grip of the gun pressing against his head. Cold and unflinching, it hadn't been broken by the island at all.
The unfamiliar feeling of the metal on his head triggered a strange, bizarre, mad thought: Nate realised, in that moment, that he wished he was more like a gun.
If he was a like a gun, uncaring, unfeeling, then he'd be going home by now. That's what Matt had wanted, and that's what he'd wanted. He couldn't remember if he still wanted it, but that wouldn't have mattered if he'd been a gun. If that was the case, then he'd have killed Fiyori, killed Min-Jae, and he'd win, and their deaths wouldn't mean anything to him.
That's all he needed to do, to end this right now. He just had to be like a gun.
He just had to use his.
Min-Jae thought that yanking at Fiyori's hair was a great idea. It was a good idea! In fact, Fiyori thought it was the best. She'd have clapped if her hands weren't busy with what they were busy with. A moment ago, that 'busy' was punching Jae in the face. Now, her left hand was searching something else. Something more southern, so to say.
If he wanted to yank at her, she got to yank at him. Good deal, no?
Alas, her arm wasn't long enough. Not long enough to get down there from behind. Her leg did manage to get between his two.
That would suffice.
If he wanted to yank at her, she got to yank at him. Good deal, no?
Alas, her arm wasn't long enough. Not long enough to get down there from behind. Her leg did manage to get between his two.
That would suffice.
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Cheap shot.
Jae yelled and lost his grip on Fiyori's hair, though his fingers were still entangled and surely pulled at it painfully one last time as he tried to jerk away. Fiyori held fast, though. There was nowhere to go.
She kept hitting him, almost regular spikes of pain that faded into a dull throb, but she wasn't doing any real damage.
She was toying with him. Just trying to hurt without making any progress.
Growling with frustration, Jae elbowed her again. She wouldn't let up, and hitting back wasn't doing any good.
Instead, he reached back, fingers questing until they found the warm wetness of blood where Candice had shot her, and dug in.
Jae yelled and lost his grip on Fiyori's hair, though his fingers were still entangled and surely pulled at it painfully one last time as he tried to jerk away. Fiyori held fast, though. There was nowhere to go.
She kept hitting him, almost regular spikes of pain that faded into a dull throb, but she wasn't doing any real damage.
She was toying with him. Just trying to hurt without making any progress.
Growling with frustration, Jae elbowed her again. She wouldn't let up, and hitting back wasn't doing any good.
Instead, he reached back, fingers questing until they found the warm wetness of blood where Candice had shot her, and dug in.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Nate got to his feet. Fiyori and Min-Jae didn't notice a thing, just like he knew they would. They just kept going at each other, kicking and screaming and killing. They didn't care about anything else.
So why should he?
He looked at the gun in his hand. Looked back at the two in front of him. He just had to use it, and everything would be over.
It looked big in his hand, like so many things did. More than that though, it looked wrong, like it didn't belong. It never should have, but that didn't matter anymore.
No, maybe it wasn't that it didn't matter. Maybe that was the problem in the first place, why he'd felt so awful this whole time. He'd spent so long fighting it, and look where it had got him. Look what it had done for everyone around him, who'd just fallen to madness as he stood by crying. Maybe if he'd just accepted things sooner, just grabbed a gun and started shooting, then he wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe he wouldn't still be crying.
If he wanted this to end, the gun would have to belong in his hand. He'd have to be someone who fired it at people. He'd have to be the person who shot, and murdered, Min-Jae and Fiyori. That was the person who would get to go home.
He gripped the magazine, taking two hands to the Madsen. He could still hear Min-Jae and Fiyori going at it, so he forced his head up to see it clearly. He couldn't shoot something he wasn't looking at, after all, because the person he had to be would look at them. The gun weighed more than he thought it would, heavier than anything he could ever remember lifting. Maybe it was because his arms wouldn't stop shaking, or because his body wouldn't stop trembling, but he had to keep on lifting it. He had to level it, and point it at the two people he was about to kill.
His fingers didn't want to move, but he made them find the trigger. It felt like it wouldn't resist at all. Of course it wouldn't, because it was a gun. Guns didn't care.
He stood there for a fleeting moment, trying and failing to hold the gun still. The rain kept pouring down his hair and face, over his arms and hands, over everything. He wanted to look right, not strong, not brave. He wanted to look like he didn't care. He wanted to believe that he didn't care.
There were a lot of things he wanted, right in that moment.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his family again. He wanted all this to be over.
All he had to do, to make all that happen, was to pull the trigger.
All he had to do was shoot them, like Alvaro had done to Ben. Like Min-Jae had tried to do to him. It would get him what he wanted.
All he had to do was kill them, like what had happened to Matt. Shoot them until they dropped dead, just like he had. Just become a murderer.
That was what he had to do if he wanted to end this. That was the person he had to be.
Every time he told himself that, it got harder and harder.
He thought about everyone one more time, because he needed to think about something that was worth it. He thought about his family, his friends. He wanted to be able to picture himself with them again, alive, happy, smiling.
Damn it, that was all he wanted.
He stopped looking at Min-Jae and Fiyori. He couldn't.
He squeezed.
As the gunfire screamed through the air, screaming through the rain and every scream that the island had caused, Nate screamed right along with it.
So why should he?
He looked at the gun in his hand. Looked back at the two in front of him. He just had to use it, and everything would be over.
It looked big in his hand, like so many things did. More than that though, it looked wrong, like it didn't belong. It never should have, but that didn't matter anymore.
No, maybe it wasn't that it didn't matter. Maybe that was the problem in the first place, why he'd felt so awful this whole time. He'd spent so long fighting it, and look where it had got him. Look what it had done for everyone around him, who'd just fallen to madness as he stood by crying. Maybe if he'd just accepted things sooner, just grabbed a gun and started shooting, then he wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe he wouldn't still be crying.
If he wanted this to end, the gun would have to belong in his hand. He'd have to be someone who fired it at people. He'd have to be the person who shot, and murdered, Min-Jae and Fiyori. That was the person who would get to go home.
He gripped the magazine, taking two hands to the Madsen. He could still hear Min-Jae and Fiyori going at it, so he forced his head up to see it clearly. He couldn't shoot something he wasn't looking at, after all, because the person he had to be would look at them. The gun weighed more than he thought it would, heavier than anything he could ever remember lifting. Maybe it was because his arms wouldn't stop shaking, or because his body wouldn't stop trembling, but he had to keep on lifting it. He had to level it, and point it at the two people he was about to kill.
His fingers didn't want to move, but he made them find the trigger. It felt like it wouldn't resist at all. Of course it wouldn't, because it was a gun. Guns didn't care.
He stood there for a fleeting moment, trying and failing to hold the gun still. The rain kept pouring down his hair and face, over his arms and hands, over everything. He wanted to look right, not strong, not brave. He wanted to look like he didn't care. He wanted to believe that he didn't care.
There were a lot of things he wanted, right in that moment.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his family again. He wanted all this to be over.
All he had to do, to make all that happen, was to pull the trigger.
All he had to do was shoot them, like Alvaro had done to Ben. Like Min-Jae had tried to do to him. It would get him what he wanted.
All he had to do was kill them, like what had happened to Matt. Shoot them until they dropped dead, just like he had. Just become a murderer.
That was what he had to do if he wanted to end this. That was the person he had to be.
Every time he told himself that, it got harder and harder.
He thought about everyone one more time, because he needed to think about something that was worth it. He thought about his family, his friends. He wanted to be able to picture himself with them again, alive, happy, smiling.
Damn it, that was all he wanted.
He stopped looking at Min-Jae and Fiyori. He couldn't.
He squeezed.
As the gunfire screamed through the air, screaming through the rain and every scream that the island had caused, Nate screamed right along with it.
Oh yeah. That hit the spot just right. Fiyori let out a painful growl. Min-Jae had began to finger her wound. His disgusting, grimy, dirty, fingers in her open wound. A part of her stomach grumbled – and assuming that wasn't Jae redecorating her interior – she had wished that she managed to puke on him.
Her response remained to keep working his junk. Harder, faster. Fast and fiyorious. With passion. Elan. Energy. Power. She'd hurt him. She'd damage him. Abuse him. Take his balls. Rip them off. Lacerate his body. Twist his every bone. Cut through his head. Feed him to the crows. Tear off piece by piece until nothing remained but a blood smear on the floor to shit on.
Fiyori was about to let out another scream, but she never came to that. Shots pierced the air and Fiyori turned limp instead.
Her response remained to keep working his junk. Harder, faster. Fast and fiyorious. With passion. Elan. Energy. Power. She'd hurt him. She'd damage him. Abuse him. Take his balls. Rip them off. Lacerate his body. Twist his every bone. Cut through his head. Feed him to the crows. Tear off piece by piece until nothing remained but a blood smear on the floor to shit on.
Fiyori was about to let out another scream, but she never came to that. Shots pierced the air and Fiyori turned limp instead.
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Jae almost didn't register the gunshots until after they had already echoed and faded. He was momentarily preoccupied with relief that Fiyori had stopped hitting him in the crotch.
Fiyori's grip loosened and he wrenched himself out of her grasp.
The gunshots echoed and faded. Jae just breathed and waited for the follow-up.
Maybe it was a case of "better late than never".
Go on then, with your epiphany. Tell me.
Show us.
Fiyori's grip loosened and he wrenched himself out of her grasp.
The gunshots echoed and faded. Jae just breathed and waited for the follow-up.
Maybe it was a case of "better late than never".
Go on then, with your epiphany. Tell me.
Show us.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Nate kept his finger on the trigger long after the magazine was emptied. Long after the bullets were done flying. Long after he'd stopped screaming.
Smoke poured from the barrel of the gun. It was pointed upwards, towards the sky.
He stared at the two of them, having interrupted their fighting at last. All eyes were on him, asking what the hell he had been thinking, what he was thinking now. Asking why he hadn't done what he had to do to go home.
He returned the look. Opened his mouth.
"I have had enough."
It was barely above a whisper, but there was an undeniable force behind the words. His eyes were finally firm, staring down Fiyori and Min-Jae, unflinching.
He lowered the gun, down to the ground, done with it. He was still shaking, but he didn't break eye contact. Somewhere deep inside him, he found his voice.
"I've had enough of you all killing each other, and trying to drag me into it. I don't want to watch it anymore. I won't."
He'd figured it out, in that brief moment before he fired. The answers that had been torturing him from out of reach for days, the epiphany he so desperately needed to stay sane. When he saw the faces of the people he loved, he'd realised.
What kind of person would he have been if he hadn't missed? He'd be someone who killed people just so that he could live and see his family. He'd have been someone who would've expected his family to take him back, to not care that he'd killed people for selfish reasons. He'd be someone who ignored everything he learned in church, at home, in life. He'd be ignoring everything that he was.
He wouldn't have gone home. He would've just sent someone else there in his place.
"I'm not going to go along with this. I'm not going to kill anyone, and I'm not going to beat myself up over it anymore. I have had enough of this fucking island, and I have had enough of both of you!"
He stepped forward, for the first time in ages. He wanted to make sure they could see him clearly. He wanted them to know just how much he meant it.
"And I don't care why you're doing it anymore, or what's going through your heads! You're both just stupid idiots! You just want to kill each other and be done with it, and you don't care about anything else! And if that's all you want, then that's your problem! I'm not making it mine anymore!"
His chest heaved, exhausted and angry and finished. But, if nothing else, it was a relief.
Smoke poured from the barrel of the gun. It was pointed upwards, towards the sky.
He stared at the two of them, having interrupted their fighting at last. All eyes were on him, asking what the hell he had been thinking, what he was thinking now. Asking why he hadn't done what he had to do to go home.
He returned the look. Opened his mouth.
"I have had enough."
It was barely above a whisper, but there was an undeniable force behind the words. His eyes were finally firm, staring down Fiyori and Min-Jae, unflinching.
He lowered the gun, down to the ground, done with it. He was still shaking, but he didn't break eye contact. Somewhere deep inside him, he found his voice.
"I've had enough of you all killing each other, and trying to drag me into it. I don't want to watch it anymore. I won't."
He'd figured it out, in that brief moment before he fired. The answers that had been torturing him from out of reach for days, the epiphany he so desperately needed to stay sane. When he saw the faces of the people he loved, he'd realised.
What kind of person would he have been if he hadn't missed? He'd be someone who killed people just so that he could live and see his family. He'd have been someone who would've expected his family to take him back, to not care that he'd killed people for selfish reasons. He'd be someone who ignored everything he learned in church, at home, in life. He'd be ignoring everything that he was.
He wouldn't have gone home. He would've just sent someone else there in his place.
"I'm not going to go along with this. I'm not going to kill anyone, and I'm not going to beat myself up over it anymore. I have had enough of this fucking island, and I have had enough of both of you!"
He stepped forward, for the first time in ages. He wanted to make sure they could see him clearly. He wanted them to know just how much he meant it.
"And I don't care why you're doing it anymore, or what's going through your heads! You're both just stupid idiots! You just want to kill each other and be done with it, and you don't care about anything else! And if that's all you want, then that's your problem! I'm not making it mine anymore!"
His chest heaved, exhausted and angry and finished. But, if nothing else, it was a relief.
Jae almost could have appreciated that.
All of it. The anger, the conviction, the look in Nate's eyes as he stared them down, reminding them that they were nothing.
Jae understood.
They weren't quite the words he himself would have chosen, but the sentiment rang true:
Fuck all of this. Fuck everyone involved in it, and especially the people who had put it in place. No more playing by someone else's rules.
Live and die on your own terms.
Nate had laid out his terms.
Jae would do the same.
The decision almost a lifetime ago: Jae wasn't going home.
And neither was Fiyori.
Fiyori began to move and perhaps to respond, but Jae moved first, pulling the knife free from the back of his belt and levering himself up to lunge at her.
All of it. The anger, the conviction, the look in Nate's eyes as he stared them down, reminding them that they were nothing.
Jae understood.
They weren't quite the words he himself would have chosen, but the sentiment rang true:
Fuck all of this. Fuck everyone involved in it, and especially the people who had put it in place. No more playing by someone else's rules.
Live and die on your own terms.
Nate had laid out his terms.
Jae would do the same.
The decision almost a lifetime ago: Jae wasn't going home.
And neither was Fiyori.
Fiyori began to move and perhaps to respond, but Jae moved first, pulling the knife free from the back of his belt and levering himself up to lunge at her.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Laying on the ground was, generally, not the brightest idea. Not in a fight. And not in the weather as it was. Yet sometimes you could just not help it. In Fiyori's current situation, the surprise of Nate's sort-of attack had taken her off-guard. That, and Min-Jae letting go of her caused some sort of physical reaction in her. Mostly, shit hurt a lot. But also, she couldn't really move. Her limbs had gone limp, and trying to push her legs back up felt like pressing against a boulder.
Yet, she did not feel bad about this. In fact, as she had her ears tuned to what Nate was saying, she was feeling comfortable. Serene, even. A weariness crossed her mind, and she had liked to just close her eyes and take a nap.
Odd, wasn't it. Hearing Nate's rant, she could feel herself agreeing with him. She could feel herself at home with what he said. It was a moment of harmony.
A moment cut short soon enough, however. Fiyori looked up, and saw Min-Jae lunging.
She managed to raise her hands for a block. He managed to slice a but of her off. The sight of the finger tips flying to the ground raised a feeling of déjà vu within her, but she couldn't place a finger on why it did.
Even odder, now that it wasn't Nate but Jae in her sight, the boulder on her legs was just a pebble now.
Fiyori made the best out of her situation. She rolled to the side. Might've been an odd sight, but Fiyori wasn't one for optics anyway. She only got a few feet far, but these few feet were enough. There was a gun on the ground next to her. Her gun. She had dropped it earlier, when she decided to go for a hug instead of shooting Jae on sight. A shame that she needed it now.
She grabbed it, and flipped around to face Jae.
"You're rude, you know that?"
Nate's words weren't in her mind anymore. Now, everything that counted was the man with a knife facing her. Fiyori, supported somewhat by the gun, managed to help herself up on her feet. Despite the many injuries she had sustained, it would only take a second for her to take aim at Min-Jae.
In the next second, she threw the gun to the side.
Cuts on her face. Wounds in her torso. A bunch of missing finger tips on her left time. It was the best of times.
Fiyori raised her hands in a welcoming gesture.
"We're monsters, aren't we? How about we act like it: no weapons. Just you and me and our bodies against each other."
Yet, she did not feel bad about this. In fact, as she had her ears tuned to what Nate was saying, she was feeling comfortable. Serene, even. A weariness crossed her mind, and she had liked to just close her eyes and take a nap.
Odd, wasn't it. Hearing Nate's rant, she could feel herself agreeing with him. She could feel herself at home with what he said. It was a moment of harmony.
A moment cut short soon enough, however. Fiyori looked up, and saw Min-Jae lunging.
She managed to raise her hands for a block. He managed to slice a but of her off. The sight of the finger tips flying to the ground raised a feeling of déjà vu within her, but she couldn't place a finger on why it did.
Even odder, now that it wasn't Nate but Jae in her sight, the boulder on her legs was just a pebble now.
Fiyori made the best out of her situation. She rolled to the side. Might've been an odd sight, but Fiyori wasn't one for optics anyway. She only got a few feet far, but these few feet were enough. There was a gun on the ground next to her. Her gun. She had dropped it earlier, when she decided to go for a hug instead of shooting Jae on sight. A shame that she needed it now.
She grabbed it, and flipped around to face Jae.
"You're rude, you know that?"
Nate's words weren't in her mind anymore. Now, everything that counted was the man with a knife facing her. Fiyori, supported somewhat by the gun, managed to help herself up on her feet. Despite the many injuries she had sustained, it would only take a second for her to take aim at Min-Jae.
In the next second, she threw the gun to the side.
Cuts on her face. Wounds in her torso. A bunch of missing finger tips on her left time. It was the best of times.
Fiyori raised her hands in a welcoming gesture.
"We're monsters, aren't we? How about we act like it: no weapons. Just you and me and our bodies against each other."
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
For a brief second, it seemed like he might've gotten through to them. That wasn't Nate's point; this wasn't about them anymore. How they decided to respond was their decision.
And that decision was to keep on killing each other.
He swallow-
No, he didn't.
He turned away, not bothering with another word, and started walking. He ignored the sound behind him, as the two continued their stupidity. He ignored any worry, or panic, or any of those little feelings that had just solved nothing this whole time. He threw the gun away as he walked, it clattering off the edge of the roof and out of sight.
If that was that they truly wanted, then they could both have each other to themselves. He was too disgusted to care otherwise.
And that decision was to keep on killing each other.
He swallow-
No, he didn't.
He turned away, not bothering with another word, and started walking. He ignored the sound behind him, as the two continued their stupidity. He ignored any worry, or panic, or any of those little feelings that had just solved nothing this whole time. He threw the gun away as he walked, it clattering off the edge of the roof and out of sight.
If that was that they truly wanted, then they could both have each other to themselves. He was too disgusted to care otherwise.