Cass seemed a nice person. A bit on the coward side but that was nice. They didn't have any weapons or anything so they weren't a threat. They seemed to be friend with Jae. Dot didn't know them. Like anything about their existence was erased. So much thing happened and she could only remember seeing their face.
He was the opposite of Cass. He seemed aggressive. Kinda pissed. Made sense since Dot literally just threaten him to tase and sit on him. Yup, that was a bad idea. Dot knew about Jae. She knew how he was. When he got angry, he wasn't the nicest person to have around. He killed someone. Hit him until his interiors exploded and die. That was a gross thought.
She imagined how it felt. Feeling something inside of her leaking blood and like dying from the inside.
Gross.
But something happened. This could have been a normal conversation. Well, kinda. Up until she said about Al, it was just a tense talk between teens.
When she pronounced his name, Jae tensed up. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to tell where she got her knife-sword.
"I guess? I mean, no, I'm the one who left. I left him like in pain and weaponless so I guess it will be fine?"
That last part was a lie, he had a gun. Jae didn't need to know that.
"He's probably still over there."
She realized what Jae meant. She left him there. She let him alive and well. So it was like he walked away and nothing happened to him.
"Are you... are you telling me I should have killed him?"
I know my soul's freezin', Hell's hot for good reason
open once boogie gets in here
What was there to say?
Cass didn't know these people, not really. They hadn't known them before the world ended, and they would never know them like they had Trav. Jae and Dorothy had a shared history, ugly as it seemed; it kept their conversation burning. The only thing that connected them to Cass was proximity.
Jae was pissed, Dorothy was on edge, and whose side would Cass even be supposed to take? The look on Jae's face was scarily close to how Trav had looked, when he had found Jerry for the first time; but where had it gotten Trav? Dead with the shallows for a grave. Still, without context, Cass had no place to try to intervene. They had been useless as a mediator between Chris and Marco, years ago; so why should it be any better as an outsider?
It had been hard to think for a while now, anyway. Best to just let themself be forgotten until either of them turned their head to the side and remembered they weren't just surrounded by furniture.
Cass didn't know these people, not really. They hadn't known them before the world ended, and they would never know them like they had Trav. Jae and Dorothy had a shared history, ugly as it seemed; it kept their conversation burning. The only thing that connected them to Cass was proximity.
Jae was pissed, Dorothy was on edge, and whose side would Cass even be supposed to take? The look on Jae's face was scarily close to how Trav had looked, when he had found Jerry for the first time; but where had it gotten Trav? Dead with the shallows for a grave. Still, without context, Cass had no place to try to intervene. They had been useless as a mediator between Chris and Marco, years ago; so why should it be any better as an outsider?
It had been hard to think for a while now, anyway. Best to just let themself be forgotten until either of them turned their head to the side and remembered they weren't just surrounded by furniture.
"Where."
It came out a growl, low and primal. "Where was he."
Dorothy was an idiot. That much was clear now, when she had been removed from the guidance that friends and shelter had afforded her and she was left to her own devices. She had found Alessio, disarmed him, had him at her mercy... and she walked away. She fucking walked away and barged in here to threaten Jae like she had any right to question what he had done.
"Why the fuck would you just leave him!?" He snapped when she took too long to answer. "Where was he!?"
It came out a growl, low and primal. "Where was he."
Dorothy was an idiot. That much was clear now, when she had been removed from the guidance that friends and shelter had afforded her and she was left to her own devices. She had found Alessio, disarmed him, had him at her mercy... and she walked away. She fucking walked away and barged in here to threaten Jae like she had any right to question what he had done.
"Why the fuck would you just leave him!?" He snapped when she took too long to answer. "Where was he!?"
"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."
She felt shame: deep down, she knew he should have killed him but she was afraid. Her name in the annoucement would be exposing to the island. Everyone would hear her name but it didn't matter anymore.
"I-"
She was cut off by the words of anger of Jae. She felt horrible. Her guys were twisting inside of her like a worm on a fishing pole as a bait. The mental image of her intestines squirming around almost made her vomit.
"I'm-"
Cut off again. Another flow of aggressive words jumping at Dot's throat. She wanted to say sorry or something. But each time she tried to speak up, Jae talked louder and louder. Like a child getting scolded by a severe parent, she looked down and water started to rise in her eyes.
Don't cry.
She dug her nails in her palm. No crying allowed. Not here: there was Jae who could kill her and that other person she knew nothing about. Crying was a sign of weakness. She shallowed it down. It was her turn to speak now. Her voice was shaking.
"One of the staff rooms. Maybe it was block A or block B? I can't remember."
She raised her eyes and locked her sight with Jae's. She pulled her taser out and readied her sword. Her voice dropped an octave and her eyes were empty.
"I'll take care of it."
With that, she left.
(Dot iz gone.)
"I-"
She was cut off by the words of anger of Jae. She felt horrible. Her guys were twisting inside of her like a worm on a fishing pole as a bait. The mental image of her intestines squirming around almost made her vomit.
"I'm-"
Cut off again. Another flow of aggressive words jumping at Dot's throat. She wanted to say sorry or something. But each time she tried to speak up, Jae talked louder and louder. Like a child getting scolded by a severe parent, she looked down and water started to rise in her eyes.
Don't cry.
She dug her nails in her palm. No crying allowed. Not here: there was Jae who could kill her and that other person she knew nothing about. Crying was a sign of weakness. She shallowed it down. It was her turn to speak now. Her voice was shaking.
"One of the staff rooms. Maybe it was block A or block B? I can't remember."
She raised her eyes and locked her sight with Jae's. She pulled her taser out and readied her sword. Her voice dropped an octave and her eyes were empty.
"I'll take care of it."
With that, she left.
(Dot iz gone.)
Cass hadn't realized how close the tension in the room had been to its breaking point, but as Jae burned and Dorothy crumbled in the space of seconds; one thing became clear. It was a rare moment where even Cass speaking up couldn't possibly make the situation any worse than it'd be if they just let it play out.
It would have been an emboldening realization in the hands of someone whose composure wasn't made of hastily glued together porcelain when they weren't pushed to the fraying far corners of their mind from a lack of everything a body needed to remain more than just raw materials.
Instead, Cass uselessly flinched as Jae snapped (not even yelling, not even angry at them), was so thrown off by the realization that they still didn't even know Dorothy's name that they couldn't even call out after the girl as she left to get revenge on the behalf of someone she had been threatening to tase not even five minutes prior.
With no one left to help, all that was left was to try and avoid tripping over the pieces Jae's explosion had left behind, to hope that he would calm down and wouldn't blame Cass for... still being there. It'd be easy. All they had to do was just sit still and say the bare minimum and regret it all later but at least for the moment they'd be safe, they just had to remember that their anger had driven away Irene and had been too late to help Trav, and why would it bring anything other than pointless, unproductive harm here?
It was pointless. It was unproductive. But something in Dorothy's pained expression had stuck with them. Maybe Cass was tired of a lifetime of feeling like a ghost, maybe they were just too exhausted to care about the future anymore. Either way, they spoke.
"What the hell, man? You're just gonna - you're just gonna let her go kill someone for you?"
It would have been an emboldening realization in the hands of someone whose composure wasn't made of hastily glued together porcelain when they weren't pushed to the fraying far corners of their mind from a lack of everything a body needed to remain more than just raw materials.
Instead, Cass uselessly flinched as Jae snapped (not even yelling, not even angry at them), was so thrown off by the realization that they still didn't even know Dorothy's name that they couldn't even call out after the girl as she left to get revenge on the behalf of someone she had been threatening to tase not even five minutes prior.
With no one left to help, all that was left was to try and avoid tripping over the pieces Jae's explosion had left behind, to hope that he would calm down and wouldn't blame Cass for... still being there. It'd be easy. All they had to do was just sit still and say the bare minimum and regret it all later but at least for the moment they'd be safe, they just had to remember that their anger had driven away Irene and had been too late to help Trav, and why would it bring anything other than pointless, unproductive harm here?
It was pointless. It was unproductive. But something in Dorothy's pained expression had stuck with them. Maybe Cass was tired of a lifetime of feeling like a ghost, maybe they were just too exhausted to care about the future anymore. Either way, they spoke.
"What the hell, man? You're just gonna - you're just gonna let her go kill someone for you?"
And then Dot was gone, with a vague promise and a vacant look. Jae hadn't wanted her to leave, not like that. Really, he had wanted her to stay and fight so that he could ask her who the hell she thought she was, yell at her, demand just what the hell she had ever done that gave her the right to criticize. Had she tried to save Asha? Had Dorothy held her while she died? Fuck her. She didn't get to decide that anything Jae did in the frenzy of anger and grief was worse than standing there uselessly while your friend gave her life for you.
He had stood as Dorothy fled, intending to fire back at whatever retort she had, but instead he was just left with impotent rage and no good target. He kicked out at the chair in frustration, succeeding in nothing except scooting it a few inches and making his toes sting.
Cass's interjection was a surprise; Jae had expected her to continue in much the same fashion as he could figure she always had. He had a brief flash of her back on the roof, cringing away from Vanessa's yelling and laughter. He opened his mouth, found that he had no response, and snapped his jaw shut again with an audible sound.
She was right. Dorothy was obviously not competent enough to try taking down a killer, if Alessio was even in the same place she had left him. She'd probably just end up another notch in his belt. Was Jae really going to let her just run off and do that? Even if he didn't much care what happened to her at this point, there was still Alessio to deal with.
"No," he said firmly, grabbing his bag and opening it again to retrieve ammo for the crossbow. With movement that he was becoming adept at, the bolt slid into place. "I'm not."
He had stood as Dorothy fled, intending to fire back at whatever retort she had, but instead he was just left with impotent rage and no good target. He kicked out at the chair in frustration, succeeding in nothing except scooting it a few inches and making his toes sting.
Cass's interjection was a surprise; Jae had expected her to continue in much the same fashion as he could figure she always had. He had a brief flash of her back on the roof, cringing away from Vanessa's yelling and laughter. He opened his mouth, found that he had no response, and snapped his jaw shut again with an audible sound.
She was right. Dorothy was obviously not competent enough to try taking down a killer, if Alessio was even in the same place she had left him. She'd probably just end up another notch in his belt. Was Jae really going to let her just run off and do that? Even if he didn't much care what happened to her at this point, there was still Alessio to deal with.
"No," he said firmly, grabbing his bag and opening it again to retrieve ammo for the crossbow. With movement that he was becoming adept at, the bolt slid into place. "I'm not."
"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."
Well. That was one way to solve the problem, even if it wasn't exactly what Cass had meant. They stared at Jae as he loaded his crossbow; the sound of the bolt sliding into place punctuation for his clear intent to puncture. "...Well, okay then."
They reluctantly got to their feet, riding the wave of assertiveness before it faded and left them passed out in the chair. "Guess it's not really my place to try and talk you out of any of the 'killing' shit, is it?" Cass wasn't even sure anymore if that part bothered them as much as driving Dorothy out alone had. Was revenge more moral then revenge by proxy; just because you were the only person who'd be hurt if you failed? (But it wouldn't be just you, wouldn't it? Trav had fought alone and died alone but Cass still carried the fresh scars on their heart. Had Jae just outlived everyone he was afraid of hurting, or was he simply past the point of caring?)
Murder was still distasteful and Cass still didn't think any of them deserved to die, but as the days wore on it was getting harder to think of any argument against killing people like Isabel other than a vague, lingering sense of wrongness. They hadn't wanted to Trav to kill Jerry, but it wasn't really because they cared if Jerry died or not, was it?
After a certain point, did the blood you'd spilled drown out any worth inherent to your humanity? Even if the killers hadn't chosen to be unceremoniously thrown into hell, how much conscious cruelty did it take for their collateral damnation to become earned? Cass didn't have an answer, and hoped they wouldn't have to find one for a while longer. As it stood, it wasn't like Jae needed to be reminded of the core tenants of his faith by someone who hadn't even had the decency to try for a deathbed conversion.
Cass was starting to sway on their feet again. They leaned back against the door to the bedroom they had initially tripped out of. "Just... try not to do anything worse than dying, alright? I'll be in a corner. Somewhere."
They reluctantly got to their feet, riding the wave of assertiveness before it faded and left them passed out in the chair. "Guess it's not really my place to try and talk you out of any of the 'killing' shit, is it?" Cass wasn't even sure anymore if that part bothered them as much as driving Dorothy out alone had. Was revenge more moral then revenge by proxy; just because you were the only person who'd be hurt if you failed? (But it wouldn't be just you, wouldn't it? Trav had fought alone and died alone but Cass still carried the fresh scars on their heart. Had Jae just outlived everyone he was afraid of hurting, or was he simply past the point of caring?)
Murder was still distasteful and Cass still didn't think any of them deserved to die, but as the days wore on it was getting harder to think of any argument against killing people like Isabel other than a vague, lingering sense of wrongness. They hadn't wanted to Trav to kill Jerry, but it wasn't really because they cared if Jerry died or not, was it?
After a certain point, did the blood you'd spilled drown out any worth inherent to your humanity? Even if the killers hadn't chosen to be unceremoniously thrown into hell, how much conscious cruelty did it take for their collateral damnation to become earned? Cass didn't have an answer, and hoped they wouldn't have to find one for a while longer. As it stood, it wasn't like Jae needed to be reminded of the core tenants of his faith by someone who hadn't even had the decency to try for a deathbed conversion.
Cass was starting to sway on their feet again. They leaned back against the door to the bedroom they had initially tripped out of. "Just... try not to do anything worse than dying, alright? I'll be in a corner. Somewhere."
Every time Jae thought that nobody had any surprises left, it happened again. Brendan, Alessio, Nadia, Dorothy, and now Cass. It was as though there was always someone just waiting for him to try and regain his balance before tilting the world again.
He had expected Cass to resist, he supposed. Maybe tell him how fucked what he was doing was, maybe cry or something. Instead, she just sounded resigned.
He supposed he couldn't blame her for that.
Jae paused in gathering his things to look back at her when she continued. Were her words a weak parting well-wish, or faint damnation?
Either way, he couldn't blame her for that either.
He was practically buzzing with restrained fury still. Cass didn't deserve any of it.
He pulled the baton from his belt and extended it with a flick of his wrist. Snick.
"Here."
He tossed it onto the chair he had just vacated. "If you want it, I guess."
Jae shouldered his bag, crossbow in one hand, staff in the other. He glanced back at Cass one last time. "Take care of yourself."
"...Bye."
((Min-jae Parker continued in Rear-End Collision))
He had expected Cass to resist, he supposed. Maybe tell him how fucked what he was doing was, maybe cry or something. Instead, she just sounded resigned.
He supposed he couldn't blame her for that.
Jae paused in gathering his things to look back at her when she continued. Were her words a weak parting well-wish, or faint damnation?
Either way, he couldn't blame her for that either.
He was practically buzzing with restrained fury still. Cass didn't deserve any of it.
He pulled the baton from his belt and extended it with a flick of his wrist. Snick.
"Here."
He tossed it onto the chair he had just vacated. "If you want it, I guess."
Jae shouldered his bag, crossbow in one hand, staff in the other. He glanced back at Cass one last time. "Take care of yourself."
"...Bye."
((Min-jae Parker continued in Rear-End Collision))
"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."
"...Goodbye." Cass hadn't expected to meet Jae a second time. No, an active absence of expectation still implied some semblance of thought, and Jae had been far from theirs. Would there be a third meeting, a third thought? Would it mean anything to either of them, if there was? Did even the most temporary of proximity start to feel familiar or comforting if everything and everyone else had fallen apart around you?
Regardless, Cass stood there for a while, after Jae left; staring blankly at the space left by his absence. Then, slowly, almost reverently, they approached the baton he had left behind. They picked it up, collapsed and flicked it out a few times. Snick. It was still useless as a weapon unless they could fight to overcome their natural inclination to not bludgeon another human being over and over again as they cried and bled and as parts of their body started to fail and give way under a remorseless flurry of blows; nothing like the easy abstraction of the twitch of a finger transforming fire and powder into a more efficient demise.
Mustering that sort of rage at anyone other than themself wasn't a bit of personal growth that was particularly high on the dwindling list of Cass's priorities, but If nothing else, it felt good to have something to hold onto, and it made a satisfying noise. A sorely needed anchor to the physical world.
With both intruders gone, there was nothing stopping Cass from returning to the bedroom, from glancing at and then trying to forget the still-open notebook, containing Cass's first and only attempt at immortalizing Trav's face. It had turned out twisted and ugly until they had finally and violently X'ed it out, immediately regretting it afterwards as it felt like watching him die all over again but already beyond the point where the drawing could be repaired, if it was even worth repairing in the first place.
They settled down in the corner, not wanting to trust the comfort of the bed. All they had to do was remember that sleep could be death, and... just keep existing. Too tired and too hurt to focus on anything that could make life still worth living, but still clinging to every last moment of consciousness. Even if it hurt and even if their entire being and their soul if they had one was screaming at them to create, to live, did they deserve even one of the string of chances that they had been given one after the other, still alive when so many others weren't, what right had they to be even close to happy, of course they should shut up and sit still and be grateful for the fact that their mind was still theirs-
Snick. Sleep equaled death.
The sound and the sentiment repeated. Eventually, they slowed, becoming separated by spaces. Then sentences. Then paragraphs. Then pages. Then-
Clatter.
((Silence.))
Regardless, Cass stood there for a while, after Jae left; staring blankly at the space left by his absence. Then, slowly, almost reverently, they approached the baton he had left behind. They picked it up, collapsed and flicked it out a few times. Snick. It was still useless as a weapon unless they could fight to overcome their natural inclination to not bludgeon another human being over and over again as they cried and bled and as parts of their body started to fail and give way under a remorseless flurry of blows; nothing like the easy abstraction of the twitch of a finger transforming fire and powder into a more efficient demise.
Mustering that sort of rage at anyone other than themself wasn't a bit of personal growth that was particularly high on the dwindling list of Cass's priorities, but If nothing else, it felt good to have something to hold onto, and it made a satisfying noise. A sorely needed anchor to the physical world.
With both intruders gone, there was nothing stopping Cass from returning to the bedroom, from glancing at and then trying to forget the still-open notebook, containing Cass's first and only attempt at immortalizing Trav's face. It had turned out twisted and ugly until they had finally and violently X'ed it out, immediately regretting it afterwards as it felt like watching him die all over again but already beyond the point where the drawing could be repaired, if it was even worth repairing in the first place.
They settled down in the corner, not wanting to trust the comfort of the bed. All they had to do was remember that sleep could be death, and... just keep existing. Too tired and too hurt to focus on anything that could make life still worth living, but still clinging to every last moment of consciousness. Even if it hurt and even if their entire being and their soul if they had one was screaming at them to create, to live, did they deserve even one of the string of chances that they had been given one after the other, still alive when so many others weren't, what right had they to be even close to happy, of course they should shut up and sit still and be grateful for the fact that their mind was still theirs-
Snick. Sleep equaled death.
The sound and the sentiment repeated. Eventually, they slowed, becoming separated by spaces. Then sentences. Then paragraphs. Then pages. Then-
Clatter.
((Silence.))