They locked eyes, for a moment.
There was a second, one solitary second, where Morgan thought that maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe they were okay guys, and maybe things were going to be okay.
He was wrong.
The right move would be to turn around and run back the way he came. Anyone would have done that, were they to come face-to-face with an oncoming train. It would have been the right move.
He was two for two on being wrong.
Morgan didn't move a muscle, he couldn't. His lip quivered as somewhere, deep in the recesses of his brain, a part of him braced for impact.
Time to Play the Game
B002 Start
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Morgan didn't want to move? What, did he think he was going to withstand the freight train running down the tracks straight at him?
Well, Wyatt thought that was just fine. He didn't stray from the course, pause or even slow down. The paddle in his hand may as well have been a ball for all he intended to use it. It looked like it could deal a nasty, hard-to-bandage cut, but even in the midst of bulldozing somebody he wasn't just going to up and ignore his brother's plan. So when Wyatt made contact with Morgan, he did so with his shoulder. At the moment of impact, Wyatt dropped his shoulder so it could match Morgan's. The momentum was his, and he was passing all of that energy on to his stationary target. The worst thing Morgan could have done was stay still; the second worst thing he could have done was try and run away.
"What's UP, fucko?" Wyatt hollered, standing over Morgan. "Draw a weapon and I'll chop off your fucking head. Move in a way I don't like, I'll chop off your fucking head. Try to stand up? Head. Fuckin' off."
Well, Wyatt thought that was just fine. He didn't stray from the course, pause or even slow down. The paddle in his hand may as well have been a ball for all he intended to use it. It looked like it could deal a nasty, hard-to-bandage cut, but even in the midst of bulldozing somebody he wasn't just going to up and ignore his brother's plan. So when Wyatt made contact with Morgan, he did so with his shoulder. At the moment of impact, Wyatt dropped his shoulder so it could match Morgan's. The momentum was his, and he was passing all of that energy on to his stationary target. The worst thing Morgan could have done was stay still; the second worst thing he could have done was try and run away.
"What's UP, fucko?" Wyatt hollered, standing over Morgan. "Draw a weapon and I'll chop off your fucking head. Move in a way I don't like, I'll chop off your fucking head. Try to stand up? Head. Fuckin' off."
Wyatt took to his role quickly. He hadn’t required any real push at all. Bret would have to figure out what to do with that later.
In the meantime his brother had successfully tackled Morgan to the ground and was holding him at the end of his sword.
Bret slowed to a jog and moved over to the pair. He settled one knee onto Morgan’s body and reached over to pick up his duffel bag.
“Just taking this Morgan,” He said as he opened it up and took a quick look through it. After finding the contents satisfactory Bret removed the first aid kit, and half of the water bottles along with anything else that wasn’t food and tossed it all into a pile. “You can keep that.” He said as he stood up and retrieved his own bags.
“Let’s go Wyatt.”
In the meantime his brother had successfully tackled Morgan to the ground and was holding him at the end of his sword.
Bret slowed to a jog and moved over to the pair. He settled one knee onto Morgan’s body and reached over to pick up his duffel bag.
“Just taking this Morgan,” He said as he opened it up and took a quick look through it. After finding the contents satisfactory Bret removed the first aid kit, and half of the water bottles along with anything else that wasn’t food and tossed it all into a pile. “You can keep that.” He said as he stood up and retrieved his own bags.
“Let’s go Wyatt.”
Morgan Dragosavich never played football.
He was decently tall but lanky, never having a whole lot of strength in his body, so why would he? Getting knocked around, thrown to the ground, flying through the air? None of it ever appealed to him in the slightest. So when Wyatt Carter, the stud defensive lineman of the George Hunter High School football team lowered his shoulder and slammed into him, it felt like he was being run over by one of those very same coach buses that had gotten them all into this mess in the first place.
The breath had vanished from his lungs and there was Wyatt, pointing some horrific-looking weapon at him and screaming at him. Don't move, don't get up, don't run away.
Don't exist.
Morgan wished that particular trick was in his repertoire right now.
Following up, the second Carter brother suddenly had his knee on Morgan's chest, so even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have done anything. He was pinned here, immobilized.
He whimpered in terror. This was where he was going to die. His heart thundered away in his chest, loud enough that he was convinced they could hear it. The tremors in his hands were nigh-uncontrollable; all he could see were the points on that sword. It looked vicious, deadly. Morgan opened his mouth to plead for his life, but nothing came out. Wyatt looked and sounded terrifying, while Bret seemed almost workmanlike as he rustled around in Morgan's things.
"P-please don't eat me."
The words were barely more than a whisper, a result of his jumbled and terrified brain putting all of his innermost fears into a ball and mashing them together. He didn't even comprehend what he'd said, only that he'd managed some form of plea. Bret's knee ached on his sternum, though he didn't dare try and push him off.
Those spikes still stared him in the face. Morgan took one more look at Wyatt's face, clenched in what he could only describe as furious intensity. A shudder went through his body, and then -
Warmth.
The warmth spread throughout his jeans and down to his legs. He shut his eyes, partially from fear, partially from shame. Maybe they would kill him now, just for being a total embarrassment of a human being.
His eyes started to water.
He was decently tall but lanky, never having a whole lot of strength in his body, so why would he? Getting knocked around, thrown to the ground, flying through the air? None of it ever appealed to him in the slightest. So when Wyatt Carter, the stud defensive lineman of the George Hunter High School football team lowered his shoulder and slammed into him, it felt like he was being run over by one of those very same coach buses that had gotten them all into this mess in the first place.
The breath had vanished from his lungs and there was Wyatt, pointing some horrific-looking weapon at him and screaming at him. Don't move, don't get up, don't run away.
Don't exist.
Morgan wished that particular trick was in his repertoire right now.
Following up, the second Carter brother suddenly had his knee on Morgan's chest, so even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have done anything. He was pinned here, immobilized.
He whimpered in terror. This was where he was going to die. His heart thundered away in his chest, loud enough that he was convinced they could hear it. The tremors in his hands were nigh-uncontrollable; all he could see were the points on that sword. It looked vicious, deadly. Morgan opened his mouth to plead for his life, but nothing came out. Wyatt looked and sounded terrifying, while Bret seemed almost workmanlike as he rustled around in Morgan's things.
"P-please don't eat me."
The words were barely more than a whisper, a result of his jumbled and terrified brain putting all of his innermost fears into a ball and mashing them together. He didn't even comprehend what he'd said, only that he'd managed some form of plea. Bret's knee ached on his sternum, though he didn't dare try and push him off.
Those spikes still stared him in the face. Morgan took one more look at Wyatt's face, clenched in what he could only describe as furious intensity. A shudder went through his body, and then -
Warmth.
The warmth spread throughout his jeans and down to his legs. He shut his eyes, partially from fear, partially from shame. Maybe they would kill him now, just for being a total embarrassment of a human being.
His eyes started to water.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"What do you mean 'let's go!?' We just gonna leave him here?" Wyatt asked incredulously. He let his eyes follow Bret for a little bit and it seemed like, yes, he was perfectly okay with just leaving Morgan here, totally unharmed.
"Fuck that. I'm not about that." Wyatt planted his boot on Morgan's chest and pressed down, though not with all his weight. He glared down at the sniveling wreck, who wasn't even giving an attempt to fight back, who whimpered and muttered stupid inaudible whispers.
And what had happened to his pants?
"FAH! Dude, this fag completely fucking wet himself!" Wyatt fell into hysterics, unevenly distributing his weight over Morgan's body and brandishing his weapon this way and that. "Oh g... h... oh holy shit, man," Wyatt gasped between breaths, taking a step back off of Morgan.
"Never mind, I'm good. He's not coming after us." Wyatt shook his head, starting to walk after Bret.
"Fuck that. I'm not about that." Wyatt planted his boot on Morgan's chest and pressed down, though not with all his weight. He glared down at the sniveling wreck, who wasn't even giving an attempt to fight back, who whimpered and muttered stupid inaudible whispers.
And what had happened to his pants?
"FAH! Dude, this fag completely fucking wet himself!" Wyatt fell into hysterics, unevenly distributing his weight over Morgan's body and brandishing his weapon this way and that. "Oh g... h... oh holy shit, man," Wyatt gasped between breaths, taking a step back off of Morgan.
"Never mind, I'm good. He's not coming after us." Wyatt shook his head, starting to walk after Bret.
"HEY! STOP IT!"
Bryan had really, genuinely hoped that his classmates would be willing to slow down and think, weigh up the best course of action, realise that after six sets of terrorist attacks, history had shown that there was a decent-if-not-perfect chance that something would go wrong and open up a window to escape.
He'd hoped that. He wasn't sure he'd believed it.
So he would have liked to say that he was stunned that the first other people he saw were tackling another to the ground and menacing him with a sword. But he wasn't.
As Bryan ran across the garden, overleaping plant-choked paths and beds of wild growth, he saw the sword-wielding boy stand up, laughing his ass off. The other was still on top of their victim, but Bryan had seen what he needed to. Bret and Wyatt, two people that, if he was being uncharitable, it didn't exactly shock him to see being violent after what, five minutes of wakefulness?
Bryan jumped one more flowerbed and skidded to a halt a few metres back from the scene. He had the rifle--which he didn't want to think about--gripped by the base of the barrel. Up close, he recognised Morgan, whimpering on the ground, Bret still pinning him down.
"What is your problem!? Could you guys not last ten seconds without buying into this crap?"
Bryan had really, genuinely hoped that his classmates would be willing to slow down and think, weigh up the best course of action, realise that after six sets of terrorist attacks, history had shown that there was a decent-if-not-perfect chance that something would go wrong and open up a window to escape.
He'd hoped that. He wasn't sure he'd believed it.
So he would have liked to say that he was stunned that the first other people he saw were tackling another to the ground and menacing him with a sword. But he wasn't.
As Bryan ran across the garden, overleaping plant-choked paths and beds of wild growth, he saw the sword-wielding boy stand up, laughing his ass off. The other was still on top of their victim, but Bryan had seen what he needed to. Bret and Wyatt, two people that, if he was being uncharitable, it didn't exactly shock him to see being violent after what, five minutes of wakefulness?
Bryan jumped one more flowerbed and skidded to a halt a few metres back from the scene. He had the rifle--which he didn't want to think about--gripped by the base of the barrel. Up close, he recognised Morgan, whimpering on the ground, Bret still pinning him down.
"What is your problem!? Could you guys not last ten seconds without buying into this crap?"
Wyatt added in some extra digs that were unneccesary and punctuated it by taunting Morgan. The other boy had wet himself and apparently that was hysterical. Whatever. Bret supposed it didn't matter as long as they had the food. That was their main objective.
After Wyatt finished entertaining himself he began to jog up to him. Bret turned his upper body around to take another look at Morgan. That was when Bryan appeared. Bret knew of Bryan. He was liked by everyone due to how nice he was. He also got involved whenever he decided someone had stepped out of line and was bullying someone else but never physically. So, while he made a good show of yelling at them and demanding they explained themselves Bret didn't feel like his life was in any immediate danger, despite the rifle being pointed at him.
But even so, he raised his hands in a pacifying gesture from where he was standing.
"Hey now, we're not going to kill the guy. We just need his food."
After Wyatt finished entertaining himself he began to jog up to him. Bret turned his upper body around to take another look at Morgan. That was when Bryan appeared. Bret knew of Bryan. He was liked by everyone due to how nice he was. He also got involved whenever he decided someone had stepped out of line and was bullying someone else but never physically. So, while he made a good show of yelling at them and demanding they explained themselves Bret didn't feel like his life was in any immediate danger, despite the rifle being pointed at him.
But even so, he raised his hands in a pacifying gesture from where he was standing.
"Hey now, we're not going to kill the guy. We just need his food."
There were so many different emotions and feelings running through Morgan's body at this very moment. Shame, fear, embarrassment and dread were all there, but chief at this very moment was pain. As Wyatt had parked himself with one foot on Morgan's chest to mock his fear response, he'd laughed and forgotten just how big he truly was.
Maybe he hadn't forgotten.
Nonetheless, he had put his full weight onto Morgan's ribs, and if Wyatt hadn't heard the crack over his own boisterous, obnoxious laughter, Morgan sure had. As soon as Wyatt released his foot and walked away, Morgan writhed in agony over the new pain that shot through his chest, making it difficult to breathe. A small voice in his head told him that he should count his blessings. A cracked rib was a small price to pay. They could have decided to leave him in far worse shape, but beaten, bruised, damp and embarrassed was better than he'd hoped for.
A new voice called out at the two monsters, and Morgan groaned as he recognized the cadence. It sounded like Bryan Merryweather, which was both great and not-so-great. Bryan was a really nice guy, the kind of stand-up person who'd always choose to do the right thing.
The problem was, that put him directly in opposition of the two assholes who'd evidently decided that right and wrong were subjective terms.
He couldn't let Bryan be victimized; not like he had.
Pulling himself slowly to his knees, he pushed himself up, his right arm immediately going to his injured ribs. His mind still wasn't quite out of traumatized-shamed-terror-mode yet. Autopilot it was. He would later probably think this was a really stupid thing to do.
If there was a later.
"Bryan, look out," he called over, his voice pained and almost unfamiliar, "they're fucking playing!"
Maybe he hadn't forgotten.
Nonetheless, he had put his full weight onto Morgan's ribs, and if Wyatt hadn't heard the crack over his own boisterous, obnoxious laughter, Morgan sure had. As soon as Wyatt released his foot and walked away, Morgan writhed in agony over the new pain that shot through his chest, making it difficult to breathe. A small voice in his head told him that he should count his blessings. A cracked rib was a small price to pay. They could have decided to leave him in far worse shape, but beaten, bruised, damp and embarrassed was better than he'd hoped for.
A new voice called out at the two monsters, and Morgan groaned as he recognized the cadence. It sounded like Bryan Merryweather, which was both great and not-so-great. Bryan was a really nice guy, the kind of stand-up person who'd always choose to do the right thing.
The problem was, that put him directly in opposition of the two assholes who'd evidently decided that right and wrong were subjective terms.
He couldn't let Bryan be victimized; not like he had.
Pulling himself slowly to his knees, he pushed himself up, his right arm immediately going to his injured ribs. His mind still wasn't quite out of traumatized-shamed-terror-mode yet. Autopilot it was. He would later probably think this was a really stupid thing to do.
If there was a later.
"Bryan, look out," he called over, his voice pained and almost unfamiliar, "they're fucking playing!"
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"DOES THIS LOOK LIKE PLAYING TO YOU!?"
Wyatt doubled back and glared down at Morgan. He'd just gotten walked all over, literally, and now he was suggesting that the two of them were playing games? Fuck that. Nobody disrespected the Carters like that in school, and nobody disrespected them on Bumfuck GIlligan's Island. In the second that he spent simply stomping up to the boy still getting up on his knees, Wyatt's nostrils were flared wide and his eyes opened even wider. It was the same expression he wore on the field when he decided somebody was about to have a bad day.
Morgan was just starting his really, REALLY bad day. Who gave a fuck about some wimp coming to ruin the fun? Wyatt did not, and he showed this demonstrably by raising a size-15 boot and thrusting his leg straight out in order to kick Morgan in the face.
Wyatt turned back to the guy trying to play peacekeeper, and saw it was none other than Bryan. Wouldn't you know it, always trying to play the hero, always trying to get in the way of him and whatever kid decided to act like a retard that day, setting themselves up to be put in their place. He always wanted to make Bryan eat the inside of a trash can for butting into his shit, but once the popular PC types decided to stick up for bottom rejects, Wyatt would have to bow out from social pressure... can't let himself get TOO carried away.
As a pro, he no longer had to care about the social ladder.
As a con... Bryan wasn't normally carrying a gun. The sight of the rifle in Bryan's hand was enough to give the boy pause for a moment, while the considered the answer to the question: did the boy know how to use it?
Wyatt doubled back and glared down at Morgan. He'd just gotten walked all over, literally, and now he was suggesting that the two of them were playing games? Fuck that. Nobody disrespected the Carters like that in school, and nobody disrespected them on Bumfuck GIlligan's Island. In the second that he spent simply stomping up to the boy still getting up on his knees, Wyatt's nostrils were flared wide and his eyes opened even wider. It was the same expression he wore on the field when he decided somebody was about to have a bad day.
Morgan was just starting his really, REALLY bad day. Who gave a fuck about some wimp coming to ruin the fun? Wyatt did not, and he showed this demonstrably by raising a size-15 boot and thrusting his leg straight out in order to kick Morgan in the face.
Wyatt turned back to the guy trying to play peacekeeper, and saw it was none other than Bryan. Wouldn't you know it, always trying to play the hero, always trying to get in the way of him and whatever kid decided to act like a retard that day, setting themselves up to be put in their place. He always wanted to make Bryan eat the inside of a trash can for butting into his shit, but once the popular PC types decided to stick up for bottom rejects, Wyatt would have to bow out from social pressure... can't let himself get TOO carried away.
As a pro, he no longer had to care about the social ladder.
As a con... Bryan wasn't normally carrying a gun. The sight of the rifle in Bryan's hand was enough to give the boy pause for a moment, while the considered the answer to the question: did the boy know how to use it?
Bryan was momentarily speechless at the sheer brazen--actually, he didn't even know what to call it, brazen something--of Bret telling him so matter of factly that they were robbing Morgan. They just 'needed' his food? Oh okay, no harm no foul, right? Wasn't like anyone who wasn't the two of them had to eat too! But sure, right, they were being so very reasonable by not killing him, wasn't that generous?
He was, with some semblance of returned composure, about to launch into a condemnation of exactly that tack when Morgan cut in with a warning. Bryan didn't know how much the twins had beaten Morgan down before he arrived there, but the strain in his voice was heart-wrenching, he had to be in a lot of--
Wyatt kicked Morgan in the face.
Bryan let out a breath, inhaled quickly, let it out again. He looked at the rifle he didn't want anything to do with. Even to help someone?
"I think the two of you need to leave."
He wanted to demand they both return Morgan's things, to yell at them, make them understand how fucked up it was that they were resorting to this, but he couldn't see how to do that, not without escalating way too far. He needed to get them away from Morgan, first and foremost, that was what mattered.
He was, with some semblance of returned composure, about to launch into a condemnation of exactly that tack when Morgan cut in with a warning. Bryan didn't know how much the twins had beaten Morgan down before he arrived there, but the strain in his voice was heart-wrenching, he had to be in a lot of--
Wyatt kicked Morgan in the face.
Bryan let out a breath, inhaled quickly, let it out again. He looked at the rifle he didn't want anything to do with. Even to help someone?
"I think the two of you need to leave."
He wanted to demand they both return Morgan's things, to yell at them, make them understand how fucked up it was that they were resorting to this, but he couldn't see how to do that, not without escalating way too far. He needed to get them away from Morgan, first and foremost, that was what mattered.
The terminology was interesting. Bret had never considered the implication of it and what it meant. He understood where Morgan had come up with the idea. The man—Danya—had described it all as a game a the beginning. It was an interesting choice of phrasing and Morgan connecting the dots to describe them as playing was intriguing. Now, Bret knew that it was loaded language. He had lived through a couple of the events previously and was aware of what the general terminology was. He had never watched any of the videos though, outside of shock sites and having people send clips or gifs as disguised links he'd never been exposed to any of it.
That was why he didn't immediately realize just what exactly Morgan and Wyatt meant when they said "playing". He wasn't sure they matched the defi-
Wyatt kicked Morgan in the face.
Bret had to resist the urge to sigh.
Bryan demanded that both Carters left and Bret could get behind the idea. They had what they wanted. The goal had been to acquire more food and they had done just that. Anything else would have been a bonus. The biggest bonus of all would have been Bryan's gun, but Bret didn't want to push the issue. Bryan had never been violent before, but by the same token, Bret had never made specific plans to rob his fellow students for food before. As Bret stood there, hands still slightly raised, his eyes scanned the area he found himself in.
The gardens were overgrown and there was a lot of cover as a result of that. Not bulletproof cover by any stretch but cover that would have broken eyesight. They might have been able to use that.
With a curt nod, Bret spoke up, moving closer to his brother.
"I agree. Let's go Wyatt."
He gave his twin a quick tap on the shoulder and set off. Not straight back away from Morgan or Bryan exactly, but perpendicular to them. Seemingly heading up towards the large manor house sitting up on the horizon as he moved behind a large overgrown section of shrubbery.
That was why he didn't immediately realize just what exactly Morgan and Wyatt meant when they said "playing". He wasn't sure they matched the defi-
Wyatt kicked Morgan in the face.
Bret had to resist the urge to sigh.
Bryan demanded that both Carters left and Bret could get behind the idea. They had what they wanted. The goal had been to acquire more food and they had done just that. Anything else would have been a bonus. The biggest bonus of all would have been Bryan's gun, but Bret didn't want to push the issue. Bryan had never been violent before, but by the same token, Bret had never made specific plans to rob his fellow students for food before. As Bret stood there, hands still slightly raised, his eyes scanned the area he found himself in.
The gardens were overgrown and there was a lot of cover as a result of that. Not bulletproof cover by any stretch but cover that would have broken eyesight. They might have been able to use that.
With a curt nod, Bret spoke up, moving closer to his brother.
"I agree. Let's go Wyatt."
He gave his twin a quick tap on the shoulder and set off. Not straight back away from Morgan or Bryan exactly, but perpendicular to them. Seemingly heading up towards the large manor house sitting up on the horizon as he moved behind a large overgrown section of shrubbery.
For a split-second, Morgan felt the sense of accomplishment, as though he'd done something good. All three of them turned back to look at him, but then something large and angry started stomping towards him, bellowing as it did.
Morgan barely had a chance to react, looking up only to see one of the biggest feet he'd ever seen coming straight for his face. Fear radiated through his body, overriding all other emotions.
Maybe he shouldn't have-
The boot connected flush with his face with a very loud crack, and the first thing that Morgan felt other than a sharp sense of pain was his body going limp. The world exploded in stars, and he felt his face smack against the cold, hard ground.
After that, mercifully, he didn't feel anything at all.
Morgan barely had a chance to react, looking up only to see one of the biggest feet he'd ever seen coming straight for his face. Fear radiated through his body, overriding all other emotions.
Maybe he shouldn't have-
The boot connected flush with his face with a very loud crack, and the first thing that Morgan felt other than a sharp sense of pain was his body going limp. The world exploded in stars, and he felt his face smack against the cold, hard ground.
After that, mercifully, he didn't feel anything at all.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Wyatt exhaled a puff of breath that could have sounded like a cough or a snort, depending on how somebody wanted to hear it. Morgan had finally shut the fuck up, which was a welcome relief. That was a bit more than they'd intended to do to him, but they could just stop here.
He was still deciding whether or not to say anything to Bryan. Initially, Wyatt was firmly of the mindset that the Carters didn't have to explain themselves to anybody. Their actions spoke louder than any blowhard at school screaming about how everybody had to love and tolerate one another. Talking didn't bring change, action did, and sometimes that action was a literal boot to the head.
But Bret had insisted that they leave. And as he did so, he took a course that Wyatt hadn't initially expected him to. The tap on the shoulder told him all he needed to know. Sometimes it was a hindrance more than anything, but Bret was his twin, and as twins, sometimes they were of one mind. Almost from the moment he felt the tap on the shoulder, Wyatt knew what was up, and his urge to talk grew a little.
"Yeah we were always just gonna nick his shit. His fault he had a big mouth, but I ain't gonna kill him," Wyatt said with a smirk. "So uh, don't mess around with that thing. You could really hurt somebody." He had his eyes on Bryan's gun when he crouched down, groping around inside Morgan's still-open bag. Food was great, weapons were greater. He had to have something else in here.
Wyatt felt a little bit excited when he felt his hand close around a bottle. "Hey, I think Morgan had some booze or something!" he said excitedly, pulling out the brown bottle.. and noticing the rag firmly jammed into the neck, and how it smelled of gas.
"Never mind. Can't drink that."
He stood to his full height, that wonky shark-tooth sword dangling in his left hand as he pretended to chug from the bottle with his right, shooting a goofy face to Bryan as he did so and making exaggerated 'glug glug glug' sounds.
And then he hucked that bottle right at Bryan's stupid, smug, white-knighting face.
Ball's in your court, bro.
He was still deciding whether or not to say anything to Bryan. Initially, Wyatt was firmly of the mindset that the Carters didn't have to explain themselves to anybody. Their actions spoke louder than any blowhard at school screaming about how everybody had to love and tolerate one another. Talking didn't bring change, action did, and sometimes that action was a literal boot to the head.
But Bret had insisted that they leave. And as he did so, he took a course that Wyatt hadn't initially expected him to. The tap on the shoulder told him all he needed to know. Sometimes it was a hindrance more than anything, but Bret was his twin, and as twins, sometimes they were of one mind. Almost from the moment he felt the tap on the shoulder, Wyatt knew what was up, and his urge to talk grew a little.
"Yeah we were always just gonna nick his shit. His fault he had a big mouth, but I ain't gonna kill him," Wyatt said with a smirk. "So uh, don't mess around with that thing. You could really hurt somebody." He had his eyes on Bryan's gun when he crouched down, groping around inside Morgan's still-open bag. Food was great, weapons were greater. He had to have something else in here.
Wyatt felt a little bit excited when he felt his hand close around a bottle. "Hey, I think Morgan had some booze or something!" he said excitedly, pulling out the brown bottle.. and noticing the rag firmly jammed into the neck, and how it smelled of gas.
"Never mind. Can't drink that."
He stood to his full height, that wonky shark-tooth sword dangling in his left hand as he pretended to chug from the bottle with his right, shooting a goofy face to Bryan as he did so and making exaggerated 'glug glug glug' sounds.
And then he hucked that bottle right at Bryan's stupid, smug, white-knighting face.
Ball's in your court, bro.
Bret pulled away and turned to go.
Bryan had always tried to give the benefit of the doubt where it was due. Wyatt was an overt bully who made no secret of how little of a damn he gave about anyone who didn't fit into his Wyatt worldview. He was smart enough to keep it away from the attention of teachers and other adults, something he managed with a level of consistency that made Bryan doubt he was nearly as dumb as he came off. Bret... Bret was just more subtle about it. He wanted to make like that he was the reasonable one, but he was no better. Bryan doubted that either of these two had forced the other to participate in this little scheme.
He gritted his teeth as Wyatt rooted through Morgan's bag. Bryan didn't want to threaten him, definitely didn't want to make the situation worse, but the casualness was completely infuriating. The smile Wyatt wore was one of supreme confidence, the completely relaxed expression of a person who didn't give a single damn about what he was doing, nor about Bryan standing there. It was an expression Bryan was used to; he'd been on the receiving end more than once in the past in his attempts to head off Wyatt, but the stakes here were much higher.
Would the two of them stoop to killing, after robbing? Bryan didn't want to think that poorly of even those two--
Bryan yelled out in alarm and flung up his arm to protect his head. Glass shattered and pungent liquid splattered across his head and shoulders as he stumbled.
Bryan had always tried to give the benefit of the doubt where it was due. Wyatt was an overt bully who made no secret of how little of a damn he gave about anyone who didn't fit into his Wyatt worldview. He was smart enough to keep it away from the attention of teachers and other adults, something he managed with a level of consistency that made Bryan doubt he was nearly as dumb as he came off. Bret... Bret was just more subtle about it. He wanted to make like that he was the reasonable one, but he was no better. Bryan doubted that either of these two had forced the other to participate in this little scheme.
He gritted his teeth as Wyatt rooted through Morgan's bag. Bryan didn't want to threaten him, definitely didn't want to make the situation worse, but the casualness was completely infuriating. The smile Wyatt wore was one of supreme confidence, the completely relaxed expression of a person who didn't give a single damn about what he was doing, nor about Bryan standing there. It was an expression Bryan was used to; he'd been on the receiving end more than once in the past in his attempts to head off Wyatt, but the stakes here were much higher.
Would the two of them stoop to killing, after robbing? Bryan didn't want to think that poorly of even those two--
Bryan yelled out in alarm and flung up his arm to protect his head. Glass shattered and pungent liquid splattered across his head and shoulders as he stumbled.
Glass shattered and Bret made his move.
On some level his plan was improvised but on another, he was just maneuvering around the instinct-driven actions of his brother. Bret had experience with that, a typical week at George Hunter always seemed to involve wrangling Wyatt at some point. Bret had just learned how to work around it and roll with what happened. He'd given Wyatt a nudge in the direction he wanted, knowing that it was likely his twin would take the opportunity he had been given. To that end, he wasn't disappointed.
When he collided with Bryan and lifted the boy up with a powerful double-leg Bret was momentarily satisfied. But then he had to get to work. He moved quickly, putting all his weight on Bryan and using one hand to tear the gun free while the other kept the boys head against the ground.
"Wyatt," Bret grunted through the exertion. "Grab his bags."
On some level his plan was improvised but on another, he was just maneuvering around the instinct-driven actions of his brother. Bret had experience with that, a typical week at George Hunter always seemed to involve wrangling Wyatt at some point. Bret had just learned how to work around it and roll with what happened. He'd given Wyatt a nudge in the direction he wanted, knowing that it was likely his twin would take the opportunity he had been given. To that end, he wasn't disappointed.
When he collided with Bryan and lifted the boy up with a powerful double-leg Bret was momentarily satisfied. But then he had to get to work. He moved quickly, putting all his weight on Bryan and using one hand to tear the gun free while the other kept the boys head against the ground.
"Wyatt," Bret grunted through the exertion. "Grab his bags."