"Trying to save everyone?" Morgan echoed at Lucas with some incredulity, nearly around the same time as Axel and Andy. They were all very much in sync on that one point, chiding him for such a stupid and off-colour statement. There was no saving everyone now. That opportunity had passed, the time for rescue plans and big happy endings was over.
"Maybe you haven't been keeping up on current events but we're already getting our asses kicked, pal!"
As if Morgan needed the announcement to help remind him of what was going on, his own injured ribs and swollen face probably served as an eerie reminder. He didn't want to know what he looked like at the moment, his visage probably closer to that of a raccoon than a person. Yet here came Lucas Brady, living in his own fantasy world and thinking he could be the big goddamn hero of it all. Morgan had been nice to him as he'd come off and been told to fuck off for his troubles, so as far as he was concerned, Lucas Brady could stick his plan up his ass.
"Whatever it is, I sure hope it goes better than your fucking presidential election campaign," Morgan snorted caustically. "Since we all know how much a winner that one was."
He barely even thought about the words before they were out of his mouth. He was in pain, his emotions were in turmoil, and the fear was still dominating his actions. Impending doom seemed all around them, and nobody wanted to hear Lucas' shit. His next words were cruel and hurtful, and came from Morgan's own terror than they did malice. Morgan almost regretted saying them as soon as they slipped out.
Almost.
"Guess you won't be able to go and Facebook about this one when it blows up in your face, huh?"
The Unavoidable Sun
early morning of day 2; pm for entry
He dug his fingers into his palms as he curled his hands into impotent little fists. The vicious, unrelenting mockery surrounded him, as it always had, reinforcing how stupid and pathetic he felt. His breath felt short, like his asthma attacks he was so familiar with, but he didn’t move for his inhaler.
He couldn’t, he realised. Steel bolts had replaced his muscles, tensing his limbs in place so tight they felt like they might snap.
He scrunched his face shut, wincing in pain as they all laid their verbal daggers into him. He tried to think, tried to come up with a retort, or a defence, or something that could justify himself. He knew it was a stupid thing to bring up in the first place, but he didn’t know what else to do. He never knew what to say anymore, not since that horrible mess of a night, and no-one ever gave him any slack for it. They all just kept laying into him, because of one stupid post on the internet. That was all he'd been reduced to; no-one cared about who he was as a person, or his hopes or dreams, or what he was trying to accomplish any more. He was just a punchline that never seemed to get old.
He was about to puke, he knew it. He could feel the bile in his stomach. But he was wrong, because the bile was not vomit. It was a toxic mass of horrid feelings that had festered over the past few months, every student’s cheap quip adding another black lump to it. Every day his reputation as Facebook Lucas had grown had been a day the mass had grown bigger, cancerous and lethal to mind, body and soul.
He looked at Morgan, the closest, staring with more hate behind his eyes than they could bear. His eyes pulled to the very back of their sockets, while his mouth gave way to furious teeth. His face was a livid red, sweat forming on his brow as everything boiled over. Facebook Lucas just couldn't hold it in any more.
He screamed, a shrill undignified “SHUT UP!” in a cracking voice, and flew forwards as tears streamed down his face. There was no reaching for his sword, or bothering to account for how pathetic a chance he stood against Morgan. He just wanted to beat him senseless, beat them all senseless, and get them to finally stop laughing.
He couldn’t, he realised. Steel bolts had replaced his muscles, tensing his limbs in place so tight they felt like they might snap.
He scrunched his face shut, wincing in pain as they all laid their verbal daggers into him. He tried to think, tried to come up with a retort, or a defence, or something that could justify himself. He knew it was a stupid thing to bring up in the first place, but he didn’t know what else to do. He never knew what to say anymore, not since that horrible mess of a night, and no-one ever gave him any slack for it. They all just kept laying into him, because of one stupid post on the internet. That was all he'd been reduced to; no-one cared about who he was as a person, or his hopes or dreams, or what he was trying to accomplish any more. He was just a punchline that never seemed to get old.
He was about to puke, he knew it. He could feel the bile in his stomach. But he was wrong, because the bile was not vomit. It was a toxic mass of horrid feelings that had festered over the past few months, every student’s cheap quip adding another black lump to it. Every day his reputation as Facebook Lucas had grown had been a day the mass had grown bigger, cancerous and lethal to mind, body and soul.
He looked at Morgan, the closest, staring with more hate behind his eyes than they could bear. His eyes pulled to the very back of their sockets, while his mouth gave way to furious teeth. His face was a livid red, sweat forming on his brow as everything boiled over. Facebook Lucas just couldn't hold it in any more.
He screamed, a shrill undignified “SHUT UP!” in a cracking voice, and flew forwards as tears streamed down his face. There was no reaching for his sword, or bothering to account for how pathetic a chance he stood against Morgan. He just wanted to beat him senseless, beat them all senseless, and get them to finally stop laughing.
Yeah, no.
Axel took the two extra seconds it took to squeeze Andy's shoulder in a way that sorta qualified as comforting. Maybe? Ain't like he was checking.
Five seconds after that he shoulder-checked Lucas at full force.
Axel took the two extra seconds it took to squeeze Andy's shoulder in a way that sorta qualified as comforting. Maybe? Ain't like he was checking.
Five seconds after that he shoulder-checked Lucas at full force.
"Hey- dude-"
Was
Was Axel still holding the knife?
Andy unceremoniously shifted Minithulhu out of his lap and scrambled to his feet, slower and unsteadier than he wanted to be.
"Dude, hey, fuck-" Words still came out too fast, too choppy. He ought to just stand back, let Brady get his stupid face beat in because god fucking knew it was a long time coming when you had your mouth running as chronically as Brady did, but- was Axel, did Axel have the knife, where was the knife?
Andy meant to lunge for Axel's back and grab him, but the momentum of Axel's collision with Brady sent them both careening out of his grip, and all he came up with was the flannel that had been tied around Axel's waist and his own forward momentum carrying him onward.
"Fuck-!" And into the mud Andy went.
Was
Was Axel still holding the knife?
Andy unceremoniously shifted Minithulhu out of his lap and scrambled to his feet, slower and unsteadier than he wanted to be.
"Dude, hey, fuck-" Words still came out too fast, too choppy. He ought to just stand back, let Brady get his stupid face beat in because god fucking knew it was a long time coming when you had your mouth running as chronically as Brady did, but- was Axel, did Axel have the knife, where was the knife?
Andy meant to lunge for Axel's back and grab him, but the momentum of Axel's collision with Brady sent them both careening out of his grip, and all he came up with was the flannel that had been tied around Axel's waist and his own forward momentum carrying him onward.
"Fuck-!" And into the mud Andy went.
"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."
Haha, welp, Abe guessed they'd gone too far. Their fun lil' punching bag had grown a pair of brass fisticuffs and had gone in swingin' only to be reminded that nope, he was still at the mercy of the whims of the winds and the boxers that surrounded him. Normally he'd be cackling his ass off by now, but he was tired and had been fake laughing too many times in sequence to even try and muster up the real thing, so he just sorta smirked.
No one there was enough of a dumbass to like, actually hurt each other, right? It was okay to find this funny, right? He didn't need to be the big man with his gun and point it all around and shout 'stop in the name of not fucking murdering each other for like five seconds,' right? Yeah that all sounded right.
Hot day, wasn't it? A bit thirsty, wasn't he? Abe kinda wanted to meander over to Lucas's bag, take a nice lil' water bottle as a dipshit tax, but that'd probably be pushing his luck with the people he sorta wanted to stay around. It's not like his own bag wasn't overflowing with hydration as it was.
"Keep it clean, kids," he called over, before uncapping one of his own waters and taking a refreshing gulp.
No one there was enough of a dumbass to like, actually hurt each other, right? It was okay to find this funny, right? He didn't need to be the big man with his gun and point it all around and shout 'stop in the name of not fucking murdering each other for like five seconds,' right? Yeah that all sounded right.
Hot day, wasn't it? A bit thirsty, wasn't he? Abe kinda wanted to meander over to Lucas's bag, take a nice lil' water bottle as a dipshit tax, but that'd probably be pushing his luck with the people he sorta wanted to stay around. It's not like his own bag wasn't overflowing with hydration as it was.
"Keep it clean, kids," he called over, before uncapping one of his own waters and taking a refreshing gulp.
Okay, so in hindsight, Morgan knew that maybe he shouldn't have said that. Maybe that time, he'd gone just a bit too far. Honestly, that was a fair statement. The number of times in his life that he'd spoken first and only asked questions well after the fact were numerous, and as he watched Lucas' face contort into a rage, he silently added another tally to the chart.
What he wasn't expecting was the sudden charge in his direction from the pitiful, sputtering, angry Lucas Brady. The rage on his face brought back the memory of the similar charge he'd endured from Wyatt Carter, though the look on Wyatt's face had been almost emotionless, as though he'd been doing his laundry rather than attacking a classmate.
For Lucas? Not so much.
Morgan flinched away but sat frozen, not in fear but in prior trauma. That didn't last long, however, as he was shaken from it as Axel quickly intercepted the furious social media pariah and took him down with a swift and impressive shoulder-check. Andy tried to stop him, but failed, ending up face down in the mud, a few feet away from the mass of limbs and writhing flesh that was now Lucas and Axel.
Once more, someone had decided that Morgan Dragosavich was an easy target. A victim who was ripe for the taking. Up until now, he hadn't done anything to dissuade that point. Was this going to keep happening every single day he was here, fighting for his life? Morgan Dragosavich, punching bag and victim, only here to be smacked around until someone finally put him out of his misery - was that his true calling, his true fate?
"No. No I will fucking NOT!"
Whether it was to Lucas, to himself, or even to Wyatt Carter all the way across the island probably doing God-knows-what to God-knows-who, something snapped inside of him and Morgan decided that he wasn't about to take it anymore. He wasn't an aggressive person; he wasn't a fighter. He wasn't going to be someone who started hunting down classmates. That wasn't him. He wasn't going to go and pick on the biggest dog in the yard to assert his dominance.
But he wouldn't allow himself to be victimized again.
"Fuck you, you stupid Face-fuck piece of shit!"
The words barely made sense to him, a mixture of curses and fury - most of it likely residual from the beating he'd suffered yesterday, but the indignity of the fact that Lucas Brady of all people had decided to take a run at him; enough was enough. Jumping to his feet, the anger pushing his pain to the side, Morgan bounded towards the boys on the ground and as he got closer - barely heeding Abe's words as he excused himself from all of it - he reared back with his leg and sent a swift kick towards the asshole's ribs.
What he wasn't expecting was the sudden charge in his direction from the pitiful, sputtering, angry Lucas Brady. The rage on his face brought back the memory of the similar charge he'd endured from Wyatt Carter, though the look on Wyatt's face had been almost emotionless, as though he'd been doing his laundry rather than attacking a classmate.
For Lucas? Not so much.
Morgan flinched away but sat frozen, not in fear but in prior trauma. That didn't last long, however, as he was shaken from it as Axel quickly intercepted the furious social media pariah and took him down with a swift and impressive shoulder-check. Andy tried to stop him, but failed, ending up face down in the mud, a few feet away from the mass of limbs and writhing flesh that was now Lucas and Axel.
Once more, someone had decided that Morgan Dragosavich was an easy target. A victim who was ripe for the taking. Up until now, he hadn't done anything to dissuade that point. Was this going to keep happening every single day he was here, fighting for his life? Morgan Dragosavich, punching bag and victim, only here to be smacked around until someone finally put him out of his misery - was that his true calling, his true fate?
"No. No I will fucking NOT!"
Whether it was to Lucas, to himself, or even to Wyatt Carter all the way across the island probably doing God-knows-what to God-knows-who, something snapped inside of him and Morgan decided that he wasn't about to take it anymore. He wasn't an aggressive person; he wasn't a fighter. He wasn't going to be someone who started hunting down classmates. That wasn't him. He wasn't going to go and pick on the biggest dog in the yard to assert his dominance.
But he wouldn't allow himself to be victimized again.
"Fuck you, you stupid Face-fuck piece of shit!"
The words barely made sense to him, a mixture of curses and fury - most of it likely residual from the beating he'd suffered yesterday, but the indignity of the fact that Lucas Brady of all people had decided to take a run at him; enough was enough. Jumping to his feet, the anger pushing his pain to the side, Morgan bounded towards the boys on the ground and as he got closer - barely heeding Abe's words as he excused himself from all of it - he reared back with his leg and sent a swift kick towards the asshole's ribs.
And as quickly as he’d started his charge, he was defeated. Axel slamming into him took the wind out of his sails, and everything else, as he fell into the mud in a sprawled out mess. His arms went to his upper body, gripping it in pain as he kept on crying. It was a humiliating, loud whine, dry and heaving and infantile, as all his peers stood over him rolling around in the dirt. Looking down at him. Laughing at him still.
He turned to his side, seeing Morgan’s legs move towards him. He had barely heard the boy's ‘Fuck You’ over the sounds of his own groans, but he looked up at him through his tear stained eyes. Snot had started to run down his face, catching in his mouth as he kept opening it to heave. He couldn’t even manage to get a word out before Morgan’s boot collided with his ribs.
He screamed, a combination of shock and pain and terror at everyone finally doing what, deep down, he realised he’d worst feared all along: ganging up on him to kick his ass.
He curled into a ball, like a pathetic little hedgehog before an insurmountable predator, holding his ribs in one hand and his shoulder with the other. He kept on crying, kept on heaving, as his brain started to shut down from all the neurons firing. Heaved harder. Harder still. A single realisation in all the panic, all the flashing images of the past few months in this brain: this wasn’t just crying anymore, he could feel his breath falling short. His lungs were getting smaller by the second, as his asthma finally reared its ugly head.
He couldn’t even think of the words, but his brain flashed the image of his inhaler. Moving on autopilot, he fumbled for his pocket, body aching as he did so. But between the position and the confusion and the pain, he just couldn’t manage something as simple as getting his hand inside to grab his own medicine.
He turned to his side, seeing Morgan’s legs move towards him. He had barely heard the boy's ‘Fuck You’ over the sounds of his own groans, but he looked up at him through his tear stained eyes. Snot had started to run down his face, catching in his mouth as he kept opening it to heave. He couldn’t even manage to get a word out before Morgan’s boot collided with his ribs.
He screamed, a combination of shock and pain and terror at everyone finally doing what, deep down, he realised he’d worst feared all along: ganging up on him to kick his ass.
He curled into a ball, like a pathetic little hedgehog before an insurmountable predator, holding his ribs in one hand and his shoulder with the other. He kept on crying, kept on heaving, as his brain started to shut down from all the neurons firing. Heaved harder. Harder still. A single realisation in all the panic, all the flashing images of the past few months in this brain: this wasn’t just crying anymore, he could feel his breath falling short. His lungs were getting smaller by the second, as his asthma finally reared its ugly head.
He couldn’t even think of the words, but his brain flashed the image of his inhaler. Moving on autopilot, he fumbled for his pocket, body aching as he did so. But between the position and the confusion and the pain, he just couldn’t manage something as simple as getting his hand inside to grab his own medicine.
Holy shit.
"Holy shit, dude."
So Axel had kinda moved without any part of his brain actually being involved. Sometimes you just saw someone doing some dumb shit and you just had to make it stop before it turned into really bad dumb shit, and considering Morgan had already probably broken a few things and probably already had a concussion, yeah, him getting attacked again was some really bad dumb shit. Even it if was from a dude who looked like he'd lose a fight to an angry first grader. He didn't really process what was actually happening until his shoulder was already connecting with Lucas but like once he caught up with himself and saw Lucas on the ground he was just kinda like yeah, dude, you kinda deserve it.
The "holy shit" came in when Morgan laid into him, cause if he was gonna be totally honest he didn't think the guy had it in him, but hey, good kick to the ribs never hurt anything, except hopefully whoever you were kicking in the ribs. Then—
Then, uh—
Uh.
Something bad was happening?
"—Okay, okay, chill," he muttered as he grabbed Morgan's arm. Which wouldn't actually stop him from kicking Lucas again if he really felt like it but it was kinda more symbolic than anything and unless Morgan had really seriously mcfreakin lost it he probably wasn't planning on a second hit. Seriously, though, what was up with Lucas? Maybe his pain tolerance just sucked but he was freaking out too hard to just be reacting to the kick.
He took a half step backward. His foot touched something and he turned around and frowned at Andy who had ended up on the floor at some point and now he was all muddy and shit and they'd have to deal with that later.
"Shit, uh..."
Now what? He didn't actually have to say it.
"Holy shit, dude."
So Axel had kinda moved without any part of his brain actually being involved. Sometimes you just saw someone doing some dumb shit and you just had to make it stop before it turned into really bad dumb shit, and considering Morgan had already probably broken a few things and probably already had a concussion, yeah, him getting attacked again was some really bad dumb shit. Even it if was from a dude who looked like he'd lose a fight to an angry first grader. He didn't really process what was actually happening until his shoulder was already connecting with Lucas but like once he caught up with himself and saw Lucas on the ground he was just kinda like yeah, dude, you kinda deserve it.
The "holy shit" came in when Morgan laid into him, cause if he was gonna be totally honest he didn't think the guy had it in him, but hey, good kick to the ribs never hurt anything, except hopefully whoever you were kicking in the ribs. Then—
Then, uh—
Uh.
Something bad was happening?
"—Okay, okay, chill," he muttered as he grabbed Morgan's arm. Which wouldn't actually stop him from kicking Lucas again if he really felt like it but it was kinda more symbolic than anything and unless Morgan had really seriously mcfreakin lost it he probably wasn't planning on a second hit. Seriously, though, what was up with Lucas? Maybe his pain tolerance just sucked but he was freaking out too hard to just be reacting to the kick.
He took a half step backward. His foot touched something and he turned around and frowned at Andy who had ended up on the floor at some point and now he was all muddy and shit and they'd have to deal with that later.
"Shit, uh..."
Now what? He didn't actually have to say it.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"PUBFLFLFB."
Andy came up with a mouthful of dirt. Also an entire face full of dirt, not to mention his formerly-white shirtfront. He pushed himself up, hands briefly sinking further into the muck, and spat.
"Don't fucking-"
He spat again, sucked in a breath, and tried again, volume increasing.
"I WILL FUCKING POUR FIRE ANTS ON ALL OF YOU, DON'T FUCKING TEST ME."
There. Good. That showed he meant business. There was a sick knot in his stomach and his chest, but he could yell.
Andy sat up on his knees, breathing hard. "Fuck y'all," he said. "Get your shit together." Funny words coming from him.
Axel had pulled back a bit, and there was no knife in sight. Good. That was good. Abel was- bad shit had gone down, okay, and he didn't need to hear Axel's name too the next morning in any context. Not for something stupid like this.
He ran his hands through his hair. He was muddy as shit now, not like it was going to make that much of a difference.
"...The hell's his problem now?" Brady was on the ground, all fetal positioned up just like Andy would have expected. Dumbass. If he'd ever been in a fight in his life, Andy would have paid to see how that went down. "Is he crying?"
Andy came up with a mouthful of dirt. Also an entire face full of dirt, not to mention his formerly-white shirtfront. He pushed himself up, hands briefly sinking further into the muck, and spat.
"Don't fucking-"
He spat again, sucked in a breath, and tried again, volume increasing.
"I WILL FUCKING POUR FIRE ANTS ON ALL OF YOU, DON'T FUCKING TEST ME."
There. Good. That showed he meant business. There was a sick knot in his stomach and his chest, but he could yell.
Andy sat up on his knees, breathing hard. "Fuck y'all," he said. "Get your shit together." Funny words coming from him.
Axel had pulled back a bit, and there was no knife in sight. Good. That was good. Abel was- bad shit had gone down, okay, and he didn't need to hear Axel's name too the next morning in any context. Not for something stupid like this.
He ran his hands through his hair. He was muddy as shit now, not like it was going to make that much of a difference.
"...The hell's his problem now?" Brady was on the ground, all fetal positioned up just like Andy would have expected. Dumbass. If he'd ever been in a fight in his life, Andy would have paid to see how that went down. "Is he crying?"
"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."
Goddammit, this wasn't funny anymore. Like, Lucas impotently falling to the ground with a lil' pissbaby whine? Like he hadn't been totally asking for a shove? Hilarious. Morgan running up and full-on kicking the dude in the ribs when he was down? Jesus, Abe had winced with pretty much his whole fukken body. The channel had switched from "baby fights" to "a grown man beating the shit out of a baby", which was like, domestic abuse, which was coincidentally also not funny.
Looked like Axel and Andy felt the same way, and though it was probably a sign of the end times or some shit that the three of them were unanimous on something, Abe was glad; 'cause if Axel had gotten a rageboner and gotten on the Lucas beating train he woulda been a real bitch to stop.
Abe stood up, heroically giving Morgan a real concerned look. "Yeah, seriously dude, there aren't any doctors around, y'know? Breaking his ribs or whatever would be pretty shitty." There, he'd done his part. He didn't wanna see Lucas get like, actually fucked up, but he didn't care enough to like, physically stop that from happening if that was what it came down to.
Andy was next to him, all covered in mud, which was an image Abe would've pettily savored if it had been like, any other circumstance. He followed his gaze to Lucas, who looked like something was bothering him more than the ass-kicking.
Abe shrugged. "I dunno, maybe he's got a condition or something-"
"She has a medical condition."
beryl limp on the ground beryl limp being held by jonah beryl limp on the ground with her throat open being held by nick can you spot the difference, haha, blink and you'll miss the light in her eyes, hahahaha, abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort
"Wait. What was that about the ants? Like, fuckin' literal ants? Please tell me you don't have ants?"
Looked like Axel and Andy felt the same way, and though it was probably a sign of the end times or some shit that the three of them were unanimous on something, Abe was glad; 'cause if Axel had gotten a rageboner and gotten on the Lucas beating train he woulda been a real bitch to stop.
Abe stood up, heroically giving Morgan a real concerned look. "Yeah, seriously dude, there aren't any doctors around, y'know? Breaking his ribs or whatever would be pretty shitty." There, he'd done his part. He didn't wanna see Lucas get like, actually fucked up, but he didn't care enough to like, physically stop that from happening if that was what it came down to.
Andy was next to him, all covered in mud, which was an image Abe would've pettily savored if it had been like, any other circumstance. He followed his gaze to Lucas, who looked like something was bothering him more than the ass-kicking.
Abe shrugged. "I dunno, maybe he's got a condition or something-"
"She has a medical condition."
beryl limp on the ground beryl limp being held by jonah beryl limp on the ground with her throat open being held by nick can you spot the difference, haha, blink and you'll miss the light in her eyes, hahahaha, abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort abort
"Wait. What was that about the ants? Like, fuckin' literal ants? Please tell me you don't have ants?"
All at once, there was so much yelling. Axel grabbed his arm, and Morgan almost turned and lashed out. His frustration had boiled over, and his own injured ribs screamed at him as his breathing intensified. Taking a second to look at the hand on his arm, Morgan realized himself and instantly reigned himself in a bit. Oh God, what had he done? Lucas was on the ground now, writing in pain and gasping for air. He had done that. The obnoxious little shit had been coming for him, and had Axel not intervened he'd have been the one on the ground, likely doing exactly what the pariah was at this very moment.
Fuck, this was all kinds of messed up.
Taking a step back, Morgan put his hands to his head as he allowed himself a primal scream mixed with rage and frustration. Andy bellowed something about Fire Ants, and Morgan didn't know what was going on. How had they gotten here? How was he standing over Lucas Brady having gifted him with a swift boot to the chest? What the hell had gotten into him?
Morgan was in turmoil for a moment, until Abe decided to open his mouth and add to the discussion.
Breaking his ribs or whatever would be pretty shitty.
Pretty shitty.
You don't say.
Just like that, the frustration and rage boiled over again, but this time it was aimed in a different direction. His voice was shrill and unsteady, but there was no mistake about it — he was yelling.
"Pretty shitty? Having someone kick you in the ribs is pretty fucking shitty? WELL NO SHIT, ABE. You know what else is pretty shitty? Getting your fucking face kicked in by Wyatt Carter! That's pretty fucking shitty too! Like, what the fuck are we doing here?"
Turning around, Morgan kicked the mud in front of him, only realizing far-too-late that he was kicking mud into Lucas Brady's face. Whoops. He turned away from the boy on the ground.
"I'm not going to sit around and be anybody else's fucking victim anymore! He came at me, so FUCK HIM! If he wants to be the same obnoxious asshole he always is, I won't sit around and let him bully me! Let him sit there and make fucking victim noises for all I care!"
Letting out another scream of frustration, he took a step towards Abe, no longer screaming but holding his hands up in the air as though asking what he was supposed to do.
"Man, you know what this place is making everyone in to. I woke up and got fucking assaulted by our class gorilla tandem. Broke my own ribs. You said it yourself that you saw someone else fucking die. Like, goodbye, rest in pieces, SHE GONE." Morgan's eyes were wild, his meltdown well in-progress. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he just screamed once more and stepped away from the group of them, giving the mud one more swift kick into the rice fields as his frustrated cry echoed through the paddies.
"FUCK!"
Fuck, this was all kinds of messed up.
Taking a step back, Morgan put his hands to his head as he allowed himself a primal scream mixed with rage and frustration. Andy bellowed something about Fire Ants, and Morgan didn't know what was going on. How had they gotten here? How was he standing over Lucas Brady having gifted him with a swift boot to the chest? What the hell had gotten into him?
Morgan was in turmoil for a moment, until Abe decided to open his mouth and add to the discussion.
Breaking his ribs or whatever would be pretty shitty.
Pretty shitty.
You don't say.
Just like that, the frustration and rage boiled over again, but this time it was aimed in a different direction. His voice was shrill and unsteady, but there was no mistake about it — he was yelling.
"Pretty shitty? Having someone kick you in the ribs is pretty fucking shitty? WELL NO SHIT, ABE. You know what else is pretty shitty? Getting your fucking face kicked in by Wyatt Carter! That's pretty fucking shitty too! Like, what the fuck are we doing here?"
Turning around, Morgan kicked the mud in front of him, only realizing far-too-late that he was kicking mud into Lucas Brady's face. Whoops. He turned away from the boy on the ground.
"I'm not going to sit around and be anybody else's fucking victim anymore! He came at me, so FUCK HIM! If he wants to be the same obnoxious asshole he always is, I won't sit around and let him bully me! Let him sit there and make fucking victim noises for all I care!"
Letting out another scream of frustration, he took a step towards Abe, no longer screaming but holding his hands up in the air as though asking what he was supposed to do.
"Man, you know what this place is making everyone in to. I woke up and got fucking assaulted by our class gorilla tandem. Broke my own ribs. You said it yourself that you saw someone else fucking die. Like, goodbye, rest in pieces, SHE GONE." Morgan's eyes were wild, his meltdown well in-progress. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he just screamed once more and stepped away from the group of them, giving the mud one more swift kick into the rice fields as his frustrated cry echoed through the paddies.
"FUCK!"
Why, why, why, Why WHY?!
Mud flung into his face, into his mouth which was still gasping for air, as he writhed in the dirt. He was too distracted by his asthma, by the spiralling pit of misery that was his mind, to even flinch beyond spitting it out as best he could. Finally, he managed to get his inhaler from his pocket to his mouth. The taste of medicine mixed with the earth, sending the implication that he belonged there, that that's where everyone saw him belonging, down his throat and into his chest.
He lay there on his side, panting as his lungs recovered, not moving his gaze towards the boys arguing amongst themselves or Morgan’s own tirade. No-one was accusing Morgan of being a whiny bastard, or posting shit about him on the internet.
‘Why did the universe always take such a huge fucking shit on him?’, he asked no-one for the millionth time, as he wallowed in the filth. What had he done, aside from one stupid post on a stupid website on one day, that no-one was willing to give him any sympathy over? What had he done to deserve being yanked away from his dream school and stuck in Survival of the Fittest, then wind up being made fun of some more when he tried to actually help people? What had he done to wind up lying there in the mud, covered in it completely, with a bruised body and not a shred of care about his asthma attack?
He rolled over to his side, facing away from the others. He got on to his hands and knees, prostrated and vulnerable before his classmates, and started to crawl away. His bag weighed down on his back; he could feel the urumi poking into him. He stopped to cough out a hunk of mud and saliva. He could feel the dirt caking his face.
“I…I…”
Snot and coughing were making it hard to speak. His eyes were still tearstained, hard as it was to see between the mud dirt. He rolled over again, falling clumsily on his ass but keeping upright. He glared his tearstained eyes at them all, backing them with that straining hate he'd shown before.
“I hate you all! I fucking hate you all so much!” he spat at them, finding the hate-filled strength to push himself off the ground, as he still screamed and coughed in a garbled noise that could only be born of such contempt. “I hate you fuckers so much, I never did anything to any of you! I hope you all fucking die!”
He hadn’t meant to say the last part, but he meant what he said. He meant it so damn much, he could finally admit to himself. And as he finally got his footing back, and clenched his fists and stopped crying, the red blood filling his face could be seen even through all the brown mud.
“I HOPE YOU FUCKING DIE!”
Mud flung into his face, into his mouth which was still gasping for air, as he writhed in the dirt. He was too distracted by his asthma, by the spiralling pit of misery that was his mind, to even flinch beyond spitting it out as best he could. Finally, he managed to get his inhaler from his pocket to his mouth. The taste of medicine mixed with the earth, sending the implication that he belonged there, that that's where everyone saw him belonging, down his throat and into his chest.
He lay there on his side, panting as his lungs recovered, not moving his gaze towards the boys arguing amongst themselves or Morgan’s own tirade. No-one was accusing Morgan of being a whiny bastard, or posting shit about him on the internet.
‘Why did the universe always take such a huge fucking shit on him?’, he asked no-one for the millionth time, as he wallowed in the filth. What had he done, aside from one stupid post on a stupid website on one day, that no-one was willing to give him any sympathy over? What had he done to deserve being yanked away from his dream school and stuck in Survival of the Fittest, then wind up being made fun of some more when he tried to actually help people? What had he done to wind up lying there in the mud, covered in it completely, with a bruised body and not a shred of care about his asthma attack?
He rolled over to his side, facing away from the others. He got on to his hands and knees, prostrated and vulnerable before his classmates, and started to crawl away. His bag weighed down on his back; he could feel the urumi poking into him. He stopped to cough out a hunk of mud and saliva. He could feel the dirt caking his face.
“I…I…”
Snot and coughing were making it hard to speak. His eyes were still tearstained, hard as it was to see between the mud dirt. He rolled over again, falling clumsily on his ass but keeping upright. He glared his tearstained eyes at them all, backing them with that straining hate he'd shown before.
“I hate you all! I fucking hate you all so much!” he spat at them, finding the hate-filled strength to push himself off the ground, as he still screamed and coughed in a garbled noise that could only be born of such contempt. “I hate you fuckers so much, I never did anything to any of you! I hope you all fucking die!”
He hadn’t meant to say the last part, but he meant what he said. He meant it so damn much, he could finally admit to himself. And as he finally got his footing back, and clenched his fists and stopped crying, the red blood filling his face could be seen even through all the brown mud.
“I HOPE YOU FUCKING DIE!”
And Andy sat there on his knees while everything went to hell around him even more. Untouched except for his own stupidity and the hurt on the inside.
His fists clenched tighter and tighter as first Morgan and then Brady went off, whining and screaming about how the world was so unfair to them.
"Shut the fuck up."
His voice came out gravelly, tight with anger. Still unsteady, he got to his feet again. "He didn't even make it to you, dumbass," he said to Morgan. "Maybe if you'd stop being a little bitch about everything, people would leave you alone, huh? You feel like a big man, running in to kick someone while they're down? Huh? Your candy ass didn't last two minutes in a real fight, and if you hadn't had me and Axel carrying you around, Lorenzo probably would have put a fucking axe in your head."
He didn't even deign to give Brady a real response, just a quick flip of the bird as he turned away. Instead he paused by Abe, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah. Literal ants," he said. Of course that was the most important thing to focus on.
They were all splattered with muck now to some degree, except for Abe. Andy gave Abe's shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then with a firm shove, sent him tumbling down into the mud.
"Fuck y'all," he said again. "I'm out of here."
He stomped back to his belongings and scooped up Minithulhu in one arm and his bag in the other, and strode into the wilderness without looking back.
((Andy Silverman continued in We Don't Need Another Song About California))
His fists clenched tighter and tighter as first Morgan and then Brady went off, whining and screaming about how the world was so unfair to them.
"Shut the fuck up."
His voice came out gravelly, tight with anger. Still unsteady, he got to his feet again. "He didn't even make it to you, dumbass," he said to Morgan. "Maybe if you'd stop being a little bitch about everything, people would leave you alone, huh? You feel like a big man, running in to kick someone while they're down? Huh? Your candy ass didn't last two minutes in a real fight, and if you hadn't had me and Axel carrying you around, Lorenzo probably would have put a fucking axe in your head."
He didn't even deign to give Brady a real response, just a quick flip of the bird as he turned away. Instead he paused by Abe, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah. Literal ants," he said. Of course that was the most important thing to focus on.
They were all splattered with muck now to some degree, except for Abe. Andy gave Abe's shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then with a firm shove, sent him tumbling down into the mud.
"Fuck y'all," he said again. "I'm out of here."
He stomped back to his belongings and scooped up Minithulhu in one arm and his bag in the other, and strode into the wilderness without looking back.
((Andy Silverman continued in We Don't Need Another Song About California))
"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."
So.
Andy was pissed, which yeah, made sense. Lucas was being a whiny pissbaby and Abe wasn't really going out of his way to make things any better (sorry Abe) and it was pretty amazing how quickly all the actually important shit had left Axel's mind but hey, people were like, dead? For real dead? Not breathing? Rotting? All that shit? And one of those people was Abel and Abel was a pretty cool dude and Andy hadn't gotten ten seconds to actually process that that didn't include Lucas doing his aforementioned whiny pissbaby schtick and that was a pretty reasonable thing to be pissed about, right?
Was. Was a pretty cool dude. Corpse now. Jesus.
Morgan was pissed, which, okay, maybe he was a little overboard, had kinda just maybe broke a dude's rib because he was whining too loud but Axel could definitely empathize. He'd already gotten his ass kicked once and Fuckboy Esquire was really out here trying it again and he just wasn't fucking having it which again like, fair. Maybe coulda used a thank you. Like Axel did stop him from actually doing any damage but whatever. Whatever, y'know? Whatever.
Lucas was
Y'know? Axel was tired.
Everyone was exploding except Abe because Abe had never cared about anything which felt kinda less reasonable now that there were real actual dead corpses involve and he had seen someone die and Axel was just, fucking, here? He was here? Standing here doing nothing while everyone else threw things and yelled and felt their fucking feelings and he wanted sink his fists into something over and over until it stopped and he was the calm one, somehow, because he hadn't done that, because he stared into the middle distance and begged mentally for everyone to fucking stop before he did something they'd all regret.
Would Andy kill him if that stupid shitty knife of his wound up in Lucas's chest? Serious question.
No, fuck, no it wasn't.
Christ.
Okay.
Andy was— Andy was going. Going, going, gone. Abe was in the mud, Lucas was screaming, Morgan was screaming, Axel was vibrating, screaming energy in his limbs, Axel was going to rip something apart, Axel wasn't allowed. No time. If he lost Andy he'd never see him again. That was more important. That had to be more important. There had to be something more important than himself and his stupid instincts and the heartbeat pulse pounding on his skull or else he'd never come back.
So he turned and walked. Robot steps. He grabbed Abe by the shoulder and pulled him back up, his voice sounded hollow.
"C'mon." Andy would probably be pissed but whatever.
He kept walking. Robot steps. Tick tock timebomb in his chest.
That was a problem for future Axel.
This Axel kept walking.
>> Axel Fontaine continued in We Don't Need Another Song About California
Andy was pissed, which yeah, made sense. Lucas was being a whiny pissbaby and Abe wasn't really going out of his way to make things any better (sorry Abe) and it was pretty amazing how quickly all the actually important shit had left Axel's mind but hey, people were like, dead? For real dead? Not breathing? Rotting? All that shit? And one of those people was Abel and Abel was a pretty cool dude and Andy hadn't gotten ten seconds to actually process that that didn't include Lucas doing his aforementioned whiny pissbaby schtick and that was a pretty reasonable thing to be pissed about, right?
Was. Was a pretty cool dude. Corpse now. Jesus.
Morgan was pissed, which, okay, maybe he was a little overboard, had kinda just maybe broke a dude's rib because he was whining too loud but Axel could definitely empathize. He'd already gotten his ass kicked once and Fuckboy Esquire was really out here trying it again and he just wasn't fucking having it which again like, fair. Maybe coulda used a thank you. Like Axel did stop him from actually doing any damage but whatever. Whatever, y'know? Whatever.
Lucas was
Y'know? Axel was tired.
Everyone was exploding except Abe because Abe had never cared about anything which felt kinda less reasonable now that there were real actual dead corpses involve and he had seen someone die and Axel was just, fucking, here? He was here? Standing here doing nothing while everyone else threw things and yelled and felt their fucking feelings and he wanted sink his fists into something over and over until it stopped and he was the calm one, somehow, because he hadn't done that, because he stared into the middle distance and begged mentally for everyone to fucking stop before he did something they'd all regret.
Would Andy kill him if that stupid shitty knife of his wound up in Lucas's chest? Serious question.
No, fuck, no it wasn't.
Christ.
Okay.
Andy was— Andy was going. Going, going, gone. Abe was in the mud, Lucas was screaming, Morgan was screaming, Axel was vibrating, screaming energy in his limbs, Axel was going to rip something apart, Axel wasn't allowed. No time. If he lost Andy he'd never see him again. That was more important. That had to be more important. There had to be something more important than himself and his stupid instincts and the heartbeat pulse pounding on his skull or else he'd never come back.
So he turned and walked. Robot steps. He grabbed Abe by the shoulder and pulled him back up, his voice sounded hollow.
"C'mon." Andy would probably be pissed but whatever.
He kept walking. Robot steps. Tick tock timebomb in his chest.
That was a problem for future Axel.
This Axel kept walking.
>> Axel Fontaine continued in We Don't Need Another Song About California
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Whoops, looks like Abe shoulda just kept his goddamn mouth shut. Not like he'd vocalized any new points to the intelligent discourse that the other dudes hadn't already contributed by, like, screaming or crying. What was his reward for trying to reinforce the apparently controversial point that viciously beating up a lame wimp 'cause he'd windmilled his arms at you was bad, instead of good?
Like, Abe wasn't exactly a shining paragon of morality, not that the others had to know that, haha, but where the hell did Morgan get off hollering at him like that, like 'Waaaaah, the mean ol' Cawtew bwos buwwied me, so I gotta take it out on someone mowe pathetic than I am, waaaaaaaah'.
Abe wasn't a stranger to pissing people off, he usually did it on purpose, but it was in, like, a funny way, getting slugged for being a b-move spamming coward in Smash. He tried not to be the sorta dude who did anything meaningful enough for anyone to get furious with him, and he'd pretty much succeeded at that up 'til the present.
This, this was fuckin' visceral fury, and Abe froze completely in the face of it.
Where the hell did Morgan get off, stomping and screaming towards him like he was gonna kick the shit outta Abe? Like he wasn't still clutching a gun in his grimy little hands? Like he knew Abe wasn't the sorta dude that had enough panicked malice bouncing around his brain to pull the trigger, or to vaguely threaten someone? 'Cause, like, that was pretty accurate! By the time that it even registered that he could be in danger, Morgan had already stopped! What was even the point of bartering for the gun if he woulda just stood there slack-jawed until he got socked in the nose like a lil' bitch, brought down to fuckin' Facebook Lucas's level?
None of that happened, and that was cool, but where the fuck did Morgan get off, reminding him about Beryl, the girl he'd almost thought was a corpse the first time he saw her, the girl he saw die twice, really, if you counted the death sentence and the execution as two separate events, the girl he almost just had a motherfucking 'Nam flashback over?
Abe, as a rule, didn't get angry. It just wasn't his hashtag brand. But maybe, just maybe, he clenched the grip of his gun just a bit too hard, just enough to hurt, leaving little imprints on his skin. Maybe when he stood silent and stone-faced as he took the brunt of Morgan's meltdown, he was gritting his teeth more than tenouttaten dentists would recommend.
Maybe when Morgan turned away and Lucas finally cried his way into a death threat, Abe wanted to scream an echo right back at the pitiful bastard. He didn't, because he was a cool cucumber who had his life and also his head together, haha.
At least Andy got all pissed at Morgan so he didn't have to, and Lucas was a walking self-own so he honestly didn't even deserve the attention. It was weirdly cathartic, really? Like, he obviously wasn't doing it for Abe's sake, but still. Felt nice enough that when the guy got suspiciously close and weirdly chummy; the Kill Bill sirens in Abe's head didn't start going off until he was already face down in the mud.
Maybe for some people that woulda been the last straw on the camel's back, but Abe couldn't even find it within himself to sputter in outrage. He just sighed, which was thankfully something you could do with your mouth closed, because, like, the ground was all gross and moist, and it's not like he had any fuckin' toothpaste to wash that taste outta his mouth.
He pushed himself up so he was kneeling, and just, stayed there. He obviously wasn't like, happy with anyone, but the lil' ember that had ignited in his stomach had already gone out. He was just tired now. He'd gotten like three hours of sleep, walked all night through the woods, in the dark, gotten himself all scratched up and assaulted by trees, and for what? His clothes that had already been starting to get kinda gross from the sweat were now just completely fucked, he'd met two whiny pissants, and he coulda just stayed in his nice cozy campsite without getting his head blown off after all, because of course they wouldn't make an entire third of the island the first danger zone, what the fuck had he been thinking? Oh, look what you made him do, Abe was having his own pity party now. Gross. Good thing no one was hearing it.
A hand gripped his shoulder. Abe almost swatted it away instinctively, thinking it was Andy coming back to shove him down, but then he looked up and saw Axel. Got helped up. Invited to follow him away from the shitshow.
The weird chunk of ice he called a heart got a bit warmer. Maybe his stupid journey had been worth it in the end.
Abe wiped his hands on his pants, but they were also all mucked up, so it didn't have as great an effect as he would've hoped. He took one last look at the dipshits he honestly hoped to never see again, now. "Have a nice life, fuckos."
((He didn't mean it. But hey, points for trying, right?))
Like, Abe wasn't exactly a shining paragon of morality, not that the others had to know that, haha, but where the hell did Morgan get off hollering at him like that, like 'Waaaaah, the mean ol' Cawtew bwos buwwied me, so I gotta take it out on someone mowe pathetic than I am, waaaaaaaah'.
Abe wasn't a stranger to pissing people off, he usually did it on purpose, but it was in, like, a funny way, getting slugged for being a b-move spamming coward in Smash. He tried not to be the sorta dude who did anything meaningful enough for anyone to get furious with him, and he'd pretty much succeeded at that up 'til the present.
This, this was fuckin' visceral fury, and Abe froze completely in the face of it.
Where the hell did Morgan get off, stomping and screaming towards him like he was gonna kick the shit outta Abe? Like he wasn't still clutching a gun in his grimy little hands? Like he knew Abe wasn't the sorta dude that had enough panicked malice bouncing around his brain to pull the trigger, or to vaguely threaten someone? 'Cause, like, that was pretty accurate! By the time that it even registered that he could be in danger, Morgan had already stopped! What was even the point of bartering for the gun if he woulda just stood there slack-jawed until he got socked in the nose like a lil' bitch, brought down to fuckin' Facebook Lucas's level?
None of that happened, and that was cool, but where the fuck did Morgan get off, reminding him about Beryl, the girl he'd almost thought was a corpse the first time he saw her, the girl he saw die twice, really, if you counted the death sentence and the execution as two separate events, the girl he almost just had a motherfucking 'Nam flashback over?
Abe, as a rule, didn't get angry. It just wasn't his hashtag brand. But maybe, just maybe, he clenched the grip of his gun just a bit too hard, just enough to hurt, leaving little imprints on his skin. Maybe when he stood silent and stone-faced as he took the brunt of Morgan's meltdown, he was gritting his teeth more than tenouttaten dentists would recommend.
Maybe when Morgan turned away and Lucas finally cried his way into a death threat, Abe wanted to scream an echo right back at the pitiful bastard. He didn't, because he was a cool cucumber who had his life and also his head together, haha.
At least Andy got all pissed at Morgan so he didn't have to, and Lucas was a walking self-own so he honestly didn't even deserve the attention. It was weirdly cathartic, really? Like, he obviously wasn't doing it for Abe's sake, but still. Felt nice enough that when the guy got suspiciously close and weirdly chummy; the Kill Bill sirens in Abe's head didn't start going off until he was already face down in the mud.
Maybe for some people that woulda been the last straw on the camel's back, but Abe couldn't even find it within himself to sputter in outrage. He just sighed, which was thankfully something you could do with your mouth closed, because, like, the ground was all gross and moist, and it's not like he had any fuckin' toothpaste to wash that taste outta his mouth.
He pushed himself up so he was kneeling, and just, stayed there. He obviously wasn't like, happy with anyone, but the lil' ember that had ignited in his stomach had already gone out. He was just tired now. He'd gotten like three hours of sleep, walked all night through the woods, in the dark, gotten himself all scratched up and assaulted by trees, and for what? His clothes that had already been starting to get kinda gross from the sweat were now just completely fucked, he'd met two whiny pissants, and he coulda just stayed in his nice cozy campsite without getting his head blown off after all, because of course they wouldn't make an entire third of the island the first danger zone, what the fuck had he been thinking? Oh, look what you made him do, Abe was having his own pity party now. Gross. Good thing no one was hearing it.
A hand gripped his shoulder. Abe almost swatted it away instinctively, thinking it was Andy coming back to shove him down, but then he looked up and saw Axel. Got helped up. Invited to follow him away from the shitshow.
The weird chunk of ice he called a heart got a bit warmer. Maybe his stupid journey had been worth it in the end.
Abe wiped his hands on his pants, but they were also all mucked up, so it didn't have as great an effect as he would've hoped. He took one last look at the dipshits he honestly hoped to never see again, now. "Have a nice life, fuckos."
((He didn't mean it. But hey, points for trying, right?))