Oh now he showed back up.
Quinn had hoped to leave a little something for whoever came along next, but the potential for fun wasn't worth a gunfight. Too noisy, too risky. She refused to get herself killed because a meathead with more brains in his biceps than his skull managed to figure out how a trigger worked. No talent, no skill, no finesse, just dumb luck.
Whatever. She was over it anyway.
Quinn was already diving, rolling over the dying girl as gunfire split the air. The girl was already flat on her face, could be dead already. Perhaps a shield? No, too much effort to haul up the dead weight, and he could just shoot straight through anyway.
Still, she wasn't going to leave empty handed.
Hers, hers, hers.
Quinn snatched the dual blade out of unresisting fingers and bailed into the smoke, leaving just two words and a corpse in her wake.
"She begged."
((Quinn continued in Severed))
I'm only satisfied by the finer things in life like Rodarte and Margiela and making boys cry
open but ask for details in dm
It had taken so much energy…
Running away and then coming back, pointing the gun and pulling the trigger—being strong and being brave. And like, the real bravery, the bravery that happens only when you’re scared. He had ran away, sure, but he had also ran back—sorta like Ron Weasley. Ace hated Ron in the movies, crybaby cornball, ginger motherfucker—but like, being Ron wasn’t bad. Ron ended up with the girl in the end and with his brother-in-law/best friend being Wizard Jesus and helping save the world and stuff. Being Ron, like, it was a good deal, all things considered.
But this wasn’t a storybook or a fucking rap song and he wasn’t Ron Weasley or Big Boi and Meilin wasn’t Hermione and Ramsey wasn’t Andre and Quinn wasn’t a boogie man and he wasn’t a hero. He was Ace Ortega and he was experiencing day five of the seventh version of Survival of the Fittest. There was no storybook cinematography, shit didn’t make sense and it didn’t flow. It just happened. It just was.
He saw Quinn go away, but he didn’t know what she said. He couldn't've, the sound of his own gunfire masking the sound of all speech.
I missed.
I missed. I missed. I missed. I missed.
Mantra’s and repetition, they did him no good but old habits died hard.
Kinda like…
“Fuck! Fuck! No! No! No!”
He ran towards her and flipped her over—she was coated and wet with blood, her entire chest and legs covered in the sticky red substance. She was bleeding like a pig—she had been gutted like a fish almost. It was like someone poked a hole in a water balloon.
Meilin’s head in his lap, his gun on his side….
“I’m sorry Mei, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, he was ready to cry but instead he just felt hollow, “I did this, I’m sorry, fightin' and splittin' up, fuck, all that shit was my idea, it's always my idea, huh? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He needed to cry. He wanted to cry.
He didn’t.
“You were brave huh? You always were…I really loved that about you, ya know? You were a new girl in a new place…,” his ears were ringing, his eyes stung—and still no tears, “You’re a fuckin’ soldier Mei. You’re such a good girl…it ain’t fair Mei…you got given a bad hand Mei…me and this island…”
He whimpered and blinked.
“I shouldn’t have ran Mei, this shit is my fault, y’know? I had her, I coulda scared her off or blown her brains out, stopped her—before she got to you. I shoulda protected you. I did nothing but fail you and come up short out here…nothing…”
Still no tears.
“I really wanna cry right now Mei, I really need to cry right now Mei.”
He whimpered.
He prayed.
Still no tears.
“It ain’t fair. It really ain’t.”
He closed her eyes and kissed her forehead.
“I loved you Meilin, I really did…I thought I did. I tried too, I really did.”
And then he was silent and for a few moments, he sat in with her in his lap. He had cried so hard for Dante and Toby, so hard for Ramsey…
The silence felt worse than the tears.
Running away and then coming back, pointing the gun and pulling the trigger—being strong and being brave. And like, the real bravery, the bravery that happens only when you’re scared. He had ran away, sure, but he had also ran back—sorta like Ron Weasley. Ace hated Ron in the movies, crybaby cornball, ginger motherfucker—but like, being Ron wasn’t bad. Ron ended up with the girl in the end and with his brother-in-law/best friend being Wizard Jesus and helping save the world and stuff. Being Ron, like, it was a good deal, all things considered.
But this wasn’t a storybook or a fucking rap song and he wasn’t Ron Weasley or Big Boi and Meilin wasn’t Hermione and Ramsey wasn’t Andre and Quinn wasn’t a boogie man and he wasn’t a hero. He was Ace Ortega and he was experiencing day five of the seventh version of Survival of the Fittest. There was no storybook cinematography, shit didn’t make sense and it didn’t flow. It just happened. It just was.
He saw Quinn go away, but he didn’t know what she said. He couldn't've, the sound of his own gunfire masking the sound of all speech.
I missed.
I missed. I missed. I missed. I missed.
Mantra’s and repetition, they did him no good but old habits died hard.
Kinda like…
“Fuck! Fuck! No! No! No!”
He ran towards her and flipped her over—she was coated and wet with blood, her entire chest and legs covered in the sticky red substance. She was bleeding like a pig—she had been gutted like a fish almost. It was like someone poked a hole in a water balloon.
Meilin’s head in his lap, his gun on his side….
“I’m sorry Mei, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, he was ready to cry but instead he just felt hollow, “I did this, I’m sorry, fightin' and splittin' up, fuck, all that shit was my idea, it's always my idea, huh? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He needed to cry. He wanted to cry.
He didn’t.
“You were brave huh? You always were…I really loved that about you, ya know? You were a new girl in a new place…,” his ears were ringing, his eyes stung—and still no tears, “You’re a fuckin’ soldier Mei. You’re such a good girl…it ain’t fair Mei…you got given a bad hand Mei…me and this island…”
He whimpered and blinked.
“I shouldn’t have ran Mei, this shit is my fault, y’know? I had her, I coulda scared her off or blown her brains out, stopped her—before she got to you. I shoulda protected you. I did nothing but fail you and come up short out here…nothing…”
Still no tears.
“I really wanna cry right now Mei, I really need to cry right now Mei.”
He whimpered.
He prayed.
Still no tears.
“It ain’t fair. It really ain’t.”
He closed her eyes and kissed her forehead.
“I loved you Meilin, I really did…I thought I did. I tried too, I really did.”
“I’m sorry Mei.”“Dad? What do ya do when you can’t do nuthin’—and there’s nuthin’ you can do ‘bout it?”
“You do what you can Ace.”
“And what that mean?”
“Fuck if I know, life don’t come with an instruction manual."
And then he was silent and for a few moments, he sat in with her in his lap. He had cried so hard for Dante and Toby, so hard for Ramsey…
The silence felt worse than the tears.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
He had picked up the wrong girl.
((Angie is back but she never really left.))
It was a selfish thought but it was the only thing that Angie could think of as she hauled her ass back to the scene. The reversed pietà was just too much on the nose for Angie. A reminder she had failed, a reminder she had caused someone else's death. Her throat wasn't bruised, but it might have been with the pain that emanated from it.
As she stepped closer to the body, and Ace by default, Angie could see in details what happened. The smoke was dissipating, slowly heading to the heavens above. Even if it had disappeared, it was still here. Meilin's body was still on this earth. It had hardened like a crystal in Ace's arms.
He was hugging, tugging the body of the girl. Angie had never noticed how small and weak Meilin looked. Even if it was an undeniably tragic scene, Angie's heartstring weren't pulled. They were numb. She hated to admit it, but she was used to it.
Used to the suffering that was brought upon them.
Meilin wasn't the first or the second one and she wouldn't be the last. Angie didn't say anything. She only bent down, wrapped her arms around Ace. They weren't crying. There wasn't any tears left within them, she assumed. It was normal, but it shoudn't be.
It wasn't right.
((Angie is back but she never really left.))
It was a selfish thought but it was the only thing that Angie could think of as she hauled her ass back to the scene. The reversed pietà was just too much on the nose for Angie. A reminder she had failed, a reminder she had caused someone else's death. Her throat wasn't bruised, but it might have been with the pain that emanated from it.
As she stepped closer to the body, and Ace by default, Angie could see in details what happened. The smoke was dissipating, slowly heading to the heavens above. Even if it had disappeared, it was still here. Meilin's body was still on this earth. It had hardened like a crystal in Ace's arms.
He was hugging, tugging the body of the girl. Angie had never noticed how small and weak Meilin looked. Even if it was an undeniably tragic scene, Angie's heartstring weren't pulled. They were numb. She hated to admit it, but she was used to it.
Used to the suffering that was brought upon them.
Meilin wasn't the first or the second one and she wouldn't be the last. Angie didn't say anything. She only bent down, wrapped her arms around Ace. They weren't crying. There wasn't any tears left within them, she assumed. It was normal, but it shoudn't be.
It wasn't right.
It wasn’t the life that they chose…
But it was the life that they were living.
For a few seconds he stood in silence and marinated in the moment. Him holding Meilin (still leaking her Meilin-ness) and Angie holding him. Just for a few moments though. The humanity was too much and intimacy too strong and although he and Angie were now bonded in blood and bone and grief—he couldn’t afford to bare much more of his soul. He had shown too much of it the last few days, what was left was for him to keep.
He shrugged Angie off and took a deep breath. He picked up his gun (Angie's gun) and walked towards his bag, he placed it in there with the ammo and slung it over his shoulder. He walked back to Meilin and Angie and knelt beside the corpse of his first love--he tried to pick her up like she was a baby. She was dead weight, but it wasn't hard--the NFL Combine required you to be able to bench 225lbs. Meilin, 'specially missing a few gallons, wasn't near that. He felt stupid. What good did him being strong do him? What good did it do her?
“I gotta do right by her…”
He didn’t say ‘For once’ but he thought it. Loud and clear.
“I’m sorry Ange, I’m sorry Rams,” he said with an unease, “I hope y’all understand.”
As he lifted Meilin up, his brown cargos and white cotton tank covered in muck and blood, he allowed himself to embrace the absurdity of the current situation. Ramsey had been buried by Angie, unburied by Ace, buried by Ace and then reburied by Ace—all for the effort of his corpse not being desecrated by animals (student or otherwise). Was that not disrespectful? Like, on it’s own? What use were these rituals that he engaged in and why did he still give them power? Out here? Right now?
The irony of the situation was that they hadn’t gone far from where they had declared their war--where they had mourned their brother and their friend and also, yes, where both Ramsey and Mei had been killed. He had mixed emotions there. As he walked he thought about that and also how Meilin was so small and so frail and yet so brave. Braver than him. More forgiving than him. More loyal than him. Better than him. He wasn't worthy of her attention, let alone her sacrifice.
I'm so stupid Mei, filling your head with that bullshit--rah, rah, rah, let's fight! Real murder shit! Who was I kidding? Myself? You?
You believed in me though, huh? Even when I didn't deserve it, even when I came up short as a boyfriend or a person--you believed in me. You had faith in me. You loved me.
And all I did was fail you and disrespect you and...
Let you down.
Let you die.
You were really stupid Mei. I don't mean any disrespect, I'm stupid too...and I'm your boyfriend, like, I gotta be honest with you. I can't help but be honest with you. Even when the honesty hurts. I dunno if that the right thing to do out here, but that's my way, I gotta say what's on my heart.
You were really beautiful, really brave and kind and loyal and compassionate and creative and you made my heart flutter and my palms sweat and like, you were pure and good and sweet and so, so, so, so stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Fuck Mei! You shoulda known better! You deserved better!
Believing in someone like me prolly the dumbest thing anyone can do.
He placed her down gently next to the structure of branches that they had covered Ramsey with. He placed his bag next to her.
And he began working, for what seemed like the hundredth time, moving those branches and uncovering the pale and nearly day old corpse of his old best friend. Then he placed his first girlfriend next to him, side by side, resting in what at least resembled peace.
But both resembling anything but peaceful—one strangled by his own sister after being poisoned, the other stabbed in the gut with her organs turned to mince-meat most likely.
Doors to his youth, closed.
His lips were cracked and splintered and crusted shut, his eyes stung, but they did not leak and his tongue felt like cement in his mouth making it tough to swallow. He was covered in sweat and old rain and dirt and so much so much blood. Meilin’s blood.
He began the effort of rebuilding the structure, the tomb to his teenage days, with a resigned reticence and a dutiful grief.
But it was the life that they were living.
For a few seconds he stood in silence and marinated in the moment. Him holding Meilin (still leaking her Meilin-ness) and Angie holding him. Just for a few moments though. The humanity was too much and intimacy too strong and although he and Angie were now bonded in blood and bone and grief—he couldn’t afford to bare much more of his soul. He had shown too much of it the last few days, what was left was for him to keep.
He shrugged Angie off and took a deep breath. He picked up his gun (Angie's gun) and walked towards his bag, he placed it in there with the ammo and slung it over his shoulder. He walked back to Meilin and Angie and knelt beside the corpse of his first love--he tried to pick her up like she was a baby. She was dead weight, but it wasn't hard--the NFL Combine required you to be able to bench 225lbs. Meilin, 'specially missing a few gallons, wasn't near that. He felt stupid. What good did him being strong do him? What good did it do her?
“I gotta do right by her…”
He didn’t say ‘For once’ but he thought it. Loud and clear.
“I’m sorry Ange, I’m sorry Rams,” he said with an unease, “I hope y’all understand.”
As he lifted Meilin up, his brown cargos and white cotton tank covered in muck and blood, he allowed himself to embrace the absurdity of the current situation. Ramsey had been buried by Angie, unburied by Ace, buried by Ace and then reburied by Ace—all for the effort of his corpse not being desecrated by animals (student or otherwise). Was that not disrespectful? Like, on it’s own? What use were these rituals that he engaged in and why did he still give them power? Out here? Right now?
The irony of the situation was that they hadn’t gone far from where they had declared their war--where they had mourned their brother and their friend and also, yes, where both Ramsey and Mei had been killed. He had mixed emotions there. As he walked he thought about that and also how Meilin was so small and so frail and yet so brave. Braver than him. More forgiving than him. More loyal than him. Better than him. He wasn't worthy of her attention, let alone her sacrifice.
I'm so stupid Mei, filling your head with that bullshit--rah, rah, rah, let's fight! Real murder shit! Who was I kidding? Myself? You?
You believed in me though, huh? Even when I didn't deserve it, even when I came up short as a boyfriend or a person--you believed in me. You had faith in me. You loved me.
And all I did was fail you and disrespect you and...
Let you down.
Let you die.
You were really stupid Mei. I don't mean any disrespect, I'm stupid too...and I'm your boyfriend, like, I gotta be honest with you. I can't help but be honest with you. Even when the honesty hurts. I dunno if that the right thing to do out here, but that's my way, I gotta say what's on my heart.
You were really beautiful, really brave and kind and loyal and compassionate and creative and you made my heart flutter and my palms sweat and like, you were pure and good and sweet and so, so, so, so stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Fuck Mei! You shoulda known better! You deserved better!
Believing in someone like me prolly the dumbest thing anyone can do.
He placed her down gently next to the structure of branches that they had covered Ramsey with. He placed his bag next to her.
And he began working, for what seemed like the hundredth time, moving those branches and uncovering the pale and nearly day old corpse of his old best friend. Then he placed his first girlfriend next to him, side by side, resting in what at least resembled peace.
But both resembling anything but peaceful—one strangled by his own sister after being poisoned, the other stabbed in the gut with her organs turned to mince-meat most likely.
Doors to his youth, closed.
His lips were cracked and splintered and crusted shut, his eyes stung, but they did not leak and his tongue felt like cement in his mouth making it tough to swallow. He was covered in sweat and old rain and dirt and so much so much blood. Meilin’s blood.
He began the effort of rebuilding the structure, the tomb to his teenage days, with a resigned reticence and a dutiful grief.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
One time when she was around like seven, she threw a rock and it struck a bird in the chest. She assumed it died immediately, but she was seven and stupid so she wasn't the best at understanding the difference between death and passed out. Anyways, in her mind, it was dead and that was the only thing that mattered.
Angie, knowing she would be punished for killing a bird and especially smeared blood on Dad's car, hastily buried the tiny critter. Even with her child's hands, the bird was so tiny within her grasp.
Oddly enough, that's what she thought about when she helped Ace take care of Meilin's body. Meilin was a tiny bird that was splattered against the ground, she felt so tiny. It was strange, almost comforting. A tiny girl gutted like a fish - or like a pig, Angie didn't know the difference - that was gone too soon.
Angie couldn't bring herself to cry over Meilin. She didn't really know her or really cared about her, but Angie played her part, quietly muttering blessings and prayers to her body. If there was an afterlife, perhaps Meilin would be there. Angie didn't want to go there with her classmates commented on her behaviour. It was selfish, but Angie was a selfish person so it didn't surprise anyone that she had managed to twist the situation about her.
Or rather, if they could see her inner dialogue, they would think 'oh, that's 101 psychopathy right there" but nobody on the island was capable of such feat, so Angie was safe behind her thoughts. Only her actions could be judged, dissected, turned into something else. She was good at that, but she was better at acting.
"Ace," she scratched her neck. Her voice motherly, soft. She knew best than to stay here. "We need to leave. It's not safe, Quinn might just, uh, yeah."
Angie, knowing she would be punished for killing a bird and especially smeared blood on Dad's car, hastily buried the tiny critter. Even with her child's hands, the bird was so tiny within her grasp.
Oddly enough, that's what she thought about when she helped Ace take care of Meilin's body. Meilin was a tiny bird that was splattered against the ground, she felt so tiny. It was strange, almost comforting. A tiny girl gutted like a fish - or like a pig, Angie didn't know the difference - that was gone too soon.
Angie couldn't bring herself to cry over Meilin. She didn't really know her or really cared about her, but Angie played her part, quietly muttering blessings and prayers to her body. If there was an afterlife, perhaps Meilin would be there. Angie didn't want to go there with her classmates commented on her behaviour. It was selfish, but Angie was a selfish person so it didn't surprise anyone that she had managed to twist the situation about her.
Or rather, if they could see her inner dialogue, they would think 'oh, that's 101 psychopathy right there" but nobody on the island was capable of such feat, so Angie was safe behind her thoughts. Only her actions could be judged, dissected, turned into something else. She was good at that, but she was better at acting.
"Ace," she scratched her neck. Her voice motherly, soft. She knew best than to stay here. "We need to leave. It's not safe, Quinn might just, uh, yeah."
“Yeah.”
She was right, of course, she was.
It wasn’t safe here—but was it safe anywhere? Angie said they needed to go and he agreed, but he wanted to go alone. He felt like he needed to be alone. On the other hand, he didn't want to go. He wanted to stand vigil and mourn Meilin properly—but what good was that? What good had it done Rams? What good had it done Ange? What good had it done anyone?
He had to go and because he wanted to go alone was the exact reason he shouldn't. He wasn't ready, not yet. Everything was too raw, too fresh--she had just been there, she had just been talking to him, they had just kissed, they had just cried together and then she just died. It was too fucked up. He couldn't be alone, not now, especially not now.
But you gonna have to be eventually--then what?
He wiped his brow of sweat and muck, he stared down at his shirt and pants, still wet from blood and the mud and the five days. He was stained with Meilin. He felt sick to his stomach.
He walked towards where Meilin’s bag was, not far from where she had actually died and he took what remained of her supplies. He had been out of water, Mei still had one left. He would’ve felt bad for taking a sip of it in another situation—he felt thankful now. He gathered the stuff in his hands and took it to his bag, unzipped it, took out the gun, placed in the supplies.
He held the water bottle in his hand.
“I don’t really wanna stay here anyway.”
He took a sip…
One for me.
He leaned over the structure where Rams and Mei lied and poured a little bit of water, not a lot, he didn’t have much to spare.
And one for y’all.
He closed the cap and placed the bottle in his pack. He zipped it up and he held the BR-18 close.
What good had this gun done him? What good had it done Angie?
Well, that remained to be seen.
“Let’s bounce then.”
[Ace Beats & Angie Cortez Continued From: my own worst enemy, so fuck it, either way i can't lose ]
She was right, of course, she was.
It wasn’t safe here—but was it safe anywhere? Angie said they needed to go and he agreed, but he wanted to go alone. He felt like he needed to be alone. On the other hand, he didn't want to go. He wanted to stand vigil and mourn Meilin properly—but what good was that? What good had it done Rams? What good had it done Ange? What good had it done anyone?
He had to go and because he wanted to go alone was the exact reason he shouldn't. He wasn't ready, not yet. Everything was too raw, too fresh--she had just been there, she had just been talking to him, they had just kissed, they had just cried together and then she just died. It was too fucked up. He couldn't be alone, not now, especially not now.
But you gonna have to be eventually--then what?
He wiped his brow of sweat and muck, he stared down at his shirt and pants, still wet from blood and the mud and the five days. He was stained with Meilin. He felt sick to his stomach.
He walked towards where Meilin’s bag was, not far from where she had actually died and he took what remained of her supplies. He had been out of water, Mei still had one left. He would’ve felt bad for taking a sip of it in another situation—he felt thankful now. He gathered the stuff in his hands and took it to his bag, unzipped it, took out the gun, placed in the supplies.
He held the water bottle in his hand.
“I don’t really wanna stay here anyway.”
He took a sip…
One for me.
He leaned over the structure where Rams and Mei lied and poured a little bit of water, not a lot, he didn’t have much to spare.
And one for y’all.
He closed the cap and placed the bottle in his pack. He zipped it up and he held the BR-18 close.
What good had this gun done him? What good had it done Angie?
Well, that remained to be seen.
“Let’s bounce then.”
[Ace Beats & Angie Cortez Continued From: my own worst enemy, so fuck it, either way i can't lose ]
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'