In my state, I’m having a hard time listening to you, nevermind Mr. Danya.
Listening to Lucas go on, Ty began to feel queasy again. The indignant tone in his voice caused Ty to tense up, nearly tearing his wounded arm away so that he could return it to the side of Lucas’ head. It was almost as if he was implying that Ty had somehow been responsible for those six deaths. For Katie.
All things considered, he was probably right. For once, Ty managed to restrain himself. When Lucas was done going down the list of mortal sins, Princess offered a bottle of water. Half-full. Probably among the last she had. He grabbed the bottle with his free hand, taking a small sip and immediately handing it back.
“Thanks.”
A dull pain rose in his chest as the water coursed down his throat, and Ty winced. He needed that more than he’d realized. Some strength returned to him, and he sat up straight against the wall of the temple. For a moment, his eyes cast over the third person watching this whole interaction. Furby girl. He didn’t know what her role in all of this was, what stake she had in interrogating him. From the way she was looking at him, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he found out.
His jade eyes returned to Lucas. The words he spoke a as much an affirmation of what he’d heard, as they were of his current state.
“I’m aware. I listened to the announcements.”
Looking to his forearm, he noticed the overabundance of steri-strips. A little bit overboard, but he supposed he wasn’t going to complain. At this point some gauze and a bit of tape would probably be all he needed. Now that the rain had let up, it might actually get a chance to dry properly.
So he wouldn’t die of infection, at least. That still left a number of other possibilities. They were seeming less and less appealing by the hour.
Ty’s words on Julien were venom.
“Julien killed too. Ashley, or Ashlynn? Whatever. He was always an asshole. He can rot for all I care.”
Gently, he put his hand over Lucas’. To drive the point home, and to get him to leave his arm alone. His voice wavered slightly.
“Katie, though - Katie was my friend. Saffron was a sweet person. They didn’t deserve that.”
He slowly pulled his hand away, clutching it in the other. The taste of blood hung around for a long time. Stuck around in the sinuses, he figured. The lingering evidence of what the two of them had done to their friends.
If there was a hell, he’d have words for her when they found each other there.
“I guess that makes us even.”
That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Getting even.
Something awoke in the back of Ty’s mind. There was more to this than they were letting on. Than Lucas was letting on. There was no shortage of killers on the island, and of the six people Erika had killed, he couldn’t draw any easy connections between them and this trio.
It was personal, but not because of what he’d just mentioned. There was something else. There had to be.
Like flipping a switch, his demeanour changed. There was a thread to pull, once again. That old familiar feeling, of trying to figure out where the lies ended and the truth began. Never failed to be a little bit exciting. Maybe he lived for unanswered questions. That made the prospect of dying somehow enticing and frustrating at the same time.
Ty seemed less and less hollowed out as he worked through what he was seeing, out loud.
“I’m confused. There are a few people you could’ve chosen to hunt down, and you picked her. You’ve got no guns far as I can tell, and you’re choosing to go after someone who’s definitely got them and definitely knows how to use ‘em. It’d be smarter to play defense, hide and let the killers take out one another. You know they will.”
He smiled, well aware of the crowbar within arm’s reach of his new friend. Well aware he was in no position to start trouble. Yet he saw an opening, a vulnerability in someone more than willing to lay the crimes of the person he loved at his feet. If it hurt, he deserved it. If it didn’t, at least Ty would know where this was all coming from.
“...unless you’re not trying to survive. What’d she do to you specifically, Diaz? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, this looks like one hell of a death wish.”
Depending on what Lucas told him, Ty thought, it might not have to be.
Manifest Content
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Good," Lucas said, "I'm glad you've been keeping track of what she's been up to."
He was almost done with the packing. Lucas fished out some gauze and some tape and started to press the gauze down on top of the steri strips. What this would end up doing, he didn't know, but it would probably keep some of the worse germs out of the wound and give him some extra packing to work with anyway. The tape went on top of the gauze, sealing everything down for hopefully as long as it took for Tyrell to die some other horrible way. Tyrell pulled away and Lucas backed off. That was basically all he could do. He was surprised he could even do that much, if he was honest.
As payment, Tyrell decided to fling shit in Lucas' eyes.
"The first one," he said, "that she killed. Desiree.
"I... in my initial group, she was the only person who was kind to me. At all. I was treated as a nuisance because, admittedly, I was. I was stuck in a depressed fugue state, and I honestly probably should have killed myself. I almost did. I almost jumped off the waterfall. And I was just waiting around for the last of my antidepressants to wear off when we first... connected. And for a little while, I thought I had a reason to live a little longer. To get to know this person. To protect this person.
"And Erika shot her, without even showing her face, like a coward. Desiree was taken from this world by someone who—"
Lucas waved his hand in front of his face, cutting himself off before he got too emotional.
"The point is, I want revenge. Because Desiree deserved to die a more peaceful death, and because Erika just keeps killing, and she's killing the exact same way. She's not strong. She's not a hero. She's a coward. I can't let someone who's killing for the sake of it kill her. She's mine."
He smiled.
"And maybe it is a little bit of a death wish. But I guess neither of us are strangers to those."
He was almost done with the packing. Lucas fished out some gauze and some tape and started to press the gauze down on top of the steri strips. What this would end up doing, he didn't know, but it would probably keep some of the worse germs out of the wound and give him some extra packing to work with anyway. The tape went on top of the gauze, sealing everything down for hopefully as long as it took for Tyrell to die some other horrible way. Tyrell pulled away and Lucas backed off. That was basically all he could do. He was surprised he could even do that much, if he was honest.
As payment, Tyrell decided to fling shit in Lucas' eyes.
"The first one," he said, "that she killed. Desiree.
"I... in my initial group, she was the only person who was kind to me. At all. I was treated as a nuisance because, admittedly, I was. I was stuck in a depressed fugue state, and I honestly probably should have killed myself. I almost did. I almost jumped off the waterfall. And I was just waiting around for the last of my antidepressants to wear off when we first... connected. And for a little while, I thought I had a reason to live a little longer. To get to know this person. To protect this person.
"And Erika shot her, without even showing her face, like a coward. Desiree was taken from this world by someone who—"
Lucas waved his hand in front of his face, cutting himself off before he got too emotional.
"The point is, I want revenge. Because Desiree deserved to die a more peaceful death, and because Erika just keeps killing, and she's killing the exact same way. She's not strong. She's not a hero. She's a coward. I can't let someone who's killing for the sake of it kill her. She's mine."
He smiled.
"And maybe it is a little bit of a death wish. But I guess neither of us are strangers to those."
Julien killing was an irrelevant rebuttal. He was an asshole of some description inherently, that much at least was true. Princess had thus anticipated even less from him- exceeding expectations seemed like a decent voucher when all illusions of human dignity were long since evaporated to puddle brine.
Their creed was laid out. Apparently, that was their creed. Defensible, at least. Hell of a lot better than whatever it was Princess had woven out of the hot air seeping out of her own crack. She chewed on it for a moment, watching a good portion of her precious- if so far thoroughly worthless- supplies vanish onto the flesh of their latest 'peer that kills people but somehow is not the one we in particular need to kill', or however it was possible to more elegantly sum up the net worth of Tyrell's existence. She came up with something, besides more morbid presumptions of how little time Lucas had left on this world, measured out in spoonfuls of her own thimble-size lifespan.
"She is a coward. Not sure where we draw the line there."
At least Princess had given up on the whole asinine rhetorical question asking thing she liked to do. If only Violet were alive to appreciate the change, no? Some things happened simply too late to matter, inclusive of the bulk of Princess' brain cell activity.
"If we had anything with range we'd be killing them from a distance, wouldn't we? No confrontation, ideally... There's a poison in my bag that I vaguely fantasize about Quinn drinking. I wouldn't even have to watch her choke on her own spit."
Princess was starting to like her spineless monotone, or at least to appreciate it from a distance. It had at least some character, in its utter absence of such. She tossed her water bottle carelessly, uselessly filled as it was with what was left of her vitality. It kissed dirt.
"Being a one-time killer reads fine to me. Purpose, justice and all that. Like Marco put it, killing those who need to die. But it still reads awfully... messy to me. Unconscionable in how dirty it is, in a way." She being the supreme genteel who, of course and stereotypically, loathed the grime.
"What is it like, Tyrell? Having blood on your hands? There's a before, but what about the after?"
Their creed was laid out. Apparently, that was their creed. Defensible, at least. Hell of a lot better than whatever it was Princess had woven out of the hot air seeping out of her own crack. She chewed on it for a moment, watching a good portion of her precious- if so far thoroughly worthless- supplies vanish onto the flesh of their latest 'peer that kills people but somehow is not the one we in particular need to kill', or however it was possible to more elegantly sum up the net worth of Tyrell's existence. She came up with something, besides more morbid presumptions of how little time Lucas had left on this world, measured out in spoonfuls of her own thimble-size lifespan.
"She is a coward. Not sure where we draw the line there."
At least Princess had given up on the whole asinine rhetorical question asking thing she liked to do. If only Violet were alive to appreciate the change, no? Some things happened simply too late to matter, inclusive of the bulk of Princess' brain cell activity.
"If we had anything with range we'd be killing them from a distance, wouldn't we? No confrontation, ideally... There's a poison in my bag that I vaguely fantasize about Quinn drinking. I wouldn't even have to watch her choke on her own spit."
Princess was starting to like her spineless monotone, or at least to appreciate it from a distance. It had at least some character, in its utter absence of such. She tossed her water bottle carelessly, uselessly filled as it was with what was left of her vitality. It kissed dirt.
"Being a one-time killer reads fine to me. Purpose, justice and all that. Like Marco put it, killing those who need to die. But it still reads awfully... messy to me. Unconscionable in how dirty it is, in a way." She being the supreme genteel who, of course and stereotypically, loathed the grime.
"What is it like, Tyrell? Having blood on your hands? There's a before, but what about the after?"
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
The uptempo leg shaking halted as Katelynne rose from the step, accidentally knocking her hand into her own supplies and making slightly more noise than anticipated. She brushed the hair straggling over her face back behind her ears, a futile effort against the mighty wind.
"...Sorry, I-... I need a minute," her words mumbled out, her head hung low.
And then she sulked away and disappeared through the temple door with arms crossed.
"...Sorry, I-... I need a minute," her words mumbled out, her head hung low.
And then she sulked away and disappeared through the temple door with arms crossed.
Action without intent. As Ty listened to Lucas’ explanation, he lost track of what it was he was trying to get out of pushing his buttons. A curious feeling of exhilaration at first. Something that felt strong enough he’d follow it just to see where it went, for him. Nowhere seemed to be the answer, as Ty felt the momentary rush subside. In its place, he found himself unable to help but sympathize as Lucas began detailing where this vendetta came from.
Maybe it wasn’t such a coincidence that it was here of all places, the Temple, that he was hearing this. Not so much a coincidence that it was Lucas in particular who had begun to tend to his injury, in spite of the fact that Ty absolutely did not deserve the help. They’d both looked to the same option to begin with. Lucas had the strength - perhaps the weakness - not to go through with it. Ty lacked whatever it was he needed to try to kill himself again. They both sought solace in finding someone else to live for.
They both lost that heading somewhere along the line, too. As Ty looked to Lucas’ eyes, he couldn’t help but see himself. No, not even. Someone better. Someone who at least knew what was left to him. Where he ought to be going. All Ty knew how to do was pursue some vacuous intent, some fleeting reminder of the tiny victories he scored to make himself feel like he really existed.
“No, I guess not.” He muttered to Lucas, the fire in his chest suddenly quelled.
Princess spoke next. Musing on how they might kill Quinn. Calling Erika a coward. Much as he’d thought so himself, he still found it difficult to stomach. It was a dismissive thing to say. If there was anything these people shouldn’t do, it was to minimize the threat they faced. Ty knew little of Quinn, but several of her announced kills had been at close quarters. Poisoning someone like that was a fantasy. Concerned, or feigning concern, at how dirty it was.
These people were a bit naive, and they would be murdered by those who weren’t. Ty wasn’t. Not anymore. Lucas wanted to know about the person he was hunting. Katelynne seemed to want nothing to do with any of this, retreating into the Temple. Ty knew what she’d find there, it was no reprieve.
There wasn’t anything he could do about that. He could at least answer the question. Maybe he’d have something more useful to tell them than whatever bullshit Marco had spun.
The wording tripped Ty up, interrupting his reply.
“Having blood on my - like literally or…?”
Maybe she meant it both ways. Regardless, Ty knew which was worth answering. Once again, he attempted confidence. Once again, it slipped off. His reply came out muddled, caught between the present and the past.
“It is what it is. People die faster than you realize. There’s a line, and you know you have to cross it, and then - then you do. Then you cross it. You cross that line, and - I guess...”
His gaze drifted away from the two standing before him. Away from this place, beyond the trees. In a way he felt he could still see the Pier from this vantage point, sitting in the dirt against the ruined Temple. Ty tasted blood again, felt it warm against his skin. Heard the screaming, the scrambling and low gurgling sounds. Running away, knowing her friends were panicking, trying to find anything to stop the blood from rushing out of her neck.
Again he felt vindicated. Justified, somehow. Knowing, even though he didn’t really know, that he’d done what was necessary. That he’d saved himself, from someone who’d only moments earlier made it clear killing anyone wasn’t in the cards for her. For someone else, he’d keep saving himself. Damning himself. Tearing through those people in that house. Letting his finger linger on the trigger of that gun, and Felix dying for it. Yuko getting killed in the chaos of it all. Thinking about it brought him back there again, back to being a victim of circumstance. Back to victimizing people, and blaming the circumstances they were in.
All because he wanted to save the one person who he thought really loved him, and not thinking of why no one else really seemed to. Ty broke out of his stupor, his shaky reply breaking through tears he didn’t realize were there.
“I felt alive when they died. Like I’d won. It felt good, and that scared me. I didn’t want that. It took me a while to realize I was lying to myself. I wasn’t alive. Parts of me died with them, with what killing them led to. I killed the person I wanted to be. I wanna say that’s it, like I’m done with all that.”
Yet he did it. There was no pretending he was better than that. Not when one of the few things he thought he knew anymore was who had to die.
“Shit, look at me. I might not have a choice. There are people in this place, certain people, I know I can’t - I can’t let them leave. Can’t let them win. This has to be worth something. Even if it’s not very good. Lorenzo, Brady, Blaise, Claude. The announcements will add to that list, I’m sure. And that I’m even thinking it’d be okay to go down if I took them with me - it’s fucked up. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be, other than that. Other than someone with blood on his hands.”
Ty looked up at Diaz again. Whatever this confession was to him, Ty knew the guy still wanted his information. Help with the one thing he knew for sure he wanted.
For once, Ty sympathized.
“She’s not an evil person, Erika. Or, she wasn’t. She’s afraid of dying. Really afraid, even back home. It was debilitating, I spent a lot of time helping her through it. She had a few ways she'd cope. Weed was one, everyone knew that. The other one, not so much. She did shooting competitions back home. Didn’t talk about it much because it clashed with the folks she hung around. From what I saw, she’s good at it."
An uncomfortable pause followed, as he considered just what Lucas might've seen happen to Desiree. He pressed on.
"So if you guys go after her head on with what you've got now, and she’s got a gun - which she does - you’re fucked. This has to end for her, quickly, and she knows it. Otherwise...”
Ty made a spiraling motion with his finger, next to his temple. He found it difficult to look any of them in the eyes as he continued.
“If it’s me she sees first, well - she’ll at least hesitate. I'll stand between you. You do what you have to, then. All I'll ask in return is that none of you try and stop me if we run into any of the others. Lorenzo, and the rest.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a coincidence that it was here of all places, the Temple, that he was hearing this. Not so much a coincidence that it was Lucas in particular who had begun to tend to his injury, in spite of the fact that Ty absolutely did not deserve the help. They’d both looked to the same option to begin with. Lucas had the strength - perhaps the weakness - not to go through with it. Ty lacked whatever it was he needed to try to kill himself again. They both sought solace in finding someone else to live for.
They both lost that heading somewhere along the line, too. As Ty looked to Lucas’ eyes, he couldn’t help but see himself. No, not even. Someone better. Someone who at least knew what was left to him. Where he ought to be going. All Ty knew how to do was pursue some vacuous intent, some fleeting reminder of the tiny victories he scored to make himself feel like he really existed.
“No, I guess not.” He muttered to Lucas, the fire in his chest suddenly quelled.
Princess spoke next. Musing on how they might kill Quinn. Calling Erika a coward. Much as he’d thought so himself, he still found it difficult to stomach. It was a dismissive thing to say. If there was anything these people shouldn’t do, it was to minimize the threat they faced. Ty knew little of Quinn, but several of her announced kills had been at close quarters. Poisoning someone like that was a fantasy. Concerned, or feigning concern, at how dirty it was.
These people were a bit naive, and they would be murdered by those who weren’t. Ty wasn’t. Not anymore. Lucas wanted to know about the person he was hunting. Katelynne seemed to want nothing to do with any of this, retreating into the Temple. Ty knew what she’d find there, it was no reprieve.
There wasn’t anything he could do about that. He could at least answer the question. Maybe he’d have something more useful to tell them than whatever bullshit Marco had spun.
The wording tripped Ty up, interrupting his reply.
“Having blood on my - like literally or…?”
Maybe she meant it both ways. Regardless, Ty knew which was worth answering. Once again, he attempted confidence. Once again, it slipped off. His reply came out muddled, caught between the present and the past.
“It is what it is. People die faster than you realize. There’s a line, and you know you have to cross it, and then - then you do. Then you cross it. You cross that line, and - I guess...”
His gaze drifted away from the two standing before him. Away from this place, beyond the trees. In a way he felt he could still see the Pier from this vantage point, sitting in the dirt against the ruined Temple. Ty tasted blood again, felt it warm against his skin. Heard the screaming, the scrambling and low gurgling sounds. Running away, knowing her friends were panicking, trying to find anything to stop the blood from rushing out of her neck.
Again he felt vindicated. Justified, somehow. Knowing, even though he didn’t really know, that he’d done what was necessary. That he’d saved himself, from someone who’d only moments earlier made it clear killing anyone wasn’t in the cards for her. For someone else, he’d keep saving himself. Damning himself. Tearing through those people in that house. Letting his finger linger on the trigger of that gun, and Felix dying for it. Yuko getting killed in the chaos of it all. Thinking about it brought him back there again, back to being a victim of circumstance. Back to victimizing people, and blaming the circumstances they were in.
All because he wanted to save the one person who he thought really loved him, and not thinking of why no one else really seemed to. Ty broke out of his stupor, his shaky reply breaking through tears he didn’t realize were there.
“I felt alive when they died. Like I’d won. It felt good, and that scared me. I didn’t want that. It took me a while to realize I was lying to myself. I wasn’t alive. Parts of me died with them, with what killing them led to. I killed the person I wanted to be. I wanna say that’s it, like I’m done with all that.”
Yet he did it. There was no pretending he was better than that. Not when one of the few things he thought he knew anymore was who had to die.
“Shit, look at me. I might not have a choice. There are people in this place, certain people, I know I can’t - I can’t let them leave. Can’t let them win. This has to be worth something. Even if it’s not very good. Lorenzo, Brady, Blaise, Claude. The announcements will add to that list, I’m sure. And that I’m even thinking it’d be okay to go down if I took them with me - it’s fucked up. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be, other than that. Other than someone with blood on his hands.”
Ty looked up at Diaz again. Whatever this confession was to him, Ty knew the guy still wanted his information. Help with the one thing he knew for sure he wanted.
For once, Ty sympathized.
“She’s not an evil person, Erika. Or, she wasn’t. She’s afraid of dying. Really afraid, even back home. It was debilitating, I spent a lot of time helping her through it. She had a few ways she'd cope. Weed was one, everyone knew that. The other one, not so much. She did shooting competitions back home. Didn’t talk about it much because it clashed with the folks she hung around. From what I saw, she’s good at it."
An uncomfortable pause followed, as he considered just what Lucas might've seen happen to Desiree. He pressed on.
"So if you guys go after her head on with what you've got now, and she’s got a gun - which she does - you’re fucked. This has to end for her, quickly, and she knows it. Otherwise...”
Ty made a spiraling motion with his finger, next to his temple. He found it difficult to look any of them in the eyes as he continued.
“If it’s me she sees first, well - she’ll at least hesitate. I'll stand between you. You do what you have to, then. All I'll ask in return is that none of you try and stop me if we run into any of the others. Lorenzo, and the rest.”
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Deal."
The word came out of Lucas' mouth without much thinking on his part, but he stood by it. Lucas truly did not care about the other people that Ty wanted gone. From what he'd heard on the announcements, most of those people were dangerous or had the potential for it, and clearing them from the field had the potential to net them not only some good supplies, but, well, some clout. And they could use that clout to rob people and get even better supplies, for the sake of the vendetta. The machine would keep rolling, and rolling, and rolling, until it hit its final destination. Anyone who got in the way would get chewed up in its metal teeth, caught between gears and grating spindle wheels, and that was exactly how Lucas wanted it.
"I'm all for that, actually, you going after Lorenzo and Blaise and Claude and what'shisfuck,' Lucas said, "even if I don't really see anything they have in common."
He looked up and realized Katelynne had gone somewhere else. Fuck. If she had run, that'd be one less set of hands. One less level of complexity the Rube Goldberg Murder Machine could build to. Lucas looked downhill, trying to see if he could see her running away, and then inwards to the temple. There she was. Phew. Crisis averted.
"What do they have in common, anyway?" he asked idly as he looked into the temple.
The word came out of Lucas' mouth without much thinking on his part, but he stood by it. Lucas truly did not care about the other people that Ty wanted gone. From what he'd heard on the announcements, most of those people were dangerous or had the potential for it, and clearing them from the field had the potential to net them not only some good supplies, but, well, some clout. And they could use that clout to rob people and get even better supplies, for the sake of the vendetta. The machine would keep rolling, and rolling, and rolling, until it hit its final destination. Anyone who got in the way would get chewed up in its metal teeth, caught between gears and grating spindle wheels, and that was exactly how Lucas wanted it.
"I'm all for that, actually, you going after Lorenzo and Blaise and Claude and what'shisfuck,' Lucas said, "even if I don't really see anything they have in common."
He looked up and realized Katelynne had gone somewhere else. Fuck. If she had run, that'd be one less set of hands. One less level of complexity the Rube Goldberg Murder Machine could build to. Lucas looked downhill, trying to see if he could see her running away, and then inwards to the temple. There she was. Phew. Crisis averted.
"What do they have in common, anyway?" he asked idly as he looked into the temple.
"Who knows?" Close as they were her shallow voice drifted, easily floating on the wind like dandelion babies.
Tyrell had enumerated a truth Princess had feared, feared as a specter as much as it had become a bluntly delivered, blandly packaged reality casually tossed at her with nary a bit of eye contact. Tyrell had- rhetorically- asked her to look at him to prove a point, she hadn't bothered. He'd done what Marco hadn't bothered to do- speak ugly. High-flying, patently ridiculous rhetoric had put some kind of updraft in her metaphorical wings for all of the two seconds before she'd careened to earth. Tyrell had iterated what Princess had assumed was the actual truth. Complicated. Messy, bloody, without romance or flare or wit or much of any of the color that made life well worth living.
Pragmatism was gross. She'd march with that heavy cross wound around her back to her dying day, all else damned.
Still she was nodding. Her silent assent, voiceless in many senses of the word increasingly unfriendly to her deflated rags worth of an ego.
"Maybe like Tyrell said. Or, like." Fumbled the subject and predicate. Wonderful. "What I meant to say." She began to lurch, standing unsteadily with one foot failing to find a clear place ahead of the other. "They all have a Tyrell. Someone who would insist they're not evil. And, as far as we're concerned, that fact doesn't matter. That's what they all have in common."
She began for the temple door, a quick sidestep from her position. Took a second too long, the way she nearly stumbled on thin air and empty promise.
"All three of us have to consent... But I suppose you could leave the two of us behind. Might work out better that way."
She lurched past the ajar doors and into the darkness of the temple. The smell of death had been a constant companion, and it was closer now. Some unpleasant surprise lurked around some corner unseen, in the faded twilight of a dilapidated building interior.
"Kate?" Her concern was just a brief spark, easily squelched by suffocating apathy. She moved slow. Deliberate was the wrong word.
Tyrell had enumerated a truth Princess had feared, feared as a specter as much as it had become a bluntly delivered, blandly packaged reality casually tossed at her with nary a bit of eye contact. Tyrell had- rhetorically- asked her to look at him to prove a point, she hadn't bothered. He'd done what Marco hadn't bothered to do- speak ugly. High-flying, patently ridiculous rhetoric had put some kind of updraft in her metaphorical wings for all of the two seconds before she'd careened to earth. Tyrell had iterated what Princess had assumed was the actual truth. Complicated. Messy, bloody, without romance or flare or wit or much of any of the color that made life well worth living.
Pragmatism was gross. She'd march with that heavy cross wound around her back to her dying day, all else damned.
Still she was nodding. Her silent assent, voiceless in many senses of the word increasingly unfriendly to her deflated rags worth of an ego.
"Maybe like Tyrell said. Or, like." Fumbled the subject and predicate. Wonderful. "What I meant to say." She began to lurch, standing unsteadily with one foot failing to find a clear place ahead of the other. "They all have a Tyrell. Someone who would insist they're not evil. And, as far as we're concerned, that fact doesn't matter. That's what they all have in common."
She began for the temple door, a quick sidestep from her position. Took a second too long, the way she nearly stumbled on thin air and empty promise.
"All three of us have to consent... But I suppose you could leave the two of us behind. Might work out better that way."
She lurched past the ajar doors and into the darkness of the temple. The smell of death had been a constant companion, and it was closer now. Some unpleasant surprise lurked around some corner unseen, in the faded twilight of a dilapidated building interior.
"Kate?" Her concern was just a brief spark, easily squelched by suffocating apathy. She moved slow. Deliberate was the wrong word.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Katelynne stood still in the dark of the temple pierced with beams of light that crept in from cracks in the walls and ceiling.
Just stood there staring at the remnant of what looked like some sort of angel portraiture, rended apart and shattered in an assumingly fit of rage.
Whether that was related to the body by what looked like a support beam, Katelynne couldn't say. But this place sure must've had history in the last week.
The painting. The body. The chipping paint. The musty odor of sweat and dirt and death. The rope. The sickenly sticky yet strangely hardened marshmallow rolling in between her fingers.
She hated it. She hated it all.
She didn't turn around as Princess drew nearer.
"You don't gotta check on me every five minutes like I'm some sorta kid." Her words were as sharp as they were muted.
And then a sigh fizzled out, and the marshmallow dropped from her hands. Her arms folded as she slowly turned back around. The goosebumps scratched her palms.
"...Sorry. I'm just... idunno. Didn't know about Tyrell. Got spooked.... really feeling like we're the only ones left who haven't killed someone yet," she drawled out.
Her face fell on the body nearby with the bullet in his head. It looked like Kyle, but she wasn't sure in the dim light.
He was a good kid.
Just stood there staring at the remnant of what looked like some sort of angel portraiture, rended apart and shattered in an assumingly fit of rage.
Whether that was related to the body by what looked like a support beam, Katelynne couldn't say. But this place sure must've had history in the last week.
The painting. The body. The chipping paint. The musty odor of sweat and dirt and death. The rope. The sickenly sticky yet strangely hardened marshmallow rolling in between her fingers.
She hated it. She hated it all.
She didn't turn around as Princess drew nearer.
"You don't gotta check on me every five minutes like I'm some sorta kid." Her words were as sharp as they were muted.
And then a sigh fizzled out, and the marshmallow dropped from her hands. Her arms folded as she slowly turned back around. The goosebumps scratched her palms.
"...Sorry. I'm just... idunno. Didn't know about Tyrell. Got spooked.... really feeling like we're the only ones left who haven't killed someone yet," she drawled out.
Her face fell on the body nearby with the bullet in his head. It looked like Kyle, but she wasn't sure in the dim light.
He was a good kid.
Ty nodded as Diaz quickly agreed. It wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to ask given that they’d invariably have to defend themselves from those folks eventually. It was still necessary though; it wasn’t easy to see where these people drew the line. Wasn’t easy to see where anyone could here, all things considered.
That question was turned back to him as Diaz asked what they had in common. Walking down that mental road led Ty into a dark place he wished he hadn’t gone. Veiled threats on a hotel balcony.
Memories of dumb nights with stupid teenagers that no one ever should’ve had to hold onto so tightly.
Being pulled down from the edge, twice. Abandoning someone he should’ve protected. Twice.
There was no going back on any of it. Only forward. Only up. From the ground, and then into the ether.
It took Ty long enough to form a reply that both Diaz and Princess had begun to walk into the Temple, talking about him as if he wasn’t really there anymore. From the look he probably had on his face, he supposed they weren’t far off.
Clenched his fists. Unclenched them. Let the pins and needles shake loose, and fall away. He rolled his shoulders, wincing as one of his ribs reminded him it had seen better days. Everything below his knees felt raw, sore from days of walking and running and crawling and fighting.
He blinked a few times, the dizzy spell he’d been under finally starting to wear off. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself just in case it eventually returned. Speaking for himself and to anyone who could still hear him, he explained the lines they’d crossed.
“It’s personal. Lorenzo was my friend, until he stopped being himself. Or I saw who he really was, either way. Andy Silverman was one of my friends, too. Lucas Brady killed him. I wish I’d been around for them. I owe them both. I owe Dante for leaving him alone with Blaise. I fucked up and let Claude take my gun. Felix’s gun. What they have in common is me.”
It was something else, the feeling that pulled him back up. So much of what drove him here felt like the kind of fake awareness a sleep-deprived person got after having a few too many energy drinks. This was different. It was like waking up and enjoying the slow climb to wakefulness provided by the early morning sun.
Outwardly he hated Church because he was supposed to hate it. Their father took them for appearance’s sake. Ty’s mom was a true believer, and going to Church was one of the few things that put her in a good mood. The superstition never really registered to him with any depth, and all he saw in the congregation that surrounded them on sunday mornings was naivete and arrogance.
The way the air seemed to stand still on the inside of an old church sanctuary, or the way light shone through stained glass, or the smell of old wood and incense - there was something majestic in all of that. Plans from another life to travel Europe had always included stops at old cathedrals, so that he could have as many chances to try on different approximations of the presence of God. To know what that belief was supposed to feel like. In case he might find a way to believe, to explain everything that had happened to him.
Ty stood in the doorway to the Temple, the grey-blue light of the sun through the clouds illuminating his silhouette. Inside he saw the remains of the painting he destroyed on the first day.The broken wooden beam lay next to Kyle’s body, a mossy rope and makeshift noose still tied around one end of it. The air was humid, and it was still.
There was no sense in this, no God to make sense of it. Nothing to blame or praise. Just them. It was all on them, and the choices they made.
That felt good.
Ty took a step into the Temple, wrinkling his nose as the smell of the place wafted past. It hadn’t improved. He looked to Katelynne, still feeling a pang of guilt for how she reacted to his presence.
“The first day, before I tried to hang myself, I told them I was going out on my own terms. Not theirs. After everything that’s happened - yeah, I think the plan is still the same. I just have shit to do first. Hurting people who don’t deserve it is not one of those things. Maybe that’s a fucked up line to draw, I dunno. If you guys are some of the only ones who haven’t killed anybody yet, if you’re really going after the worst of us, and if - if you guys will have me...”
He shrugged, eyes drawn away from the glances of the others and to the fallen beam.
“Then maybe I can stop worrying about whose side I’m on.”
That question was turned back to him as Diaz asked what they had in common. Walking down that mental road led Ty into a dark place he wished he hadn’t gone. Veiled threats on a hotel balcony.
Memories of dumb nights with stupid teenagers that no one ever should’ve had to hold onto so tightly.
Being pulled down from the edge, twice. Abandoning someone he should’ve protected. Twice.
There was no going back on any of it. Only forward. Only up. From the ground, and then into the ether.
It took Ty long enough to form a reply that both Diaz and Princess had begun to walk into the Temple, talking about him as if he wasn’t really there anymore. From the look he probably had on his face, he supposed they weren’t far off.
Clenched his fists. Unclenched them. Let the pins and needles shake loose, and fall away. He rolled his shoulders, wincing as one of his ribs reminded him it had seen better days. Everything below his knees felt raw, sore from days of walking and running and crawling and fighting.
He blinked a few times, the dizzy spell he’d been under finally starting to wear off. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself just in case it eventually returned. Speaking for himself and to anyone who could still hear him, he explained the lines they’d crossed.
“It’s personal. Lorenzo was my friend, until he stopped being himself. Or I saw who he really was, either way. Andy Silverman was one of my friends, too. Lucas Brady killed him. I wish I’d been around for them. I owe them both. I owe Dante for leaving him alone with Blaise. I fucked up and let Claude take my gun. Felix’s gun. What they have in common is me.”
It was something else, the feeling that pulled him back up. So much of what drove him here felt like the kind of fake awareness a sleep-deprived person got after having a few too many energy drinks. This was different. It was like waking up and enjoying the slow climb to wakefulness provided by the early morning sun.
Outwardly he hated Church because he was supposed to hate it. Their father took them for appearance’s sake. Ty’s mom was a true believer, and going to Church was one of the few things that put her in a good mood. The superstition never really registered to him with any depth, and all he saw in the congregation that surrounded them on sunday mornings was naivete and arrogance.
The way the air seemed to stand still on the inside of an old church sanctuary, or the way light shone through stained glass, or the smell of old wood and incense - there was something majestic in all of that. Plans from another life to travel Europe had always included stops at old cathedrals, so that he could have as many chances to try on different approximations of the presence of God. To know what that belief was supposed to feel like. In case he might find a way to believe, to explain everything that had happened to him.
Ty stood in the doorway to the Temple, the grey-blue light of the sun through the clouds illuminating his silhouette. Inside he saw the remains of the painting he destroyed on the first day.The broken wooden beam lay next to Kyle’s body, a mossy rope and makeshift noose still tied around one end of it. The air was humid, and it was still.
There was no sense in this, no God to make sense of it. Nothing to blame or praise. Just them. It was all on them, and the choices they made.
That felt good.
Ty took a step into the Temple, wrinkling his nose as the smell of the place wafted past. It hadn’t improved. He looked to Katelynne, still feeling a pang of guilt for how she reacted to his presence.
“The first day, before I tried to hang myself, I told them I was going out on my own terms. Not theirs. After everything that’s happened - yeah, I think the plan is still the same. I just have shit to do first. Hurting people who don’t deserve it is not one of those things. Maybe that’s a fucked up line to draw, I dunno. If you guys are some of the only ones who haven’t killed anybody yet, if you’re really going after the worst of us, and if - if you guys will have me...”
He shrugged, eyes drawn away from the glances of the others and to the fallen beam.
“Then maybe I can stop worrying about whose side I’m on.”
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
- Contact:
"What they have in common is me."
Lucas watched as Tyrell stood and then stepped into the temple. Listened as he talked about trying to hang himself. Followed the path of his eyes as he looked at the unintentional aftermath of that. He could have sworn hearing that Kyle was killed by Violet. Weird spooky Violet. Maybe there was something else to that, something he didn't know about. Maybe Kyle tried to climb into Tyrell's noose? No, that didn't make sense. Perhaps he was climbing around up in the rafters and had a bad fall, and Violet had to put him out of his misery? No, that didn't feel right. She probably just killed him for some ritual or something. This was a temple, after all.
He stood, placing his hand on the door-frame to help himself up—there wasn't a point to that, he could stand just fine, but, oh, the weird things Lucas Brain was responsible for sometimes—and stepped into the temple. The air inside was musty with blood and sawdust. Lucas walked past Tyrell towards the other two members of his group. They were upset by Tyrell's presence, and needed consoling. Of some kind. Lucas was bad at this. Very bad.
"Well," Lucas said to the girls, "adding another member to the group is a big move, so, uh, how about we put it to a vote?"
This was a blink. He already okayed Tyrell's membership in Clout Gang 2.0, and he didn't need to put it to a fucking vote, but goddammit if Lucas was anything he was fucking indecisive as shit so this would have to work.
"I mean, I'm fine with him, I think he'd be useful to have around, more the merrier and all, and he has good intel, but if y'all are uncomfortable I do want to hear your thoughts."
Lucas watched as Tyrell stood and then stepped into the temple. Listened as he talked about trying to hang himself. Followed the path of his eyes as he looked at the unintentional aftermath of that. He could have sworn hearing that Kyle was killed by Violet. Weird spooky Violet. Maybe there was something else to that, something he didn't know about. Maybe Kyle tried to climb into Tyrell's noose? No, that didn't make sense. Perhaps he was climbing around up in the rafters and had a bad fall, and Violet had to put him out of his misery? No, that didn't feel right. She probably just killed him for some ritual or something. This was a temple, after all.
He stood, placing his hand on the door-frame to help himself up—there wasn't a point to that, he could stand just fine, but, oh, the weird things Lucas Brain was responsible for sometimes—and stepped into the temple. The air inside was musty with blood and sawdust. Lucas walked past Tyrell towards the other two members of his group. They were upset by Tyrell's presence, and needed consoling. Of some kind. Lucas was bad at this. Very bad.
"Well," Lucas said to the girls, "adding another member to the group is a big move, so, uh, how about we put it to a vote?"
This was a blink. He already okayed Tyrell's membership in Clout Gang 2.0, and he didn't need to put it to a fucking vote, but goddammit if Lucas was anything he was fucking indecisive as shit so this would have to work.
"I mean, I'm fine with him, I think he'd be useful to have around, more the merrier and all, and he has good intel, but if y'all are uncomfortable I do want to hear your thoughts."
/ 
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/ 
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- "He has my vote."
A more important moment in time than that passing formality's worth of assent lingered stronger in Princess' memory, anyways. Shared with Katelynne, because who else was still alive that Princess could share anything approximating a vulnerable moment with? Megan, if Princess hadn't already in full conscious and conscience in absentia written that girl off as dead.
It had always been Kate, one of the rare people Princess had ever been willing to discard the pretenses with. The cynical control freak wearing a guise of empty-headed and approachable. Now rearranged to distaste- perhaps ironically so if Princess could have read her own tale in the third person? Empty-headed control freak wearing a guise of approachable cynicism. Kate, anyways, could see through either iteration of Princess being unbearably extra in the most modern of definitions.
The look Princess offered, an almost budget glare with emptiness to the hollow of her sockets, translated in this life, in life before the island. Maybe in the afterlife. 'Don't tell me what to do'. Kate was used to hearing that from Princess by now, probably.
'You don't gotta check on me every five minutes like I'm some sorta kid.' - I'll do damn well what I please, said without a single word in reply. The time for words intimate between them was both past and never arrived in the first place. The boys were here now, what with their tendency to being actionable and making sense and other such drivel.
"Whatever that counts for," Princess concluded. She strode with scarecrow grace to the fore, approaching the slowly percolating body of some name and face lost to modern tragedy statistics. Hardly recognizable- the damage was extensive, grossly so. Princess didn't revel in the fact that she could draw so close with nary a physical reaction- a bit of instinctive seize in the throat as the smell of putrefaction washed down it, but nothing visible on the face she'd once cherished as a mask of her own design. She almost looked as serene and untouchable as she wasn't.
"Should we move him? The cliff is near, wouldn't be a long job."
How practical of her. Where had she been when Violet had been a door's length away from her, again?
A more important moment in time than that passing formality's worth of assent lingered stronger in Princess' memory, anyways. Shared with Katelynne, because who else was still alive that Princess could share anything approximating a vulnerable moment with? Megan, if Princess hadn't already in full conscious and conscience in absentia written that girl off as dead.
It had always been Kate, one of the rare people Princess had ever been willing to discard the pretenses with. The cynical control freak wearing a guise of empty-headed and approachable. Now rearranged to distaste- perhaps ironically so if Princess could have read her own tale in the third person? Empty-headed control freak wearing a guise of approachable cynicism. Kate, anyways, could see through either iteration of Princess being unbearably extra in the most modern of definitions.
The look Princess offered, an almost budget glare with emptiness to the hollow of her sockets, translated in this life, in life before the island. Maybe in the afterlife. 'Don't tell me what to do'. Kate was used to hearing that from Princess by now, probably.
'You don't gotta check on me every five minutes like I'm some sorta kid.' - I'll do damn well what I please, said without a single word in reply. The time for words intimate between them was both past and never arrived in the first place. The boys were here now, what with their tendency to being actionable and making sense and other such drivel.
"Whatever that counts for," Princess concluded. She strode with scarecrow grace to the fore, approaching the slowly percolating body of some name and face lost to modern tragedy statistics. Hardly recognizable- the damage was extensive, grossly so. Princess didn't revel in the fact that she could draw so close with nary a physical reaction- a bit of instinctive seize in the throat as the smell of putrefaction washed down it, but nothing visible on the face she'd once cherished as a mask of her own design. She almost looked as serene and untouchable as she wasn't.
"Should we move him? The cliff is near, wouldn't be a long job."
How practical of her. Where had she been when Violet had been a door's length away from her, again?
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Katelynne tensed up as Lucas and Tyrell followed Princess from the doorway, suddenly feeling all twelve eyes right on her.
She gulped as Tyrell pled his case, her eyes turning to the rope... the noose on the beam. And at Kyle, resting.
Her arms stayed clutched inward, her eyes unmoving.
Her head nodded up and down.
"Okay. Tyrell can... you can stay." Her body floated to the corpse. "I dunno about Kyle, though. It looks like, uhm, someone already tried something with him. Don't know if it was Vio-... uhm, her, but... idunno. I feel weird movin' him if this was where Kyle wanted to be."
She gulped as Tyrell pled his case, her eyes turning to the rope... the noose on the beam. And at Kyle, resting.
Her arms stayed clutched inward, her eyes unmoving.
Her head nodded up and down.
"Okay. Tyrell can... you can stay." Her body floated to the corpse. "I dunno about Kyle, though. It looks like, uhm, someone already tried something with him. Don't know if it was Vio-... uhm, her, but... idunno. I feel weird movin' him if this was where Kyle wanted to be."
“Thanks.”
Ty nodded, trying not to seem quite as relieved as he really was. This was it - these were his people. Things could be simpler now. As straightforward was it was going to be, until the end. Whatever that might be. A knot started to twist in his chest as he felt like he could see that path clearly, staring from the broken beam above Kyle’s body.
Kyle. Where did you want to be?
He’d teased him back at school; the guy looked like his mother dressed him every morning. Stupid haircut, too. Ty made sure to tell him. At the time Ty had convinced himself he was doing Kyle a service. There were too many places in the world he’d have gotten walked all over, carrying himself the way he did. If he wasn’t very self-aware, the least anyone could do was point it out for him when he was a teenager and the stakes were low.
Or so Ty thought. It probably just hurt. If they’d all had more time to grow, he ought to have apologised at some point. He knew he would’ve learned how important that was.
I’ve dwelled on that shit long enough. These people are alive. He isn’t.
“I don’t think Kyle wanted to be here any more than the rest of us. We need this place more than him.”
He walked towards the body, trying to catch Katelynne’s gaze. A look of concern was on his face; Ty was starting to feel like it could be genuine. She seemed preoccupied with the corpse, with Kyle. Something was stirring around in her mind, he could tell that much. That more than the smell or the flies was reason enough to want it gone. Ty struck a conciliatory tone, trying his best to show her something she could trust.
“If we’re staying here, we’ve got to move him out. Can you be okay with that?”
Ty nodded, trying not to seem quite as relieved as he really was. This was it - these were his people. Things could be simpler now. As straightforward was it was going to be, until the end. Whatever that might be. A knot started to twist in his chest as he felt like he could see that path clearly, staring from the broken beam above Kyle’s body.
Kyle. Where did you want to be?
He’d teased him back at school; the guy looked like his mother dressed him every morning. Stupid haircut, too. Ty made sure to tell him. At the time Ty had convinced himself he was doing Kyle a service. There were too many places in the world he’d have gotten walked all over, carrying himself the way he did. If he wasn’t very self-aware, the least anyone could do was point it out for him when he was a teenager and the stakes were low.
Or so Ty thought. It probably just hurt. If they’d all had more time to grow, he ought to have apologised at some point. He knew he would’ve learned how important that was.
I’ve dwelled on that shit long enough. These people are alive. He isn’t.
“I don’t think Kyle wanted to be here any more than the rest of us. We need this place more than him.”
He walked towards the body, trying to catch Katelynne’s gaze. A look of concern was on his face; Ty was starting to feel like it could be genuine. She seemed preoccupied with the corpse, with Kyle. Something was stirring around in her mind, he could tell that much. That more than the smell or the flies was reason enough to want it gone. Ty struck a conciliatory tone, trying his best to show her something she could trust.
“If we’re staying here, we’ve got to move him out. Can you be okay with that?”
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
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- Contact:
"Sounds good," Lucas said, both to the results of the vote and to Tyrell's request to move the body out. It was a corpse, and that was sad, but he didn't feel like he was disrespecting it if he moved it. There wasn't anyone alive to disrespect. If this was Kyle, then sure, he believed in heaven and capital gee gawd and all that, but the person who believed that was dead and their wishes were irrelevant. He probably didn't want to die the way he did anyway. Ty was right about him probably not wanting to be in this place either, a pagan temple dedicated to a desecrated god. God, Violet probably had a field day with that, now that Lucas thought hard enough about it. Maybe half the mess was her playing with his corpse.
He took a look back at the body and winced. There was one spot of this that he did not want to grab onto, the part where Kyle became less of a body and more of a, well, a pile, and thus—
"Dibs on legs."
Lucas was pretty confident that he knew how much of a shithead he was, generally, but from time to time he took discomfort in the knowledge that he was capable of surprising even himself.
"His pants are probably full of shit and piss and I know none of y'all want to pick those up, so I'll do it," he said, as he wished the spit on his tongue would turn to acid as it slid down his throat and shred his vocal cords.
He took a look back at the body and winced. There was one spot of this that he did not want to grab onto, the part where Kyle became less of a body and more of a, well, a pile, and thus—
"Dibs on legs."
Lucas was pretty confident that he knew how much of a shithead he was, generally, but from time to time he took discomfort in the knowledge that he was capable of surprising even himself.
"His pants are probably full of shit and piss and I know none of y'all want to pick those up, so I'll do it," he said, as he wished the spit on his tongue would turn to acid as it slid down his throat and shred his vocal cords.
How crassly put.
Kate still didn't look comfortable. Princess had neither recourse nor interest in blaming her for her maybe-choice of reaction. Princess remained unduly fascinated in classmate-turned-scene-framing. Perhaps to be his final role on this side of the curtain if he hit the water below the cliffs cleanly. Or maybe he happened to be blessed with parents who'd care. By some increasingly rare stroke of modern fortune. She wondered what that felt like, in passing. But at some point, even she'd manage to run out of ways to unnecessarily inject melodrama into a moment of deeply selfish solemnity.
However well that had worked out for Violet, bless her soul and the apparition of her Princess pretended to struggle to love.
Princess briefly contemplated taking point as Lucas requested with his eerily human and pained voice. Tyrell cut in on her behalf, taking over her unspoken voice. Long-form soliloquy did not make for quickness to the draw- yet more evidence, as if she needed it.
Talk a storm to herself all she wanted, she proved decidedly lacking in terms of anything else of value to say.
((Princess McQuillan continued in Hello Kitty Land))
Kate still didn't look comfortable. Princess had neither recourse nor interest in blaming her for her maybe-choice of reaction. Princess remained unduly fascinated in classmate-turned-scene-framing. Perhaps to be his final role on this side of the curtain if he hit the water below the cliffs cleanly. Or maybe he happened to be blessed with parents who'd care. By some increasingly rare stroke of modern fortune. She wondered what that felt like, in passing. But at some point, even she'd manage to run out of ways to unnecessarily inject melodrama into a moment of deeply selfish solemnity.
However well that had worked out for Violet, bless her soul and the apparition of her Princess pretended to struggle to love.
Princess briefly contemplated taking point as Lucas requested with his eerily human and pained voice. Tyrell cut in on her behalf, taking over her unspoken voice. Long-form soliloquy did not make for quickness to the draw- yet more evidence, as if she needed it.
Talk a storm to herself all she wanted, she proved decidedly lacking in terms of anything else of value to say.
((Princess McQuillan continued in Hello Kitty Land))
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes: