Yuka stared daggers at Zach we he mentioned Yuko. She looked as if she was ready to throw a flurry of punches in his direction. Zach raised his hands up, palms opened.
“Damn girl!,” Zach whispered, “Calm down!”
Just then, Michael addressed them as thots. He seemed to be offering the two of them to save the girl’s life. And then Teresa offered them the chance to kill the girl instead. Yuka wasn’t having any of it. She stepped inside and told Michael off, that he should finish what he started. Zach followed suit and stepped inside.
“I have plenty of fucking blood on my hands already,” Zach said, “you really think I want more?”
Zach leaned his back against the door frame, arms folded. He didn’t want to dirty his hands with someone else’s work.
Low Times
Morning, day 6. (open maybe I guess?????????????????)
B018: Ned Jackson- 
G039: Yuki Hayashibara- 
B034: Zachary Beck- 
Okay so some stuff happened. Catherine said couldn't feel her toes, which was like, probably not a great sign for her or whatever, and then she said she didn't want Mikey to do anything that would bother him, which was pretty funny to him, because he didn't know if he could do literally anything without it bothering him.
Then! Teresa suggested Zach euthanize Catherine!
Then!!!!!! The Yukoid walked up to Mikey and, like, she had that look in her eyes; like, the look you get in your eyes when you want to rip out someone's throat, or whatever. THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE STARTED TALKING!!!!!!!!!!
Mikey made eye contact with her, staring with his weird fucked-up shark eyes, mentally taking notes as she talked. His mouth turned into small, unconscious smirk. She hated him, which was a quality he'd recently started to appreciate in people. He hated her back, kind of sort of but not really. Like, he wanted to rip out her throat, but in a good way, if that made sense.
He noted the long exhale. He understood. She was letting off steam. Catharsis; avoidant, perhaps. Mikey got it. Boy, did he ever get it. The Yukoid was Yuka, he was pretty sure. She was the only one who hadn't died, so like... yeah.
Zach was sort of still over by the door, and, as the only responsible adult in the room, he didn't want to shoot Catherine.
Mikey's voice was casual, kind of? Like, nonchalant, but with ranting vibes and some latent anger for good measure. He was still staring Yuka down.
He'd mention his deal with Erika later, he decided. Erika was a failsafe for if he needed to hurt Yuka; like how he'd used Jeremiah against Nia, or like how he used most things against himself.
Honestly, he was glad someone other than like, Quinn, had FINALLY called him out on his bullshit.
"Mkay so," he paused, "fuck y'all; Catherine's my kill. I ain't trying to walk back shit. I wasn't asking you to help her; I was inviting you. Straight-up, I was probably just gonna shoot her while you were patching her up. If I actually gave a shit about her, I wouldn't have shot her in the first place, ya' ding-dong," he raised his eyebrows and made kinda a 'lmao this bitch' face. "I ain't euthanizing her without her consent though, 'cus that'd be fuckin' RUDE," his face normalized. "You're welcome for the catharsis, by the way."
He slid his sunglasses back on and glanced sideways at Teresa. "Whaddya say we add a new member to the Ｇｕｃｃｉ Ｇａｎｇ?"
He didn't know if this was the real him.
It didn't matter if this was the real him, because god fucking damnit, now it felt like the real him.
Lmao this whole thing was really fucked up, but like, in the funny way. Catherine was literally dying right there on the floor, and she could probably hear everything. They were crossing the line so many times that the line was ceasing to be. It wasn't like it mattered, they were all dead no matter what they did, so like... the stakes had never been lower.
Mikey felt okay!
Then! Teresa suggested Zach euthanize Catherine!
Then!!!!!! The Yukoid walked up to Mikey and, like, she had that look in her eyes; like, the look you get in your eyes when you want to rip out someone's throat, or whatever. THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE STARTED TALKING!!!!!!!!!!
Mikey made eye contact with her, staring with his weird fucked-up shark eyes, mentally taking notes as she talked. His mouth turned into small, unconscious smirk. She hated him, which was a quality he'd recently started to appreciate in people. He hated her back, kind of sort of but not really. Like, he wanted to rip out her throat, but in a good way, if that made sense.
He noted the long exhale. He understood. She was letting off steam. Catharsis; avoidant, perhaps. Mikey got it. Boy, did he ever get it. The Yukoid was Yuka, he was pretty sure. She was the only one who hadn't died, so like... yeah.
Zach was sort of still over by the door, and, as the only responsible adult in the room, he didn't want to shoot Catherine.
Mikey's voice was casual, kind of? Like, nonchalant, but with ranting vibes and some latent anger for good measure. He was still staring Yuka down.
He'd mention his deal with Erika later, he decided. Erika was a failsafe for if he needed to hurt Yuka; like how he'd used Jeremiah against Nia, or like how he used most things against himself.
Honestly, he was glad someone other than like, Quinn, had FINALLY called him out on his bullshit.
"Mkay so," he paused, "fuck y'all; Catherine's my kill. I ain't trying to walk back shit. I wasn't asking you to help her; I was inviting you. Straight-up, I was probably just gonna shoot her while you were patching her up. If I actually gave a shit about her, I wouldn't have shot her in the first place, ya' ding-dong," he raised his eyebrows and made kinda a 'lmao this bitch' face. "I ain't euthanizing her without her consent though, 'cus that'd be fuckin' RUDE," his face normalized. "You're welcome for the catharsis, by the way."
He slid his sunglasses back on and glanced sideways at Teresa. "Whaddya say we add a new member to the Ｇｕｃｃｉ Ｇａｎｇ?"
He didn't know if this was the real him.
It didn't matter if this was the real him, because god fucking damnit, now it felt like the real him.
Lmao this whole thing was really fucked up, but like, in the funny way. Catherine was literally dying right there on the floor, and she could probably hear everything. They were crossing the line so many times that the line was ceasing to be. It wasn't like it mattered, they were all dead no matter what they did, so like... the stakes had never been lower.
Mikey felt okay!
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Catherine's masterplan of getting away was halfway done. She had her bag. She just needed to... get away. In one way or the other, but she wasn't that good at this. Everyone was talking about her, but nobody was really paying attention to her though. They were trying to share the credit on her kill, but the eggs weren't laid yet.
"Did anyone ever tell you guys you're crackheads?" Catherine put a cracker inside her mouth. "Oh wait I did but I'll say it again."
Catherine was either in shock or already dead but she felt great. It was strange because she wasn't supposed to feel great. She was supposed to be feel terrible in a 'I'm about to die' type of way. Instead, she was like like ready to party. Catherine felt kinda sick though but in a fun way as if she got drunk too quickly.
"Crackheaaaaads~"
She continued to crawl toward the bathroom, dragging her bag along. She'd have the thank Michael for that. She really wanted to get up or something, but crawling inch by inch toward the bathroom didn't really work anymore. She didn't know if there was a bathroom here, but she figured she'd go to her bathroom.
"I'm doing girl stuff, don't mind me." She was doing girl stuff, just not in the right place. She shook her head. Her voice sounded weird. Perhaps it always sounded like that but she sounded even weirder. "Don't mind little old meeeeeeee."
"Did anyone ever tell you guys you're crackheads?" Catherine put a cracker inside her mouth. "Oh wait I did but I'll say it again."
Catherine was either in shock or already dead but she felt great. It was strange because she wasn't supposed to feel great. She was supposed to be feel terrible in a 'I'm about to die' type of way. Instead, she was like like ready to party. Catherine felt kinda sick though but in a fun way as if she got drunk too quickly.
"Crackheaaaaads~"
She continued to crawl toward the bathroom, dragging her bag along. She'd have the thank Michael for that. She really wanted to get up or something, but crawling inch by inch toward the bathroom didn't really work anymore. She didn't know if there was a bathroom here, but she figured she'd go to her bathroom.
"I'm doing girl stuff, don't mind me." She was doing girl stuff, just not in the right place. She shook her head. Her voice sounded weird. Perhaps it always sounded like that but she sounded even weirder. "Don't mind little old meeeeeeee."
Daaaaaaaaamn Yuka, you tell 'em! Go off, girl!
This whole... idk, "thing", was hilarious. Like that whole "omg I bet we got gifs and shit" convo a while back? Yeah, there'd def be a gif or two from this. There just needed to be some wine to slosh at someone and this would straight up be Real Housewives of Murder Island. Or maybe this was more like Flavor of Love. In fact yeah, that was probably more like it; you could practically hear the non-diegetic copyright friendly gangster rap instrumental thrown together in the edit already.
THIS BITCH right here was the New York, fo' sho.
She rolled her eyes at Zach who decided to just sulk in a corner while this circus was going on. Like... aight, dude. Glad to know you're a convicted two-timer with standards, gosh darn it!
ROBED GIRL shrugged, raised an eyebrow, and threw her hands up at Mikey as he spat fire back at Yuka.
She casually walked over to Crawling Cathy and stomped right in the middle of her spine, pinning her back down on the ground much like a corner store bodega cat on top of a mouse that thought it could get away. The forefoot of her boot bored right between some vertebrae, the crunching of the bones and cartilage against the shoe leather and the euphoria and adrenaline and serotonin all hobknobbing together before she relented and withdrew her foot.
She twirled the hilt of the knife in her hands a few times before returning it back to its home. "Gucci Gang for life."
This whole... idk, "thing", was hilarious. Like that whole "omg I bet we got gifs and shit" convo a while back? Yeah, there'd def be a gif or two from this. There just needed to be some wine to slosh at someone and this would straight up be Real Housewives of Murder Island. Or maybe this was more like Flavor of Love. In fact yeah, that was probably more like it; you could practically hear the non-diegetic copyright friendly gangster rap instrumental thrown together in the edit already.
THIS BITCH right here was the New York, fo' sho.
She rolled her eyes at Zach who decided to just sulk in a corner while this circus was going on. Like... aight, dude. Glad to know you're a convicted two-timer with standards, gosh darn it!
ROBED GIRL shrugged, raised an eyebrow, and threw her hands up at Mikey as he spat fire back at Yuka.
She casually walked over to Crawling Cathy and stomped right in the middle of her spine, pinning her back down on the ground much like a corner store bodega cat on top of a mouse that thought it could get away. The forefoot of her boot bored right between some vertebrae, the crunching of the bones and cartilage against the shoe leather and the euphoria and adrenaline and serotonin all hobknobbing together before she relented and withdrew her foot.
She twirled the hilt of the knife in her hands a few times before returning it back to its home. "Gucci Gang for life."
Yuka took a few steps forward in sync with Zach, maintaining distance. Her nose no longer smelled much, fatigued by the constant rot and damp and decay inherent in this island, but she was physically repelled anyways. Maybe there was something about his aura that pushed her away. Maybe it was the air around him. Or maybe she was just trying to find more complicated reasons and excuses to say that she hated him, and not in the same way she hated Mickey. Simple, ever-present, unfulfilling hatred was how she regarded Zach, the same way you quietly dislike a worn-down stick of lip balm in your purse, yet never try to get rid of it.
Mickey, on the other hand, was trying his best to inspire something more than that, and she wasn't sure if the fact he was try-harding intensified or negated her feelings towards him. She had to hand it to him, he had a knack for making the most punchable, shit-eating expressions possible. But, as he spoke, a bit of a smirk came upon Yuka's face.
So, let's get this straight. He wanted to euthanize the girl on the floor. But, with her permission, because shooting someone is the polite thing to do. But, if she had actually taken him up on his offer, he would've shot the girl, euthanizing her, without her permission? And then he ended it all with taking ownership for her catharsis, as if he could ever lay claim to any of her emotions. The last point was actually somewhat infuriating, deserving of a punch to the face. She would've raised all these points, made him eat shit, but then he asked Teresa something.
He said the words 'Gucci Gang' in a breathy, vocoder-like kind of way. She vaguely recalled a song with those lyrics from before, yet the meaning didn't come to her. Oh well. He was asking Teresa if Yuka could join their gang. If she did, she would spend more time with Teresa, have more time to reclaim herself. She could put up with Mickey for the meanwhile, if that was what he was offering. So, she bit her tongue, let the smirk stay on her face.
In the background, the girl on the floor called them crackheads, and she was right. The whole situation was fucked up, Yuka recognized this fact, but she felt like sanity had died here a long time ago. Yuka turned her attention to the girl, silently rooted for her as she set forth on her odyssey towards the bathroom, cheered her on as Teresa went up to h
crack
She didn't see that.
She swiveled away and towards them, unsure of whether to look away, turn her back towards them or not. She decided to tilt her head up, look at the ceiling. And to it, she asked, "Gucci gang is you two, right?"
Ragged breathing, from below her peripheral vision.
"Sorry, it's been a long day, so."
When she stopped speaking, her breaths went deeper. Why did it feel so hard to breathe, all of a sudden?
Mickey, on the other hand, was trying his best to inspire something more than that, and she wasn't sure if the fact he was try-harding intensified or negated her feelings towards him. She had to hand it to him, he had a knack for making the most punchable, shit-eating expressions possible. But, as he spoke, a bit of a smirk came upon Yuka's face.
So, let's get this straight. He wanted to euthanize the girl on the floor. But, with her permission, because shooting someone is the polite thing to do. But, if she had actually taken him up on his offer, he would've shot the girl, euthanizing her, without her permission? And then he ended it all with taking ownership for her catharsis, as if he could ever lay claim to any of her emotions. The last point was actually somewhat infuriating, deserving of a punch to the face. She would've raised all these points, made him eat shit, but then he asked Teresa something.
He said the words 'Gucci Gang' in a breathy, vocoder-like kind of way. She vaguely recalled a song with those lyrics from before, yet the meaning didn't come to her. Oh well. He was asking Teresa if Yuka could join their gang. If she did, she would spend more time with Teresa, have more time to reclaim herself. She could put up with Mickey for the meanwhile, if that was what he was offering. So, she bit her tongue, let the smirk stay on her face.
In the background, the girl on the floor called them crackheads, and she was right. The whole situation was fucked up, Yuka recognized this fact, but she felt like sanity had died here a long time ago. Yuka turned her attention to the girl, silently rooted for her as she set forth on her odyssey towards the bathroom, cheered her on as Teresa went up to h
crack
She didn't see that.
She swiveled away and towards them, unsure of whether to look away, turn her back towards them or not. She decided to tilt her head up, look at the ceiling. And to it, she asked, "Gucci gang is you two, right?"
Ragged breathing, from below her peripheral vision.
"Sorry, it's been a long day, so."
When she stopped speaking, her breaths went deeper. Why did it feel so hard to breathe, all of a sudden?
Zach watched as the girl crawled across the floor towards the bathroom, calling the “Gucci Gang” crackheads once again as she did. Zach couldn’t muster up a chuckle over that. He just saw this whole scene as unfortunate and pathetic. He had to give her credit for having enough of a spine to insult her attackers while on the brink of death though.
Speaking of spines, Teresa brought her foot down hard on the girl’s back. The impact was to strong, Zach could hear the bones crunch. Normally, someone would cringe at the sight of someone getting their back broke. However, Zach couldn’t feel anything. He felt numb to such actions.
“Oof,” Zach said in a monotonous tone. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re a murderer. You’re no longer afraid of such violent acts occurring in front of you. Zach did feel disgust, though. Disgust with himself.
“Just get it over with,” Zach said, “I mean, what’s the point of dragging it out?”
Speaking of spines, Teresa brought her foot down hard on the girl’s back. The impact was to strong, Zach could hear the bones crunch. Normally, someone would cringe at the sight of someone getting their back broke. However, Zach couldn’t feel anything. He felt numb to such actions.
“Oof,” Zach said in a monotonous tone. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re a murderer. You’re no longer afraid of such violent acts occurring in front of you. Zach did feel disgust, though. Disgust with himself.
“Just get it over with,” Zach said, “I mean, what’s the point of dragging it out?”
Mikey had never heard bones before.
Okay, well that wasn't entirely true (like most of the things his brain told itself). He'd heard bone marrow before. The eponymous crack people heard when they cracked their joints — that was the bubbles in their bone marrow popping.
Mikey had never heard the crunchy parts of bones before.
"Oof," Zach said, because he was an asshole. Someone watching this on the internet sometime in the near future had probably just said the same thing. Mikey wanted to shoot Zach. He decided not to shoot Zach.
Yuka asked about the g𝕌ᑕｃι ⓖ𝓐Ⓝ𝔤, then said it had been a long day, not finishing her sentence. She was looking conspicuously in a direction other than Catherine's.
Something triggered within Mikey's mind; one of those pesky moments of lucidity he'd been trying so hard to kill. It was the first one he'd had in a while.
"It feels like forever on the run, when your mind turns to fiction," he muttered.
Fuck y'all it was a song quote, and it was true. Plus, back on the beach, he'd straight-up told the people watching him to listen to the song it was from (it was rarely not a relevant song), so, like, he'd just given the people who were watching and actually gave a shit about him a chance to pat themselves on the back and feel clever. He did that a lot. He loved him some callbacks.
He glanced down at Catherine; at the hole he'd blown through her chest.
...oh fuck he'd totally just pulled a Darlene, hadn't he? At the very least, it'd been an almost-Darlene. He hadn't shot Catherine by accident. He'd shot her by mistake and he'd shot her because he cared about people.
The universe loved itself some callbacks, he supposed. Like, what the fuck was the deal with the recurring motif of owls? Benny'd run off into the woods calling himself an owl and said that all the owls should follow him, and then Free Bird Bert followed him into the woods, and then Michael'd pretended to follow him into the woods, and then Benny died (Bert too, eventually), and then Michael'd killed Benny the owl's prom date, and then Lori in an owl costume gave Michael LSD, and then a day later he managed to run into Owlori again, and they made a lot of owl puns (what a hoot), and then he told her to fly away, and she did, and then Michael ran into Teresa, slayer of owls.
Maybe he did live in a movie. Maybe that was why there'd been so many coincidences. Maybe that was how he kept accidentally stumbling out of death's path at the very last second.
Maybe this was the universe giving him a chance to heal his Beryl guilt. Maybe Yuka was the universe giving him a way to deal with his Erika guilt.
A second, identical cracky-crunchy noise sounded as Mikey lifted his heel off of the empty plastic water bottle he'd inadvertently stepped on the exact moment that Teresa's foot had connected with Catherine's back.
He blinked.
"Uhhhhh-ayyyyyyyyy y'all just got GUCCED - PRANKED, I mean - it wasn't Catherine's ribcage shattering; it was me, Mikey the master prankster, stepping on a water bottle! H'okay, let's, uh..." he shuffled closer to Catherine and did kind of an 'Ashlee Simpson getting caught lip-syncing on SNL' dance, "eh, fuck it... why not? I'ma save Catherine," he glanced at Teresa and gave her a wink, because winking implied some sort of nefarious intent. He didn't want Teresa to think he was doing this out of not-nefarious intent like he was a lame nerd or something. He didn't want Teresa to think he was a lame nerd. He wasn't actually all that sure what his intent was. He was pretty sure it'd change a few times, whatever it was. "You and Yuka must perform the Ｇｕｃｃｉ Ｇａｎｇ Ｏｆｆｉｃｉａｌ Ｉｎｉｔｉａｔｉｏｎ Ｒｉｔｕａｌwithout me. I'll be with y'all in a moment. Fuck you Zach, get over here; you're helping me with Catherine and if you don't I'ma straight-up murder you, aight? Roll 'er onto her side, let the blood in her lungs drain out, then make airtight seals over the gunshot wounds with like, I'dunno, the gloves in your first-aid kit or whatever. Gotta make her some DIY pleural lining, ya' get me?"
He slipped his cult robe off real quick and put it somewhere far away from Catherine and her blood. He didn't want to get his robe bloody. He fixed his hair real quick.
Hey, blood probably would work pretty good as like... maybe not hair gel, but like, hair-staying-in-place stuff.
He put that thought right in the Sin Bin, where it would remain, never to be seen again.
He crouched down next to the dying girl.
"Yo Cathy, I'm gonna have to borrow one of your crazy goddamn belts so I can tourniquet your leg or something, if that's cool with you."
Okay, well that wasn't entirely true (like most of the things his brain told itself). He'd heard bone marrow before. The eponymous crack people heard when they cracked their joints — that was the bubbles in their bone marrow popping.
Mikey had never heard the crunchy parts of bones before.
"Oof," Zach said, because he was an asshole. Someone watching this on the internet sometime in the near future had probably just said the same thing. Mikey wanted to shoot Zach. He decided not to shoot Zach.
Yuka asked about the g𝕌ᑕｃι ⓖ𝓐Ⓝ𝔤, then said it had been a long day, not finishing her sentence. She was looking conspicuously in a direction other than Catherine's.
Something triggered within Mikey's mind; one of those pesky moments of lucidity he'd been trying so hard to kill. It was the first one he'd had in a while.
"It feels like forever on the run, when your mind turns to fiction," he muttered.
Fuck y'all it was a song quote, and it was true. Plus, back on the beach, he'd straight-up told the people watching him to listen to the song it was from (it was rarely not a relevant song), so, like, he'd just given the people who were watching and actually gave a shit about him a chance to pat themselves on the back and feel clever. He did that a lot. He loved him some callbacks.
He glanced down at Catherine; at the hole he'd blown through her chest.
...oh fuck he'd totally just pulled a Darlene, hadn't he? At the very least, it'd been an almost-Darlene. He hadn't shot Catherine by accident. He'd shot her by mistake and he'd shot her because he cared about people.
The universe loved itself some callbacks, he supposed. Like, what the fuck was the deal with the recurring motif of owls? Benny'd run off into the woods calling himself an owl and said that all the owls should follow him, and then Free Bird Bert followed him into the woods, and then Michael'd pretended to follow him into the woods, and then Benny died (Bert too, eventually), and then Michael'd killed Benny the owl's prom date, and then Lori in an owl costume gave Michael LSD, and then a day later he managed to run into Owlori again, and they made a lot of owl puns (what a hoot), and then he told her to fly away, and she did, and then Michael ran into Teresa, slayer of owls.
Maybe he did live in a movie. Maybe that was why there'd been so many coincidences. Maybe that was how he kept accidentally stumbling out of death's path at the very last second.
Maybe this was the universe giving him a chance to heal his Beryl guilt. Maybe Yuka was the universe giving him a way to deal with his Erika guilt.
A second, identical cracky-crunchy noise sounded as Mikey lifted his heel off of the empty plastic water bottle he'd inadvertently stepped on the exact moment that Teresa's foot had connected with Catherine's back.
He blinked.
"Uhhhhh-ayyyyyyyyy y'all just got GUCCED - PRANKED, I mean - it wasn't Catherine's ribcage shattering; it was me, Mikey the master prankster, stepping on a water bottle! H'okay, let's, uh..." he shuffled closer to Catherine and did kind of an 'Ashlee Simpson getting caught lip-syncing on SNL' dance, "eh, fuck it... why not? I'ma save Catherine," he glanced at Teresa and gave her a wink, because winking implied some sort of nefarious intent. He didn't want Teresa to think he was doing this out of not-nefarious intent like he was a lame nerd or something. He didn't want Teresa to think he was a lame nerd. He wasn't actually all that sure what his intent was. He was pretty sure it'd change a few times, whatever it was. "You and Yuka must perform the Ｇｕｃｃｉ Ｇａｎｇ Ｏｆｆｉｃｉａｌ Ｉｎｉｔｉａｔｉｏｎ Ｒｉｔｕａｌwithout me. I'll be with y'all in a moment. Fuck you Zach, get over here; you're helping me with Catherine and if you don't I'ma straight-up murder you, aight? Roll 'er onto her side, let the blood in her lungs drain out, then make airtight seals over the gunshot wounds with like, I'dunno, the gloves in your first-aid kit or whatever. Gotta make her some DIY pleural lining, ya' get me?"
He slipped his cult robe off real quick and put it somewhere far away from Catherine and her blood. He didn't want to get his robe bloody. He fixed his hair real quick.
Hey, blood probably would work pretty good as like... maybe not hair gel, but like, hair-staying-in-place stuff.
He put that thought right in the Sin Bin, where it would remain, never to be seen again.
He crouched down next to the dying girl.
"Yo Cathy, I'm gonna have to borrow one of your crazy goddamn belts so I can tourniquet your leg or something, if that's cool with you."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
"Naaaaaaaaaaah."
Catherine had started to shiver. She didn't know why she started shivering since she felt really hot. She had a thick layer of sweat all over her body that woke up when Teresa's foot slammed down on her. It felt like she was breaking into hives. Catherine knew she wasn't.
She knew she was dying.
It was different that she had first thought. The fear was there for a moment, but then it was gone. It was replaced by this excitement. Then it was replaced by the sweat and, now, the cold.
Her entire body felt frozen as if she had been dipped into ice. She wondered what was causing that. Perhaps, she had been poisoned. Did bullets contain enough actual lead to kill you like that? Catherine didn't know, and she didn't want to know, because she wanted to die quickly.
"They kee' me warm." They didn't. They actually did nothing. It's called style, look it up. "'tually, use them. Claire's....... please promo me...."
She didn't noticed her mouth was also cold.
No, it wasn't cold. It was slushy. It was a mixture of cold and wet and she wondered where her mouth started and where the air ended. It made her curious. But also cold. Though, it wasn't painful. It was just strange.
Yeah, dying was strange. It was a one-time thing, usually. You died once and you never died again. That was probably why Catherine found it weird. It was a new experience! She would have smiled if she had control over her face muscles. Actually, she did, she just didn't really feel her face anymore.
"'m jus' col' man." She sniffed. "I wan' a blanket."
Catherine had started to shiver. She didn't know why she started shivering since she felt really hot. She had a thick layer of sweat all over her body that woke up when Teresa's foot slammed down on her. It felt like she was breaking into hives. Catherine knew she wasn't.
She knew she was dying.
It was different that she had first thought. The fear was there for a moment, but then it was gone. It was replaced by this excitement. Then it was replaced by the sweat and, now, the cold.
Her entire body felt frozen as if she had been dipped into ice. She wondered what was causing that. Perhaps, she had been poisoned. Did bullets contain enough actual lead to kill you like that? Catherine didn't know, and she didn't want to know, because she wanted to die quickly.
"They kee' me warm." They didn't. They actually did nothing. It's called style, look it up. "'tually, use them. Claire's....... please promo me...."
She didn't noticed her mouth was also cold.
No, it wasn't cold. It was slushy. It was a mixture of cold and wet and she wondered where her mouth started and where the air ended. It made her curious. But also cold. Though, it wasn't painful. It was just strange.
Yeah, dying was strange. It was a one-time thing, usually. You died once and you never died again. That was probably why Catherine found it weird. It was a new experience! She would have smiled if she had control over her face muscles. Actually, she did, she just didn't really feel her face anymore.
"'m jus' col' man." She sniffed. "I wan' a blanket."
Damn those water bottles.
DOM GIRL stepped back as Mikey did some sorta awkward jig and approached Cathy. Guess he really was gonna tidy up loose ends here, so..........
She clumped back on over to Yuka and grabbed her hand, caressing it with a thumb and feeling all the dirt and cracks and imperfections on it. "Come on!" She winked. "Let's get ya a robe."
Her voice dropped low as she got right in Yuka's ear with a smirk. "Got some stuff to talk to ya about, too."
And then the hand yanked Yuka away as the two of them rushed off, this time going through the door like a normal person.
((to be continued))
DOM GIRL stepped back as Mikey did some sorta awkward jig and approached Cathy. Guess he really was gonna tidy up loose ends here, so..........
She clumped back on over to Yuka and grabbed her hand, caressing it with a thumb and feeling all the dirt and cracks and imperfections on it. "Come on!" She winked. "Let's get ya a robe."
Her voice dropped low as she got right in Yuka's ear with a smirk. "Got some stuff to talk to ya about, too."
And then the hand yanked Yuka away as the two of them rushed off, this time going through the door like a normal person.
((to be continued))
After Mickey's little speech, a long hiss, not dissimilar to a can of Coke opening, followed, before dissipating into a shaky breath.
It was fine. It was fine. Nothing happened, she really hadn't seen anything. Teresa hadn't broken anything, it was fine.
But, Mickey—he'd called himself Mikey, but the name Mickey amused her more—was doing that little thing again, the part where he pretends that he was a good person all along and treats the very same injuries he caused, without an apology or even a simple acknowledgement that he did this to her, all while doing some little jig and trying to look all cute and quirky and shit. And, that was the worst part of it all, the fact that he could play all of this off as a joke. She'd seen his fists shake, she knew it wasn't entirely a joke to him, but the fact that he had found the gall, audacity, lack of empathy necessary to do what he was doing, it made him worthy of her hatred.
Catherine continued to slur words in the distance, said something about Claire's, the last sputters of electrical signals fired by her synapses, translated to something resembling English. There was a vague tug at Yuka's heart, the sense that she should do something more, but it quickly became irrelevant as Teresa grabbed her hand. Teresa had been her purpose coming here, and she had achieved said purpose, so she took priority. But, for a moment, she pulled away, back towards the door. There was just a little thing at the back of her mind she wanted to give voice to, some little itch. She locked eyes with Mickey.
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA EUTHANIZE HER, YOU LITTLE BITCH?"
Satisfied for a bit, Yuka grinned to herself, let Teresa bring her to an unknown place.
((Yuka Hayashibara continues in Party Like It's 1999))
It was fine. It was fine. Nothing happened, she really hadn't seen anything. Teresa hadn't broken anything, it was fine.
But, Mickey—he'd called himself Mikey, but the name Mickey amused her more—was doing that little thing again, the part where he pretends that he was a good person all along and treats the very same injuries he caused, without an apology or even a simple acknowledgement that he did this to her, all while doing some little jig and trying to look all cute and quirky and shit. And, that was the worst part of it all, the fact that he could play all of this off as a joke. She'd seen his fists shake, she knew it wasn't entirely a joke to him, but the fact that he had found the gall, audacity, lack of empathy necessary to do what he was doing, it made him worthy of her hatred.
Catherine continued to slur words in the distance, said something about Claire's, the last sputters of electrical signals fired by her synapses, translated to something resembling English. There was a vague tug at Yuka's heart, the sense that she should do something more, but it quickly became irrelevant as Teresa grabbed her hand. Teresa had been her purpose coming here, and she had achieved said purpose, so she took priority. But, for a moment, she pulled away, back towards the door. There was just a little thing at the back of her mind she wanted to give voice to, some little itch. She locked eyes with Mickey.
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA EUTHANIZE HER, YOU LITTLE BITCH?"
Satisfied for a bit, Yuka grinned to herself, let Teresa bring her to an unknown place.
((Yuka Hayashibara continues in Party Like It's 1999))
....Wait, who the hell was Claire? Was there someone else here-
- Oh. No. Catherine was... Catherine was slipping. She was losing coherence. Her mind was unravelling. She was like an Alzheimer's patient except in really fast motion. She was like Michael, except she was allowed to die.
Soon, the real Catherine Zier — the intangible Catherine Zier that only existed in Catherine Zier's head — would be gone. All that would be left behind would be the memories of the mask she chose to wear, selectively curated by others to serve some purpose.
It was sad. There weren't really any other ways to describe it.
Mikey glanced over his shoulder, towards Teresa and Yuka. Teresa was smiling, whispering something in Yuka's ear. She was up to something, but like, he figured she was always up to something, so it was okay. He was glad he was good at pretending to be an idiot.
He just needed someone who could make him feel not-lonely, and Teresa did that well enough. She wasn't a rebound from Beryl. She was a rebound from Morgan.
Beryl was just a particularly soul-crushing nostalgia now. She didn't need a rebound.
Mikey's eyes drifted over Yuka's. Yuka swore at him, yelled at him for not doing something he never directly said he would do. "Bitch I never said that!", Mikey wanted to say but did not say, because he was afraid his voice would betray just how much he actually agreed with her. Instead, he shrugged, gave a lopsided smile, and dabbed as she walked out of the door.
Michael wasn't a wolf like Jonathan had said he was. He was more like a dog; lost without someone to tell him he was good. Maybe that was what he needed Teresa for.
"Zach, you should probably leave, actually," he muttered as he fumbled with one of Catherine's belts. He got it unclipped. Catherine was going to die. He still wrapped the belt tight around her leg, because he didn't know what else he could do. His voice got really quiet, because he didn't want the Gucci Gang to hear what he was saying. "Catherine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about making fun of your belts. I'm sorry we weren't friends. I'm sorry things happened the way they did. I'm sorry for shooting you twice. I'm sorry I exist. I'm sorry."
He missed being able to think without his thoughts having multiple contradictory meanings. He missed being able to say something without it immediately feeling like a lie. He missed not being Schrodinger's Michael. He missed being able to remember the things that happened inside his head. He missed being able to tell whether or not he was awake. He missed being real.
But did he really?
Something clicked — or shifted, or snapped, maybe (he didn't know; he knew now it was useless ascribing physical properties to mental processes) — in his head. He'd figured it out.
What if there was no real Michael.
and it was like he was only alive on someone else's terms and he wasn't worth killing and
Catherine had always been dying. He'd only narrowed the definition of her deadline.
He couldn't tell if Zach had left or if he was still here or if he was helping Catherine or if he'd even ever existed at all. Didn't matter.
and Michael started talking. To Catherine. He was still squatting. He didn't want to get his knees all bloody.
"Lemme tell you a story."
At The Bottom Of Everything, by Bright Eyes.
"Once, there was this woman, and she was on an airplane — doesn't really matter why, I guess — but uh, yeah, so she's on this airplane flying over the sea, and she's, uh, sitting next to this guy, and she'd tried to, like, talk to him, but the one time she ever even heard him talk was when he, uh, ordered a cocktail from a flight attendant, and so the woman's there sitting next to the guy, and she's reading some boring magazine article about some country she's never even heard of and probably won't ever hear about again, and she's feeling really bored and very sad aboard this airplane, and then, uh, all of a sudden there's this mechanical failure, and it's really bad, and, uh, an engine goes out, so they're — they — the airplane, y'know, starts falling, like, just diving towards the sea, and the pilot, he's on the intercom, and he's saying, y'know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh God, I'm so sorry, and he just keeps apologizing, and the woman turns to the man and she asks him, uh, she asks him Where are we going, and," he slipped his sunglasses off and looked into Catherine's eyes, "he says, We're going to a party, It's a birthday party, It's your birthday party, and we all love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very much, And then, this guy, he starts singing a tune, and it goes a little like this, I guess," he stood up and moved out of Catherine's line of sight, walking to another part of the room.
He started singing, softly and quietly, accompanied by the occasional zipper noise, click, or beep. No instrumentation intended. He was up to something else.
"We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web.
We must rip out all the epilogues from the books that we have read.
Into the face of every criminal strapped firmly to a chair,
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare.
"We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell.
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us Hell.
Into the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream,
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing.
And it'll go like this, all right.
"While my mother waters plants, my father loads his gun.
He says,
Death will give us back to God,
Just like the setting sun is returned to the lonesome ocean,"
He walked back over to Catherine, now wearing the 𝐠𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐢 robe / sunglasses combo, and holding something made out of white plastic. He crouched down and pressed the plastic against some bare skin on Catherine's upper arm. It stuck there firmly, attached by an adhesive.
"This should help with the pain. Might feel a little pinch at first, though," he said, before fiddling with a little handheld phone-looking object. The plastic on Catherine's arm beeped twice, made a few ticking noises, and then made a loud SNAP as the delivery cannula embedded itself into Catherine's arm. He stood back up.
"Then, the airplane hit the water, and there was this great big splash, and everyone on board was killed instantly, and then they all sank down into the deep blue sea," he said. Then, abruptly, he threw himself out of the open window.
((He was happy just because he'd found out he really was no one.))
- Oh. No. Catherine was... Catherine was slipping. She was losing coherence. Her mind was unravelling. She was like an Alzheimer's patient except in really fast motion. She was like Michael, except she was allowed to die.
Soon, the real Catherine Zier — the intangible Catherine Zier that only existed in Catherine Zier's head — would be gone. All that would be left behind would be the memories of the mask she chose to wear, selectively curated by others to serve some purpose.
It was sad. There weren't really any other ways to describe it.
Mikey glanced over his shoulder, towards Teresa and Yuka. Teresa was smiling, whispering something in Yuka's ear. She was up to something, but like, he figured she was always up to something, so it was okay. He was glad he was good at pretending to be an idiot.
He just needed someone who could make him feel not-lonely, and Teresa did that well enough. She wasn't a rebound from Beryl. She was a rebound from Morgan.
Beryl was just a particularly soul-crushing nostalgia now. She didn't need a rebound.
Mikey's eyes drifted over Yuka's. Yuka swore at him, yelled at him for not doing something he never directly said he would do. "Bitch I never said that!", Mikey wanted to say but did not say, because he was afraid his voice would betray just how much he actually agreed with her. Instead, he shrugged, gave a lopsided smile, and dabbed as she walked out of the door.
Michael wasn't a wolf like Jonathan had said he was. He was more like a dog; lost without someone to tell him he was good. Maybe that was what he needed Teresa for.
"Zach, you should probably leave, actually," he muttered as he fumbled with one of Catherine's belts. He got it unclipped. Catherine was going to die. He still wrapped the belt tight around her leg, because he didn't know what else he could do. His voice got really quiet, because he didn't want the Gucci Gang to hear what he was saying. "Catherine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about making fun of your belts. I'm sorry we weren't friends. I'm sorry things happened the way they did. I'm sorry for shooting you twice. I'm sorry I exist. I'm sorry."
He missed being able to think without his thoughts having multiple contradictory meanings. He missed being able to say something without it immediately feeling like a lie. He missed not being Schrodinger's Michael. He missed being able to remember the things that happened inside his head. He missed being able to tell whether or not he was awake. He missed being real.
But did he really?
Something clicked — or shifted, or snapped, maybe (he didn't know; he knew now it was useless ascribing physical properties to mental processes) — in his head. He'd figured it out.
What if there was no real Michael.
and it was like he was only alive on someone else's terms and he wasn't worth killing and
Catherine had always been dying. He'd only narrowed the definition of her deadline.
He couldn't tell if Zach had left or if he was still here or if he was helping Catherine or if he'd even ever existed at all. Didn't matter.
and Michael started talking. To Catherine. He was still squatting. He didn't want to get his knees all bloody.
"Lemme tell you a story."
At The Bottom Of Everything, by Bright Eyes.
"Once, there was this woman, and she was on an airplane — doesn't really matter why, I guess — but uh, yeah, so she's on this airplane flying over the sea, and she's, uh, sitting next to this guy, and she'd tried to, like, talk to him, but the one time she ever even heard him talk was when he, uh, ordered a cocktail from a flight attendant, and so the woman's there sitting next to the guy, and she's reading some boring magazine article about some country she's never even heard of and probably won't ever hear about again, and she's feeling really bored and very sad aboard this airplane, and then, uh, all of a sudden there's this mechanical failure, and it's really bad, and, uh, an engine goes out, so they're — they — the airplane, y'know, starts falling, like, just diving towards the sea, and the pilot, he's on the intercom, and he's saying, y'know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh God, I'm so sorry, and he just keeps apologizing, and the woman turns to the man and she asks him, uh, she asks him Where are we going, and," he slipped his sunglasses off and looked into Catherine's eyes, "he says, We're going to a party, It's a birthday party, It's your birthday party, and we all love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very much, And then, this guy, he starts singing a tune, and it goes a little like this, I guess," he stood up and moved out of Catherine's line of sight, walking to another part of the room.
He started singing, softly and quietly, accompanied by the occasional zipper noise, click, or beep. No instrumentation intended. He was up to something else.
"We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web.
We must rip out all the epilogues from the books that we have read.
Into the face of every criminal strapped firmly to a chair,
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare.
"We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell.
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us Hell.
Into the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream,
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing.
And it'll go like this, all right.
"While my mother waters plants, my father loads his gun.
He says,
Death will give us back to God,
Just like the setting sun is returned to the lonesome ocean,"
He walked back over to Catherine, now wearing the 𝐠𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐢 robe / sunglasses combo, and holding something made out of white plastic. He crouched down and pressed the plastic against some bare skin on Catherine's upper arm. It stuck there firmly, attached by an adhesive.
"This should help with the pain. Might feel a little pinch at first, though," he said, before fiddling with a little handheld phone-looking object. The plastic on Catherine's arm beeped twice, made a few ticking noises, and then made a loud SNAP as the delivery cannula embedded itself into Catherine's arm. He stood back up.
"Then, the airplane hit the water, and there was this great big splash, and everyone on board was killed instantly, and then they all sank down into the deep blue sea," he said. Then, abruptly, he threw himself out of the open window.
((He was happy just because he'd found out he really was no one.))
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Catherine's eyes were fluttering shut against her will.
It made her feel nauseous because she was trying to listen to Michael's story but her ears weren't keeping up with the sounds surrounding her. They were thuds and words and breathing, all of it becoming a cacophony of noises that drowned out any attempts to focus on the boy's lip.
She opened her eyes and tried to keep track of the words. Her mouth was opened without her consent. She tried to keep it close, but it stayed like that. Her mind was lulled back into a sweet state of fogginess that reminded her of home. Her eyes closed again. Michael kept speaking. The words didn't reach her.
She opened her eyes, again. This time, he wasn't speaking. He pointed her chest then her leg. The words entered through one ear and left through agaped mouth.
Her groans didn't seem to phase the boy instead he smiled. Or at least, it appeared to be a smile. It wasn't a tractable smile, though. Because one second too late, it was already gone. Perhaps she had imagine it. Her mind often play droll games with her when she was in this state between levels of consciousness.
She closed her eyes again, this time manually. There was something soft on top of her. Maybe it was Michael's body, maybe it was her own skin becoming suddenly too thick but too thin to grasp, but there was something there. In that moment, she fell into a deep sleep.
((Catherine continued somewhere.))
It made her feel nauseous because she was trying to listen to Michael's story but her ears weren't keeping up with the sounds surrounding her. They were thuds and words and breathing, all of it becoming a cacophony of noises that drowned out any attempts to focus on the boy's lip.
She opened her eyes and tried to keep track of the words. Her mouth was opened without her consent. She tried to keep it close, but it stayed like that. Her mind was lulled back into a sweet state of fogginess that reminded her of home. Her eyes closed again. Michael kept speaking. The words didn't reach her.
She opened her eyes, again. This time, he wasn't speaking. He pointed her chest then her leg. The words entered through one ear and left through agaped mouth.
Her groans didn't seem to phase the boy instead he smiled. Or at least, it appeared to be a smile. It wasn't a tractable smile, though. Because one second too late, it was already gone. Perhaps she had imagine it. Her mind often play droll games with her when she was in this state between levels of consciousness.
She closed her eyes again, this time manually. There was something soft on top of her. Maybe it was Michael's body, maybe it was her own skin becoming suddenly too thick but too thin to grasp, but there was something there. In that moment, she fell into a deep sleep.
((Catherine continued somewhere.))
So, after Michael was done giving his story and song, he yeeted himself out the window. Zach looked at Catherine (who’s name he just learned), and felt a smidge of pity. He could have done something, and maybe she wouldn’t be as good as dead. But, they were in a kill or be killed situation. Only one person gets to go home. Zach couldn’t afford to play the hero here.
Zach reached into his bag and pulled out his emergency blanket. He laid it over Catherine, making sure he covered everything up to her shoulders and down to her legs. If there was anything he could do for her at this point, it’s that she wouldn’t have to die cold.
“Here,” Zach said to the near unconscious girl, “Rest well.”
And with that, Zach grabbed his things and stepped out of the cabin and made his way down the road. On the way, he wondered if he could keep sticking to the sidelines for however long this game continued. Sooner or later, he might have to fight when the chips are down. Steeling himself up, keeping his billhook tight in his grip.
(Zachary Beck, continued elsewhere...)
Zach reached into his bag and pulled out his emergency blanket. He laid it over Catherine, making sure he covered everything up to her shoulders and down to her legs. If there was anything he could do for her at this point, it’s that she wouldn’t have to die cold.
“Here,” Zach said to the near unconscious girl, “Rest well.”
And with that, Zach grabbed his things and stepped out of the cabin and made his way down the road. On the way, he wondered if he could keep sticking to the sidelines for however long this game continued. Sooner or later, he might have to fight when the chips are down. Steeling himself up, keeping his billhook tight in his grip.
(Zachary Beck, continued elsewhere...)