If she didn't have tinnitus before, now she surely did. In both of ears, the ringing made itself clear as she plunged toward the ground. The bullets hit the wall and the remaining glass on the window, bouncing around Willow. The wooden wall painted blue was taking most of the shots, but some of them went directly through the window to lodge themselves in the tiny mount of dirt in front of it. On the ground and on Willow's body, there were glass shards and wood splinters scathered around, revealing the chaos that had happened.
Ace clearly didn't want to talk, and it annoyed Willow. It wasn't hard to talk about stuff, but everyone made it so. Feelings were meant to shared, not bottled up and she was tired of constantly walking into people who never bothered to open their mouths.
Well, breaking a window wasn't the right move, but you know, a girl gotta' try.
Ace though didn't want to talk. He was just like Faith. It was kinda annoying, if understandable. Willow was able to deal with scraps though, she was a big girl. The mud was a comfortable bed but she needed to get back up. She sighed, rolling over to the side, her eyes transfixed on the window. It would be great if Ace just walk his cute little ass up there, but she wasn't expecting any miracles.
She stood up, her finger digging in her ears as an attempt to remove the buzzing. It didn't anything but put dirt there. She walked back around the corner of the house, her eyes now on Daria.
"Don't think he want to talk," she threw out a peace sign with her right hand as her left hand held Roxie's leg, "gotta' go."
ali bomaye
Afternoon; Day 12; Open
Willow walked back around the corner of the house, her eyes looking to where Daria had. If she spoke, Daria didn't hear her: she wasn't there.
She had been, less than a minute before. She was sidling back, eyes flickering between Willow-as-John-Wick and the house containing the unknown gunman
"It was Ace," Willow said, without looking back at Daria. "He's inside with a gun and he doesn't want to speak."
Ace? Wait, she knew that name, and not just from school (though she did vaguely know him, a tall, spidery kid). She'd heard it recently. On the Announcements?
He killed Connor.
The sound of shattering glance, and Daria's head snapped up.
BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG! BANG!
She froze.
She felt it happen, felt her thoughts and her mind go blank, like someone had paralyzed her. She felt her body locked up, unable to run in one direction or another, unable to move, unable to think. The volume knob on her senses had been cranked up to eleven, everything felt too loud, too close, too horrible.
In her head, she heard a different gunshot, and she saw Stephanie fall.
"NO!" Daria shrieked, and her scream broke the paralysis, and she was running again, running as fast she'd run to the last gunshots, running to them again, half-blind with fear and rage. She was booking it for the opposite side of the house, in the direction Willow had come from, looking for a door she could burst through or break down, looking for a way to get in at Ace and stop another killer from shooting down someone else in front of her.
It wasn't going to happen again. She wasn't going to let it happen again.
She had been, less than a minute before. She was sidling back, eyes flickering between Willow-as-John-Wick and the house containing the unknown gunman
"It was Ace," Willow said, without looking back at Daria. "He's inside with a gun and he doesn't want to speak."
Ace? Wait, she knew that name, and not just from school (though she did vaguely know him, a tall, spidery kid). She'd heard it recently. On the Announcements?
He killed Connor.
The sound of shattering glance, and Daria's head snapped up.
BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG! BANG!
She froze.
She felt it happen, felt her thoughts and her mind go blank, like someone had paralyzed her. She felt her body locked up, unable to run in one direction or another, unable to move, unable to think. The volume knob on her senses had been cranked up to eleven, everything felt too loud, too close, too horrible.
In her head, she heard a different gunshot, and she saw Stephanie fall.
"NO!" Daria shrieked, and her scream broke the paralysis, and she was running again, running as fast she'd run to the last gunshots, running to them again, half-blind with fear and rage. She was booking it for the opposite side of the house, in the direction Willow had come from, looking for a door she could burst through or break down, looking for a way to get in at Ace and stop another killer from shooting down someone else in front of her.
It wasn't going to happen again. She wasn't going to let it happen again.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Well…
What fuckin’ now?
It was a blessing, even if it didn’t feel like it, to be in Ace’s position. To be eighteen years old and fully aware of and embracing of who you were and what you were capable of doing. It hadn’t been an easy road to get to this point—Beats felt the weight of change on his shoulders. Ace unloaded the clip and Willow ducked, Daria tried to circle around the house in a quick desperation.
Ace was running through that same house like a bat outta hell—as he cut through the building he made it to the front door and swung it open with a fierce focus and a raging strength. Long strides from long limbs aided in him abetting the results of his actions. Ace had unloaded the clip into the window, not with the intent of hitting anyone behind it but instead with the intent of conveying a message: I ain’t the one to fuck with.
It was a blessing, even if it didn’t feel like it, to be in Ace’s position. His self-awareness was always his greatest strength—he knew exactly how callous and cold he could be when it suited his needs. Ace, ultimately, was a coward. His brain had denigrated in this instance to pure instinct—fight or flight. The fighting didn’t work and so he proceeded with the flying. He ran like the wind. Two hands on empty pistols—his bag full of ill gotten ammunition and supplies and his rifle slamming against his side. There was an uncertainty that bred fear. Uncertainty that he would make it out of this situation alive—uncertainty that he hadn’t killed another person. That uncertainty created anxiousness and that anxiousness birthed hurt. Beats embraced the hurt. Ace wanted to feel that pain.
Ace wanted everything. Ace wanted it all.
[ Ace Ortega Continued In: Mama's Gonna Look So Great ]
What fuckin’ now?
It was a blessing, even if it didn’t feel like it, to be in Ace’s position. To be eighteen years old and fully aware of and embracing of who you were and what you were capable of doing. It hadn’t been an easy road to get to this point—Beats felt the weight of change on his shoulders. Ace unloaded the clip and Willow ducked, Daria tried to circle around the house in a quick desperation.
Ace was running through that same house like a bat outta hell—as he cut through the building he made it to the front door and swung it open with a fierce focus and a raging strength. Long strides from long limbs aided in him abetting the results of his actions. Ace had unloaded the clip into the window, not with the intent of hitting anyone behind it but instead with the intent of conveying a message: I ain’t the one to fuck with.
It was a blessing, even if it didn’t feel like it, to be in Ace’s position. His self-awareness was always his greatest strength—he knew exactly how callous and cold he could be when it suited his needs. Ace, ultimately, was a coward. His brain had denigrated in this instance to pure instinct—fight or flight. The fighting didn’t work and so he proceeded with the flying. He ran like the wind. Two hands on empty pistols—his bag full of ill gotten ammunition and supplies and his rifle slamming against his side. There was an uncertainty that bred fear. Uncertainty that he would make it out of this situation alive—uncertainty that he hadn’t killed another person. That uncertainty created anxiousness and that anxiousness birthed hurt. Beats embraced the hurt. Ace wanted to feel that pain.
Ace wanted everything. Ace wanted it all.
[ Ace Ortega Continued In: Mama's Gonna Look So Great ]
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Daria was running, again. Willow sighed, following the girl. She was tired of everyone running away from her when she just wanted to talk.
She stepped forward toward Daria as she cut around the corner of the building. As she moved, she felt something wet on her chest. She looked down and her breath was caught in her throat.
Blood.
A lot of blood inching down from her chest and unto her stomach. The crimson ichor staining her now-tanned stomach with a disgusting viscous red. She tried to breath again and, again, her breath didn’t find an exit.
She was starting to panic, her breath finally picking up as her head started to feel dizzy. Her hand moved to her body, the pain was truly exquisite if a bit unneeded. In another situation, Willow might have been fascinated by the injury. She would even take a deeper look at the layers of skin and the flesh. Maybe even peeping the bone as her breathing picked up, but right now? She felt like she was about to faint.
Willow dropped the leg and shoved her hands to her chest. She didn’t know where was the wound but there was blood. A lot of chunky blood, staining her jean shorts. She stifled her breathing, her teeth filtering the air that was entering her lungs. She reminded herself that she could still breath, that she could still move, so it couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Hey Daria,” her voice sounded too faraway as if she was hearing her own words through a phone speaker, “hey Daria!”
She stepped forward toward Daria as she cut around the corner of the building. As she moved, she felt something wet on her chest. She looked down and her breath was caught in her throat.
Blood.
A lot of blood inching down from her chest and unto her stomach. The crimson ichor staining her now-tanned stomach with a disgusting viscous red. She tried to breath again and, again, her breath didn’t find an exit.
She was starting to panic, her breath finally picking up as her head started to feel dizzy. Her hand moved to her body, the pain was truly exquisite if a bit unneeded. In another situation, Willow might have been fascinated by the injury. She would even take a deeper look at the layers of skin and the flesh. Maybe even peeping the bone as her breathing picked up, but right now? She felt like she was about to faint.
Willow dropped the leg and shoved her hands to her chest. She didn’t know where was the wound but there was blood. A lot of chunky blood, staining her jean shorts. She stifled her breathing, her teeth filtering the air that was entering her lungs. She reminded herself that she could still breath, that she could still move, so it couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Hey Daria,” her voice sounded too faraway as if she was hearing her own words through a phone speaker, “hey Daria!”
Running in full Aragorn charge, running like she'd never run before, running like there was lightning crackling on the soles of her feet, like she was surfing liquid fire straight towards the shooter, towards the man called Ace. Another murderer like Blaise, another monster like Quinn, and Stephanie was dead, Aliya was dead, Connor was dead, but no one else is dead, not yet, not if you act now, Daria, not if you save Willow like you couldn't save-
A door slammed into her face.
Daria gave a short, sharp cry of anger, flailing feebly with her bat. She staggered backwards, glaring through tear-blurred eyes at a spider like figure hurtling through the little enclosure of houses. It disappeared from view almost as soon as her eyes could focus on it.
"Hey...you...god damn it!" Daria glared after him in anger, swinging her bat a couple times like she was trying to throw anime blasts after him. Motherfucker, she was being brave, he needed to get back here and let her be brave!"
“Daria...” The voice around the side of the house was faint, so faint Daria didn't quite register it in her shock, pain, anger disbelief. But when the weak voice shouted, “hey Daria!” she heard it. Willow's voice. Willow's voice sounding strange
with a whim
Daria ducked around the house again, a little out of breath, annoyed with herself, starting to tremble with washed-out adrenaline. "Will?" she called, and then came to a stop. Willow was standing there, her hands pressed to her chest like she was trying to fondle herself. There was blood between her fingers.
Stephanie holds her wound in the bathroom it's happening again it's happening again
She felt her bat in her hands try to slip from her numb grim, and reflexively tightened her hold on it. She took several lurching, unsteady steps towards Willow, her voice rasping unnaturally. "Looking a bit red there, Will. Let's get under cover and take a look at it, huh?"
Was there a Western drawl on her words? Was she trying to sound a little the Man With No Name? Fuck it, she'd be whoever she needed to get through this.
"Come on, come one," she grunted, sliding in under Willow's arm, trying to guide her to the house. "He's gone, he ran, he won't bother us, come on..."
A door slammed into her face.
Daria gave a short, sharp cry of anger, flailing feebly with her bat. She staggered backwards, glaring through tear-blurred eyes at a spider like figure hurtling through the little enclosure of houses. It disappeared from view almost as soon as her eyes could focus on it.
"Hey...you...god damn it!" Daria glared after him in anger, swinging her bat a couple times like she was trying to throw anime blasts after him. Motherfucker, she was being brave, he needed to get back here and let her be brave!"
“Daria...” The voice around the side of the house was faint, so faint Daria didn't quite register it in her shock, pain, anger disbelief. But when the weak voice shouted, “hey Daria!” she heard it. Willow's voice. Willow's voice sounding strange
with a whim
Daria ducked around the house again, a little out of breath, annoyed with herself, starting to tremble with washed-out adrenaline. "Will?" she called, and then came to a stop. Willow was standing there, her hands pressed to her chest like she was trying to fondle herself. There was blood between her fingers.
Stephanie holds her wound in the bathroom it's happening again it's happening again
She felt her bat in her hands try to slip from her numb grim, and reflexively tightened her hold on it. She took several lurching, unsteady steps towards Willow, her voice rasping unnaturally. "Looking a bit red there, Will. Let's get under cover and take a look at it, huh?"
Was there a Western drawl on her words? Was she trying to sound a little the Man With No Name? Fuck it, she'd be whoever she needed to get through this.
"Come on, come one," she grunted, sliding in under Willow's arm, trying to guide her to the house. "He's gone, he ran, he won't bother us, come on..."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
"A bit red," Willow echoed, "ha."
Yeah. She looked a tad bit red, a bit too much for her own liking. The worst part of all this, she wasn't sure why. She couldn't find her injuries because of the blood that seeping out of her wound. It made her feel helpless, small, as if she were a child again. She wasn't a child, she swore to herself to never be as helpless again. But she was, again, helpless against her fate.
Her fingers dragged across the side of her ribcage until she found the nook that the bullets had done to her. The sudden touch made her squeal. It was raw, open. The world could see her insides. Was she just like Sierra in this moment? Waiting to open to the world? She mentally berated herself for not dying before Katrina, this would be the perfect moment for this.
"Hah, yeah," she said to herself, "hahahahaha."
Her giggles bubbled up in her throat. Was she finally going to die? It took that long, huh. That's strange. She thought she would survive for maybe like... a day? or maybe at most three days! Not twelve! She giggled, her voice covering the buzzing in her ears. It didn't hurt anymore. She wished it did. This was better than any injuries she could do to herself. Perhaps getting shot wasn't that bad after all, even if it was impersonal.
"Ohoh," she continued to laugh, "is he already gone? That's disappointing, hahahah."
It was a coin flip, but now, she confirmed it!. Ace deserved to win even if he chose to avoid her. She had confirmed three people's worth for survival, and it was perfect! It truly was. This day couldn't get any better. Willow hooked her finger in her wound, making her entire body jolt in pain. Daria's arm around her felt good though. It didn't feel as good as Sierra or Katrina or Roxie, but it felt good.
"I want- hahahah!" Her giggles were interrupting her mouth, it was frankly quite annoying. Muffling her laughter with tight lips, she continued to voice her opinion. "I want to do my own stitches."
Yeah. She looked a tad bit red, a bit too much for her own liking. The worst part of all this, she wasn't sure why. She couldn't find her injuries because of the blood that seeping out of her wound. It made her feel helpless, small, as if she were a child again. She wasn't a child, she swore to herself to never be as helpless again. But she was, again, helpless against her fate.
Her fingers dragged across the side of her ribcage until she found the nook that the bullets had done to her. The sudden touch made her squeal. It was raw, open. The world could see her insides. Was she just like Sierra in this moment? Waiting to open to the world? She mentally berated herself for not dying before Katrina, this would be the perfect moment for this.
"Hah, yeah," she said to herself, "hahahahaha."
Her giggles bubbled up in her throat. Was she finally going to die? It took that long, huh. That's strange. She thought she would survive for maybe like... a day? or maybe at most three days! Not twelve! She giggled, her voice covering the buzzing in her ears. It didn't hurt anymore. She wished it did. This was better than any injuries she could do to herself. Perhaps getting shot wasn't that bad after all, even if it was impersonal.
"Ohoh," she continued to laugh, "is he already gone? That's disappointing, hahahah."
It was a coin flip, but now, she confirmed it!. Ace deserved to win even if he chose to avoid her. She had confirmed three people's worth for survival, and it was perfect! It truly was. This day couldn't get any better. Willow hooked her finger in her wound, making her entire body jolt in pain. Daria's arm around her felt good though. It didn't feel as good as Sierra or Katrina or Roxie, but it felt good.
"I want- hahahah!" Her giggles were interrupting her mouth, it was frankly quite annoying. Muffling her laughter with tight lips, she continued to voice her opinion. "I want to do my own stitches."
Willow was laughing, and Daria did not like that laugh. That laugh sounded fucking familiar. It sounded like Daria felt half the time, like a person barely clinging to sanity, like a mind circling the drain.
"Ohoh," she continued to laugh, "is he already gone? That's disappointing, hahahah."
Fucking god damn it there had to be a joke here based on Ace's name. High card? Poker reference? Fucking...everything's so obscure, too obscure, but Willow is shaking in your grasp, and all you can see in your head is Stephanie, bleeding and whispering
with a whim
"That's aces in my book," Daria muttered, with just a hint of that ridiculous Western drawl, and stumbled inside the house Ace had left vacant, kicking the door shut behid her and leaning Willow back against a nearby couch. "I'm not looking to deal with any killers but Blaise."
"I want..." Willow replied, trailing off in manic laughter. A look of annoyance crossed her face, and she settled down a bit. "I want to do my own stitches."
"Already got yourself in stitches," muttered Daria, still with that fucking faux-gruff undertone, who the fuck did she think she was fooling? Willow knew her from before, the cameras have watched her all this time, they know exactly who you are, you've failed again, fucked up again, someone else is going to die because of you.
"And until you get that laughter under control, you're gonna tear yourself open," Daria pulled the pack off her shoulder, digging through for the first aid kit she'd had to use so sparingly. "How about we take a look at it first, huh? Figure out what to do after."
What the fuck are you playing at you don't know anything about medicine about saving her about anything you stupid stupid little girl you can't save her she's going to die you need help-
There is no help. There's just you.
She leaned forward to examine the wound.
"Ohoh," she continued to laugh, "is he already gone? That's disappointing, hahahah."
Fucking god damn it there had to be a joke here based on Ace's name. High card? Poker reference? Fucking...everything's so obscure, too obscure, but Willow is shaking in your grasp, and all you can see in your head is Stephanie, bleeding and whispering
with a whim
"That's aces in my book," Daria muttered, with just a hint of that ridiculous Western drawl, and stumbled inside the house Ace had left vacant, kicking the door shut behid her and leaning Willow back against a nearby couch. "I'm not looking to deal with any killers but Blaise."
"I want..." Willow replied, trailing off in manic laughter. A look of annoyance crossed her face, and she settled down a bit. "I want to do my own stitches."
"Already got yourself in stitches," muttered Daria, still with that fucking faux-gruff undertone, who the fuck did she think she was fooling? Willow knew her from before, the cameras have watched her all this time, they know exactly who you are, you've failed again, fucked up again, someone else is going to die because of you.
"And until you get that laughter under control, you're gonna tear yourself open," Daria pulled the pack off her shoulder, digging through for the first aid kit she'd had to use so sparingly. "How about we take a look at it first, huh? Figure out what to do after."
What the fuck are you playing at you don't know anything about medicine about saving her about anything you stupid stupid little girl you can't save her she's going to die you need help-
There is no help. There's just you.
She leaned forward to examine the wound.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
"Hah! You got it!" Willow said, pointing her bloodied finger Daria, "I knew I could rely on you, hahaha."
Her laughter continued as Willow tried to wrestle away from Daria's grip to no avail. She wanted to do this alone. Willow wanted to pour some chemicals on her wounds and sew it back up with whatever material she found. But Daria was too strong, or Willow was too weak, and she couldn't get herself free from the girl's grip.
Willow's injury was right below her bra strap, on the same side she had been shot twelve days ago. There had to be something about symbolism there, but Willow's mind started to black out as she tried to remember if she actually been shot on the other side. She needed to test it out with her fingers, but her grip started to slip.
"Is it bad, Dr. Daria? Tell me it's bad," she said, giddy like a child on Christmas Eve, "can you see my insides?"
Willow looked down at her own and it sent another wave of dizziness and vertigo through her body. She leaned backward, smearing herself against the wall of the corridor. She muttered a small oops before taking a second look at it. The wound was a strange one. Through the blood, she could see the graze.
Actually, she hated the word 'graze'. It wasn't doing Willow justice. She decided to call it rend.
Through the blood, the rend was showing a weird pattern. First, there was a deep gash in her chest followed by an island of untouched flesh. After, the gash appeared again and continued outward. There wasn't any bullets in her and Willow felt so fucking sad. She wanted to keep it. Willow knew she had other opportunities to keep other things, but fuck, a bullet would be perfect of her collection.
"That's sooo weird," she says, her voice breaking at the last syllable, "where's the alcohol when you need it?"
Her laughter continued as Willow tried to wrestle away from Daria's grip to no avail. She wanted to do this alone. Willow wanted to pour some chemicals on her wounds and sew it back up with whatever material she found. But Daria was too strong, or Willow was too weak, and she couldn't get herself free from the girl's grip.
Willow's injury was right below her bra strap, on the same side she had been shot twelve days ago. There had to be something about symbolism there, but Willow's mind started to black out as she tried to remember if she actually been shot on the other side. She needed to test it out with her fingers, but her grip started to slip.
"Is it bad, Dr. Daria? Tell me it's bad," she said, giddy like a child on Christmas Eve, "can you see my insides?"
Willow looked down at her own and it sent another wave of dizziness and vertigo through her body. She leaned backward, smearing herself against the wall of the corridor. She muttered a small oops before taking a second look at it. The wound was a strange one. Through the blood, she could see the graze.
Actually, she hated the word 'graze'. It wasn't doing Willow justice. She decided to call it rend.
Through the blood, the rend was showing a weird pattern. First, there was a deep gash in her chest followed by an island of untouched flesh. After, the gash appeared again and continued outward. There wasn't any bullets in her and Willow felt so fucking sad. She wanted to keep it. Willow knew she had other opportunities to keep other things, but fuck, a bullet would be perfect of her collection.
"That's sooo weird," she says, her voice breaking at the last syllable, "where's the alcohol when you need it?"
"I knew I could rely on you!" Willow said, giggling, and Daria said nothing, fought the full-body flinch, because she was a badass cowboy who didn't flinch in the face of danger and didn't freeze up at the thought of all the souls she'd let down
(Carrie Tony Aliya Connor Steph)
and there was a wound in front of her, a rip straight through Willow's flesh, and Daria fought the wild urge to look down the wound like she was looking through a fleshy telescope.
"Well," Daria said. "That ain't hardly a mosquito bite."
(She'd stolen that line from somewhere. Where? Joss Whedon, maybe? One of the Avengers movies? No, focus)
"Don't be a drama queen, Will, that's my job," Daria grunted, when Willow asked if her she could see her insides. "Human beings all have holes in'em, I could see your insides anytime I liked." She managed a wry grin, which widened further as Willow talked about alcohol. "I hear you," grunted Daria. "Could use a drink myself about now." Something tickled at the back of his mind, and he glanced down at the first aid kit. "I do have a different kind of alcohol, though..."
She tore open the pack of alcohol pads (another pang of embarrassment: this was a bullet wound, not a scraped knee, what the fuck did she think she was doing, who the fuck did she think she was fooling?) and pulled out some of the other stuff (at random from half-remembered first-aid classes she'd had to take for her tutoring certification, bandages, tape, gloves, fuck she should wash her hands, no time, hand sanitizer, yes!)
"How about I patch you up a bit first?" Daria asked. "Then I'll work on finding us something to drink." She leaned forwards. "I'll try and be gentle."
Alcohol pads in hand, she started trying to help her wounded friend.
(Carrie Tony Aliya Connor Steph)
and there was a wound in front of her, a rip straight through Willow's flesh, and Daria fought the wild urge to look down the wound like she was looking through a fleshy telescope.
"Well," Daria said. "That ain't hardly a mosquito bite."
(She'd stolen that line from somewhere. Where? Joss Whedon, maybe? One of the Avengers movies? No, focus)
"Don't be a drama queen, Will, that's my job," Daria grunted, when Willow asked if her she could see her insides. "Human beings all have holes in'em, I could see your insides anytime I liked." She managed a wry grin, which widened further as Willow talked about alcohol. "I hear you," grunted Daria. "Could use a drink myself about now." Something tickled at the back of his mind, and he glanced down at the first aid kit. "I do have a different kind of alcohol, though..."
She tore open the pack of alcohol pads (another pang of embarrassment: this was a bullet wound, not a scraped knee, what the fuck did she think she was doing, who the fuck did she think she was fooling?) and pulled out some of the other stuff (at random from half-remembered first-aid classes she'd had to take for her tutoring certification, bandages, tape, gloves, fuck she should wash her hands, no time, hand sanitizer, yes!)
"How about I patch you up a bit first?" Daria asked. "Then I'll work on finding us something to drink." She leaned forwards. "I'll try and be gentle."
Alcohol pads in hand, she started trying to help her wounded friend.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
"Why?" Her voice was finally full with worries and concerns. "Why are you helping me?"
Willow kept her fingers against her wound. She pressed until it ached and ached some more. The pain was a reminder that she desperately needed, especially right now. Willow leaned back on the wall, painting a shape in the form of herself against the wallpaper. She wanted to be engraved, remembered, have a little trace of herself somewhere where nobody would ever wipe it off. Her fingers still in her wound, she pushed herself away from Daria's grasp.
Nobody should be helping her. Willow didn't help herself so she didn't want to receive help. She didn't want any of this sympathy or empathy or pity. It was her just punishment for existing. It was her own burden to carry. She would be fine alone, and if she wasn't, it didn't matter to her.
She pushed back again, dripping on the carpet. Daria carried alcohol wipes in her hands. They were going to be used on her, and Willow didn't want that. Why was Daria helping her? There was no point in doing it. It wasn't worth the effort- she wasn't worth the time.
"Why are you helping me?" She repeated, her voice trembling. "You shouldn't."
Willow was being honest.
Willow kept her fingers against her wound. She pressed until it ached and ached some more. The pain was a reminder that she desperately needed, especially right now. Willow leaned back on the wall, painting a shape in the form of herself against the wallpaper. She wanted to be engraved, remembered, have a little trace of herself somewhere where nobody would ever wipe it off. Her fingers still in her wound, she pushed herself away from Daria's grasp.
Nobody should be helping her. Willow didn't help herself so she didn't want to receive help. She didn't want any of this sympathy or empathy or pity. It was her just punishment for existing. It was her own burden to carry. She would be fine alone, and if she wasn't, it didn't matter to her.
She pushed back again, dripping on the carpet. Daria carried alcohol wipes in her hands. They were going to be used on her, and Willow didn't want that. Why was Daria helping her? There was no point in doing it. It wasn't worth the effort- she wasn't worth the time.
"Why are you helping me?" She repeated, her voice trembling. "You shouldn't."
Willow was being honest.
Will staggers back, her blood dripping down the carpet. Daria faces her, hand comically extended with the wipe still extended.
Here's your moment, Daria. Your time in the spotlight, your time for a soliloquy with the audience's eyes fully on you. Here's Willow, staggering back, shaken and unsure, asking why you're trying to help her. Here's how you bring it full circle: how you honor everything you've faced, everything you've lost, and finally convince someone of your righteous, rightful cause. Put your hand on your hip, cocky as a cowboy, and make it clear how you're gonna fix everything.
"Stephanie died," Daria answered, and her voice almost broke, and she closed her eyes against prickling tears and shook her head. "Stephanie died. A few houses away. Blaise beat her. Then she shot her. I tried to save her, but I...I couldn't. I couldn't...couldn't stop Blaise, with words or the bat, couldn't stop anyone, couldn't save anyone, Carrie's dead, Tony's dead, everyone's dying, there's...how many of us now? How many fucking kids and I was supposed to leave, Willow, I was supposed to find other people like us, people who didn't want to play, bring'em here so we could hang out and talk and just be us away from this stupid fucking-"
Her fingers flew to the collar on her neck. She drew a rattling breath, scrunched her eyes up harder. In. Out. You're not crying. You can't cry. You promised Steph.
"Steph was gonna hold down the fort," Daria said. "While I..." She shook her head again. "And she died."
Her eyes snapped open, blazing. "So I don't give a fuck about 'should' or 'shouldn't', Will. I'm gonna break this fucking game, but first we're gonna patch up that fucking hole in your chest, so sit. The fuck. Down." She jabbed her finger towards the nearby sofa.
Here's your moment, Daria. Your time in the spotlight, your time for a soliloquy with the audience's eyes fully on you. Here's Willow, staggering back, shaken and unsure, asking why you're trying to help her. Here's how you bring it full circle: how you honor everything you've faced, everything you've lost, and finally convince someone of your righteous, rightful cause. Put your hand on your hip, cocky as a cowboy, and make it clear how you're gonna fix everything.
"Stephanie died," Daria answered, and her voice almost broke, and she closed her eyes against prickling tears and shook her head. "Stephanie died. A few houses away. Blaise beat her. Then she shot her. I tried to save her, but I...I couldn't. I couldn't...couldn't stop Blaise, with words or the bat, couldn't stop anyone, couldn't save anyone, Carrie's dead, Tony's dead, everyone's dying, there's...how many of us now? How many fucking kids and I was supposed to leave, Willow, I was supposed to find other people like us, people who didn't want to play, bring'em here so we could hang out and talk and just be us away from this stupid fucking-"
Her fingers flew to the collar on her neck. She drew a rattling breath, scrunched her eyes up harder. In. Out. You're not crying. You can't cry. You promised Steph.
"Steph was gonna hold down the fort," Daria said. "While I..." She shook her head again. "And she died."
Her eyes snapped open, blazing. "So I don't give a fuck about 'should' or 'shouldn't', Will. I'm gonna break this fucking game, but first we're gonna patch up that fucking hole in your chest, so sit. The fuck. Down." She jabbed her finger towards the nearby sofa.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
"I..." Willow shook her head. That was a strange development, something that Willow would never expect from Daria. "Thank you."
Willow stumbled toward the sofa. It looked like a mess. People had been clearly sleeping here by the way the sweat stains and the dried blood were placed on it. It was quite ugly too. The idea of her contribution to ruining the sofa being that made her eyes rolled into oblivion. Willow would hate to die here, surrounded by bullet holes, inside and out. She nodded, her hands still pressed against her wound.
She sat down and immediately her head lolling back. Even if her body felt electrified, she had never been more weak and amorphous. She assumed it was the combination between the blood loss and pain and maybe even bone fracture. The bullet had struck her very close to her ribcage, but she wasn't sure where exactly. It could have been her floating ribs or her abdomen. She wasn't sure and she wanted to know, but the blood hid it.
"Daria, I got duct tape," she says, following up with the onomatopoeia everyone associated with it.
Willow moved herself again, putting her uninjured side of her body against the cushions. She knew something about gravity and wounds and bleeding, but her knowledge about it was limited. She really just did not want to leave even more blood on this sofa. Her eyes rolled again, but this time, it was because of the gray blanket that was setting itself on her vision.
"I'm ready."
Willow stumbled toward the sofa. It looked like a mess. People had been clearly sleeping here by the way the sweat stains and the dried blood were placed on it. It was quite ugly too. The idea of her contribution to ruining the sofa being that made her eyes rolled into oblivion. Willow would hate to die here, surrounded by bullet holes, inside and out. She nodded, her hands still pressed against her wound.
She sat down and immediately her head lolling back. Even if her body felt electrified, she had never been more weak and amorphous. She assumed it was the combination between the blood loss and pain and maybe even bone fracture. The bullet had struck her very close to her ribcage, but she wasn't sure where exactly. It could have been her floating ribs or her abdomen. She wasn't sure and she wanted to know, but the blood hid it.
"Daria, I got duct tape," she says, following up with the onomatopoeia everyone associated with it.
Willow moved herself again, putting her uninjured side of her body against the cushions. She knew something about gravity and wounds and bleeding, but her knowledge about it was limited. She really just did not want to leave even more blood on this sofa. Her eyes rolled again, but this time, it was because of the gray blanket that was setting itself on her vision.
"I'm ready."
Willow listed (thank you God) and sat on the sofa, and she looked so much worse than she had moments before, paler and shakier, barely keeping her feet. Daria tried and failed to smile when she made her quacking noise, striding purposefully towards her with her first-aid kit under one arm, the damp alcohol pad still in hand.
"Good," Daria said. "Let's get started."
Alcohol wipes first, gentle as she could. Then...hell, she'd had one first-aid course years ago, fuzzy in her head. There were bandages, band-aids, tape, and other bits and pieces of dressing. Daria did the best she could, like she was performing in an unexpected show, ad-libbing her way through.
And while she worked, she tlked.
"Hey, Will?" Daria asked. "Why didn't you want me to help you?"
"Good," Daria said. "Let's get started."
Alcohol wipes first, gentle as she could. Then...hell, she'd had one first-aid course years ago, fuzzy in her head. There were bandages, band-aids, tape, and other bits and pieces of dressing. Daria did the best she could, like she was performing in an unexpected show, ad-libbing her way through.
And while she worked, she tlked.
"Hey, Will?" Daria asked. "Why didn't you want me to help you?"
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Willow knew why, but she didn't want to acknowledge it. Being healed, and being taken care of, and being infantalized like that made her skin crawl. It brought her back to a place where she was helpless, weak. She couldn't allow this, especially in front of the world. She had spent twelve days without any help, and she didn't want to fail now. But she did, and when the alcohol rubbed against her, her entire body jolted in pain.
Actually, she had been weak: exactly twelve days ago. When she needed Sierra to take care of her after she was shot in the chest by Faith, when she begged her to not let her die when she had every right to do so. She wondered where did people find their kindness in these times. She was quite puzzled. Willow couldn't even manage to care about
Rationally, Willow didn't want to be a martyr, she didn't want to suffer for a greater cause. Martyrdom was something Willow was quite uninterested of, frankly. It was one way to be remembered, but it wasn't the way that Willow wanted to be. Being written down in the archives of humanity as the girl who died in pain and then turned into a symbol was... less than ideal for her. However, in this moment, she briefly considered letting go.
"I'm just scared of what you want from me after," Willow replies after licking her lips, "you know, for taking care of me."
Willow shakes her head, her hair flopping out of her bun secured by the cat ears. She looks away, her eyes staring at something, or rather someone, that wasn't there. She tapped her black nails against her lips before continuing, staining her mouth with blood. Willow rubbed her mouth against her shoulder, painting a new picture on herself.
"I had to do a lot last time," she whispers mainly to herself, "to pay her back."
Actually, she had been weak: exactly twelve days ago. When she needed Sierra to take care of her after she was shot in the chest by Faith, when she begged her to not let her die when she had every right to do so. She wondered where did people find their kindness in these times. She was quite puzzled. Willow couldn't even manage to care about
Rationally, Willow didn't want to be a martyr, she didn't want to suffer for a greater cause. Martyrdom was something Willow was quite uninterested of, frankly. It was one way to be remembered, but it wasn't the way that Willow wanted to be. Being written down in the archives of humanity as the girl who died in pain and then turned into a symbol was... less than ideal for her. However, in this moment, she briefly considered letting go.
"I'm just scared of what you want from me after," Willow replies after licking her lips, "you know, for taking care of me."
Willow shakes her head, her hair flopping out of her bun secured by the cat ears. She looks away, her eyes staring at something, or rather someone, that wasn't there. She tapped her black nails against her lips before continuing, staining her mouth with blood. Willow rubbed her mouth against her shoulder, painting a new picture on herself.
"I had to do a lot last time," she whispers mainly to herself, "to pay her back."
Daria kept working on Willow's side even as the other girl hissed from pain, fighting against a rising embarassment as she did so. She knew exactly what she was doing: most of her ministrations were not remembered from first-aid classes but from the dim recollections of movies and TV shows. She even felt herself posing a little, trying to make herself look the concerned nurse for the watching cameras.
Playing at roles, always playing at roles, is there anything good in you, Daria Bhatia?
I ran towards the gunshots
After you let Steph die.
Will was talking, and Daria jerked herself out of her self-abusing reverie (still playing her role as tender nursemaid caring for the wounded soldier, time enough to get a romance subplot going, don't you want this to be entertaining for the folks at home?), her eyes flickering between the wound she's clumsily bandaging and the vaguness in Willow's face.
But she can't help but slowing a little, as WIllow talks. Can't help it. Not if she's understanding Willow correctly. And even if she's not, there's...there's a lot to take in.
She busies herself on the wound again, as Willow falls silent. She's thinking of Steph, and Tony, and Carrie. She's thinking of herself, too...and who she wants to be, with maybe twenty people left alive on this Island.
"Can't speak to what happened last time," Daria said, letting her voice swim in the Western drawl she'd been fighting against, playing a new role now, a heroic cowboy comforting the fearful on her way to the historic gunfight. "But you don't have to do a god damn thing to pay me back, Will. Not now, not ever."
She looked directly at Willow for the first time, smiling as reassuringly as she could manage. Then she went back to the wound, her smiling twisting ruefully. "Might end up talking your ear off, though," Daria said, her voice closer to its natural cadence. "I'm kind of tired of just yelling at Danyuh and his fellow fuckers."
Her smile dimmed a little more.
"You can talk my ear off, first. If you want."
Playing at roles, always playing at roles, is there anything good in you, Daria Bhatia?
I ran towards the gunshots
After you let Steph die.
Will was talking, and Daria jerked herself out of her self-abusing reverie (still playing her role as tender nursemaid caring for the wounded soldier, time enough to get a romance subplot going, don't you want this to be entertaining for the folks at home?), her eyes flickering between the wound she's clumsily bandaging and the vaguness in Willow's face.
But she can't help but slowing a little, as WIllow talks. Can't help it. Not if she's understanding Willow correctly. And even if she's not, there's...there's a lot to take in.
She busies herself on the wound again, as Willow falls silent. She's thinking of Steph, and Tony, and Carrie. She's thinking of herself, too...and who she wants to be, with maybe twenty people left alive on this Island.
"Can't speak to what happened last time," Daria said, letting her voice swim in the Western drawl she'd been fighting against, playing a new role now, a heroic cowboy comforting the fearful on her way to the historic gunfight. "But you don't have to do a god damn thing to pay me back, Will. Not now, not ever."
She looked directly at Willow for the first time, smiling as reassuringly as she could manage. Then she went back to the wound, her smiling twisting ruefully. "Might end up talking your ear off, though," Daria said, her voice closer to its natural cadence. "I'm kind of tired of just yelling at Danyuh and his fellow fuckers."
Her smile dimmed a little more.
"You can talk my ear off, first. If you want."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”