((Nate Chauncey continued from Of Moons, Birds and Monster))
Nate was hurt, and hurt badly. She definitely didn't need to be a doctor to know that.
The left side of her body was dark with blood, the flow making it look like she was wearing some kind of grisly red stocking. Nate's wound was low on her abdomen, but there were crimson smears halfway up the side of her chest as a result of her attempts to keep a hand clamped to it as she'd staggered and stumbled across the island, barely knowing where she was headed.
It'd been a blind panic, and it was just now barely abating, her heart yammering in her chest and blood - too much blood - trickling down her side. The injury was more oozing than spurting, but it wasn't showing any signs of stopping, and Nate didn't think it would by itself. And what could she do about it? She had no supplies, no medicine, and even if she did, Nate wouldn't have had the first idea of where to start.
She was-
-thump-
- walking straight into the doors of a building. The hotel?
Nate teetered... then fell in a heap, slamming untidily into the door and spilling into the lobby. Her rifle, held white knuckled in her free hand, went skittering across the floors, and she cried out as a fresh burst of pain erupted in her side, blood dripping onto the floor.
She tried to stand, hand groping for the door handle, only for it to slip through blood-slick fingers, leaving a bright red hand print on the door's surface before dropping to her knees. Nate stared at the print for a moment, attempting to make an expression that may, on a good day, have been mistaken for a smile.
It was probably the most perfect print she'd ever seen, since the days of hand painting, making huge messes that her parents tore their hair out over. The perfect hand print, and its paint was blood.
Her blood.
Nate's stomach roiled, and if there had been anything in it, she might even have been sick. But there wasn't. She hadn't eaten for days, and instead she just lurched to her feet, stumbling this way and that, more droplets creeping past her hand and dotting the hotel's lobby. It took clumsy fingers several tries to pick the sniper rifle back up, but eventually she managed it.
She didn't know why she was bringing the gun with her. Nate only knew that it had been at her side at the beginning, and now, at the end, it was a perverse kind of comfort. The announcement had told her that was one of the only ones left, the man in the collar had tried to coach her. Nate hated both of them, more than anything. She hadn't asked for this, she'd just wanted to make art. Make music...
Nate allowed her feet to take her wherever they chose, and she shuffled into another room. Tables, chairs. Laid out for dinner but with none of the frills. It had to be some kind of dining room.
Staggering, almost at the end of her strength, Nate tried to sit on a chair, missed, and wound up slumped against a table, backfirst, facing the door.
It'd be over, soon enough... then she could rest...
Oracular Spectacular
Endgame
((This is assuming some stuff, so I hope it's ok))
((Mason Ross continued from Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters))
Their path had taken them from the beach to the back of the hotel. Mason hadn't cared about finding the front of it, just wanted to get out of the danger zone and in, out of open ground. They could find their way to the lobby later and meet Shawn whenever he had done...whatever it was he needed to do.
Lexi had kept step with Mason, and he was grateful. Despite all that happened, he still didn't want to be alone.
The entrance they had found was a plate glass door that lead into a side hallway for rooms; probably something to allow patrons quick access for smoke breaks or fresh air or whatever people who stayed in sweet hotel rooms felt they needed to do when they weren't fucking or getting ready to to hit the beach.
"May I take your bags to your room, madame?" He said to Lexi. The humor was returning, a bit. He needed the mirth right now.
((Mason Ross continued from Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters))
Their path had taken them from the beach to the back of the hotel. Mason hadn't cared about finding the front of it, just wanted to get out of the danger zone and in, out of open ground. They could find their way to the lobby later and meet Shawn whenever he had done...whatever it was he needed to do.
Lexi had kept step with Mason, and he was grateful. Despite all that happened, he still didn't want to be alone.
The entrance they had found was a plate glass door that lead into a side hallway for rooms; probably something to allow patrons quick access for smoke breaks or fresh air or whatever people who stayed in sweet hotel rooms felt they needed to do when they weren't fucking or getting ready to to hit the beach.
"May I take your bags to your room, madame?" He said to Lexi. The humor was returning, a bit. He needed the mirth right now.
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
(Alexis Allwell continued from Of Moons, Birds & Monsters)
Lexi's heart was pounding quickly in her chest. This was it. The final ground for them. She couldn't run somewhere else. That was the worst part, she figured. There was nowhere else she could go now. Before if everything went wrong she could take off for somewhere else. Now she could run down a hallway at the most.
But Mason was still there. He was the good one. He had protected them. He had stopped Tim, even if it meant making himself a killer. Tried to ward off Nate when she went on shooting. Nate was still alive too, lurking somewhere in the hotel, or hadn't arrived yet.
Shawn hadn't caught up with them either. He had told them to go, but he had to go to the hotel too. The producers wouldn't wait forever. She was pretty sure that collars had been detonated before the finals before. She didn't want that to happen to Shawn. That nice boy who had saved her life. She didn't want any of this to happen to any of them. No choice there.
Mason made a joke about taking her luggage. Keeping spirits up? "Yeah, the honeymoon suite, umm right?" Oh God why had she said that. This was a life or death situation, not the time to be flirting with some boy. Even if that boy had been cute in day to day life. She could feel her cheeks burning slightly, but only slightly, she was harder to embarrass it seemed.
But no, that was the wrong response from her. It had all the wrong implications. That she was "with" Mason, when it was nothing of the kind. It ignored the dead Renee, and Shawn, who had been the other boy in their group.
But what else was she supposed to say?
Lexi's heart was pounding quickly in her chest. This was it. The final ground for them. She couldn't run somewhere else. That was the worst part, she figured. There was nowhere else she could go now. Before if everything went wrong she could take off for somewhere else. Now she could run down a hallway at the most.
But Mason was still there. He was the good one. He had protected them. He had stopped Tim, even if it meant making himself a killer. Tried to ward off Nate when she went on shooting. Nate was still alive too, lurking somewhere in the hotel, or hadn't arrived yet.
Shawn hadn't caught up with them either. He had told them to go, but he had to go to the hotel too. The producers wouldn't wait forever. She was pretty sure that collars had been detonated before the finals before. She didn't want that to happen to Shawn. That nice boy who had saved her life. She didn't want any of this to happen to any of them. No choice there.
Mason made a joke about taking her luggage. Keeping spirits up? "Yeah, the honeymoon suite, umm right?" Oh God why had she said that. This was a life or death situation, not the time to be flirting with some boy. Even if that boy had been cute in day to day life. She could feel her cheeks burning slightly, but only slightly, she was harder to embarrass it seemed.
But no, that was the wrong response from her. It had all the wrong implications. That she was "with" Mason, when it was nothing of the kind. It ignored the dead Renee, and Shawn, who had been the other boy in their group.
But what else was she supposed to say?
Odile Jones continued from Inner Demons
Footsteps. Voices. People were here.
Odile looked up, wiping her eyes. Her hand came away dark with mascara. Christ, she must have looked like shit. Her gun lay a few feet away on the floor, the barrel pointed at her. She made no move to pick it up.
It was almost zen-like, how little she cared. All logic, all reason told her that anyone who'd survived this long had to be some kind of monster, had to have done all kinds of horrible shit to stay alive. God knows she had. Her convulsive sobs had faded to breathless, shaking tears, but she was far from hidden; if they saw her stuff outside, the bathroom would be one of the first places they'd look, and even if they didn't, there were good odds they might just come in for the privilege of pissing somewhere where a shirtsleeve didn't have to pass for toilet paper. Still, she didn't pick up her gun.
Sure, they might come in here and kill her. Torture her, rape her, what-the-fuck-ever. It didn't matter to Odile. Not anymore.
She had shot her friend to death, her best friend. She'd seen a person so kind, so good, turned into a monster by this fucking hell, and then she'd seen her die. Nothing could feel worst than that. No matter how fucked up, how twisted her fellow survivors were, there wasn't a thing they could do to Odile that would hurt more than what she'd done to Amber, what she'd done to Cesar.
Odile drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. They wanted to come kill her? Bring it the fuck on. Odile Jones didn't give a shit. Some crazy fucker wanted her life? He could take it.
She was done playing this game.
Footsteps. Voices. People were here.
Odile looked up, wiping her eyes. Her hand came away dark with mascara. Christ, she must have looked like shit. Her gun lay a few feet away on the floor, the barrel pointed at her. She made no move to pick it up.
It was almost zen-like, how little she cared. All logic, all reason told her that anyone who'd survived this long had to be some kind of monster, had to have done all kinds of horrible shit to stay alive. God knows she had. Her convulsive sobs had faded to breathless, shaking tears, but she was far from hidden; if they saw her stuff outside, the bathroom would be one of the first places they'd look, and even if they didn't, there were good odds they might just come in for the privilege of pissing somewhere where a shirtsleeve didn't have to pass for toilet paper. Still, she didn't pick up her gun.
Sure, they might come in here and kill her. Torture her, rape her, what-the-fuck-ever. It didn't matter to Odile. Not anymore.
She had shot her friend to death, her best friend. She'd seen a person so kind, so good, turned into a monster by this fucking hell, and then she'd seen her die. Nothing could feel worst than that. No matter how fucked up, how twisted her fellow survivors were, there wasn't a thing they could do to Odile that would hurt more than what she'd done to Amber, what she'd done to Cesar.
Odile drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. They wanted to come kill her? Bring it the fuck on. Odile Jones didn't give a shit. Some crazy fucker wanted her life? He could take it.
She was done playing this game.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Kitten. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
[[Madelyn Conner continued from Game Faces]]
As she made her way to the hotel Madelyn had to keep her eyes from looking to see if anyone was following her. Failing only a few times Madelyn felt only more worry after each time she looked back. What if they had followed her from the beach, and were only keeping her alive to see what the situation a head of them was like.
She shook her head vigorously to be rid of the paranoia, but it lingered like the humidity on this damn island.
When she finally made it to the hotel Madelyn stood behind a tree to make sure she wasn't walking into a trap. Deciding not to wait too long lest the producers push the button to blow her up. Sure it was unlikely, but that's what they said about ending up on the show.
Jogging to the door Madelyn remembered the first day with Mikaela, and they ran from this place. Leaving Kevin and the two other students here to kill each other. Maybe if Madelyn had given them a chance things could of been different, better even.
She wouldn't have met up with Jake though, but she couldn't decide if that was a good thing or bad.
This wasn't the time to pounder these things. Forcing her arm to work, Madelyn opened the door and entered the back of the hotel. After making sure the door closed softly she turned around, and walked through the hall with her gun at the ready.
As she made her way to the hotel Madelyn had to keep her eyes from looking to see if anyone was following her. Failing only a few times Madelyn felt only more worry after each time she looked back. What if they had followed her from the beach, and were only keeping her alive to see what the situation a head of them was like.
She shook her head vigorously to be rid of the paranoia, but it lingered like the humidity on this damn island.
When she finally made it to the hotel Madelyn stood behind a tree to make sure she wasn't walking into a trap. Deciding not to wait too long lest the producers push the button to blow her up. Sure it was unlikely, but that's what they said about ending up on the show.
Jogging to the door Madelyn remembered the first day with Mikaela, and they ran from this place. Leaving Kevin and the two other students here to kill each other. Maybe if Madelyn had given them a chance things could of been different, better even.
She wouldn't have met up with Jake though, but she couldn't decide if that was a good thing or bad.
This wasn't the time to pounder these things. Forcing her arm to work, Madelyn opened the door and entered the back of the hotel. After making sure the door closed softly she turned around, and walked through the hall with her gun at the ready.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Acidic. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
[[GLD4: Shawn Morrison Continued From: Of Moons, Birds & Monsters.]]
The midday breeze felt rather weird against his head, without the familiar warmth of his regular hairstyle.
Shawn promised to meet up with Mason and Alexis at the hotel, but on his way there, he realized it wasn't a wise choice. Numbers were good, but at this point he needed to be alone, at least for the moment. It wasn't that he was worried on them turning on him, more that he was worried about himself being responsible for their deaths. Indirectly of course, but he wasn't quite sure anymore. He couldn't imagine turning the gun on them, especially someone like Alexis whom he had already saved the life of once before.
He was supposed to be the new and improved Shawn Morrison he'd promised the audience, perhaps even to himself. This meant he needed to distance himself from anyone that could have any kind of emotional attachment on him. The goal was to take down all his remaining enemies and he needed to focus on that, without risking the life of others in the process.
Shawn was going to do this on his own.
The sand had lessened and Shawn knew he was approaching the hotel. The hotel was a very common place to him. There were doors, several of them as exits or entrances around the building. Shawn headed to one of them, but stopped mid-step to grin at one of the cameras along the immediate outside of the hotel. He raised his eyebrow to go along with that uneasy grin, to purposely try and come off as if he'd lost some of his earlier mental stability. Shawn smoothed out his golden bandanna against his forehead, readjusted the strap of his bag over his arm and then back, finally slinging the pump action shotgun over his shoulder in a way that made him look ready for some action.
"Nope. Using the front door."
He motioned with the gun, pointing the muzzle to where he was really headed and started walking in the direction. It wasn't just a stupid move to pander his "new-self" to the audience either. Shawn knew that the others knew how to survive, lasting this long. They were all going to avoid the obvious front door to avoid getting into an immediate gun fight or ambush.
This was why it was the perfect place to go. It was safer. No one else was going to be there. Not even Mason or Alexis.
In the process it could add to the whole reckless persona he was playing up. Those types were the ones who mostly always ended up popular, from what Renée had told him before. Those were the ones who made the most royalties for their families just by their performance on the show. His family was already quite wealthy, but he hoped that the prestige he was building for the family name this way would make them proud. Might as well make use of the show's celebrity like benefits, while he was on it.
Shawn stopped at the partially glass, main entrance of the resort hotel when he spotted a bright red hand print on the front. He hadn't seen that before. It could've happened any time after he left, perhaps a day ago, but he doubted that. It was definitely an intimidating and almost ominous sight straight out of a horror movie. It was as if it was a sign telling him to 'get ready, the game is on.'
"Trippy." Shawn said as he pushed passed the door into the lobby.
The lobby itself looked exactly the same before... except for the small puddle of blood right in front of the door. Best of all it was fresh. It meant someone had come in there recently. Shawn walked over to the door and put a finger to the hand print.
That was wet too.
The blood from the immediate puddle led to a succession of bloody droplets that he hadn't seen outside. They began in lobby, continuing on as a trail over to the dining room and kitchen area. The last time he had been in that direction was when he had first entered the building with Ben-O and that felt like ages ago.
At first, Shawn thought that his assumption was wrong and that maybe someone had been brutally murdered near the front door of the building and then dragged the body away. Thinking about it even more, Shawn realized that it couldn't have been the case, as the droplets made it look like the person had walked his or her way over to the dining area rather than being dragged there.
He hoped it was Madelyn. He hoped he'd gotten her with a shot back at the beach after her sneak attack on the entire group killed Mae. Maybe even earning herself a well-deserved, slow and painful death. If not her, then maybe Odile. Shawn normally would have shaken his head at such thoughts, but he'd stopped giving a damn about these types of people a few minutes ago.
Man, it felt great to get rid of that burden of trying to "understand" the players. There was no reasoning with them anyway or else receive a bullet for your troubles, so why even bother? They wouldn't care about his life or anybody else's but their own for that matter, so why should he care about their humanity? Shawn observed the bloody stain on the door once more. It was a small hand print, too small to belong to Madelyn. He froze.
Alexis?
Shawn's heart raced even as he followed the fresh trail down the hallway, passed the ruined area of dried up old blood and carnage from the earlier massacre of the hotel. The blood stopped at the entrance to the Dining room. He thought about running in, but considered that it could have been a trap. Shawn took in a few breaths and quietly crept near the entrance. The young man slowly counted down from three in his head and peeked in and then pulled back into cover once more.
There was someone there and it wasn't Alexis: it was Natalie Chauncey. He had nearly forgotten about her until now. Her eyes were closed and she was in the open, near a table in the center of the room and facing the front door. Shawn lifted up his gun and put it in between the small crack of the door, aiming directly at Nate.
It would be easy. One shot, or a few more if he missed. Do the right thing and end the poor girl's misery right there. After all, she was the one who killed Renée, right.
Only it didn't feel like the right thing for Shawn. He knew his justification was pure crap and executing the girl in the fashion that he was planning to would make him come across as no better than Madelyn, in his own eyes. It wasn't just that either. Nate had killed before, but Shawn had reason to believe that they were accidents. Mason had scared her, then threatened to shoot her and looks like he eventually did do just that. Her side was bleeding significantly and she seemed to be in some pain.
Darn it, this whole "not giving a shit" thing wasn't working out. He just couldn't do it.
Shawn sighed, thinking of what he should do. He rested his head against the bullet ridden walls of the hallway, closed his eyes and thought. Should he leave her there? Let someone else get her? Let her bleed out? Or maybe he could talk to her, see if she actually wanted him to end her pain. With that, Shawn pushed the door open.
He entered the room, closing the door quickly, but discretely. There was glass on the carpet floor near the windows and there seemed to be a body in the far corner. Shawn decided not to look in that direction, instead focusing on just Nate. He would have to block off the door eventually, to keep any other unwanted visitors out.
Slowly, Shawn approached the resting girl, clearing the heavy feeling in his throat. He always liked the girl. She had that quirkiness similar to his own, something he could understand and relate to. If not for the overlaying conditions of this game, this could have been a pretty neat conversation in the making. Shawn kept his voice calm and serene as he did when he first emerged from the rainforest in front of Mae and Zack. Hopefully she'd be reciprocating and not freak out on him with that gun like she did at the beach.
"Uh. Hey Natalie."
Shawn nearly added an "are you alright?" but then thought against it. He had seen an episode with Renée where a boy asked a girl if she was okay and ended up being bitched at for asking a stupid question with an obvious answer.
Instead, Shawn unstrapped the Remington 870 from his shoulder and rested it onto a table as a sign of peace.
Peace. Huha, Shawn almost flashed a sign right there out of habit. He almost felt like that peaceful hippie from day one again too.
The midday breeze felt rather weird against his head, without the familiar warmth of his regular hairstyle.
Shawn promised to meet up with Mason and Alexis at the hotel, but on his way there, he realized it wasn't a wise choice. Numbers were good, but at this point he needed to be alone, at least for the moment. It wasn't that he was worried on them turning on him, more that he was worried about himself being responsible for their deaths. Indirectly of course, but he wasn't quite sure anymore. He couldn't imagine turning the gun on them, especially someone like Alexis whom he had already saved the life of once before.
He was supposed to be the new and improved Shawn Morrison he'd promised the audience, perhaps even to himself. This meant he needed to distance himself from anyone that could have any kind of emotional attachment on him. The goal was to take down all his remaining enemies and he needed to focus on that, without risking the life of others in the process.
Shawn was going to do this on his own.
The sand had lessened and Shawn knew he was approaching the hotel. The hotel was a very common place to him. There were doors, several of them as exits or entrances around the building. Shawn headed to one of them, but stopped mid-step to grin at one of the cameras along the immediate outside of the hotel. He raised his eyebrow to go along with that uneasy grin, to purposely try and come off as if he'd lost some of his earlier mental stability. Shawn smoothed out his golden bandanna against his forehead, readjusted the strap of his bag over his arm and then back, finally slinging the pump action shotgun over his shoulder in a way that made him look ready for some action.
"Nope. Using the front door."
He motioned with the gun, pointing the muzzle to where he was really headed and started walking in the direction. It wasn't just a stupid move to pander his "new-self" to the audience either. Shawn knew that the others knew how to survive, lasting this long. They were all going to avoid the obvious front door to avoid getting into an immediate gun fight or ambush.
This was why it was the perfect place to go. It was safer. No one else was going to be there. Not even Mason or Alexis.
In the process it could add to the whole reckless persona he was playing up. Those types were the ones who mostly always ended up popular, from what Renée had told him before. Those were the ones who made the most royalties for their families just by their performance on the show. His family was already quite wealthy, but he hoped that the prestige he was building for the family name this way would make them proud. Might as well make use of the show's celebrity like benefits, while he was on it.
Shawn stopped at the partially glass, main entrance of the resort hotel when he spotted a bright red hand print on the front. He hadn't seen that before. It could've happened any time after he left, perhaps a day ago, but he doubted that. It was definitely an intimidating and almost ominous sight straight out of a horror movie. It was as if it was a sign telling him to 'get ready, the game is on.'
"Trippy." Shawn said as he pushed passed the door into the lobby.
The lobby itself looked exactly the same before... except for the small puddle of blood right in front of the door. Best of all it was fresh. It meant someone had come in there recently. Shawn walked over to the door and put a finger to the hand print.
That was wet too.
The blood from the immediate puddle led to a succession of bloody droplets that he hadn't seen outside. They began in lobby, continuing on as a trail over to the dining room and kitchen area. The last time he had been in that direction was when he had first entered the building with Ben-O and that felt like ages ago.
At first, Shawn thought that his assumption was wrong and that maybe someone had been brutally murdered near the front door of the building and then dragged the body away. Thinking about it even more, Shawn realized that it couldn't have been the case, as the droplets made it look like the person had walked his or her way over to the dining area rather than being dragged there.
He hoped it was Madelyn. He hoped he'd gotten her with a shot back at the beach after her sneak attack on the entire group killed Mae. Maybe even earning herself a well-deserved, slow and painful death. If not her, then maybe Odile. Shawn normally would have shaken his head at such thoughts, but he'd stopped giving a damn about these types of people a few minutes ago.
Man, it felt great to get rid of that burden of trying to "understand" the players. There was no reasoning with them anyway or else receive a bullet for your troubles, so why even bother? They wouldn't care about his life or anybody else's but their own for that matter, so why should he care about their humanity? Shawn observed the bloody stain on the door once more. It was a small hand print, too small to belong to Madelyn. He froze.
Alexis?
Shawn's heart raced even as he followed the fresh trail down the hallway, passed the ruined area of dried up old blood and carnage from the earlier massacre of the hotel. The blood stopped at the entrance to the Dining room. He thought about running in, but considered that it could have been a trap. Shawn took in a few breaths and quietly crept near the entrance. The young man slowly counted down from three in his head and peeked in and then pulled back into cover once more.
There was someone there and it wasn't Alexis: it was Natalie Chauncey. He had nearly forgotten about her until now. Her eyes were closed and she was in the open, near a table in the center of the room and facing the front door. Shawn lifted up his gun and put it in between the small crack of the door, aiming directly at Nate.
It would be easy. One shot, or a few more if he missed. Do the right thing and end the poor girl's misery right there. After all, she was the one who killed Renée, right.
Only it didn't feel like the right thing for Shawn. He knew his justification was pure crap and executing the girl in the fashion that he was planning to would make him come across as no better than Madelyn, in his own eyes. It wasn't just that either. Nate had killed before, but Shawn had reason to believe that they were accidents. Mason had scared her, then threatened to shoot her and looks like he eventually did do just that. Her side was bleeding significantly and she seemed to be in some pain.
Darn it, this whole "not giving a shit" thing wasn't working out. He just couldn't do it.
Shawn sighed, thinking of what he should do. He rested his head against the bullet ridden walls of the hallway, closed his eyes and thought. Should he leave her there? Let someone else get her? Let her bleed out? Or maybe he could talk to her, see if she actually wanted him to end her pain. With that, Shawn pushed the door open.
He entered the room, closing the door quickly, but discretely. There was glass on the carpet floor near the windows and there seemed to be a body in the far corner. Shawn decided not to look in that direction, instead focusing on just Nate. He would have to block off the door eventually, to keep any other unwanted visitors out.
Slowly, Shawn approached the resting girl, clearing the heavy feeling in his throat. He always liked the girl. She had that quirkiness similar to his own, something he could understand and relate to. If not for the overlaying conditions of this game, this could have been a pretty neat conversation in the making. Shawn kept his voice calm and serene as he did when he first emerged from the rainforest in front of Mae and Zack. Hopefully she'd be reciprocating and not freak out on him with that gun like she did at the beach.
"Uh. Hey Natalie."
Shawn nearly added an "are you alright?" but then thought against it. He had seen an episode with Renée where a boy asked a girl if she was okay and ended up being bitched at for asking a stupid question with an obvious answer.
Instead, Shawn unstrapped the Remington 870 from his shoulder and rested it onto a table as a sign of peace.
Peace. Huha, Shawn almost flashed a sign right there out of habit. He almost felt like that peaceful hippie from day one again too.
There was a click as the door closed. Nate's eyes flicked open and almost imperceptibly, her hand tightened on the trigger of the rifle. She wanted to raise it, point it at whoever this was, one of the last people between her and home. But she didn't. The gun was heavy, and she was so tired of all of this. Tired of the pain and the misery and tired of being afraid.
So she just watched.
Then as the shimmering mist that had at some point dropped in front of her vision parted, Nate realised that she recognised the person across the way from her. Sort've, anyway. Less hair than she was used to. Shawn something. Shawn it-doesn't-really-matter-anymore. He greeted her, actually used her name, which brought the faintest ghost of a smile to the pallid girl's face. Nobody called her Natalie, really, Only teachers and her parents. It sounded so foreign...
Nate's grip relaxed, so much so that the sniper rifle went clattering to the floor. She almost reached for it, then changed her mind, let it lie there. Shawn wasn't going to kill her.
Looking at the blood dripping to the floor beneath her, spreading slowly across the tiles, he probably just needed to wait.
"Hi," her voice was thin with pain and exhaustion, and a little cracked from disuse. She hadn't spoken for days. "Shawn."
The silence stretched out.
Shawn had been at the beach. Nate didn't remember seeing him, but he had to have been. There were a lot of people there, and so few left alive, that he just had to have been, to make the numbers add up properly. She'd been scared back there, so scared she'd fired again and again...
"Didn't mean that. The beach. Didn't want to hurt people."
So she just watched.
Then as the shimmering mist that had at some point dropped in front of her vision parted, Nate realised that she recognised the person across the way from her. Sort've, anyway. Less hair than she was used to. Shawn something. Shawn it-doesn't-really-matter-anymore. He greeted her, actually used her name, which brought the faintest ghost of a smile to the pallid girl's face. Nobody called her Natalie, really, Only teachers and her parents. It sounded so foreign...
Nate's grip relaxed, so much so that the sniper rifle went clattering to the floor. She almost reached for it, then changed her mind, let it lie there. Shawn wasn't going to kill her.
Looking at the blood dripping to the floor beneath her, spreading slowly across the tiles, he probably just needed to wait.
"Hi," her voice was thin with pain and exhaustion, and a little cracked from disuse. She hadn't spoken for days. "Shawn."
The silence stretched out.
Shawn had been at the beach. Nate didn't remember seeing him, but he had to have been. There were a lot of people there, and so few left alive, that he just had to have been, to make the numbers add up properly. She'd been scared back there, so scared she'd fired again and again...
"Didn't mean that. The beach. Didn't want to hurt people."
The sides of Mason's mouth quirked up in a mild smile at Lexi's "suggestion".
"I like the way you think. Alas, I think we got more important stuff to worry about. Living, I guess." He looked down the hallway, making sure it was still clear. "Yeah, living's good." He took one hand on the gun and gestured for Lexi to stay behind him as they walked in.
The hall wasn't particularly remarkable. It had the ugly carpet with the kind-of-floral-but-kind-of-not print that hotels thought people wanted to see underneath their feet. The lighting was adequate; shaded lamps mounted every few feet cast ugly yellow lighting across the myriad uniform doorways.
And then...there looked like a pack outside a door to what was marked as a restroom. Mason turned to Lexi and nodded at the door. He clasped the gun and crouched as headed toward the bathroom, trying to remember how cops looked in CSI and NCIS and all those other bundle-of-letter police procedurals so he could mimic them and look at least a little bit to the audience that he knew what the fuck he was doing.
Mason trained the weapon on the door.
"Shawn? Is that you?" He called, hopefully loud enough for the person inside to hear him.
"I like the way you think. Alas, I think we got more important stuff to worry about. Living, I guess." He looked down the hallway, making sure it was still clear. "Yeah, living's good." He took one hand on the gun and gestured for Lexi to stay behind him as they walked in.
The hall wasn't particularly remarkable. It had the ugly carpet with the kind-of-floral-but-kind-of-not print that hotels thought people wanted to see underneath their feet. The lighting was adequate; shaded lamps mounted every few feet cast ugly yellow lighting across the myriad uniform doorways.
And then...there looked like a pack outside a door to what was marked as a restroom. Mason turned to Lexi and nodded at the door. He clasped the gun and crouched as headed toward the bathroom, trying to remember how cops looked in CSI and NCIS and all those other bundle-of-letter police procedurals so he could mimic them and look at least a little bit to the audience that he knew what the fuck he was doing.
Mason trained the weapon on the door.
"Shawn? Is that you?" He called, hopefully loud enough for the person inside to hear him.
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
Right, yeah, living. Of course that was important. It's what she'd been after the whole time. Well...she had been more focused on the "not dying" part of living, but it was the same thing, right?
She glared at the floor and wallpaper. It was terrible. She didn't like how hotels decorated. It was nothing like how someone would choose to decorate anything else. Plus, it gave off the constant feel of "you are a visitor, you will leave soon." Not very inviting, in her opinion.
Mason spotted a pack outside a bathroom. Someone else? Or had someone left their pack before they got killed. She didn't want to think about that. Mason called in asking about Shawn. No, Shawn couldn't be ahead of them. He had said he would catch up.
"Umm, we aren't like looking for trouble or anything." Something dumb to say? Maybe, but it was true, so she may as well say it.
She glared at the floor and wallpaper. It was terrible. She didn't like how hotels decorated. It was nothing like how someone would choose to decorate anything else. Plus, it gave off the constant feel of "you are a visitor, you will leave soon." Not very inviting, in her opinion.
Mason spotted a pack outside a bathroom. Someone else? Or had someone left their pack before they got killed. She didn't want to think about that. Mason called in asking about Shawn. No, Shawn couldn't be ahead of them. He had said he would catch up.
"Umm, we aren't like looking for trouble or anything." Something dumb to say? Maybe, but it was true, so she may as well say it.
No immediate response. Nate was silent.
Shawn took in a deep breath and nodded, more to himself than to the broken girl on the floor. She was still alive, that much he could see. Nate's was watching him with half closed, barely open eyes. She wasn't shooting at him at least, not even pointing the gun at him which was definitely a good sign. The gun she held clattered to the floor. Still, he was going to keep one eye on her while he secured the door just to be extra sure.
He walked up to the closed dining room doors. They didn't seem to have a lock, at least not one that could be used without a key of some sort. He'd have to block the doors somehow to make things harder for anyone to get in. Shawn looked over at the nearest table and chairs, with an eye still on Nate whose head seemed to follow every direction he walked. Shawn made a grab for the table and started to push it over sideways to cover the door when he suddenly received a response to his earlier greeting.
"Hi...Shawn."
Her voice was very weak. She trailed off pausing to recover after saying hi before following up with his name. The pain and exhaustion coming from Nate's throat was evident by the coarse tone in the way she spoke and the struggle she seemed to have to get the words out. Shawn wasn't sure if this was through the sheer pain the girl must have been in or whether it was because she hadn't had the chance to speak with anyone without fear in days. It was probably a combination of both.
Shawn stood his ground, watching Nate; waiting to see is she had more to say. Again, silence.
He sighed, finally pushing the table in place in a flimsy barricade. Shawn went over to his bag and picked up his shotgun off the other table again so he could keep them near in case one of the other finalists wanted to start something. As he approached Nate, Shawn could feel the slithery body of Brian Eno slip off his shoulder and onto the tiled floor. Shawn crouched down to pick his snake friend up from the floor, but stopped when Nate spoke up once more.
"Didn't mean that. The beach. Didn't want to hurt people."
Shawn kept still, looked over at her and studied her expression. Her eyes were more open than before and he could see even through the pain and the way she spoke, that she was being one hundred percent honest.
"Don't worry, Natalie. I... understand." It was the best he could do. Shawn wouldn't feel right about saying the death of his good friend was 'okay,' yet it was still the truth. He tried to lift his lips into some semblance of a smile, but it proved difficult as the thoughts of that very event at the beach came flooding back in a FLASH.
So he nodded again and looked down at Brian to keep his mind off it all, before eventually lifting the snake off the floor. He still didn't know exactly why he kept it around. All he knew was that it kept him comfortable, like a favorite teddy bear.
Brian was wet. The same shade of red from the lobby coated the dining room floor, slowly flowing through the cracks between the tiles. Some of that red had even painted the snake in certain areas as if dabbed by a sponge brush, where they touched. Of course the red came from a source and Shawn already knew it was from the fragile girl in front of him.
Shawn moved over a few steps, not bothering to wipe the blood off Brian Eno, before draping him over both shoulders and around the back of his neck like scarf. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor, bag next to him, with shotgun rested gently atop his lap, right next to Nate Chauncey.
Her face was pallid, but caked with blood - the very image of the "ghost" he'd seen at the ski resort. Only this time, Shawn wasn't afraid. Nate wasn't a killer. She had killed, but she wasn't a killer. At least not a killer in the vein of Madelyn or Odile.
"I didn't want to hurt people either."
He leaned back against the table and faced the door as Nate did, to purposely avoid gazing at her condition. She was covered in blood, hurt with a bullet injury wound, while wearing an outfit made of a silky, lacy fishnet thong and brassiere combo and not much else.
Maybe this could have been a good way to distance himself from Mae, for the viewing audience. Shawn wondered for a moment about how the two of them would look together for the people watching at home. Pretty weird he guessed. For a little while he was quiet.
Nate obviously had it worse. Shawn considered himself quite lucky to have made it all the way to the end practically unscathed after looking at her. Compared to Nate, he was squeaky clean.
He wanted to help her, give her first aide, clean her up or something, but he didn't know if she would want any or even trust him to do any of that stuff. The least he could do was offer her some comfort to keep her mind off the pain.
"Um, cool costume."
Shawn took in a deep breath and nodded, more to himself than to the broken girl on the floor. She was still alive, that much he could see. Nate's was watching him with half closed, barely open eyes. She wasn't shooting at him at least, not even pointing the gun at him which was definitely a good sign. The gun she held clattered to the floor. Still, he was going to keep one eye on her while he secured the door just to be extra sure.
He walked up to the closed dining room doors. They didn't seem to have a lock, at least not one that could be used without a key of some sort. He'd have to block the doors somehow to make things harder for anyone to get in. Shawn looked over at the nearest table and chairs, with an eye still on Nate whose head seemed to follow every direction he walked. Shawn made a grab for the table and started to push it over sideways to cover the door when he suddenly received a response to his earlier greeting.
"Hi...Shawn."
Her voice was very weak. She trailed off pausing to recover after saying hi before following up with his name. The pain and exhaustion coming from Nate's throat was evident by the coarse tone in the way she spoke and the struggle she seemed to have to get the words out. Shawn wasn't sure if this was through the sheer pain the girl must have been in or whether it was because she hadn't had the chance to speak with anyone without fear in days. It was probably a combination of both.
Shawn stood his ground, watching Nate; waiting to see is she had more to say. Again, silence.
He sighed, finally pushing the table in place in a flimsy barricade. Shawn went over to his bag and picked up his shotgun off the other table again so he could keep them near in case one of the other finalists wanted to start something. As he approached Nate, Shawn could feel the slithery body of Brian Eno slip off his shoulder and onto the tiled floor. Shawn crouched down to pick his snake friend up from the floor, but stopped when Nate spoke up once more.
"Didn't mean that. The beach. Didn't want to hurt people."
Shawn kept still, looked over at her and studied her expression. Her eyes were more open than before and he could see even through the pain and the way she spoke, that she was being one hundred percent honest.
"Don't worry, Natalie. I... understand." It was the best he could do. Shawn wouldn't feel right about saying the death of his good friend was 'okay,' yet it was still the truth. He tried to lift his lips into some semblance of a smile, but it proved difficult as the thoughts of that very event at the beach came flooding back in a FLASH.
So he nodded again and looked down at Brian to keep his mind off it all, before eventually lifting the snake off the floor. He still didn't know exactly why he kept it around. All he knew was that it kept him comfortable, like a favorite teddy bear.
Brian was wet. The same shade of red from the lobby coated the dining room floor, slowly flowing through the cracks between the tiles. Some of that red had even painted the snake in certain areas as if dabbed by a sponge brush, where they touched. Of course the red came from a source and Shawn already knew it was from the fragile girl in front of him.
Shawn moved over a few steps, not bothering to wipe the blood off Brian Eno, before draping him over both shoulders and around the back of his neck like scarf. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor, bag next to him, with shotgun rested gently atop his lap, right next to Nate Chauncey.
Her face was pallid, but caked with blood - the very image of the "ghost" he'd seen at the ski resort. Only this time, Shawn wasn't afraid. Nate wasn't a killer. She had killed, but she wasn't a killer. At least not a killer in the vein of Madelyn or Odile.
"I didn't want to hurt people either."
He leaned back against the table and faced the door as Nate did, to purposely avoid gazing at her condition. She was covered in blood, hurt with a bullet injury wound, while wearing an outfit made of a silky, lacy fishnet thong and brassiere combo and not much else.
Maybe this could have been a good way to distance himself from Mae, for the viewing audience. Shawn wondered for a moment about how the two of them would look together for the people watching at home. Pretty weird he guessed. For a little while he was quiet.
Nate obviously had it worse. Shawn considered himself quite lucky to have made it all the way to the end practically unscathed after looking at her. Compared to Nate, he was squeaky clean.
He wanted to help her, give her first aide, clean her up or something, but he didn't know if she would want any or even trust him to do any of that stuff. The least he could do was offer her some comfort to keep her mind off the pain.
"Um, cool costume."
Nate stared a little as Shawn moved around. He had a snake over his shoulders. That was... strange. Weird. Eccentric; words that had been applied to her an awful lot over the years. She found herself past caring about it. There had to be some kind of reason that Shawn was carrying a dead animal around on his shoulders, so why bother asking about it? There was a story there, just like everyone else had to have their own story. All of the others, the living and the dead. They'd had stories too. Stories on the island, stories before they ever came here. Maybe one person would have a story after all this too.
But Nate knew it wasn't going to be her. She'd never really been able to see anything through. The songs tailed off just before the grand finale, the artwork was streaked with paint and left half-finished, jumbled and creative... but incomplete. Her wandering mind had always conspired against completion, meandering away from every project to focus on a new whimsical task.
This time though, it was less concentration and more, well...
Her eyes trailed down her body to the tiled floor, watching the slowly but inexorably expanding pool of blood underneath her. It flowed between the gaps first, racing along the little channels, connecting here and there, creating a network of red. Closer to her, it just oozed across the surface of the tiles, creeping further and further away from her as time went on. Nate didn't know how much blood she was supposed to have in her, but she guessed that this was a lot of it. Running away must have made the wound worse...
...but no point regretting it now.
Shawn spoke again, and Nate's head lolled around to let her look up at him. The costume. Nice joke, there. That just went back to the very start of things, didn't it? Pack stolen, down on her luck, a friendly face... then a haze - a drug-induced haze, she knew now. The only sexual experience of her entire life, ending with getting the shit kicked out of her and left with this excuse for clothes.
"Not mine," she replied, after a few seconds. "Got drugged, made me have sex," recalling the memories, Nate almost felt like crying, but she didn't even know if she wanted to. Her emotions had been rubbed raw too many times. "Then got beat up and left with... these."
Nate's head slumped, chin on her chest, the rise and fall of her tiny chest the only sign of life.
But Nate knew it wasn't going to be her. She'd never really been able to see anything through. The songs tailed off just before the grand finale, the artwork was streaked with paint and left half-finished, jumbled and creative... but incomplete. Her wandering mind had always conspired against completion, meandering away from every project to focus on a new whimsical task.
This time though, it was less concentration and more, well...
Her eyes trailed down her body to the tiled floor, watching the slowly but inexorably expanding pool of blood underneath her. It flowed between the gaps first, racing along the little channels, connecting here and there, creating a network of red. Closer to her, it just oozed across the surface of the tiles, creeping further and further away from her as time went on. Nate didn't know how much blood she was supposed to have in her, but she guessed that this was a lot of it. Running away must have made the wound worse...
...but no point regretting it now.
Shawn spoke again, and Nate's head lolled around to let her look up at him. The costume. Nice joke, there. That just went back to the very start of things, didn't it? Pack stolen, down on her luck, a friendly face... then a haze - a drug-induced haze, she knew now. The only sexual experience of her entire life, ending with getting the shit kicked out of her and left with this excuse for clothes.
"Not mine," she replied, after a few seconds. "Got drugged, made me have sex," recalling the memories, Nate almost felt like crying, but she didn't even know if she wanted to. Her emotions had been rubbed raw too many times. "Then got beat up and left with... these."
Nate's head slumped, chin on her chest, the rise and fall of her tiny chest the only sign of life.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
He was silent again.
Nate's head fell and for a moment Shawn thought the worst. After a second look, he saw that Nate's chest was still moving, but barely.
His hand tightened around his shotgun as he thought about showing mercy and ending her pain. He still promised the audience a new Shawn after all and showing obvious compassion wasn't going to do that. Alternatively, he could even do a repeat of Jaszmine and loop the weakened girl around the neck with the snake, cutting off what little air she was taking in. It would be quick and wouldn't make a sound that could alert anyone else in the hotel.
Yet, Shawn didn't know if he could. Nate was a completely helpless girl who could barely breathe and was using her last ounces of strength just to talk to him. Something about taking someone out in that sort of situation, felt dreadful. It was shameful that he was even considering any of these as viable options. He wanted to play up a character, show that he could be crazy and dangerous, not give a shit, but it just wasn't him. There was something preventing him from doing anything heinous to anyone except those that deserved it, continuously clinging to what was left of his morals and good nature. Still she was suffering and Shawn didn't know if he should finish her off or help her.
Shawn tapped on his leg, feeling the little shape of the bud in his pocket. It was the last one, the one he'd left with Alicia all those days ago. He almost pulled it out, almost lit up to clear his mind from all these headaches, almost felt like offering Nate. But Shawn shook his head. After what Nate had just shared with him, the last thing Nate would want to do was accept another weird drug, from a person she did not trust.
For now, Shawn scooted closer to Nate, side by side offering a comforting shoulder to lean on should she need it. It was why he sat down on an equal level with her in the first place. She needed to relax.
"How much does it hurt?" He asked.
Maybe it wasn't the best question, but it showed some concern.
"There's not a whole lot I know how to do, but if you need somebody, a... friend, to make this whole thing easier." He smiled at her, small, closed mouth, but gentle. "I can help."
He was silent again.
Nate's head fell and for a moment Shawn thought the worst. After a second look, he saw that Nate's chest was still moving, but barely.
His hand tightened around his shotgun as he thought about showing mercy and ending her pain. He still promised the audience a new Shawn after all and showing obvious compassion wasn't going to do that. Alternatively, he could even do a repeat of Jaszmine and loop the weakened girl around the neck with the snake, cutting off what little air she was taking in. It would be quick and wouldn't make a sound that could alert anyone else in the hotel.
Yet, Shawn didn't know if he could. Nate was a completely helpless girl who could barely breathe and was using her last ounces of strength just to talk to him. Something about taking someone out in that sort of situation, felt dreadful. It was shameful that he was even considering any of these as viable options. He wanted to play up a character, show that he could be crazy and dangerous, not give a shit, but it just wasn't him. There was something preventing him from doing anything heinous to anyone except those that deserved it, continuously clinging to what was left of his morals and good nature. Still she was suffering and Shawn didn't know if he should finish her off or help her.
Shawn tapped on his leg, feeling the little shape of the bud in his pocket. It was the last one, the one he'd left with Alicia all those days ago. He almost pulled it out, almost lit up to clear his mind from all these headaches, almost felt like offering Nate. But Shawn shook his head. After what Nate had just shared with him, the last thing Nate would want to do was accept another weird drug, from a person she did not trust.
For now, Shawn scooted closer to Nate, side by side offering a comforting shoulder to lean on should she need it. It was why he sat down on an equal level with her in the first place. She needed to relax.
"How much does it hurt?" He asked.
Maybe it wasn't the best question, but it showed some concern.
"There's not a whole lot I know how to do, but if you need somebody, a... friend, to make this whole thing easier." He smiled at her, small, closed mouth, but gentle. "I can help."
Were those footsteps getting closer? Odile gulped down her tears, trying to listen closer.
There was definitely someone outside the door.
Her hand moved toward her gun, reflexively, but she stopped herself from picking it up. It wasn't worth it. She was in no state to fight, nor was she in any mind to. Someone had found her, had come to kill her, and she was okay with that. They probably thought she deserved to die, and Odile didn't disagree with that. Shit, she should've done it herself, day one. Just taken Tiffany's gun and blown her brains out, first thing.
It would be fucking fantastic to get off this island. Odile couldn't wait.
She took a deep breath, turned to face the door, and prepared to meet her fate.
And then they called out, asking for a Shaun.
Shaun? Fucking Shaun? She'd been in here, ready to die, waiting for the people she had been certain were hunting her to come in and finish her off, and they'd just been looking for that idiot hippy? She almost wanted to laugh. It was insane.
"This is a girl's bathroom!" she shouted, her voice hoarse and raw from crying. "Dickhead."
Odile did laugh. A strained, desperate little giggle, but audible. She wiped her nose on her hand, managing to smear mascara right across her face, as she did so. Odile actually chuckled.
Sure, how funny Odile was finding this was probably due in no small part to exhaustion and sleep deprivation, and sure, Shaun's buddy was probably about to come in and kill her anyway.
But he hadn't been looking for her. He'd been searching for his retard friend, in a fucking women's toilet. Her erstwhile assassin was just some clown who'd lost his pal.
Odile had never really been much for comedy. Coming from her mouth, jokes sounded cruel and insulting, and to her, the humour of her fellow students had always seemed infantile and silly. Life was serious, and it was scary, and trying to make a joke out of it had always struck her as childish.
But this was funny. Lying against the wall, on a floor wet with blood, and with her face black with make up and streaked with tears, Odile struggled to think of anything that had ever been funnier.
She composed herself a little, choking back her laughter, and waited to see what would happen next.
There was definitely someone outside the door.
Her hand moved toward her gun, reflexively, but she stopped herself from picking it up. It wasn't worth it. She was in no state to fight, nor was she in any mind to. Someone had found her, had come to kill her, and she was okay with that. They probably thought she deserved to die, and Odile didn't disagree with that. Shit, she should've done it herself, day one. Just taken Tiffany's gun and blown her brains out, first thing.
It would be fucking fantastic to get off this island. Odile couldn't wait.
She took a deep breath, turned to face the door, and prepared to meet her fate.
And then they called out, asking for a Shaun.
Shaun? Fucking Shaun? She'd been in here, ready to die, waiting for the people she had been certain were hunting her to come in and finish her off, and they'd just been looking for that idiot hippy? She almost wanted to laugh. It was insane.
"This is a girl's bathroom!" she shouted, her voice hoarse and raw from crying. "Dickhead."
Odile did laugh. A strained, desperate little giggle, but audible. She wiped her nose on her hand, managing to smear mascara right across her face, as she did so. Odile actually chuckled.
Sure, how funny Odile was finding this was probably due in no small part to exhaustion and sleep deprivation, and sure, Shaun's buddy was probably about to come in and kill her anyway.
But he hadn't been looking for her. He'd been searching for his retard friend, in a fucking women's toilet. Her erstwhile assassin was just some clown who'd lost his pal.
Odile had never really been much for comedy. Coming from her mouth, jokes sounded cruel and insulting, and to her, the humour of her fellow students had always seemed infantile and silly. Life was serious, and it was scary, and trying to make a joke out of it had always struck her as childish.
But this was funny. Lying against the wall, on a floor wet with blood, and with her face black with make up and streaked with tears, Odile struggled to think of anything that had ever been funnier.
She composed herself a little, choking back her laughter, and waited to see what would happen next.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Kitten. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Madelyn walked around not knowing what to make of it. To use a cliché, it was too quiet. Maybe all the end games of seasons past were edited to go straight to the violence, but it all disquieted her. Walking carefully through the halls she made sure to make the least noise possible.
Hall after room after hall after room, and she still managed not to find anyone else. Sighing, Madelyn leaned against a wall to breath. She didn't realize she had stopped during her hunt. Getting a bit too prepared to die, I guess. She gave a sad smile with the thought that this could really be it for her, but she made herself go on.
The faster she could get rid of the competition meant the less time she spent here.
Eventually she thought she heard voices, and ducked into a room to prepare. She assured herself the guns were loaded after checking the chambers, and planned her next move.
Hall after room after hall after room, and she still managed not to find anyone else. Sighing, Madelyn leaned against a wall to breath. She didn't realize she had stopped during her hunt. Getting a bit too prepared to die, I guess. She gave a sad smile with the thought that this could really be it for her, but she made herself go on.
The faster she could get rid of the competition meant the less time she spent here.
Eventually she thought she heard voices, and ducked into a room to prepare. She assured herself the guns were loaded after checking the chambers, and planned her next move.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Acidic. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Sorry about this, been going through some pretty extensive personal shit for the past couple of weeks))
"Can't really feel it."
That was true. The wound felt... numb... but maybe numb wasn't quite the right word. It hurt, still, but Nate had grown so used to feeling that pain that it almost seemed to fade into the background. There was such a familiarity that it hardly seemed to matter any more. That was like her entire time on TV. Pain, and hurt, and then a side order of pain, and then a sprinkling more hurt. It just never stopped.
The most friendly interaction she'd had was with a masked boy who'd given her water. Shawn was the first person she met who hadn't appeared out for her blood.
"Don't have friends," Nate muttered. She didn't... but Shawn was still there, trying to help. Even though she'd probably killed his friend. Maybe... maybe she could do something in return. Her head jerked up, as if pulled by the strings of a puppeteer.
"Out there are... the others. Guys who did mean it. I can... help. Yeah. Help."
"Can't really feel it."
That was true. The wound felt... numb... but maybe numb wasn't quite the right word. It hurt, still, but Nate had grown so used to feeling that pain that it almost seemed to fade into the background. There was such a familiarity that it hardly seemed to matter any more. That was like her entire time on TV. Pain, and hurt, and then a side order of pain, and then a sprinkling more hurt. It just never stopped.
The most friendly interaction she'd had was with a masked boy who'd given her water. Shawn was the first person she met who hadn't appeared out for her blood.
"Don't have friends," Nate muttered. She didn't... but Shawn was still there, trying to help. Even though she'd probably killed his friend. Maybe... maybe she could do something in return. Her head jerked up, as if pulled by the strings of a puppeteer.
"Out there are... the others. Guys who did mean it. I can... help. Yeah. Help."