In the darkness, Marilyn Williams trembled.
She was curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees, hugging them to her chest. Marilyn might have had a lanky figure, but she'd never had any trouble making herself as small as possible. It softened the blows, whether physical or otherwise.
At that moment, Marilyn was huddled in the back corner of a bedroom, underneath the king-sized bed that had somehow been squeezed into it. She'd already hit the light-switch, and the room was window-less, so in spite of it being morning, the room was almost pitch dark.
Marilyn didn't dwell on Announcement Day, didn't think back to the moment her name was called out. She just lay there in that corner and shivered like a frightened mouse. She was dead, she was a corpse that hadn't got the memo that it was time to stop breathing. This was it, this was really, really it. This was the end for her.
It was always going to be this way. Not exactly like this - being called for the Program and all, but 'this way' in the sense of well... dying. Marilyn had known it since that first time, when she was a little girl, that a white mother had dragged her son away from her, telling him that he 'shouldn't play with that girl, she's a bad sort'. She'd been reminded of it almost every day since that one event. Here... here she was never going to amount to anything.
Maybe nowhere.
In the dark corner, Marilyn squeezed her eyes tightly closed and started to cry again.
Status Quo
Moderator: Sh4dE
((M12 begin))
Someone was crying. Not surprising, given the circumstances, but just falling apart like that? Had to be a girl. Henry Barren slid a thumb under the strap of his pack, resettling it on his shoulder. It was coming from maybe two rooms over, one of the other bedrooms. Not bad for him, a crier wouldn't be likely to take advantage of his poor weapon: a brick? Had to be a damn Yank as handed him that; random assignments? Riiight.
Something had to be done about that crying though, wouldn't do to let a lady be distressed. But it could be dangerous if she were jumpy, maybe better to just move along and let it lie. But what would Dad think of him? "Bad as a Yankee," that's what he'd say if he were to see such hesitation on his son's part. "And my own son too. Thought I'd raised you better, boy." So there was nothing to be done but help; Dad wouldn't have it any other way. When the brown matter hit the ceiling-mounted rotary air impeller, you helped out. Don't panic, that's for sheep and big-city folk. Care for yourself, but don't be selfish, that's a Yank thing. Good Southern boys help a girl out.
So he took the flashlight in his free hand, hefted the brick in the other, and moved to the doorway. Sudden though: Trap. Oh, wasn't it in the movies too? Cryin' girl, screaming for help even, and three or four big bruisers waiting to put an axe in the hero's skull. He was no hero, but he was a main character in this little show of the Man's. Almost got me, clever little chica, he thought to himself, automatically switching his perception of whoever was inside the room. You're the enemy, and I don't aim to be the one in a body bag, nossir.
That thought played out, he stood well outside the door, shining his light into the darkened room, making sure to sweep the floor on either side of the portal. Nada. Going inside, very slowly, he shone the beam of light around just to be sure, still trying to figure where the sound of crying was coming from. And, as it turned out, it was emanating from the underside of the bed. Not so clever, amigita. Where you gonna run when the hatchetmen call?
"That's a terrible sort'a self-indulgent, lady," he said quietly, getting down on his haunches to shine the light into the dark recesses, voice dripping with an affected Texan accent. Oh, sure, he had one, but nobody seemed to notice till he turned on the draaawl. "I could hear y'all from two-three rooms over, sho'nuff. Why don't you ease outta that there bolt-hole so's we can talk?"
Someone was crying. Not surprising, given the circumstances, but just falling apart like that? Had to be a girl. Henry Barren slid a thumb under the strap of his pack, resettling it on his shoulder. It was coming from maybe two rooms over, one of the other bedrooms. Not bad for him, a crier wouldn't be likely to take advantage of his poor weapon: a brick? Had to be a damn Yank as handed him that; random assignments? Riiight.
Something had to be done about that crying though, wouldn't do to let a lady be distressed. But it could be dangerous if she were jumpy, maybe better to just move along and let it lie. But what would Dad think of him? "Bad as a Yankee," that's what he'd say if he were to see such hesitation on his son's part. "And my own son too. Thought I'd raised you better, boy." So there was nothing to be done but help; Dad wouldn't have it any other way. When the brown matter hit the ceiling-mounted rotary air impeller, you helped out. Don't panic, that's for sheep and big-city folk. Care for yourself, but don't be selfish, that's a Yank thing. Good Southern boys help a girl out.
So he took the flashlight in his free hand, hefted the brick in the other, and moved to the doorway. Sudden though: Trap. Oh, wasn't it in the movies too? Cryin' girl, screaming for help even, and three or four big bruisers waiting to put an axe in the hero's skull. He was no hero, but he was a main character in this little show of the Man's. Almost got me, clever little chica, he thought to himself, automatically switching his perception of whoever was inside the room. You're the enemy, and I don't aim to be the one in a body bag, nossir.
That thought played out, he stood well outside the door, shining his light into the darkened room, making sure to sweep the floor on either side of the portal. Nada. Going inside, very slowly, he shone the beam of light around just to be sure, still trying to figure where the sound of crying was coming from. And, as it turned out, it was emanating from the underside of the bed. Not so clever, amigita. Where you gonna run when the hatchetmen call?
"That's a terrible sort'a self-indulgent, lady," he said quietly, getting down on his haunches to shine the light into the dark recesses, voice dripping with an affected Texan accent. Oh, sure, he had one, but nobody seemed to notice till he turned on the draaawl. "I could hear y'all from two-three rooms over, sho'nuff. Why don't you ease outta that there bolt-hole so's we can talk?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tiurabo. 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.
Marilyn wasn't sure how long she cried for, but it couldn't have been such a great length of time. It didn't really seem like any time at all before the sound of the door reached her ears. Marilyn's chest tightened with dread at that awful noise. Already? So soon and she'd been found?
It was inevitable, of course. It always had been. No matter the number of occasions Marilyn had hidden or gone to ground back at school, her sanctuary had been uncovered eventually. Whether it was by the staff, like when the janitor turfed her out of the bathroom after Harris ripped her hair out, or by the others students. That old saying had held true... Marilyn could run, but she could never hide, not long term. She'd expected this, yeah, but... she'd just hoped for a little longer.
Marilyn's shaking grew even worse as the door opened, the sight of a pair of feet silhouetted against the corridor's light meeting tear-blurred eyes. When a torch beam swept the room, brushing aside the illusory shield of darkness Marilyn couldn't stop herself; she let out something between a gasp and a squeak. Then she buried her face into her knees, not that it'd do much good.
Through closed eyes, she felt the light come to rest on her, a burst of red on the insides of her eyelids making it all too clear. So this was going to be it. When had keeping her head down ever worked? Instead of the punches or the kicks, it was going to be, well, anything. A stab. A gunshot, maybe. If Marilyn was unlucky, maybe it would be the punches and kicks... just without anybody to call time or pull the attacker off.
Yeah. It'd probably be that.
And then as Marilyn braced herself for what was to come, what instead touched her was... a voice. A distinctive voice. That accent... did Marilyn know it? She thought she knew it. Marilyn opened her eyes and peeked - a mistake, the light from the torch blinded her. She jammed her eyes shut again instantly, not sure whether to be relieved or frightened. A voice recognised? More often than not, it was probably because they spent longer than usual running her down.
A name didn't spring to mind, even so. Whoever the guy was, he wanted her to come out. No chance. No way no how. What did it matter if he didn't have a gun to her head? (and Marilyn couldn't tell even that). Who at General's Pride didn't kick her to the curb? Nobody with an accent like that. Marilyn shook her head frantically.
"N-n-nnuh-nuh..." she tripped over the word for a couple seconds longer, then when it became obvious she wasn't going to be able to navigate it, burst into tears again.
It was inevitable, of course. It always had been. No matter the number of occasions Marilyn had hidden or gone to ground back at school, her sanctuary had been uncovered eventually. Whether it was by the staff, like when the janitor turfed her out of the bathroom after Harris ripped her hair out, or by the others students. That old saying had held true... Marilyn could run, but she could never hide, not long term. She'd expected this, yeah, but... she'd just hoped for a little longer.
Marilyn's shaking grew even worse as the door opened, the sight of a pair of feet silhouetted against the corridor's light meeting tear-blurred eyes. When a torch beam swept the room, brushing aside the illusory shield of darkness Marilyn couldn't stop herself; she let out something between a gasp and a squeak. Then she buried her face into her knees, not that it'd do much good.
Through closed eyes, she felt the light come to rest on her, a burst of red on the insides of her eyelids making it all too clear. So this was going to be it. When had keeping her head down ever worked? Instead of the punches or the kicks, it was going to be, well, anything. A stab. A gunshot, maybe. If Marilyn was unlucky, maybe it would be the punches and kicks... just without anybody to call time or pull the attacker off.
Yeah. It'd probably be that.
And then as Marilyn braced herself for what was to come, what instead touched her was... a voice. A distinctive voice. That accent... did Marilyn know it? She thought she knew it. Marilyn opened her eyes and peeked - a mistake, the light from the torch blinded her. She jammed her eyes shut again instantly, not sure whether to be relieved or frightened. A voice recognised? More often than not, it was probably because they spent longer than usual running her down.
A name didn't spring to mind, even so. Whoever the guy was, he wanted her to come out. No chance. No way no how. What did it matter if he didn't have a gun to her head? (and Marilyn couldn't tell even that). Who at General's Pride didn't kick her to the curb? Nobody with an accent like that. Marilyn shook her head frantically.
"N-n-nnuh-nuh..." she tripped over the word for a couple seconds longer, then when it became obvious she wasn't going to be able to navigate it, burst into tears again.
Oh Jaysus, Dad, he thought to himself as he caught sight of her face, settling back on his heels and shining the light on her feet so as not to blind her any further. After a moment, he turned it off and stuck it into his pocket to save battery power and give them a lower signature, still grumbling internally at his distant father. What've you got me into, old fart? F'Chrissake, I'm not a headshrinker, and this girl needs one... bad!
"I can't handle this buuullshit," he muttered to himself eventually, setting the stupid brick down and fumbling in his jacket pockets with his newly freed hands. "Fuckin' Program, now I've got the Sobster Triad stuck under a bed and she won't come out'n talk to me." Taking out his cigarettes, he flicked the hard pack open with his thumb and took one between his teeth, dropping the pack on the floor as he went in again for a lighter. "You smoke, lady? Come on out and have a puff with me, settle them nerves. No cheap stuff here, I got the real deal, Grade-A smokes. Marlboro Reds, never leave home without 'em."
Lighting his own cancer stick, he drew in deeply, blowing a cloud of smoke at the ceiling as he flipped the Zippo shut with a popping clink. "Ahh, now that's the ticket. You'd like it, honey, trust me on that one. What a flavor! Now come on outta there, would'ja? Ain't safe under that bed, plodder like me found you. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd just get you by the ankles and pull hard. I ain't like that; never done any harm to a fem 'less she hurt me first, on my Texan honor! You think on it, I ever done wrong by you? Laughed at you, hit you, called you names? Ain't so, sweetheart. Never done a one of 'em. You think I'll hurt'cha just cuz Uncle Sam tells me too? Screw him! I ain't hurtin' nobody 'less they try to hurt me and mine..."
He broke off, scanning the interior of the bedroom. "And ain't none a mine here. You wanna run with me? Safety in numbers, honey, everyone knows it. You and me, we'll find some other folks and see this thing out, can do!" He kept at it, talking in calm, reassuring tones broken by brief stabs at enthusiasm and throwing in the odd endearment for good measure. God alone knew why he tried, since Marilyn was nothing to him except an out-of-place face in the crowd. But he did, kept at it, trying to coax a response out of her, to get her out in the open before someone came along that did not care a whit about classmates. Like Karl, he thought sourly. Karl'd burn us all, the fascist prick, just to save his skin. Me? Not a chance in Hell. That's what I've got with this damn brick. So why bother? Why not throw a wrench in their works, even for a little while?
"Really now, girl, I'm gonna sit here and talk at you till you come outta there. Ain't goin' away, nothin' better to do but sit and jaw till it falls off or someone comes along to bust a cap in me. What're you so scared of, anyway? Me? I ain't nothin' to be scared of. Smoker's lung, fat-body, can't hit a girl if she doesn't hit me first. Hell, look at me; I'm gettin' all worked up cuz you're cryin' and I ain't even done anythin' to ya! I'm a lover, sorta, not a fighter. Jus' come on out and talk, that's all." Suddenly, it dawned on him that it was very important that she talk to him; what for? He hadn't a clue, but he knew he needed someone to talk to him, tell him what was what, to see him through this. Maybe Marilyn wasn't that person, but if she came out, he could at least call it a day and leave her be. Setting off before that was unacceptable, unthinkable; leave the damsel in distress to her prison? Pah! Worthy of a Yankee!
Out of the question entirely. So he just sat there, watching what he could see of her, waiting for a response, a movement besides shaking, something! Anything. Just waiting was starting to become unbearable, and one part of his mind called for really grabbing her and hauling her out; but he knew that was stupid, just screw up whatever he'd accomplished so far, if anything.
"Come on, lady, gimme a sign? Are you hearin' me, or am I just background noise to your self-pity? I meant what I said, terrible indulgent to curl up and cry like that. Doesn't help a soul. Come out and talk, or Hell, talk from down there if it makes you feel better." A pause, the first in a while as he was left grasping for something else to say, some other way to coax her out. Then he slapped his forehead with a loud pop. "Dumbass! Me, that is. I'm Henry Barren, d'uh! I'm sittin' here talkin' away and you've got no idea who it is! Damn me for a fool and a rude-mannered Yank!" He shook his head, snickering at his own folly in the whole matter, then bent forward a little to start the charm again.
What's your name, huh? 'Less you like bein' called honey and sweetheart all the time, which is fine. Makes me feel a mite strange, truth to tell." Grinning, he leaned forward, sticking his head just under the bed frame, trying to look innocent and trustworthy. "You and me, babe. How 'bout it?"
"I can't handle this buuullshit," he muttered to himself eventually, setting the stupid brick down and fumbling in his jacket pockets with his newly freed hands. "Fuckin' Program, now I've got the Sobster Triad stuck under a bed and she won't come out'n talk to me." Taking out his cigarettes, he flicked the hard pack open with his thumb and took one between his teeth, dropping the pack on the floor as he went in again for a lighter. "You smoke, lady? Come on out and have a puff with me, settle them nerves. No cheap stuff here, I got the real deal, Grade-A smokes. Marlboro Reds, never leave home without 'em."
Lighting his own cancer stick, he drew in deeply, blowing a cloud of smoke at the ceiling as he flipped the Zippo shut with a popping clink. "Ahh, now that's the ticket. You'd like it, honey, trust me on that one. What a flavor! Now come on outta there, would'ja? Ain't safe under that bed, plodder like me found you. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd just get you by the ankles and pull hard. I ain't like that; never done any harm to a fem 'less she hurt me first, on my Texan honor! You think on it, I ever done wrong by you? Laughed at you, hit you, called you names? Ain't so, sweetheart. Never done a one of 'em. You think I'll hurt'cha just cuz Uncle Sam tells me too? Screw him! I ain't hurtin' nobody 'less they try to hurt me and mine..."
He broke off, scanning the interior of the bedroom. "And ain't none a mine here. You wanna run with me? Safety in numbers, honey, everyone knows it. You and me, we'll find some other folks and see this thing out, can do!" He kept at it, talking in calm, reassuring tones broken by brief stabs at enthusiasm and throwing in the odd endearment for good measure. God alone knew why he tried, since Marilyn was nothing to him except an out-of-place face in the crowd. But he did, kept at it, trying to coax a response out of her, to get her out in the open before someone came along that did not care a whit about classmates. Like Karl, he thought sourly. Karl'd burn us all, the fascist prick, just to save his skin. Me? Not a chance in Hell. That's what I've got with this damn brick. So why bother? Why not throw a wrench in their works, even for a little while?
"Really now, girl, I'm gonna sit here and talk at you till you come outta there. Ain't goin' away, nothin' better to do but sit and jaw till it falls off or someone comes along to bust a cap in me. What're you so scared of, anyway? Me? I ain't nothin' to be scared of. Smoker's lung, fat-body, can't hit a girl if she doesn't hit me first. Hell, look at me; I'm gettin' all worked up cuz you're cryin' and I ain't even done anythin' to ya! I'm a lover, sorta, not a fighter. Jus' come on out and talk, that's all." Suddenly, it dawned on him that it was very important that she talk to him; what for? He hadn't a clue, but he knew he needed someone to talk to him, tell him what was what, to see him through this. Maybe Marilyn wasn't that person, but if she came out, he could at least call it a day and leave her be. Setting off before that was unacceptable, unthinkable; leave the damsel in distress to her prison? Pah! Worthy of a Yankee!
Out of the question entirely. So he just sat there, watching what he could see of her, waiting for a response, a movement besides shaking, something! Anything. Just waiting was starting to become unbearable, and one part of his mind called for really grabbing her and hauling her out; but he knew that was stupid, just screw up whatever he'd accomplished so far, if anything.
"Come on, lady, gimme a sign? Are you hearin' me, or am I just background noise to your self-pity? I meant what I said, terrible indulgent to curl up and cry like that. Doesn't help a soul. Come out and talk, or Hell, talk from down there if it makes you feel better." A pause, the first in a while as he was left grasping for something else to say, some other way to coax her out. Then he slapped his forehead with a loud pop. "Dumbass! Me, that is. I'm Henry Barren, d'uh! I'm sittin' here talkin' away and you've got no idea who it is! Damn me for a fool and a rude-mannered Yank!" He shook his head, snickering at his own folly in the whole matter, then bent forward a little to start the charm again.
What's your name, huh? 'Less you like bein' called honey and sweetheart all the time, which is fine. Makes me feel a mite strange, truth to tell." Grinning, he leaned forward, sticking his head just under the bed frame, trying to look innocent and trustworthy. "You and me, babe. How 'bout it?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tiurabo. 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.
Mercifully, the light went out. At least she wasn’t blinded anymore, although Marilyn didn’t exactly feel like meeting her visitor face to face either way. The most she could see of the guy at that moment was his trainers, peeking out of the bottom of a pair of cargo pants. This was a familiar feeling. On the ground, facing somebody’s feet? Yeah, Marilyn had been here before… just without the dread of the owner of said feet packing a gun.
The guy, whoever he was, just wouldn’t stop talking. Marilyn didn’t get it. He must’ve felt like he was talking to a wall, bouncing one subject after another off the face of someone completely unresponsive. Even if Marilyn had been inclined to reply (and she wasn’t), she wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgeways.
So she just sat there and listened to him chatter on. It didn’t strike Marilyn as rude or cold; she just… didn’t know what she could say. She never did, that was half of her problem. She was never sure if verbalising would lead to offence and a retaliatory barb (or blow, in the worst cases) and either way, this guy was talking enough for the both of them. If he was content to babble for the time being, it was a welcome delay from what was sure to come afterwards. But she tried not to bury her head in the sand. On the off-chance that he wasn’t coming up with some kind of trick, that he was genuine, that seeming impossibility… Marilyn paid attention, tried not to wallow. That was hard; tears were still trickling from her eyes, periodic sobs racking her slim frame.
Whoever the person that had found her was, he was actually putting in an effort, appeared anxious to keep her calm and be friendly. Marilyn didn’t get it. That seemed… seemed so elaborate. Nobody at school had ever been subtle about their intentions or their opinions. Sometimes they were muttered or anonymous, but the meanings had always been made crystal clear. No need to be underhanded when there weren’t any repercussions. Why would this guy spend so much time wheedling her if he wanted to hurt her? …There wasn’t anything he could get out of it.
Then he invited her to come along with him, and Marilyn instinctively shied away from the idea. Companions? That just seemed a stretch too far, offering a partnership. He had to want something from her. Maybe a convenient bullet shield, maybe … but… no. Marilyn would be worthless, even as cannon fodder. Even if she were any good in a fight, just associating with her would make the guy seem like a target. Teaming up with the lowest of school’s society… it was just asking for somebody to be appropriately horrified at his lack of patriotism.
Being chided, if only softly, for how she was acting, made Marilyn wince. That wasn’t fair of him, not fair at all. Did he expect her to jump up and be some kind of action woman after being thrown into this kind of place? G.I Jane Marilyn wasn’t… this was always her first reaction. Hunker down, cry out the frustration, the grief and the hurt. No, …Henry Barron wasn’t being fair at all. The name didn’t mean a lot. A little familiar, she had heard it, but she couldn’t attach a face to the name and the voice. He was probably telling the truth about not being one of her tormentors, then. Marilyn knew them all too well..
She took a step. Just a small one, but the first. “I-I-I’m M-M-muh-muh-Marilyn. W-Wuh-Wil-luh-liams.”
The guy, whoever he was, just wouldn’t stop talking. Marilyn didn’t get it. He must’ve felt like he was talking to a wall, bouncing one subject after another off the face of someone completely unresponsive. Even if Marilyn had been inclined to reply (and she wasn’t), she wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgeways.
So she just sat there and listened to him chatter on. It didn’t strike Marilyn as rude or cold; she just… didn’t know what she could say. She never did, that was half of her problem. She was never sure if verbalising would lead to offence and a retaliatory barb (or blow, in the worst cases) and either way, this guy was talking enough for the both of them. If he was content to babble for the time being, it was a welcome delay from what was sure to come afterwards. But she tried not to bury her head in the sand. On the off-chance that he wasn’t coming up with some kind of trick, that he was genuine, that seeming impossibility… Marilyn paid attention, tried not to wallow. That was hard; tears were still trickling from her eyes, periodic sobs racking her slim frame.
Whoever the person that had found her was, he was actually putting in an effort, appeared anxious to keep her calm and be friendly. Marilyn didn’t get it. That seemed… seemed so elaborate. Nobody at school had ever been subtle about their intentions or their opinions. Sometimes they were muttered or anonymous, but the meanings had always been made crystal clear. No need to be underhanded when there weren’t any repercussions. Why would this guy spend so much time wheedling her if he wanted to hurt her? …There wasn’t anything he could get out of it.
Then he invited her to come along with him, and Marilyn instinctively shied away from the idea. Companions? That just seemed a stretch too far, offering a partnership. He had to want something from her. Maybe a convenient bullet shield, maybe … but… no. Marilyn would be worthless, even as cannon fodder. Even if she were any good in a fight, just associating with her would make the guy seem like a target. Teaming up with the lowest of school’s society… it was just asking for somebody to be appropriately horrified at his lack of patriotism.
Being chided, if only softly, for how she was acting, made Marilyn wince. That wasn’t fair of him, not fair at all. Did he expect her to jump up and be some kind of action woman after being thrown into this kind of place? G.I Jane Marilyn wasn’t… this was always her first reaction. Hunker down, cry out the frustration, the grief and the hurt. No, …Henry Barron wasn’t being fair at all. The name didn’t mean a lot. A little familiar, she had heard it, but she couldn’t attach a face to the name and the voice. He was probably telling the truth about not being one of her tormentors, then. Marilyn knew them all too well..
She took a step. Just a small one, but the first. “I-I-I’m M-M-muh-muh-Marilyn. W-Wuh-Wil-luh-liams.”
Henry rocked back on his heels, taking a moment to figure her words out past the moist stuttering. This was progress, but why was he trying to make any? She didn't want his help, and God knew he was lost as to how to go about doing it anyway. Drawing on his cigarette, he blew a couple of pensive rings of vapor up in to the air, then stiffly sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. When he started speaking once more, his voice was exasperated, scratchy from his long speeches and fire-breathing proclivities.
"Alright, Marilyn Williams. I'm gonna break it down for you: You can't stay under that bed, and I can't help you if you don't come out. All there is to it, honest truth. If you stay under that bed, some one is gonna find you as ain't so nice as me, and we both know how that ends. In fact, we ought to beat feet out of here before someone comes in thinkin' this is a good hidin' place."
He drew on the cancer stick again, using the pause to figure out his next sally. He couldn't spend much more time on this girl; it had started out as a dangerous move, maybe a stupid mistake, but now it was turning into pure folly. Push harder, work faster, and get the hell out, he decided.
"See, we don't know each other. All I know about you is that most 'a the kids at school reckon you're a punchin' bag. And, this is very important, that you ain't playin' the General's game. Here's news for ya, Marilyn, neither am I. My parents didn't raise a boy who'd kill a person 'less he swore an oath in the military, or in self-defense."
Draw, inhale, exhale. His cigarette was starting to burn out. Save them for later, no point now.
"So you don't take out after me with blood in your eye, and I won't have any cause to hurt you, that's my promise that I'm willin' to make. But you gotta do somethin' for me, Marilyn; you gotta get out from under that bed. Okay? I need you out from under that bed, cuz I only make deals face-to-face."
Last draw, inhale, exhale. He stubbed the cherry out on the floor, carefully pressing out every cinder that scattered to the ground when he crushed the glowing ember. Last try, make an offer, do something...
"We can make any deal you like, so long as we both walk out of this room in once piece. You and I stick together, or we go our separate ways. All I care about is that you come out from under that bed and try to survive this, cuz that means you win. Death ain't losin', it's endin'. Givin' up on yourself, your friends, that's losin'. The least you can do is break even and walk away from the table, and who knows? Maybe you'll find one 'a them that's always beatin' on you, and you can get your revenge on 'em.
"Or not. Whatever. Come on out. You and me."
"Alright, Marilyn Williams. I'm gonna break it down for you: You can't stay under that bed, and I can't help you if you don't come out. All there is to it, honest truth. If you stay under that bed, some one is gonna find you as ain't so nice as me, and we both know how that ends. In fact, we ought to beat feet out of here before someone comes in thinkin' this is a good hidin' place."
He drew on the cancer stick again, using the pause to figure out his next sally. He couldn't spend much more time on this girl; it had started out as a dangerous move, maybe a stupid mistake, but now it was turning into pure folly. Push harder, work faster, and get the hell out, he decided.
"See, we don't know each other. All I know about you is that most 'a the kids at school reckon you're a punchin' bag. And, this is very important, that you ain't playin' the General's game. Here's news for ya, Marilyn, neither am I. My parents didn't raise a boy who'd kill a person 'less he swore an oath in the military, or in self-defense."
Draw, inhale, exhale. His cigarette was starting to burn out. Save them for later, no point now.
"So you don't take out after me with blood in your eye, and I won't have any cause to hurt you, that's my promise that I'm willin' to make. But you gotta do somethin' for me, Marilyn; you gotta get out from under that bed. Okay? I need you out from under that bed, cuz I only make deals face-to-face."
Last draw, inhale, exhale. He stubbed the cherry out on the floor, carefully pressing out every cinder that scattered to the ground when he crushed the glowing ember. Last try, make an offer, do something...
"We can make any deal you like, so long as we both walk out of this room in once piece. You and I stick together, or we go our separate ways. All I care about is that you come out from under that bed and try to survive this, cuz that means you win. Death ain't losin', it's endin'. Givin' up on yourself, your friends, that's losin'. The least you can do is break even and walk away from the table, and who knows? Maybe you'll find one 'a them that's always beatin' on you, and you can get your revenge on 'em.
"Or not. Whatever. Come on out. You and me."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tiurabo. 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.
Hiding always had to end sometime. Marilyn didn't want to leave the dubious sanctuary of the nook under the bed, but... she was already busted, wasn't she? It would be just as bad as trying to moved into another cubicle when the janitor came prowling into the bathroom to turf out the lurkers (e.g. Marilyn). If the place had been found once, it would be found again, and more easily besides. That, more than anything Barren said, was what began to change Marilyn's mind. The girl was a hard person to convince. Grind down? No, she was a pushover in that case, every insult getting to the bone. But to persuade her? That was no easy task. Perhaps because all her life she'd been told that 'things will get better' or 'you'll get used to it' or 'it'll stop eventually'
They never did, she never did and it never did.
Carefully, wincing at the jolts of pain, Marilyn unfolded herself underneath the bed. She'd been in that cramped position for a while, and her joints and muscles opted to lodge a hefty complaint. Marilyn bit her lip and shrugged off the pangs. She'd had worse, much worse. When she wasn't curled into a ball, Marilyn's slender, skinny frame became a lot more apparent; it made her look awkward, slightly gangly. Certainly without much of a figure, in spite of her early spurt.
Marilyn slowly extricated herself from her hiding spot, crawling along the floor until she emerged into the open, finally getting a good look at Henry in the process. His face... wasn't familiar, although vaguely known. Even so, it didn't strike a chord with any of those Marilyn dubbed to be her tormentors... so he seemed to be telling the truth. Sitting right next to Henry, the first thing the Japanese girl was struck with was... well...
That this was the closest she'd ever been to a white boy that hadn't immediately hit her. Instinctively, she shied back, scooting along the floor a little, probably looking exceedingly timid. Which Marilyn most definitely was. No blow came, at least not instantly. Brown eyes, still tear-filled, met those of her erstwhile companion.
Marilyn stared at Henry, wide-eyed for a few moments (probably, to anybody so horrifyingly unpatriotic as to have such thoughts, looking quite cute)... before something struck her about what he'd said.
"Whu-whu-w-what f-fruh-fruh-friends?" she managed, a tad bitterly. "Whu-w-why b-b-buh-bother wu-w-with s-suh-" Marilyn shook her head in frustration, gestured to herself and hoped Barren got the message.
They never did, she never did and it never did.
Carefully, wincing at the jolts of pain, Marilyn unfolded herself underneath the bed. She'd been in that cramped position for a while, and her joints and muscles opted to lodge a hefty complaint. Marilyn bit her lip and shrugged off the pangs. She'd had worse, much worse. When she wasn't curled into a ball, Marilyn's slender, skinny frame became a lot more apparent; it made her look awkward, slightly gangly. Certainly without much of a figure, in spite of her early spurt.
Marilyn slowly extricated herself from her hiding spot, crawling along the floor until she emerged into the open, finally getting a good look at Henry in the process. His face... wasn't familiar, although vaguely known. Even so, it didn't strike a chord with any of those Marilyn dubbed to be her tormentors... so he seemed to be telling the truth. Sitting right next to Henry, the first thing the Japanese girl was struck with was... well...
That this was the closest she'd ever been to a white boy that hadn't immediately hit her. Instinctively, she shied back, scooting along the floor a little, probably looking exceedingly timid. Which Marilyn most definitely was. No blow came, at least not instantly. Brown eyes, still tear-filled, met those of her erstwhile companion.
Marilyn stared at Henry, wide-eyed for a few moments (probably, to anybody so horrifyingly unpatriotic as to have such thoughts, looking quite cute)... before something struck her about what he'd said.
"Whu-whu-w-what f-fruh-fruh-friends?" she managed, a tad bitterly. "Whu-w-why b-b-buh-bother wu-w-with s-suh-" Marilyn shook her head in frustration, gestured to herself and hoped Barren got the message.
Finally! Phase one accomplished! Now that she was in full view, Henry watched as she stared at him, the attention causing him to be decidedly uncomfortable all of a sudden. When she shied away, he did the same, edging back from her; he hadn't forgotten for a moment why they were in this situation in the first place. Then, she voiced the burning questions; the first of which he promptly ignored because he honestly didn't have a response. Instead, he eyed her quizzically for a moment, mulling over the second; he got it, alright, but the answer was a bit harder. Then, standing up and stretching, he sat on the foot of the bed.
"You're a girl," he answered eventually, like that was something that should have been obvious to anyone. "You Northern types have a pretty odd idea of how to treat a lady, I reckon. I was raised different. Gotta help a girl out, she's in trouble, don't do her harm if she ain't. Just... raised that way. My daddy didn't make no distinctions about color or slanted eyes, any of that, so neither do I. Sho' as Hell ain't gonna use the Yankee model." A disgusted snort made it clear what his opinion of the 'Yankee model' was, if there had been any doubt.
Shrugging, he reached over to pat the other side of the bed with the flat of his hand, moving slowly so as not to startle her. The way she flinched and shied at every new gesture made him feel ill; he'd seen that look from dogs more times than he cared to recall, and it always meant cruelty on a scale that made him want to go nuts. He never had before, on the owners of those dogs, and God help him if he did it here, on Marilyn's tormentors. Down that path lay madness.
"Come on, then. Sit up here with me so we can talk like proper folks ought to. We gotta deal, then relocate. Took too long already to come out from under there." He gestured to the door, implying that someone could walk through at any moment. "Seriously, the faster we get out of here, the better off we'll be. We are not secure."
"You're a girl," he answered eventually, like that was something that should have been obvious to anyone. "You Northern types have a pretty odd idea of how to treat a lady, I reckon. I was raised different. Gotta help a girl out, she's in trouble, don't do her harm if she ain't. Just... raised that way. My daddy didn't make no distinctions about color or slanted eyes, any of that, so neither do I. Sho' as Hell ain't gonna use the Yankee model." A disgusted snort made it clear what his opinion of the 'Yankee model' was, if there had been any doubt.
Shrugging, he reached over to pat the other side of the bed with the flat of his hand, moving slowly so as not to startle her. The way she flinched and shied at every new gesture made him feel ill; he'd seen that look from dogs more times than he cared to recall, and it always meant cruelty on a scale that made him want to go nuts. He never had before, on the owners of those dogs, and God help him if he did it here, on Marilyn's tormentors. Down that path lay madness.
"Come on, then. Sit up here with me so we can talk like proper folks ought to. We gotta deal, then relocate. Took too long already to come out from under there." He gestured to the door, implying that someone could walk through at any moment. "Seriously, the faster we get out of here, the better off we'll be. We are not secure."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tiurabo. 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.
Marilyn didn't understand Henry's reasoning. She was a girl, yes... since when had that stopped anyone, or even gave them pause? Harris had never cared about her gender, sometimes Marilyn thought that it made him enjoy what he did to her even more. Maybe it was just that she never fought back or had any biting remarks to hand. Either way, of any of the reasons Henry could have provided, there were few the Japanese girl would have comprehended less.
And that... that was as simple as coming from somewhere else in America? No, it didn't make sense to her at all. In fact, it made Marilyn uneasy once again, not that she'd been exactly calm to begin with. Not five seconds out from under the bed, and Marilyn already wanted to dive back underneath and curl into a ball. But no... that wasn't going to help. If Henry wanted to do anything to her, then he would, Marilyn couldn't stop him. In fact, he could've done plenty already.
Marilyn had never really trusted anyone, but in this case... well unless he was building up to it for an unnecessarily long, cruel time... she kind of had to give Henry the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being.
Either way, that didn't mean Marilyn wanted to 'deal' with Barren. She didn't handle people very well, probably because most of the time she had any contact with anyone else it was to be the butt end of a cruel remark. Her parents hadn't been a comfort to her either. Both of them had just... they'd just accepted what she went through as standard. Her lot in life, much as it was theirs...
~*~
"M-Mommy!"
Annie Williams glanced up from the t-shirt she was darning to see her daughter rushing towards her, eyes welling with tears. Annie was tired; it had been a long day at work (she had a night shift) and she still had a few errands she had to run before turning in for the day. She hadn't even heard the front door of the apartment open. Annie immediately downed tools and stood, allowing her eight year old daughter to cling to her legs and sob.
Marilyn cried for a little, before raising a tear-streaked face to her mother. "M-mommy one of t-t-the buh-boys h-hit me!" - at this stage, Marilyn's stammer wasn't quite as severe, although the speech impediment had always dogged her.
Annie's heart sank. "Did you tell the teacher?" she ventured, hoping the answer would be 'No'.
Marilyn nodded. "Muh-miss B-baker just suh-said to nuh-not p-p-pro..v-voke puh-people."
One look down into Marilyn's face, which had the makings of a black eye, was enough to tell Annie that her daughter hadn't started this one. Violence wasn't in her nature. Annie sighed and lifted her daughter into her lap, sitting back down on the stool she'd been at before. She stroked Marilyn's hair and whispered meaningless comforts into her ear.
A look of resignation was on Annie's face, a face which would once have been exotically beautiful, gorgeous even (though no real American would admit such a thing), but was now careworn, aged prematurely by stress.
"Marilyn," Annie began. "You might have noticed you're a bit... different from the others."
~*~
"You're a bit... different from the others."
Marilyn picked herself up off the floor to perch awkwardly on the bed, deliberately distancing herself from Henry's spot. She was still sniffling slightly from her earlier stint of crying. She looked sidelong at the boy, reluctant to meet his eyes again after the first time.
"Whu-whu... what d-d-do yuh-you whu-whu-want?" Marilyn looked down at the floor, clenching her hands into fists. She hated her stammer, she hated it SO much. "I-I cuh-cuh-can't huh-huh-help yuh-you. I'm nuh... I'm nuh... I'm nuh-no guh-good at a-anythu-thu-thing."
And that... that was as simple as coming from somewhere else in America? No, it didn't make sense to her at all. In fact, it made Marilyn uneasy once again, not that she'd been exactly calm to begin with. Not five seconds out from under the bed, and Marilyn already wanted to dive back underneath and curl into a ball. But no... that wasn't going to help. If Henry wanted to do anything to her, then he would, Marilyn couldn't stop him. In fact, he could've done plenty already.
Marilyn had never really trusted anyone, but in this case... well unless he was building up to it for an unnecessarily long, cruel time... she kind of had to give Henry the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being.
Either way, that didn't mean Marilyn wanted to 'deal' with Barren. She didn't handle people very well, probably because most of the time she had any contact with anyone else it was to be the butt end of a cruel remark. Her parents hadn't been a comfort to her either. Both of them had just... they'd just accepted what she went through as standard. Her lot in life, much as it was theirs...
~*~
"M-Mommy!"
Annie Williams glanced up from the t-shirt she was darning to see her daughter rushing towards her, eyes welling with tears. Annie was tired; it had been a long day at work (she had a night shift) and she still had a few errands she had to run before turning in for the day. She hadn't even heard the front door of the apartment open. Annie immediately downed tools and stood, allowing her eight year old daughter to cling to her legs and sob.
Marilyn cried for a little, before raising a tear-streaked face to her mother. "M-mommy one of t-t-the buh-boys h-hit me!" - at this stage, Marilyn's stammer wasn't quite as severe, although the speech impediment had always dogged her.
Annie's heart sank. "Did you tell the teacher?" she ventured, hoping the answer would be 'No'.
Marilyn nodded. "Muh-miss B-baker just suh-said to nuh-not p-p-pro..v-voke puh-people."
One look down into Marilyn's face, which had the makings of a black eye, was enough to tell Annie that her daughter hadn't started this one. Violence wasn't in her nature. Annie sighed and lifted her daughter into her lap, sitting back down on the stool she'd been at before. She stroked Marilyn's hair and whispered meaningless comforts into her ear.
A look of resignation was on Annie's face, a face which would once have been exotically beautiful, gorgeous even (though no real American would admit such a thing), but was now careworn, aged prematurely by stress.
"Marilyn," Annie began. "You might have noticed you're a bit... different from the others."
~*~
"You're a bit... different from the others."
Marilyn picked herself up off the floor to perch awkwardly on the bed, deliberately distancing herself from Henry's spot. She was still sniffling slightly from her earlier stint of crying. She looked sidelong at the boy, reluctant to meet his eyes again after the first time.
"Whu-whu... what d-d-do yuh-you whu-whu-want?" Marilyn looked down at the floor, clenching her hands into fists. She hated her stammer, she hated it SO much. "I-I cuh-cuh-can't huh-huh-help yuh-you. I'm nuh... I'm nuh... I'm nuh-no guh-good at a-anythu-thu-thing."
((Sorry to skip, but I'd quite like to get Marilyn moving)
There was a long pause. Maybe Barren was considering his words, maybe he was planning his next move. Regardless, the delay shattered Marilyn's fragile composure with cursory ease. Call it paranoia, irrational, whatever you wanted... the fact of the matter was that speaking to somebody - somebody from school - that didn't want to pick on her just seemed too good be true.
No, in this situation, where it was, as far as Marilyn knew, kill or be killed? It was impossible. Somebody extending the olive branch, shedding their prejudices (no, saying they had none in the first place)... in the game of all places. It ventured into the realms of pure fantasy.
Marilyn was never much of a dreamer. Idealism was beaten out of her young.
The girl clutched her bag to her chest tightly. It hadn't even occurred to her to look inside of it yet. Marilyn continued looking at Henry out of the corners of her eyes, breathing getting steadily faster and faster, until.
"L-luh-look I-uh-I D-d-Duh."
Marilyn gave up, sprung from the bed and fled from the room, making use of every bit of her running practice. Tears once again began to flow from her eyes. Athletics had never brought her any boldness.
Nothing, most likely, ever would.
[[Marilyn continued in Tessellate]]
There was a long pause. Maybe Barren was considering his words, maybe he was planning his next move. Regardless, the delay shattered Marilyn's fragile composure with cursory ease. Call it paranoia, irrational, whatever you wanted... the fact of the matter was that speaking to somebody - somebody from school - that didn't want to pick on her just seemed too good be true.
No, in this situation, where it was, as far as Marilyn knew, kill or be killed? It was impossible. Somebody extending the olive branch, shedding their prejudices (no, saying they had none in the first place)... in the game of all places. It ventured into the realms of pure fantasy.
Marilyn was never much of a dreamer. Idealism was beaten out of her young.
The girl clutched her bag to her chest tightly. It hadn't even occurred to her to look inside of it yet. Marilyn continued looking at Henry out of the corners of her eyes, breathing getting steadily faster and faster, until.
"L-luh-look I-uh-I D-d-Duh."
Marilyn gave up, sprung from the bed and fled from the room, making use of every bit of her running practice. Tears once again began to flow from her eyes. Athletics had never brought her any boldness.
Nothing, most likely, ever would.
[[Marilyn continued in Tessellate]]
((The Mason Twins continued from Claustrophobe))
"Sophie... Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Yes, of course I am..."
"But, what if you accidentally hit me?"
"I won't Steph... Just as long as you keep moving, you'll be just fine. Just do as I ask and this should all be over soon."
"Oh... Okay......"
It must have been twenty or so minutes since the Mason Twins had left the bathroom behind them, searching once more for any solitary signs of life within the building. And after looking through several more empty bedrooms, it finally seemed as though they had struck gold.
Standing there in the middle of the hallway around the corner was exactly what they were looking for. A lone unarmed student, Henry Barren if Stephanie remembered clearly, who seemed to be leaning against a doorframe whilst smoking a cigarette. It was the cigarette in question which led them to him, the distinctive smell of nicotine drawing catching their attention several rooms away. After they had spotted him, rather then going in for the kill, Sophie formulated a plan with Stephanie for how it could be achieved more efficiently. After all, if they just charged in gun's blazing there was a good chance he might draw some concealed weapon on them or run away. He was too far down the hall for Stephanie to hit him with her shotgun, according to Sophie anyway.
Still, this plan required Stephanie being directly involved in the kill itself something she wasn't exactly looking forward to... Nevertheless, she knew that she had to prove herself to Sophie. Prove that she could be trusted to do the right thing, that she could actually look after herself if she was gone. And if doing this was what it would take to convince her that Stephanie could handle herself... Then so be it.
I can do this! I can be strong! I'm not a weakling, not anymore... Once I do this, we'll be one step closer to home. One step closer to getting out of this nightmare...
...I just... I just need to stay cool, thats all.
Taking a deep breath, Stephanie swapped her shotgun with Sophie's crowbar, gave her sister one last hug, then ran down the hallway screaming her head off.
"HELP ME! OH GOD, SOMEBODY SAVE ME!"
She gave of a shrill squeal as the wall a few metres behind her exploded as Sophie shot it before diving back around the corner. The recoil from the weapon nearly sent the girl flying from her feet, but regardless she managed to stay standing after regaining her composure.
Stephanie rushed behind Henry, blabbering on unintelligently as she 'pretended' to be scared for her own life. In actuality, she really was scared senseless by what was going on. But it wasn't Sophie she was scared about. Or Henry for that matter...
...It was what she was about to do which terrified her to the core.
"Sophie... Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Yes, of course I am..."
"But, what if you accidentally hit me?"
"I won't Steph... Just as long as you keep moving, you'll be just fine. Just do as I ask and this should all be over soon."
"Oh... Okay......"
It must have been twenty or so minutes since the Mason Twins had left the bathroom behind them, searching once more for any solitary signs of life within the building. And after looking through several more empty bedrooms, it finally seemed as though they had struck gold.
Standing there in the middle of the hallway around the corner was exactly what they were looking for. A lone unarmed student, Henry Barren if Stephanie remembered clearly, who seemed to be leaning against a doorframe whilst smoking a cigarette. It was the cigarette in question which led them to him, the distinctive smell of nicotine drawing catching their attention several rooms away. After they had spotted him, rather then going in for the kill, Sophie formulated a plan with Stephanie for how it could be achieved more efficiently. After all, if they just charged in gun's blazing there was a good chance he might draw some concealed weapon on them or run away. He was too far down the hall for Stephanie to hit him with her shotgun, according to Sophie anyway.
Still, this plan required Stephanie being directly involved in the kill itself something she wasn't exactly looking forward to... Nevertheless, she knew that she had to prove herself to Sophie. Prove that she could be trusted to do the right thing, that she could actually look after herself if she was gone. And if doing this was what it would take to convince her that Stephanie could handle herself... Then so be it.
I can do this! I can be strong! I'm not a weakling, not anymore... Once I do this, we'll be one step closer to home. One step closer to getting out of this nightmare...
...I just... I just need to stay cool, thats all.
Taking a deep breath, Stephanie swapped her shotgun with Sophie's crowbar, gave her sister one last hug, then ran down the hallway screaming her head off.
"HELP ME! OH GOD, SOMEBODY SAVE ME!"
She gave of a shrill squeal as the wall a few metres behind her exploded as Sophie shot it before diving back around the corner. The recoil from the weapon nearly sent the girl flying from her feet, but regardless she managed to stay standing after regaining her composure.
Stephanie rushed behind Henry, blabbering on unintelligently as she 'pretended' to be scared for her own life. In actuality, she really was scared senseless by what was going on. But it wasn't Sophie she was scared about. Or Henry for that matter...
...It was what she was about to do which terrified her to the core.
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
((Doubleposting and Gmodding done with permission in order to quicken this death scene along))
Sure enough, Henry acted like a true gentleman and shielded her from harm as they backed off into the bedroom, slamming the door shut in an attempt to keep their "attacker" at bay temporarily as he tried desperately to think of a way out of their situation.
However, in all the excitement Henry failed to consider keeping an eye on the girl he'd supposedly rescued from harm.
Stephanie stood there for a moment, clutching her sister's crowbar to her chest as she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do. It seemed like such a simple instruction at first. All she had to do was wait until Henry's back was turned and swing her crowbar into his back, that all. Such a simple task... And yet, despite telling herself over and over that it was the only option, Stephanie still found herself not able to do it.
NO! Nononono, not again! Not now! I c-c-can't back out! I have to... I HAVE to do this! Otherwise Sophie'll never trust me to anything ever again!
As Henry concentrated on the door, the frightened and shivering girl slowly raised the crowbar Sophie had given her, the weapon of death which she was about to inflict on the poor man who was only trying to protect her.
I can't back out now... I MUST do this! I MUST prove that I am not useless!
Tears began to flow down her reddened cheeks as she gripped onto the steel crowbar tightly, her teeth clenched as she tried to muster up the courage to do what had to be done.
Just hit him in the back of the head and finish him off quickly... That ALL I need to do here! Thats all I need to... Need to......
She shut her tear-soaked eyes, raised the crowbar above her head, and uttered a brief word before swinging the deadly weapon into Henry Barren's back without even looking.
"I... I'm so sorry......"
Sure enough, Henry acted like a true gentleman and shielded her from harm as they backed off into the bedroom, slamming the door shut in an attempt to keep their "attacker" at bay temporarily as he tried desperately to think of a way out of their situation.
However, in all the excitement Henry failed to consider keeping an eye on the girl he'd supposedly rescued from harm.
Stephanie stood there for a moment, clutching her sister's crowbar to her chest as she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do. It seemed like such a simple instruction at first. All she had to do was wait until Henry's back was turned and swing her crowbar into his back, that all. Such a simple task... And yet, despite telling herself over and over that it was the only option, Stephanie still found herself not able to do it.
NO! Nononono, not again! Not now! I c-c-can't back out! I have to... I HAVE to do this! Otherwise Sophie'll never trust me to anything ever again!
As Henry concentrated on the door, the frightened and shivering girl slowly raised the crowbar Sophie had given her, the weapon of death which she was about to inflict on the poor man who was only trying to protect her.
I can't back out now... I MUST do this! I MUST prove that I am not useless!
Tears began to flow down her reddened cheeks as she gripped onto the steel crowbar tightly, her teeth clenched as she tried to muster up the courage to do what had to be done.
Just hit him in the back of the head and finish him off quickly... That ALL I need to do here! Thats all I need to... Need to......
She shut her tear-soaked eyes, raised the crowbar above her head, and uttered a brief word before swinging the deadly weapon into Henry Barren's back without even looking.
"I... I'm so sorry......"
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
((TRIPLEPOST due to a slight miscommunication between me and Clubelle as to who would actually write Henry's death post... Which, in hindsight, is mostly my fault for not bringing it up sooner. Anyway, sorry for not posting this sooner...))
It was times like this that Henry Barren wished he was back home in Texas rather then the middle of the frigging Program of all things.
Things seemed to be going so well with Marilyn at first... For one, he finally managed to coax the poor little lady from her hiding spot. Hell, he even managed to convince her to talk back to him after being met with nothing but silence for god knows how long. But then, right out of the blue, before he could even begin to answer her question the frightened girl leaped from the bed and fled the room in a mass of tears. The large Texan barely even got the chance to call out her name before she'd disappeared down the corridor. God damnit! Who'd a thought a little thing like her could be that fast?
Henry stood there for a moment, staring down the corridor as if he was expecting Marilyn to pop around the corner at any second to apologise profusely. Sadly though, that didn't seem to be the case...
Damnit... Trust the Yankees to turn another perfectly fine American inta' a bundle of nerves all 'cause her eyes are little different to most folks's. Poor thing will probably last a day, maybe two max. Why, if some yankee fuck so much as lays a finger on her why I'd......
*Sigh*, fuck I need a smoke...
The southener laid his back against the doorframe as he scooped up his packet of cancer sticks from the floor, lighting one up and inhailing the fumes as he figured out what his next course of action should be.
Hmm, I s'pose I could always try to find her again, make sure some sick bastard don't abuse her real bad. Then again, whose to say she wants someone lookin' out for her? She DID just dump my ass, after all...
On the other hand...
"HELP ME! OH GOD, SOMEBODY SAVE ME!"
Oh god damnit, what now!?!
The Texan looked up to find a girl running towards him... A girl wielding a CROWBAR of all things. At first Henry couldn't tell what all the fuss was about, but the moment the wall a couple of metres away exploded due to a missaimed shotgun shell the situation seemed to explain itself quite nicely.
"Holy shit, get inside now!" he shouted, grabbing Stephanie by her shoulders and pushing her inside the room, slamming the door against it as his mind raced to figure out a way out of their predicimant.
Think damnit think! There's gotta be a way out of this situation! M-M-Maybe you can try to talk whoever's out there into dropping the gun or somethin'? Not a whole lot else you can do, what with your 'weapon' being a goddamn brick an' all...
As the Texcan pressed his weight against the door, his focus too centred on the person on the other side to pay attention to the girl behind him, he didn't notice Stephanie as she slowly raised the crowbar she'd been lent by own dear sister...
"Okay, whoever's out there, I j-jus' want you to know that ya don't hafta do this! There's gotta be another way out here, a way that DOESN'T involve killin' one another like we're in a goddamn video game or something! If we just stick together, show the man whose boss, then maybe..."
"I... I'm so sorry......"
...Sorry for wha- OH GOD, JESUS!!!
Henry's shoulder erupted in agony as Stephanie's swung her crowbar with all of her strength, piercing the barrier of skin and cloth and embedding the weapon in the poor man's back. The Texan screamed in agony as his blood began to poor from the fresh wound, the cold steel of the crowbar tearing at his flesh and breaking the bones in his shoulder blade, inadvertently dislocating his shoulder in the process. Stephanie's eyes widened as she fully realised the pain she was inflicting upon the boy who barely minutes ago had been trying to protect her. NOOO! Nonono, that wasn't supposed to happen! I-I-I-It was sup-p-p-posed to be painless!!! Oh god! OH GOD!
In a panicked state, Stephanie tore the crowbar from Henry's back and slammed it down again in an attempt to hit him in the back of the head, only to miss again and strike the Texan in the spine. With tears flowing from her eyes, the terrified young girl ignored the sickening sound of Henry's spine snapping as she retracted the weapon once more and slammed it into his face, knocking him onto the ground. From there one she continued to pummel away at his face with the bloodied weapon, desperate to put him out of his misery as quickly as possible. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, specks of Henry's blood staining her once grey jumper. If anyone were to watch her right now, they'd of assumed that she had given into some kind of insane bloodlust. But in Stephanie's case, she just wanted him to stop screaming. Stop the pain she had inflicted upon him. And, in a state of panic, had lowered herself into carving his head in with a crowbar.
PLEASE DIE! OH GOD, I DIDN'T MEAN THIS! IT WAS MEANT TO BE PAINLESS! IT WAS MEANT TO BE PAINLESS!!!
IT WAS MEANT TO BE PAINLESS...
It was meant to be painless......
It was meant to be painless............
It was meant to be painless................
"STEPHANIE! You can stop now!"
The young girl was brought back to reality by the sound of her sister's voice, her relentless rain of blows upon Henry's face slowing down to a snail's pace before finally stopping. It was only then that she noticed that Sophie was standing there in the corridor, her shotgun still in her small delicate hands and her face as pale as a ghost.
"Sophie... I......"
The frightened young girl noticed that Sophie's gaze was lingering on the boy she had just killed, prompting her to slowly lower her head to see the damage she had inflicted on his poor face...
She only saw what she'd done for a brief second before Sophie grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her away, but by that point she'd already seen enough to realise the extent of the damage she had inflicted.
"Oh god, Sophie. I think I'm going to be....."
The young girl buried her head into her sister's shoulder, the two embracing one another as they came to terms with the action they had just committed. Stephanie could still see Henry's mangled and distorted face as clear as day. His shredded cheeks, his broken jaw and most of all his shattered skull still fresh in her mind.
"It wasn't meant to be like this! I-It was supposed to be painless! I didn't mean to... Mean to...... Oh god Sophie, what have I done?!?"
It was then that she truly realised that she'd actually done it. She'd actually gone ahead and committed the act of murder. There was definitely no going back now... No chance of changing her mind at the last second. She and her sister were killers now. Doomed to be villainized by their classmates as players who're out to get them. Which, in all honesty, seemed to be the case. Stephanie certainly never had any ill thoughts towards Henry. Never had it ever occurred to her that the two of them might end up becoming enemies some day... And yet, here she was, standing over his corpse with a bloody crowbar in her hand.
And yet...
"Good job Stephanie..."
Good job?
"I'm glad that you managed to go through with it in the end... I'm sorry that he didn't die as quickly as you'd intended, but now we're one step close to home aren't we?"
Y... Yeah, we are!
"It'll be hard at first, I never said it WOULDN'T be, but soon we'll both be out of here in no time!
"Y... Yeah!"
Stephanie nervously lifted her head from Sophie's shoulder, a weak smile appearing on her face as she took comfort in Sophie's words. Her sister was right after all, there were now one step closer home. At this rate, they could get out of this compound within a day! They would just need to keep safe, thats all. Try to make sure to not tackle with any of the tougher players... With Sophie leading the way, Stephanie was almost certain that the two of them could handle any obstacle blocking their way now! Nobody could beat them at a game of tennis, right? So what was to say that they couldn't win the program together?
"Now come one Steph, lets get out of here before somebody investigate the noise..."
Stephanie nodded in reply, and within minutes the two of them had gathered their equipment and left the scene of the bloody crime they had committed.
((The Mason Twins continued in Tessellate))
As the two of them left, Stephnie in a sudden moment of regret placed a soft duvet cover over the body of the boy she had just brutally murdered, along with a note that read:
Please forgive me...
MALE STUDENT NO.12 - HENRY BARREN: DECEASED
It was times like this that Henry Barren wished he was back home in Texas rather then the middle of the frigging Program of all things.
Things seemed to be going so well with Marilyn at first... For one, he finally managed to coax the poor little lady from her hiding spot. Hell, he even managed to convince her to talk back to him after being met with nothing but silence for god knows how long. But then, right out of the blue, before he could even begin to answer her question the frightened girl leaped from the bed and fled the room in a mass of tears. The large Texan barely even got the chance to call out her name before she'd disappeared down the corridor. God damnit! Who'd a thought a little thing like her could be that fast?
Henry stood there for a moment, staring down the corridor as if he was expecting Marilyn to pop around the corner at any second to apologise profusely. Sadly though, that didn't seem to be the case...
Damnit... Trust the Yankees to turn another perfectly fine American inta' a bundle of nerves all 'cause her eyes are little different to most folks's. Poor thing will probably last a day, maybe two max. Why, if some yankee fuck so much as lays a finger on her why I'd......
*Sigh*, fuck I need a smoke...
The southener laid his back against the doorframe as he scooped up his packet of cancer sticks from the floor, lighting one up and inhailing the fumes as he figured out what his next course of action should be.
Hmm, I s'pose I could always try to find her again, make sure some sick bastard don't abuse her real bad. Then again, whose to say she wants someone lookin' out for her? She DID just dump my ass, after all...
On the other hand...
"HELP ME! OH GOD, SOMEBODY SAVE ME!"
Oh god damnit, what now!?!
The Texan looked up to find a girl running towards him... A girl wielding a CROWBAR of all things. At first Henry couldn't tell what all the fuss was about, but the moment the wall a couple of metres away exploded due to a missaimed shotgun shell the situation seemed to explain itself quite nicely.
"Holy shit, get inside now!" he shouted, grabbing Stephanie by her shoulders and pushing her inside the room, slamming the door against it as his mind raced to figure out a way out of their predicimant.
Think damnit think! There's gotta be a way out of this situation! M-M-Maybe you can try to talk whoever's out there into dropping the gun or somethin'? Not a whole lot else you can do, what with your 'weapon' being a goddamn brick an' all...
As the Texcan pressed his weight against the door, his focus too centred on the person on the other side to pay attention to the girl behind him, he didn't notice Stephanie as she slowly raised the crowbar she'd been lent by own dear sister...
"Okay, whoever's out there, I j-jus' want you to know that ya don't hafta do this! There's gotta be another way out here, a way that DOESN'T involve killin' one another like we're in a goddamn video game or something! If we just stick together, show the man whose boss, then maybe..."
"I... I'm so sorry......"
...Sorry for wha- OH GOD, JESUS!!!
Henry's shoulder erupted in agony as Stephanie's swung her crowbar with all of her strength, piercing the barrier of skin and cloth and embedding the weapon in the poor man's back. The Texan screamed in agony as his blood began to poor from the fresh wound, the cold steel of the crowbar tearing at his flesh and breaking the bones in his shoulder blade, inadvertently dislocating his shoulder in the process. Stephanie's eyes widened as she fully realised the pain she was inflicting upon the boy who barely minutes ago had been trying to protect her. NOOO! Nonono, that wasn't supposed to happen! I-I-I-It was sup-p-p-posed to be painless!!! Oh god! OH GOD!
In a panicked state, Stephanie tore the crowbar from Henry's back and slammed it down again in an attempt to hit him in the back of the head, only to miss again and strike the Texan in the spine. With tears flowing from her eyes, the terrified young girl ignored the sickening sound of Henry's spine snapping as she retracted the weapon once more and slammed it into his face, knocking him onto the ground. From there one she continued to pummel away at his face with the bloodied weapon, desperate to put him out of his misery as quickly as possible. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, specks of Henry's blood staining her once grey jumper. If anyone were to watch her right now, they'd of assumed that she had given into some kind of insane bloodlust. But in Stephanie's case, she just wanted him to stop screaming. Stop the pain she had inflicted upon him. And, in a state of panic, had lowered herself into carving his head in with a crowbar.
PLEASE DIE! OH GOD, I DIDN'T MEAN THIS! IT WAS MEANT TO BE PAINLESS! IT WAS MEANT TO BE PAINLESS!!!
IT WAS MEANT TO BE PAINLESS...
It was meant to be painless......
It was meant to be painless............
It was meant to be painless................
"STEPHANIE! You can stop now!"
The young girl was brought back to reality by the sound of her sister's voice, her relentless rain of blows upon Henry's face slowing down to a snail's pace before finally stopping. It was only then that she noticed that Sophie was standing there in the corridor, her shotgun still in her small delicate hands and her face as pale as a ghost.
"Sophie... I......"
The frightened young girl noticed that Sophie's gaze was lingering on the boy she had just killed, prompting her to slowly lower her head to see the damage she had inflicted on his poor face...
She only saw what she'd done for a brief second before Sophie grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her away, but by that point she'd already seen enough to realise the extent of the damage she had inflicted.
"Oh god, Sophie. I think I'm going to be....."
The young girl buried her head into her sister's shoulder, the two embracing one another as they came to terms with the action they had just committed. Stephanie could still see Henry's mangled and distorted face as clear as day. His shredded cheeks, his broken jaw and most of all his shattered skull still fresh in her mind.
"It wasn't meant to be like this! I-It was supposed to be painless! I didn't mean to... Mean to...... Oh god Sophie, what have I done?!?"
It was then that she truly realised that she'd actually done it. She'd actually gone ahead and committed the act of murder. There was definitely no going back now... No chance of changing her mind at the last second. She and her sister were killers now. Doomed to be villainized by their classmates as players who're out to get them. Which, in all honesty, seemed to be the case. Stephanie certainly never had any ill thoughts towards Henry. Never had it ever occurred to her that the two of them might end up becoming enemies some day... And yet, here she was, standing over his corpse with a bloody crowbar in her hand.
And yet...
"Good job Stephanie..."
Good job?
"I'm glad that you managed to go through with it in the end... I'm sorry that he didn't die as quickly as you'd intended, but now we're one step close to home aren't we?"
Y... Yeah, we are!
"It'll be hard at first, I never said it WOULDN'T be, but soon we'll both be out of here in no time!
"Y... Yeah!"
Stephanie nervously lifted her head from Sophie's shoulder, a weak smile appearing on her face as she took comfort in Sophie's words. Her sister was right after all, there were now one step closer home. At this rate, they could get out of this compound within a day! They would just need to keep safe, thats all. Try to make sure to not tackle with any of the tougher players... With Sophie leading the way, Stephanie was almost certain that the two of them could handle any obstacle blocking their way now! Nobody could beat them at a game of tennis, right? So what was to say that they couldn't win the program together?
"Now come one Steph, lets get out of here before somebody investigate the noise..."
Stephanie nodded in reply, and within minutes the two of them had gathered their equipment and left the scene of the bloody crime they had committed.
((The Mason Twins continued in Tessellate))
As the two of them left, Stephnie in a sudden moment of regret placed a soft duvet cover over the body of the boy she had just brutally murdered, along with a note that read:
Please forgive me...
MALE STUDENT NO.12 - HENRY BARREN: DECEASED
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010