As Ashanti sat behind one of the large boxes at the dead end of the man-made maze, she thought about how she never got to take her hair out like she planned.
It's not like it was going to be that day - she wasn't just about to head to the bathroom and undo months of braids before their time was dramatically cut short. She just liked thinking for the future, for the play she was never going to be in, or show up dramatically right before opening night with her hair au naturale, upstaging everyone else. But that future didn't exist, because instead of performing as one of the most important roles in Little Shop of Horrors, she was now sitting in the bowels of a cruise ship on a bunch of ships in the middle of the water somewhere in the world, and knowing what Ronette would do in this situation wasn't going to help her.
And neither was the jetpack sitting beside her bag.
She'd tried to lift it - it was too heavy. It was stuck here until someone who could lift heavy things was taking it, and Ashanti could not lift heavy things - she preferred to have other people lift the heavy things for her. She didn't know how far it would take her if she did put it on, but chances were it couldn't push her through the side of the ship.
The jetpack was going to have to stay here, but it's not like Ashanti had gone any further.
Every time Ashanti heard a sound, her heart rate went up. She felt like she'd run a marathon already. After a few minutes of doing nothing but listening to sounds, Ashanti stood up. She began walking, with the bag on her shoulder, the bandana holding back her hair, and the jetpack left where it was.
She hoped she found someone she knew soon - it would be nice to have someone to talk to about this.
Doves in the Wind
open
And while Ashanti walked amongst the rows and rows of half-rotted wooden crates, the ship creaked. The ocean would push the ship ever so slightly to the side, and crates would slide almost imperceptibly until they didn't, banging against the metal walls of the hull, echoes emanating and overlapping with one another. Already, one could hear gunshots and screams and splashes beyond this expanse.
The thumps were part of the cacophony until they weren't. Amidst the chaos, the droning ambient noise, the thumps were more insistent, more consistent in tempo. They grew louder.
She swiveled her head to the left, peered down an alley, but there was no one off to the side. She looked to the right, peered down another alley, and there was no one off to the side. The thumps continued.
The reason why there was no discernable direction was because the sounds were approaching head-on.
She looked up, and before her stood a boy in a tank top, hoodie tied around his waist, nose bent, red-black lines streaming from his nostrils.
There was a bandanna tied around his elbow. Deep orange.
Same color as the hair tie Ashanti wore.
"Part of the Crabs, yeah?"
The thumps were part of the cacophony until they weren't. Amidst the chaos, the droning ambient noise, the thumps were more insistent, more consistent in tempo. They grew louder.
She swiveled her head to the left, peered down an alley, but there was no one off to the side. She looked to the right, peered down another alley, and there was no one off to the side. The thumps continued.
The reason why there was no discernable direction was because the sounds were approaching head-on.
She looked up, and before her stood a boy in a tank top, hoodie tied around his waist, nose bent, red-black lines streaming from his nostrils.
There was a bandanna tied around his elbow. Deep orange.
Same color as the hair tie Ashanti wore.
"Part of the Crabs, yeah?"
Ashanti's mind had been running with the basics as she'd sat behind the crate - she was on a show she loved, she only had a small chance of living, she'd been given a certain weapon, and she was alone. That was all she knew in that moment.
But when she finally saw Matias, and Matias finally spoke to her, things were beginning to file in through the back.
She had been taken in the middle of AP World Literature. She had an assignment on Bessie Head to give in when men came in and left with her, possibly others as well.
She was missing her phone. She no longer had a connection to her parents or Aaliyah.
She was not going to be able to see Shakira again.
There were teams.
She was on one.
If she killed ten people, she could leave.
If everyone on her team made it to the end, they could all leave.
If she was the last person standing, she could leave.
This...
...this wasn't hopeless.
But she had to figure something out.
Ashanti looked at Matias for several moments, trying to place him. She knew the names of everyone in her class, so unless they scouted killers from another school to spice things up (some ignoramous had started harassing her with these exact fake S64 spoilers on her Louisa Lynn account before she had her army mass report him to take him out), she was dealing with people she knew. People who hated her, natch, but she'd know them. She'd figure out how to deal with them, and Matias was no exception.
Matias was some angry little gay boy she'd barely paid any attention to. They weren't so much in different spheres as they were in different galaxies - she was popular, he was a bottom-feeder. She had a future, he worked a menial after-school job. Ashanti was going to be somebody, and Matias wasn't. The 'was' was the operative word lifting the weight of those sentences, naturally, but those past impressions were what Ashanti had to go on.
She opened her mouth, ready to greet the boy in front of her to the positive, but something stopped her.
And suddenly, she realized something. Her eyebrows narrowed, before she stood backwards slightly.
There were cameras everywhere - bolted to the ceilings, insider the collar fastened around her neck, everywhere that wasn't this ship, maybe even in drones circling the arena waiting for action. There was an official dossier on her sitting on the SOTF-TV official website. There were several unofficial dossiers on her circling the web right now, each trying to find out as much as they could about her life before she was here to tighten the odds for those who bet on such a thing - if they were lucky, they'd find louisa_updates, if they weren't, she'd have some semblance of privacy left.
It became quickly clear to Ashanti in the moments she spent thinking about what she had, that there was nothing visible she had that the people who ran this thing didn't have.
They had her body, they had her image, they had her personality summed up in gross little paragraphs, they had her shaped how the show wanted her to be, they had assumptions, they had...well, it was hard to think of what they didn't have about Ashanti, to be honest.
Except...
Ashanti stepped forward slightly. There was something about Matias she recognized, outside of the context of school, but she couldn't quite place it. Did he serve her at a restaurant once? Was he the brother of a friend of Aaliyah's? Did Shakira-
...
She clasped a hand to her face as she began to put the pieces together.
And suddenly, with her mouth closed, she began moving her hands.
"Do you understand me?"
But she spoke at the same time.
But when she finally saw Matias, and Matias finally spoke to her, things were beginning to file in through the back.
She had been taken in the middle of AP World Literature. She had an assignment on Bessie Head to give in when men came in and left with her, possibly others as well.
She was missing her phone. She no longer had a connection to her parents or Aaliyah.
She was not going to be able to see Shakira again.
There were teams.
She was on one.
If she killed ten people, she could leave.
If everyone on her team made it to the end, they could all leave.
If she was the last person standing, she could leave.
This...
...this wasn't hopeless.
But she had to figure something out.
Ashanti looked at Matias for several moments, trying to place him. She knew the names of everyone in her class, so unless they scouted killers from another school to spice things up (some ignoramous had started harassing her with these exact fake S64 spoilers on her Louisa Lynn account before she had her army mass report him to take him out), she was dealing with people she knew. People who hated her, natch, but she'd know them. She'd figure out how to deal with them, and Matias was no exception.
Matias was some angry little gay boy she'd barely paid any attention to. They weren't so much in different spheres as they were in different galaxies - she was popular, he was a bottom-feeder. She had a future, he worked a menial after-school job. Ashanti was going to be somebody, and Matias wasn't. The 'was' was the operative word lifting the weight of those sentences, naturally, but those past impressions were what Ashanti had to go on.
She opened her mouth, ready to greet the boy in front of her to the positive, but something stopped her.
And suddenly, she realized something. Her eyebrows narrowed, before she stood backwards slightly.
There were cameras everywhere - bolted to the ceilings, insider the collar fastened around her neck, everywhere that wasn't this ship, maybe even in drones circling the arena waiting for action. There was an official dossier on her sitting on the SOTF-TV official website. There were several unofficial dossiers on her circling the web right now, each trying to find out as much as they could about her life before she was here to tighten the odds for those who bet on such a thing - if they were lucky, they'd find louisa_updates, if they weren't, she'd have some semblance of privacy left.
It became quickly clear to Ashanti in the moments she spent thinking about what she had, that there was nothing visible she had that the people who ran this thing didn't have.
They had her body, they had her image, they had her personality summed up in gross little paragraphs, they had her shaped how the show wanted her to be, they had assumptions, they had...well, it was hard to think of what they didn't have about Ashanti, to be honest.
Except...
Ashanti stepped forward slightly. There was something about Matias she recognized, outside of the context of school, but she couldn't quite place it. Did he serve her at a restaurant once? Was he the brother of a friend of Aaliyah's? Did Shakira-
...
She clasped a hand to her face as she began to put the pieces together.
And suddenly, with her mouth closed, she began moving her hands.
"Do you understand me?"
But she spoke at the same time.
The boy looked at her, eyebrows scrunched.
"...yeah. But don't you speak-"
"...yeah. But don't you speak-"
Ashanti rapidly began waving her hands, having quickly been proven correct.
"No."
She continued speaking.
"Don't translate anything I say. They don't get anything."
She pointed to the nearest camera.
"Nothing."
She could feel her heart breaking ribs as she fully realized what she was doing.
"Only in this language."
"No."
She continued speaking.
"Don't translate anything I say. They don't get anything."
She pointed to the nearest camera.
"Nothing."
She could feel her heart breaking ribs as she fully realized what she was doing.
"Only in this language."
The boy looked at her confused for a few more seconds. Then, he nodded.
"OK."
He got it, kinda. Sorta.
BC03 - Matias Juarez did not have much to his name. Among the six of them that lived in the Juarez apartment, he, his three siblings, his parents, not a single one had ever seen anything more than three digits in any of their bank accounts. Not much to their name other than an apartment with two cramped bedrooms, one of which he'd shared with his three younger siblings for the past decade, give or take a few years, a dining table, two stained sofas, one TV, cooking equipment, school supplies. The bare necessities. And all the debt that came with that.
So, when the suits walked in, English class, took hold of his arms, threatened to take away his life, of course he fought back. He had so fucking little already, they, his family, had so fucking little, and yet they had to take this too, they had to take him. He pushed, squirmed against their arms, fought, cursed, shouted, but all he got for his struggles was a punch to the face, a broken nose, a knockout.
So, he got wanting to hold onto something at least. Even if it was as symbolic and intangible and fucking useless as the sound of your own voice. There was probably some powerful meaning and shit Ashanti was holding onto there, but it escaped Matias. He couldn't think deep enough for that shit. He got the sentiment though. Kinda.
There was something he needed to get through to her, though. Something that he'd decided that he needed her to agree with as well.
He jabbed his finger at her, pointed it back at himself, demanded her attention. Glared at her, eyes piercing.
"UNDERSTAND - ME. UNDERSTAND - ME."
He made the signs with bruised arms, marks of chains still embedded in his skin. Fuckin' hurt to be honest.
He'd watched these opening ceremonies many times before himself, had made fun of all the screamers and whiners and criers, at the whole bunch of pussies, but now that he was in their position, now that he was the one tied down and being sent to the slaughterhouse, he was the one screaming, he was the one shouting, he was the one straining and wriggling and pushing against the chains.
Ironic, that.
It was hopeless from the start, from the very moment the suits had laid hands on him, and he should've known that. But, it was the principle of the thing, he told himself. If they were gonna do this to him, if they were gonna fuckin' kill him, then he wouldn't go down without a fight, at least. He didn't want to be a crier, at least, all sobby and weepy, pissing his pants and all that. They'd have to drag him screaming to the island.
And then the screens in front of them came on.
He'd liked Ben Cuthbert before this. Season 59 winner, fuckin' legendary endgame, cool face scar, missing fingers, the works. Didn't care to know much more about him other than that before all this. All Matias really cared about on SOTF were the fights. They looked cool, stab stab shoot shoot, they weren't people he knew, there hadn't been much more to think about before.
Then his smug-ass face came on, saying good morning three fucking times like any of this was good, like some radio host tryhard wannabe, and he'd screamed at his face, screamed enough to drown out the first half of his whole spiel.
Then his voice ran out, and he didn't really have any choice but to listen.
And, and, Ben was saying shit about money, fame. A quiet place. No worries, if he played his cards right.
No worries.
All Matias really cared about were the fights because the whole thing was so distant to him. Sure, the show was everywhere, on Coke cans, billboards, the sides of the public buses. But, those were people he didn't know from places he'd never been. And it was a one-in-a-million chance of happening to him, so no point in worrying about it.
It was a one-in-a-million chance, so no point in thinking about winning, then.
Everyone who got out of here alive and conscious had some career of one form or another. Ben was everywhere, Karen was everywhere, Jewel was everywhere. They'd lost all their friends, maybe their families, sure, but they had money, fame, power. They would never have to worry about anything, ever again. All Matias had done for the past decade, ever since his father lost his original job, ever since they moved into that tiny, cramped apartment, was worry.
This was his chance.
He'd lose a lot, sure. He'd probably lose the few people he tolerated in this shithole school, but it's not like there was much more to lose.
He knew Ashanti. Ditzy bitch, all high and mighty in the hallways of Mangrove, stan of some B-list SOTF winner turned singer, probably one of the sksksksk types on Twitter. But she was nice enough in-person. Her sister was schoolmates with his old best friend Jake's little brother, they'd bumped into each other during one of the last hangouts Matias had done with Jake before they separated, went to different schools. Ashanti was some distant relation, basically, third cousin removed of the sister of the husband of my abuela kinda shit.
But, she, this whole convo really, reminded Matias of him, of Jake. ASL had been him and Jake's thing, after all, it had been their thing. This whole thing reminded him of Jake. More symbolic shit, really, Matias bet that Ashanti would like that.
He'd lost Jake already, though that loss wasn't nearly as permanent or as sudden as anything he'd go through here. But, he'd lost him already all the same, so what were a few more, right?
One more time, he signed.
"UNDERSTAND - ME."
Fuck, he was so rusty at this. He hadn't signed with Jake, with anyone in years. It took him a few seconds to translate what he wanted to say before the words came out of his hands. Brain lag. He hated it.
But, the message got through eventually.
And, he needed it to. Ashanti had been nothing more than some popular rando just yesterday, but now, as far as he and she were concerned, they were all each other had for now. He needed her to get this.
He glared at her the entire time. Vision piercing. Just to make sure she really, really got the message.
He drew a line with his left pointer finger across his chest.
Then, he held out his left palm, and sliced his right pointer finger across it.
"UNDERSTAND???"
"OK."
He got it, kinda. Sorta.
BC03 - Matias Juarez did not have much to his name. Among the six of them that lived in the Juarez apartment, he, his three siblings, his parents, not a single one had ever seen anything more than three digits in any of their bank accounts. Not much to their name other than an apartment with two cramped bedrooms, one of which he'd shared with his three younger siblings for the past decade, give or take a few years, a dining table, two stained sofas, one TV, cooking equipment, school supplies. The bare necessities. And all the debt that came with that.
So, when the suits walked in, English class, took hold of his arms, threatened to take away his life, of course he fought back. He had so fucking little already, they, his family, had so fucking little, and yet they had to take this too, they had to take him. He pushed, squirmed against their arms, fought, cursed, shouted, but all he got for his struggles was a punch to the face, a broken nose, a knockout.
So, he got wanting to hold onto something at least. Even if it was as symbolic and intangible and fucking useless as the sound of your own voice. There was probably some powerful meaning and shit Ashanti was holding onto there, but it escaped Matias. He couldn't think deep enough for that shit. He got the sentiment though. Kinda.
There was something he needed to get through to her, though. Something that he'd decided that he needed her to agree with as well.
He jabbed his finger at her, pointed it back at himself, demanded her attention. Glared at her, eyes piercing.
"UNDERSTAND - ME. UNDERSTAND - ME."
He made the signs with bruised arms, marks of chains still embedded in his skin. Fuckin' hurt to be honest.
He'd watched these opening ceremonies many times before himself, had made fun of all the screamers and whiners and criers, at the whole bunch of pussies, but now that he was in their position, now that he was the one tied down and being sent to the slaughterhouse, he was the one screaming, he was the one shouting, he was the one straining and wriggling and pushing against the chains.
Ironic, that.
It was hopeless from the start, from the very moment the suits had laid hands on him, and he should've known that. But, it was the principle of the thing, he told himself. If they were gonna do this to him, if they were gonna fuckin' kill him, then he wouldn't go down without a fight, at least. He didn't want to be a crier, at least, all sobby and weepy, pissing his pants and all that. They'd have to drag him screaming to the island.
And then the screens in front of them came on.
He'd liked Ben Cuthbert before this. Season 59 winner, fuckin' legendary endgame, cool face scar, missing fingers, the works. Didn't care to know much more about him other than that before all this. All Matias really cared about on SOTF were the fights. They looked cool, stab stab shoot shoot, they weren't people he knew, there hadn't been much more to think about before.
Then his smug-ass face came on, saying good morning three fucking times like any of this was good, like some radio host tryhard wannabe, and he'd screamed at his face, screamed enough to drown out the first half of his whole spiel.
Then his voice ran out, and he didn't really have any choice but to listen.
And, and, Ben was saying shit about money, fame. A quiet place. No worries, if he played his cards right.
No worries.
All Matias really cared about were the fights because the whole thing was so distant to him. Sure, the show was everywhere, on Coke cans, billboards, the sides of the public buses. But, those were people he didn't know from places he'd never been. And it was a one-in-a-million chance of happening to him, so no point in worrying about it.
It was a one-in-a-million chance, so no point in thinking about winning, then.
Everyone who got out of here alive and conscious had some career of one form or another. Ben was everywhere, Karen was everywhere, Jewel was everywhere. They'd lost all their friends, maybe their families, sure, but they had money, fame, power. They would never have to worry about anything, ever again. All Matias had done for the past decade, ever since his father lost his original job, ever since they moved into that tiny, cramped apartment, was worry.
This was his chance.
He'd lose a lot, sure. He'd probably lose the few people he tolerated in this shithole school, but it's not like there was much more to lose.
He knew Ashanti. Ditzy bitch, all high and mighty in the hallways of Mangrove, stan of some B-list SOTF winner turned singer, probably one of the sksksksk types on Twitter. But she was nice enough in-person. Her sister was schoolmates with his old best friend Jake's little brother, they'd bumped into each other during one of the last hangouts Matias had done with Jake before they separated, went to different schools. Ashanti was some distant relation, basically, third cousin removed of the sister of the husband of my abuela kinda shit.
But, she, this whole convo really, reminded Matias of him, of Jake. ASL had been him and Jake's thing, after all, it had been their thing. This whole thing reminded him of Jake. More symbolic shit, really, Matias bet that Ashanti would like that.
He'd lost Jake already, though that loss wasn't nearly as permanent or as sudden as anything he'd go through here. But, he'd lost him already all the same, so what were a few more, right?
One more time, he signed.
"UNDERSTAND - ME."
Fuck, he was so rusty at this. He hadn't signed with Jake, with anyone in years. It took him a few seconds to translate what he wanted to say before the words came out of his hands. Brain lag. He hated it.
But, the message got through eventually.
And, he needed it to. Ashanti had been nothing more than some popular rando just yesterday, but now, as far as he and she were concerned, they were all each other had for now. He needed her to get this.
He glared at her the entire time. Vision piercing. Just to make sure she really, really got the message.
He drew a line with his left pointer finger across his chest.
Then, he held out his left palm, and sliced his right pointer finger across it.
"UNDERSTAND???"
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Ashanti understood Matias.
She didn't agree with what he was saying, but she understood it.
And she wanted to disagree with it, because she was still trying to get ahold of everything in her head. She'd made an impulsive decision to cling to something that she and she alone owned for what could be the last few days of her life. She'd run into the one other person who could help her uphold this.
And he was now asking this of Ashanti Baker.
She wasn't going to.
But as far as Matias knew-
"Yes."
She agreed, because you don't say "no" in SOTF if you want to live longer.
She didn't agree with what he was saying, but she understood it.
And she wanted to disagree with it, because she was still trying to get ahold of everything in her head. She'd made an impulsive decision to cling to something that she and she alone owned for what could be the last few days of her life. She'd run into the one other person who could help her uphold this.
And he was now asking this of Ashanti Baker.
She wasn't going to.
But as far as Matias knew-
"Yes."
She agreed, because you don't say "no" in SOTF if you want to live longer.
He blinked. Stepped back a bit.
She said yes too quick.
Like, he'd expected to get into a bit of a fight with her over this, if he was being real with himself. Had a whole speech prepared and shit about how it was in her best interest, how he knew more, a whole lot more than she did.
Was she lying to him?
Now that he really thought about it, dedicated more than a few brain cells to, like, the implications and shit of all this, if some rando walked up to him and asked him straight-up if he would kill, how would he respond, and how would he act? He could say no immediately if he was the moralizing wanna-be hero type, but he could also say yes and then be like 'sike bitch' and then stab said rando in the back or something and run away.
It was annoying as fuck cause, even when you got what you wanted right away, you were never really sure if you got got it.
Well, he had the speech prepared in his mind anyways, and he thought it was a pretty damn good speech, so he'd say it. Just to make sure of things.
Just hadn't imagined he'd have to give it in ASL, but, well, he could manage.
"OKAY. LOOK - HERE."
And then he swung his navy blue backpack over, same one they all had, and produced a bright orange binder from it.
She said yes too quick.
Like, he'd expected to get into a bit of a fight with her over this, if he was being real with himself. Had a whole speech prepared and shit about how it was in her best interest, how he knew more, a whole lot more than she did.
Was she lying to him?
Now that he really thought about it, dedicated more than a few brain cells to, like, the implications and shit of all this, if some rando walked up to him and asked him straight-up if he would kill, how would he respond, and how would he act? He could say no immediately if he was the moralizing wanna-be hero type, but he could also say yes and then be like 'sike bitch' and then stab said rando in the back or something and run away.
It was annoying as fuck cause, even when you got what you wanted right away, you were never really sure if you got got it.
Well, he had the speech prepared in his mind anyways, and he thought it was a pretty damn good speech, so he'd say it. Just to make sure of things.
Just hadn't imagined he'd have to give it in ASL, but, well, he could manage.
"OKAY. LOOK - HERE."
And then he swung his navy blue backpack over, same one they all had, and produced a bright orange binder from it.
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matis seemed taken aback by the fact she had agreed so quickly, and for a moment Ashanti thought she'd made a mistake.
While she knew how to conduct herself in any manner of unknown situation, and while she could flatter people in any number of roundabout ways that she knew of, she wasn't the best outright liar. When forced to come up with something in the moment, she would often stutter for a moment, just a moment, that would give away her real intentions. Her parents raised her to be smart, to be truthful, and to be resourceful, even if they didn't raise her to be nice.
Which meant that the great thing about speaking in ASL, aside from having such a strong connection with her sister and her sister's friends, was that there was no stuttering. Her hand movements were always strong, and said what they needed to, just as long as she could remember the right words. And in that situation, there was only one right word, so it came to her easily.
Back and forth.
After a moment, it seemed to work for Matias, so things continued onwards. He opened his backpack and pulled out what seemed to be a large orange binder. Ashanti's eyebrow flew up her forehead - she hadn't been given a large orange binder, so now that they seemed to be on the same page, she stepped forward to get her closer look.
Matias flipped through the pages, and the first section had them in it. Their names, their teams, their weapons...Ashanti saw handfuls of her class and the underclass flip by, photos and assigned teammates and weapons assigned to everyone. She breathed some unearned sense of relief when she saw that Marion was on the same as them, as though that would be the thing that ended up saving them in the end, while the breathe was prevented from returning for a moment when she saw that Alyssa wasn't.
She almost felt compelled to say something with her lips, but just as she took the small breath to swear, she realized she was still on SOTF and the cameras were still around and a microphone was planted on her neck and even the tiniest word under her neck would give away the only thing she had left.
But she couldn't even work up the energy to move her hands to speak. The only thing Ashanti could do was stop the pages on every name she saw that seemed to hold a gun. She'd try and remember that, just so she knew who to not antagonize, although that was considerably harder said that done given the circumstances. She didn't know who Matias was taking note of, but considering what he was planning to do, she had an idea.
As the binder reached its end, she looked up at Matias and began speaking again.
"I have a-"
Ashanti paused for a moment, having realized that she didn't have the entirety of her sister's language at her fingertips, so it was time to go back to kindergarten.
"..........J-E-T-P-A-C-K."
While she knew how to conduct herself in any manner of unknown situation, and while she could flatter people in any number of roundabout ways that she knew of, she wasn't the best outright liar. When forced to come up with something in the moment, she would often stutter for a moment, just a moment, that would give away her real intentions. Her parents raised her to be smart, to be truthful, and to be resourceful, even if they didn't raise her to be nice.
Which meant that the great thing about speaking in ASL, aside from having such a strong connection with her sister and her sister's friends, was that there was no stuttering. Her hand movements were always strong, and said what they needed to, just as long as she could remember the right words. And in that situation, there was only one right word, so it came to her easily.
Back and forth.
After a moment, it seemed to work for Matias, so things continued onwards. He opened his backpack and pulled out what seemed to be a large orange binder. Ashanti's eyebrow flew up her forehead - she hadn't been given a large orange binder, so now that they seemed to be on the same page, she stepped forward to get her closer look.
Matias flipped through the pages, and the first section had them in it. Their names, their teams, their weapons...Ashanti saw handfuls of her class and the underclass flip by, photos and assigned teammates and weapons assigned to everyone. She breathed some unearned sense of relief when she saw that Marion was on the same as them, as though that would be the thing that ended up saving them in the end, while the breathe was prevented from returning for a moment when she saw that Alyssa wasn't.
She almost felt compelled to say something with her lips, but just as she took the small breath to swear, she realized she was still on SOTF and the cameras were still around and a microphone was planted on her neck and even the tiniest word under her neck would give away the only thing she had left.
But she couldn't even work up the energy to move her hands to speak. The only thing Ashanti could do was stop the pages on every name she saw that seemed to hold a gun. She'd try and remember that, just so she knew who to not antagonize, although that was considerably harder said that done given the circumstances. She didn't know who Matias was taking note of, but considering what he was planning to do, she had an idea.
As the binder reached its end, she looked up at Matias and began speaking again.
"I have a-"
Ashanti paused for a moment, having realized that she didn't have the entirety of her sister's language at her fingertips, so it was time to go back to kindergarten.
"..........J-E-T-P-A-C-K."
Matias had seen it all already.
Browsing through it had been one of the first things he did when he found himself in the crew quarters, some low-ceilinged jail-like kind of dorm, right after taking off his hoodie and tying the bandanna around his elbow. He'd been kinda pissed for a few moments because, well, what the fuck, how come all they gave him was a stupid book? Why didn't they give him a rifle or a pistol or even some cool sword? What the fuck? Was he supposed to just bash his classmates' heads in with knowledge?
But, he opened the book, and the first page he'd landed on was his own.
He didn't, like, really pay attention to anything outside the broadcasts, the fights, the highlight reels. He knew that there were forums and books and conventions and all that other extra behind-the-scenes shit, but that was nerd shit. He just wanted to see blood, he didn't need to know their lives and backstories and motivations to find a guy to root for.
Well, here it all was, just laid flat out in front of him. His entire life story.
Like, they fucking knew everything about him. They knew about his family, how dirt-poor they were, his therapy sessions, his shit grades, his band, his ex Liam, Jake, his fucking origami cranes. God, they even knew about how he got his fucking scar, he hadn't told anyone about that for years. Just, his entire life, right before him. It was like, while they'd knocked him out and shit, they'd just dissected him, cut his brain open, and dumped everything out for him to see.
And while he'd flipped through his profile, there'd been cameras trained on him the entire time.
The fucker who wrote this thing ended with saying that he'd probably get himself killed because of his anger issues, that he probably wouldn't be able to keep any ally. He could go find the stump of the tree cut down to print this thing, sit on it, and fuck himself with it far as he was concerned.
But, there'd been a weird feeling when he flipped the page after that and found the next kid, someone on his team. Anthony. Cool kid, liked punk, one of the few kids with non-shit taste in music. And, they did the same thing to him too, poured out his guts, figuratively speaking, not yet literal. And the next kid. And the next kid. And the next kid.
He hadn't read through the entire thing of course. The binder was a goddamn novel, if he sat down and tried to read all of it, he'd probably be a sitting duck, shot where he sat. Somehow dying while reading felt like an incredibly boring, sad death to him. More nerd shit.
But, he'd skimmed through it, at least. He knew enough.
Ha. Knew more than the rest of the fuckers at the top of the ranking system. All their books and A pluses and scholarships meant dog shit here.
He realized exactly where and why Ashanti was stopping the book eventually. All the kids with guns. There were only two of them on their team, he realized. Low on firepower. Fuck.
He'd been about to get to the next part of his spiel, but Ashanti started signing some more.
His eyebrows went higher and higher as she spelled the word.
The binder was opened once more; he flipped to the weapons descriptions.
She wasn't lying.
He looked at her, let out a short burst of laughter. The sound echoed across the walls, came back to him piercingly loud. He closed his mouth.
"THEN - WE - RETRIEVE - IT."
Browsing through it had been one of the first things he did when he found himself in the crew quarters, some low-ceilinged jail-like kind of dorm, right after taking off his hoodie and tying the bandanna around his elbow. He'd been kinda pissed for a few moments because, well, what the fuck, how come all they gave him was a stupid book? Why didn't they give him a rifle or a pistol or even some cool sword? What the fuck? Was he supposed to just bash his classmates' heads in with knowledge?
But, he opened the book, and the first page he'd landed on was his own.
He didn't, like, really pay attention to anything outside the broadcasts, the fights, the highlight reels. He knew that there were forums and books and conventions and all that other extra behind-the-scenes shit, but that was nerd shit. He just wanted to see blood, he didn't need to know their lives and backstories and motivations to find a guy to root for.
Well, here it all was, just laid flat out in front of him. His entire life story.
Like, they fucking knew everything about him. They knew about his family, how dirt-poor they were, his therapy sessions, his shit grades, his band, his ex Liam, Jake, his fucking origami cranes. God, they even knew about how he got his fucking scar, he hadn't told anyone about that for years. Just, his entire life, right before him. It was like, while they'd knocked him out and shit, they'd just dissected him, cut his brain open, and dumped everything out for him to see.
And while he'd flipped through his profile, there'd been cameras trained on him the entire time.
The fucker who wrote this thing ended with saying that he'd probably get himself killed because of his anger issues, that he probably wouldn't be able to keep any ally. He could go find the stump of the tree cut down to print this thing, sit on it, and fuck himself with it far as he was concerned.
But, there'd been a weird feeling when he flipped the page after that and found the next kid, someone on his team. Anthony. Cool kid, liked punk, one of the few kids with non-shit taste in music. And, they did the same thing to him too, poured out his guts, figuratively speaking, not yet literal. And the next kid. And the next kid. And the next kid.
He hadn't read through the entire thing of course. The binder was a goddamn novel, if he sat down and tried to read all of it, he'd probably be a sitting duck, shot where he sat. Somehow dying while reading felt like an incredibly boring, sad death to him. More nerd shit.
But, he'd skimmed through it, at least. He knew enough.
Ha. Knew more than the rest of the fuckers at the top of the ranking system. All their books and A pluses and scholarships meant dog shit here.
He realized exactly where and why Ashanti was stopping the book eventually. All the kids with guns. There were only two of them on their team, he realized. Low on firepower. Fuck.
He'd been about to get to the next part of his spiel, but Ashanti started signing some more.
His eyebrows went higher and higher as she spelled the word.
The binder was opened once more; he flipped to the weapons descriptions.
She wasn't lying.
He looked at her, let out a short burst of laughter. The sound echoed across the walls, came back to him piercingly loud. He closed his mouth.
"THEN - WE - RETRIEVE - IT."
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Ashanti made the hand movement which corresponded to "yes" again, and began walking.
She hadn't walked that far, but these crates were a goddamn menace to navigate. She stopped a few times, trying to figure out if she'd actually made a turn at some point or kept on walking, before continuing onwards with the rememberance that she had pretty much kept to her left, so keeping to her right now was the way to go.
Eventually, she found herself at the dead end she'd hidden herself before she met Matias, and there sat the jetpack, as large and obtrusive and as "cannot move for shit" as it was when she first woke up with it.
"It was too heavy for me."
Ashanti shook her head slightly.
"Couldn't lift it."
She hadn't walked that far, but these crates were a goddamn menace to navigate. She stopped a few times, trying to figure out if she'd actually made a turn at some point or kept on walking, before continuing onwards with the rememberance that she had pretty much kept to her left, so keeping to her right now was the way to go.
Eventually, she found herself at the dead end she'd hidden herself before she met Matias, and there sat the jetpack, as large and obtrusive and as "cannot move for shit" as it was when she first woke up with it.
"It was too heavy for me."
Ashanti shook her head slightly.
"Couldn't lift it."
There was this stupid huge grin on Matias' face as they made their way towards Ashanti's weapon, as he looked up and down, switching between the path they were walking on and the binder in front of his face. A jetpack. An actual, real-to-life, swear-to-God, real-life functioning jetpack. Looked kinda like how he imagined it too, just with less color, a bit boring. If he were on the production staff of this godforsaken show, he would've painted, like, some cool fuckin' orange flames on the side, all blaze-like and shit. If you're gonna put an entire jetpack into the armory, might as well go all out with it, right?
They found it eventually, was exactly as big as he'd imagined, true-to-life, in-the-flesh.
Cooooool.
He stashed the binder in his bag, made a big show of dusting off his hands and shit. Ashanti didn't look particularly unfit, but, well, she must've spent too much time watching this show and not enough time actually doing things, and that's where Matias differed from her. Like, he'd been on the soccer team for years, played drums for hours on end on the regular, practiced every week, catch him at your local dive bar every month or so-
Well, not anymore, maybe.
Anyways, Matias was fit, is what he was trying to say. He was good at this shit, he liked being good at this shit. So, he placed his hands under the jetpack and-
...
...
OK, try again.
...
...
He pulled the binder out, went back to the page he'd just been on.
Weighed 80 pounds apparently. Well over half his weight.
Huh.
...
He looked back at Ashanti, face somewhat flushed.
"HELP?"
They found it eventually, was exactly as big as he'd imagined, true-to-life, in-the-flesh.
Cooooool.
He stashed the binder in his bag, made a big show of dusting off his hands and shit. Ashanti didn't look particularly unfit, but, well, she must've spent too much time watching this show and not enough time actually doing things, and that's where Matias differed from her. Like, he'd been on the soccer team for years, played drums for hours on end on the regular, practiced every week, catch him at your local dive bar every month or so-
Well, not anymore, maybe.
Anyways, Matias was fit, is what he was trying to say. He was good at this shit, he liked being good at this shit. So, he placed his hands under the jetpack and-
...
...
OK, try again.
...
...
He pulled the binder out, went back to the page he'd just been on.
Weighed 80 pounds apparently. Well over half his weight.
Huh.
...
He looked back at Ashanti, face somewhat flushed.
"HELP?"
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
There was a problem here.
There was a problem here, and it didn't take an Ashanti to see what it was.
See, when Ashanti woke up in Season 67 of SOTF, she was in this exact same location - the bowels of a cruise ship. She'd woken up here, at a dead end of a crate maze, with a jetpack she couldn't move and nobody around. Now, she had a Matias, a Matias who was supposed to do the heavy lifting for her, so they could get the jetpack out into the open together and figure out a use for it - even if Matias made her go through with the other idea, the fact remained they still had a jetpack. Even if said jetpack couldn't lift them into the ocean and to safety, the jetpack was still made of...well, things.
But the problem was that Matias wasn't strong enough to lift the jetpack, which was a problem because in those fleeting moments when he put his arms underneath and attempted to hoist to the heavens, Ashanti had begun thinking about how she was the perfect navigator for this whole thing. She would direct, with ASL or simple hand directions depending on what exactly she landed on feeling about what consistuted her voice and a translation of her voice, they would get themselves out of here and begin heading upwards.
And then Matias had to decide he wasn's strong enough to lift it by himself.
Which meant that Ashanti needed to help.
Which meant that neither of them could talk, since their hands would be busy lifting a goddamn jetpack.
A fact which Ashanti began to sign.
"But we won't be able to-"
But halfway through the sentence, her thoughts trailed elsewhere. She was on SOTF. There was already some production assistant watching her every move (Ashanti wasn't labouring under the assumption that just because she was hot shit back at school that she would automatically be worth anything here - granted, if she'd become famous in the real world she would be said hot shit, but since she wasn't, and wouldn't be until she got out of this arena in one piece, she knew that the only two people even likely to be watching her right now were her mentor, with whom she would be unable to communicate, and presumably someone low level in production, and whoever on staff could actually translate what the hell she was saying at a moment's notice, which was also presumed under the presumption that production weren't going to outsource that because things like that cost money and you don't spend money on people who aren't famous yet, and this long laboured tangent of a thought was already five miles ahead of where Matias and Ashanti needed to be), she didn't need need anyone higher taking a guess at her intentions.
She walked up to the opposite side of the jetpack, put her hands underneath it, and began exerting herself more than she wanted to in order to get this thing up and out.
There was a problem here, and it didn't take an Ashanti to see what it was.
See, when Ashanti woke up in Season 67 of SOTF, she was in this exact same location - the bowels of a cruise ship. She'd woken up here, at a dead end of a crate maze, with a jetpack she couldn't move and nobody around. Now, she had a Matias, a Matias who was supposed to do the heavy lifting for her, so they could get the jetpack out into the open together and figure out a use for it - even if Matias made her go through with the other idea, the fact remained they still had a jetpack. Even if said jetpack couldn't lift them into the ocean and to safety, the jetpack was still made of...well, things.
But the problem was that Matias wasn't strong enough to lift the jetpack, which was a problem because in those fleeting moments when he put his arms underneath and attempted to hoist to the heavens, Ashanti had begun thinking about how she was the perfect navigator for this whole thing. She would direct, with ASL or simple hand directions depending on what exactly she landed on feeling about what consistuted her voice and a translation of her voice, they would get themselves out of here and begin heading upwards.
And then Matias had to decide he wasn's strong enough to lift it by himself.
Which meant that Ashanti needed to help.
Which meant that neither of them could talk, since their hands would be busy lifting a goddamn jetpack.
A fact which Ashanti began to sign.
"But we won't be able to-"
But halfway through the sentence, her thoughts trailed elsewhere. She was on SOTF. There was already some production assistant watching her every move (Ashanti wasn't labouring under the assumption that just because she was hot shit back at school that she would automatically be worth anything here - granted, if she'd become famous in the real world she would be said hot shit, but since she wasn't, and wouldn't be until she got out of this arena in one piece, she knew that the only two people even likely to be watching her right now were her mentor, with whom she would be unable to communicate, and presumably someone low level in production, and whoever on staff could actually translate what the hell she was saying at a moment's notice, which was also presumed under the presumption that production weren't going to outsource that because things like that cost money and you don't spend money on people who aren't famous yet, and this long laboured tangent of a thought was already five miles ahead of where Matias and Ashanti needed to be), she didn't need need anyone higher taking a guess at her intentions.
She walked up to the opposite side of the jetpack, put her hands underneath it, and began exerting herself more than she wanted to in order to get this thing up and out.
Eventually, finally, the behemoth of a thing, this gigantic metal fuel container got off the ground. Lift-off.
And then they... stood there. Just kinda. Looking at one another. Matias kinda glaring at her.
What was the plan, Ashanti?
Why are we just fucking standing here?
My arms hurt, Ashanti.
They're fucking shaking, Ashanti.
They're about to give out, Ashanti.
This thing is fucking heavy, Ashanti, what the fuck are we supposed to do?
Matias would have voiced out all these very valid very pressing concerns, of course, except he couldn't because Ashanti insisted on sticking it to the producers by not speaking and hence completely hindering herself and any possible methods of communication she could utilize, because of some fucking symbolic gesture, so he had to use signs.
Except, no, he couldn't even fucking sign right now. He couldn't sign. He needed both hands to sign. Even if he could sign with one hand, even if he fuckin' fingerspelled each and every single word, he couldn't sustain the weight of an wholeass fourth-grader with one arm. He could drum for forever and he could run for as far as the eye could see but he wasn't the fucking Incredible Hulk.
Okay. Okay. Adapt. Maybe he could try adapting. That's what people did on SOTF, they adapted to unusual circumstances and this was about as weird as they came. So, he tried to, like, do some nonverbal communication kind of shit, brief recollections of memories of English class coming to him and then leaving. Raised his eyebrows at Ashanti, widened his eyes. Pointed his lips and turned his head down at himself, before jerking his head back towards her. Jerked his head back behind him, after. It didn't gather for her. Did the same actions again, looked down at himself, looked back up at her, looked behind himself—
Fuck it this wasn't working.
"OK," he said through clenched teeth. "So what the fuck's our plan? Whose back is this going on? Mine or yours?"
And then they... stood there. Just kinda. Looking at one another. Matias kinda glaring at her.
What was the plan, Ashanti?
Why are we just fucking standing here?
My arms hurt, Ashanti.
They're fucking shaking, Ashanti.
They're about to give out, Ashanti.
This thing is fucking heavy, Ashanti, what the fuck are we supposed to do?
Matias would have voiced out all these very valid very pressing concerns, of course, except he couldn't because Ashanti insisted on sticking it to the producers by not speaking and hence completely hindering herself and any possible methods of communication she could utilize, because of some fucking symbolic gesture, so he had to use signs.
Except, no, he couldn't even fucking sign right now. He couldn't sign. He needed both hands to sign. Even if he could sign with one hand, even if he fuckin' fingerspelled each and every single word, he couldn't sustain the weight of an wholeass fourth-grader with one arm. He could drum for forever and he could run for as far as the eye could see but he wasn't the fucking Incredible Hulk.
Okay. Okay. Adapt. Maybe he could try adapting. That's what people did on SOTF, they adapted to unusual circumstances and this was about as weird as they came. So, he tried to, like, do some nonverbal communication kind of shit, brief recollections of memories of English class coming to him and then leaving. Raised his eyebrows at Ashanti, widened his eyes. Pointed his lips and turned his head down at himself, before jerking his head back towards her. Jerked his head back behind him, after. It didn't gather for her. Did the same actions again, looked down at himself, looked back up at her, looked behind himself—
Fuck it this wasn't working.
"OK," he said through clenched teeth. "So what the fuck's our plan? Whose back is this going on? Mine or yours?"
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Ashanti almost lost it then and there with the look Matias was giving her.
It took her back, uncomfortably so. Sophmore year, walking with her friends, some boy who thought he was hot shit gave her a look that meant, hey, you think you're better than us? Well you're not. I'm judging you with my face, because I can do that. I'm allowed to do that, since girls are just there for me to judge. And it wasn't just one boy, it was most boys. Boys who thought she shouldn't be so smug, or boys who thought she didn't deserve to be cocky or confident. After a while, they caused her to change - her walk became slouched, she felt herself shrink, she stopped speaking in the hallway. It took a long time to regrow, to remember that she was always going to have to fight that fight, and that to defeat herself when she was barely even an adult meant every step up she had over these people was for nothing.
This wasn't the same fight.
But she felt it.
She didn't know what Matias meant with that look, but she didn't like it. She opened her mouth slightly, only to close it again because that was the real fight.
She was fighting with people who wanted to own her image. They wanted to own Ashanti Baker, and everything she said and did here. She didn't know much about what went on behind the scenes, but she knew that SOTF did not own her Instagram account, or her Twitter account, or anything she did on those platforms. But everything she did while standing on that ship, on those boats that were everywhere, was now owned by a group of men in suits. Ashanti had never had a problem with SOTF, but she had a problem with not being able to literally own who she was anymore.
And that was why she was going to have to put up with those stupid fucking faces Matias was giving her. Because her voice was the last thing she could keep from these people, and she was never going to give it up.
Rather than trying the awkward facial song and dance with Matias, she instead placed her end of the jetpack back down and spoke with her real language.
"Mine."
She didn't know how stable her walking was going to be in this thing, but she'd figure it out once she'd turned into Michael Burnham Jr.
It took her back, uncomfortably so. Sophmore year, walking with her friends, some boy who thought he was hot shit gave her a look that meant, hey, you think you're better than us? Well you're not. I'm judging you with my face, because I can do that. I'm allowed to do that, since girls are just there for me to judge. And it wasn't just one boy, it was most boys. Boys who thought she shouldn't be so smug, or boys who thought she didn't deserve to be cocky or confident. After a while, they caused her to change - her walk became slouched, she felt herself shrink, she stopped speaking in the hallway. It took a long time to regrow, to remember that she was always going to have to fight that fight, and that to defeat herself when she was barely even an adult meant every step up she had over these people was for nothing.
This wasn't the same fight.
But she felt it.
She didn't know what Matias meant with that look, but she didn't like it. She opened her mouth slightly, only to close it again because that was the real fight.
She was fighting with people who wanted to own her image. They wanted to own Ashanti Baker, and everything she said and did here. She didn't know much about what went on behind the scenes, but she knew that SOTF did not own her Instagram account, or her Twitter account, or anything she did on those platforms. But everything she did while standing on that ship, on those boats that were everywhere, was now owned by a group of men in suits. Ashanti had never had a problem with SOTF, but she had a problem with not being able to literally own who she was anymore.
And that was why she was going to have to put up with those stupid fucking faces Matias was giving her. Because her voice was the last thing she could keep from these people, and she was never going to give it up.
Rather than trying the awkward facial song and dance with Matias, she instead placed her end of the jetpack back down and spoke with her real language.
"Mine."
She didn't know how stable her walking was going to be in this thing, but she'd figure it out once she'd turned into Michael Burnham Jr.