((Leo Menendez continued from Hellhound On My Trail))
Casa del Diablo, huh? It only seemed fitting.
Leo was exhausted. He'd been gassed along with the rest of his friends and classmates, he'd fainted, he'd had a gun go off right next to his head -- he hadn't noticed at the time with everything else that was happening, but there was a lingering ringing in his right ear now that he assumed was due to that. He'd gotten little rest during the night, and now he was hungry and thirsty. The pleasant warmth outside was threatening when Leo was facing it with no water.
But here was a bar, and bars had to stock water along with other sorts of drinks, right? He could only hope. Water and a little something or other to eat would go a long way to helping him get his head screwed back on straight, and then he could start looking around to see if this place could serve as any sort of stronghold.
Leo hesitated at the front door, but he finally steeled himself and pushed at it with both hands, wincing slightly at the creak it made as it eased open.
"Hello?" He called into the building. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see anyone here or not, despite last night's determination that he would need a friendly face sooner rather than later.
Someday We Won't Remember This
Phase 3 (25-36 Hours), The founding of Dogtown; open
((Sylvia Veneski continued from Stroke of Midnight))
Sylvia found herself slumped in one of the brick corners of the pub, inside but near the door, a table just a kick's length away. Last night she had stumbled to a stop here, tired more mentally than physically but a little of both. It wasn't nearly as far away from where she'd escaped as she would have liked, but it was better than running around in the dark without a clue. She hadn't dozed off, she thought, wiggling her left toes and watching her sock deform. She'd just zoned out sometime in the last couple of hours.
She was a little worried. She hadn't looked around yet, hadn't checked all the exits or if anyone else was even already inside the building with her. It'd been dark; she'd been wrapped up in her other problems.
Her left shoulder wasn't black and blue. It hadn't looked like much of anything when she'd mustered up the courage to take a look at it during the night, turning her flashlight on only for the shortest of moments before turning it off to once again shelter in the dark. It didn't matter how ordinary her shoulder looked, though. Not when it hurt enough for her to conclude that she couldn't use that arm anymore. Hours ago, she had taken her sweater off the hanger, tying it around her waist and injured arm, immobilizing the latter as best she could against her side. It had been harder to tighten the knot with one arm than she had thought.
She had never broken a bone before, and had always imagined it as some dramatic occasion. After falling out of a tree. After tripping down a hillside. She had thought there would be white and red and bone bits sticking out.
Her collarbone was broken or fractured - if there was a difference between the two she couldn't remember what it was. It wasn't dramatic at all, but it meant her death was even more certain than before. She was left-handed. Her dominant arm was basically gone for all the good it would do her now. She had lost the pan, and it didn't matter, because now there was no way she would win a fair fight. How accurately could she swing a weapon with her right hand? How could she aim a gun?
That meant her new plans would have to be different.
She regretted her old plans. The things she had thought about in that house (not a fortress, a prison that she had only barely escaped), and especially the things she hadn't thought about. So many irrelevant things, enough to hide what she had really wanted to prove to herself behind the guise of plans.
On some level she had wanted to prove that she could do what was necessary to win. It had been stupid and more than a little suicidal. It had led her into a fight that harmed both herself and her opponents and made it more likely that a third party would win instead. It hadn't even really been self-defense. It had been something more like entrapment. Her intruders had either been too curious or actively hunting, but instead of escaping when she had the chance, she had put her back against the wall and forced herself into a position where she could claim self-defense.
She'd thought she had been playing to her strengths and exploiting the lack of collars as best she could. Maybe she had. Maybe the only failure was in the execution, and it would have worked if only there had been one of them and not two. But she still had the feeling that there had been a lie somewhere in her plans, that something had been deeply flawed.
No choice now. She had to step outside of her usual self. She had to find allies. She had to let them die and not feel bad about it and still be the last one standing.
So much easier said than done. When she heard someone call into the building Sylvia froze, then hesitated, then pulled herself upright. She hadn't spoken ever since the beginning, hadn't even seen a face in full resolution, so she just raised her hand at first and hoped that she could still dive for cover if a bullet was what she received in return.
"Hi," she finally managed.
Sylvia found herself slumped in one of the brick corners of the pub, inside but near the door, a table just a kick's length away. Last night she had stumbled to a stop here, tired more mentally than physically but a little of both. It wasn't nearly as far away from where she'd escaped as she would have liked, but it was better than running around in the dark without a clue. She hadn't dozed off, she thought, wiggling her left toes and watching her sock deform. She'd just zoned out sometime in the last couple of hours.
She was a little worried. She hadn't looked around yet, hadn't checked all the exits or if anyone else was even already inside the building with her. It'd been dark; she'd been wrapped up in her other problems.
Her left shoulder wasn't black and blue. It hadn't looked like much of anything when she'd mustered up the courage to take a look at it during the night, turning her flashlight on only for the shortest of moments before turning it off to once again shelter in the dark. It didn't matter how ordinary her shoulder looked, though. Not when it hurt enough for her to conclude that she couldn't use that arm anymore. Hours ago, she had taken her sweater off the hanger, tying it around her waist and injured arm, immobilizing the latter as best she could against her side. It had been harder to tighten the knot with one arm than she had thought.
She had never broken a bone before, and had always imagined it as some dramatic occasion. After falling out of a tree. After tripping down a hillside. She had thought there would be white and red and bone bits sticking out.
Her collarbone was broken or fractured - if there was a difference between the two she couldn't remember what it was. It wasn't dramatic at all, but it meant her death was even more certain than before. She was left-handed. Her dominant arm was basically gone for all the good it would do her now. She had lost the pan, and it didn't matter, because now there was no way she would win a fair fight. How accurately could she swing a weapon with her right hand? How could she aim a gun?
That meant her new plans would have to be different.
She regretted her old plans. The things she had thought about in that house (not a fortress, a prison that she had only barely escaped), and especially the things she hadn't thought about. So many irrelevant things, enough to hide what she had really wanted to prove to herself behind the guise of plans.
On some level she had wanted to prove that she could do what was necessary to win. It had been stupid and more than a little suicidal. It had led her into a fight that harmed both herself and her opponents and made it more likely that a third party would win instead. It hadn't even really been self-defense. It had been something more like entrapment. Her intruders had either been too curious or actively hunting, but instead of escaping when she had the chance, she had put her back against the wall and forced herself into a position where she could claim self-defense.
She'd thought she had been playing to her strengths and exploiting the lack of collars as best she could. Maybe she had. Maybe the only failure was in the execution, and it would have worked if only there had been one of them and not two. But she still had the feeling that there had been a lie somewhere in her plans, that something had been deeply flawed.
No choice now. She had to step outside of her usual self. She had to find allies. She had to let them die and not feel bad about it and still be the last one standing.
So much easier said than done. When she heard someone call into the building Sylvia froze, then hesitated, then pulled herself upright. She hadn't spoken ever since the beginning, hadn't even seen a face in full resolution, so she just raised her hand at first and hoped that she could still dive for cover if a bullet was what she received in return.
"Hi," she finally managed.
This signature intentionally left blank.
"Hi," Leo echoed on reflex. He had thought he was prepared to bump into somebody, but he still jumped when his greeting actually got an answer.
It took a moment to put a name to the face he had encountered. All he really knew was that he didn't know her, and that she must have been called after him. "It's... Sylvia, right?"
She wasn't looking good. Leo supposed that he probably wasn't looking so hot either, but at least he wasn't down an arm like Sylvia appeared to be. He couldn't be certain that she had use of both arms in day-to-day life, now that he thought about it, but he was pretty sure she did. It seemed like the kind of thing you wouldn't forget even about a classmate you otherwise knew very little about.
So Sylvia had as good as lost a limb, and Leo was partially deaf in one ear now. But at least there weren't brains on his face any longer.
It was a good thing for once that Leo's stomach was empty, because the sudden and intense lurch brought on by that thought would probably have doubled him over otherwise.
Leo stepped further into the pub, letting the doors swing shut behind him. He kept a good few feet away from Sylvia's corner, just in case. He tried to think of something disarming to say, internally winced at the bad pun "disarming" made in this situation, and came up empty. He was obviously lacking both a weapon and supplies. Sylvia looked harmless enough, but past a certain point, all you could do was hope.
"Rough night?" Leo said, finally. "Me too." He didn't manage to smile, but the thought was there.
It took a moment to put a name to the face he had encountered. All he really knew was that he didn't know her, and that she must have been called after him. "It's... Sylvia, right?"
She wasn't looking good. Leo supposed that he probably wasn't looking so hot either, but at least he wasn't down an arm like Sylvia appeared to be. He couldn't be certain that she had use of both arms in day-to-day life, now that he thought about it, but he was pretty sure she did. It seemed like the kind of thing you wouldn't forget even about a classmate you otherwise knew very little about.
So Sylvia had as good as lost a limb, and Leo was partially deaf in one ear now. But at least there weren't brains on his face any longer.
It was a good thing for once that Leo's stomach was empty, because the sudden and intense lurch brought on by that thought would probably have doubled him over otherwise.
Leo stepped further into the pub, letting the doors swing shut behind him. He kept a good few feet away from Sylvia's corner, just in case. He tried to think of something disarming to say, internally winced at the bad pun "disarming" made in this situation, and came up empty. He was obviously lacking both a weapon and supplies. Sylvia looked harmless enough, but past a certain point, all you could do was hope.
"Rough night?" Leo said, finally. "Me too." He didn't manage to smile, but the thought was there.
"A bit," Sylvia said. The understatement hung there for a moment.
"You already said hi first," she continued, feeling a little awkward now that his attention was on her, and not entirely sure her half-baked correction was polite. She'd recognized him too by now, put the name to the face easily enough.
Menendez (three syllables, a soft drumroll, or distant thunder). She wondered if his family had ever thought about changing their name, or if there was some sort of pride in it. She wondered if it was odd that he had a name that didn't pretend to mark him as anything else than he was and yet she was Sylvia Veneski and not Sylwia Wisniewski.
But then, Sylwia Wisniewski was her great-grandmother who she had never met. She was Sylvia, nothing more and nothing less. At some point, appearance had become identity, or maybe it had been a shift in identity all along. She was more of an American than he would ever be - was it because of her name or irrelevant to it entirely?
She was wondering these things because she was conflicted. Now that her plans and situation had changed, she needed an ally. But he could be trouble, more than he was worth, trouble already through just associating with him. It was about appearances again, with names the least of it. She knew how some people acted in the Program. Someone like Leo was a target.
She was injured, probably a target too because of it. An ally could support her, draw attention away from her, but he might end up drawing more attention instead.
And even if she wanted to, she didn't know if she could say the right things to convince him to stick with her, or to allow her to stick with him. She wasn't inept at or adverse to conversation, but she knew she was more comfortable behind the camera, separated from the world by a lens.
"Do you need anything?" She was dancing around her intentions. Waiting until she was more certain, until it felt right to take the shot. "Maybe I could... maybe I can help."
Sylvia lifted her bag with her good hand, up and towards him a little, already regretting her show of generosity.
"You already said hi first," she continued, feeling a little awkward now that his attention was on her, and not entirely sure her half-baked correction was polite. She'd recognized him too by now, put the name to the face easily enough.
Menendez (three syllables, a soft drumroll, or distant thunder). She wondered if his family had ever thought about changing their name, or if there was some sort of pride in it. She wondered if it was odd that he had a name that didn't pretend to mark him as anything else than he was and yet she was Sylvia Veneski and not Sylwia Wisniewski.
But then, Sylwia Wisniewski was her great-grandmother who she had never met. She was Sylvia, nothing more and nothing less. At some point, appearance had become identity, or maybe it had been a shift in identity all along. She was more of an American than he would ever be - was it because of her name or irrelevant to it entirely?
She was wondering these things because she was conflicted. Now that her plans and situation had changed, she needed an ally. But he could be trouble, more than he was worth, trouble already through just associating with him. It was about appearances again, with names the least of it. She knew how some people acted in the Program. Someone like Leo was a target.
She was injured, probably a target too because of it. An ally could support her, draw attention away from her, but he might end up drawing more attention instead.
And even if she wanted to, she didn't know if she could say the right things to convince him to stick with her, or to allow her to stick with him. She wasn't inept at or adverse to conversation, but she knew she was more comfortable behind the camera, separated from the world by a lens.
"Do you need anything?" She was dancing around her intentions. Waiting until she was more certain, until it felt right to take the shot. "Maybe I could... maybe I can help."
Sylvia lifted her bag with her good hand, up and towards him a little, already regretting her show of generosity.
This signature intentionally left blank.
"I did," Leo agreed almost absently to Sylvia's correcting him. He would have gone on to say more, try to save the already stumbling conversation since Sylvia obviously wasn't used to being the one to carry an interaction, but she beat him to the punch.
There it was. An offer of help, strings possibly attached. Maybe not the promise of help so much as equal exchange. Leo didn't have much to give at this point, and he was too tired to muse on virtue and motivations for very long.
"I came in here looking for water," he admitted. "I... appreciate the offer." He wasn't sure what to follow that up with, so he didn't say anything else right away. He had planned on searching the bar, but that was a gamble where the bottles of water in Sylvia's bag were a guarantee (again, possibly -- probably -- with strings attached).
Some other time, Leo could have easily talked to Sylvia, cut the tension with a joke or two and made sure that they parted ways as acquaintances at worst. Now they had been thrown out of their lives and into some mockery of society where even the simplest interaction was an awkward back-and-forth of guessing at what the other person wanted from you.
Every time he thought about it, it felt like there was more weight on his shoulders. He was already sick of it.
So Leo shrugged and let the weight roll back off of him.
"What happened to your arm? Do you need help with that?"
Hope or faith, whatever. He took a small step forward, leaving enough room between them that Sylvia could still get around him if she chose to.
There it was. An offer of help, strings possibly attached. Maybe not the promise of help so much as equal exchange. Leo didn't have much to give at this point, and he was too tired to muse on virtue and motivations for very long.
"I came in here looking for water," he admitted. "I... appreciate the offer." He wasn't sure what to follow that up with, so he didn't say anything else right away. He had planned on searching the bar, but that was a gamble where the bottles of water in Sylvia's bag were a guarantee (again, possibly -- probably -- with strings attached).
Some other time, Leo could have easily talked to Sylvia, cut the tension with a joke or two and made sure that they parted ways as acquaintances at worst. Now they had been thrown out of their lives and into some mockery of society where even the simplest interaction was an awkward back-and-forth of guessing at what the other person wanted from you.
Every time he thought about it, it felt like there was more weight on his shoulders. He was already sick of it.
So Leo shrugged and let the weight roll back off of him.
"What happened to your arm? Do you need help with that?"
Hope or faith, whatever. He took a small step forward, leaving enough room between them that Sylvia could still get around him if she chose to.
Sylvia was surprised by the impulse to shrink back as Leo moved closer. Her arm was the topic of conversation, and she suddenly felt more vulnerable now that it had been acknowledged out loud.
"Someone hit me with a wrench," she said, and her eyes briefly paused on his face to gauge his reaction as she set her bag down on the nearest table. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to say something like that; he had obviously been through some things himself and said as much, but it still felt wrong to deliver it that matter-of-factly. "I don't think there's anything you can do about it."
She blinked, frowned.
"Oh, did you mean with the bag? No, it's..." She was already busying herself with the zipper, the weight of the bag holding it in place enough so that she didn't need to hold it still some other way.
"It's okay," she finished, and held out a water bottle to him. She had been rationing (maybe it was more accurate to say she had been being miserly with her meals), thinking that this Program would take as long as she had expected. It almost hurt to just hand her supplies away.
She just had to think of it as a sacrifice, a short-term loss for a potential long-term gain. Now that it was after the fact, she realized it was probably better too to act useful and capable, and not remind him in any way that he could just take what he needed from her instead.
"What happened to you?"
"Someone hit me with a wrench," she said, and her eyes briefly paused on his face to gauge his reaction as she set her bag down on the nearest table. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to say something like that; he had obviously been through some things himself and said as much, but it still felt wrong to deliver it that matter-of-factly. "I don't think there's anything you can do about it."
She blinked, frowned.
"Oh, did you mean with the bag? No, it's..." She was already busying herself with the zipper, the weight of the bag holding it in place enough so that she didn't need to hold it still some other way.
"It's okay," she finished, and held out a water bottle to him. She had been rationing (maybe it was more accurate to say she had been being miserly with her meals), thinking that this Program would take as long as she had expected. It almost hurt to just hand her supplies away.
She just had to think of it as a sacrifice, a short-term loss for a potential long-term gain. Now that it was after the fact, she realized it was probably better too to act useful and capable, and not remind him in any way that he could just take what he needed from her instead.
"What happened to you?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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Y'know, the most surprising part of this whole trip so far had been the people.
((Buddy Underwood, continued from Disengage the Simulator))
Like, really. If you'd seen the things that Buddy had seen, met the people that Buddy had met, you'd come to the same conclusion Buddy had. The people here were fucking assholes. Seriously. He knew what the Program was 'bout before now — even watched it a couple times with some friendos at a party — but he'd really, really underestimated the ability it had to change everyone he knew at the drop of a hat. Like… Scott and Michael, they were pretty cool people before, but now that they were here they were like, kicking baby seals now for the good of America, 'ccordin' to the announcements. Like, Buddy thought Uncle Sam was a pretty swell dude before, but now he woulda put some serious thought into changing his mind if it weren't for the fact that the people round here wouldn't stop attacking him every goddamn time he sat down and settled.
...Least that meant things were going to plan if everyone was beatin' up one another.
But seriously. Buddy just kinda wanted to hunker down, lick his wounds by this point and he couldn't do that without some dude goin' at him or someone shootin' their gun in the area around him. It was almost becoming a joke at this point.
So that was why when he came near the Casa del Diablo, when he saw those people talking, he was a little less wanting to go up to them and say hi. The bits he could hear from their conversation didn't make them sound like psychos, the brief glances he took of them made him think that they didn't look like psychos, but Buddy couldn't tell for sure. Maybe the next thing one of them'd say was like 'wow, I really love everyone on this planet except for that Buddy dude, let's hunt him down and put his entrails on the wall' and the other one would respond with 'wow, person I'm talking to, that's a great idea! Let's start right now!" That'd be a dream come true for Buddy, right there.
Well.
More like a nightmare but…
Eh, you got his point. You knew why he was standin' outside the pub right now. You knew why he was pushing himself against the wall, listening to what the two in there had to say.
Kinda looked really stupid, but hey, if you'd met the same people Buddy had, you'd be doin' the exact same thing.
((Buddy Underwood, continued from Disengage the Simulator))
Like, really. If you'd seen the things that Buddy had seen, met the people that Buddy had met, you'd come to the same conclusion Buddy had. The people here were fucking assholes. Seriously. He knew what the Program was 'bout before now — even watched it a couple times with some friendos at a party — but he'd really, really underestimated the ability it had to change everyone he knew at the drop of a hat. Like… Scott and Michael, they were pretty cool people before, but now that they were here they were like, kicking baby seals now for the good of America, 'ccordin' to the announcements. Like, Buddy thought Uncle Sam was a pretty swell dude before, but now he woulda put some serious thought into changing his mind if it weren't for the fact that the people round here wouldn't stop attacking him every goddamn time he sat down and settled.
...Least that meant things were going to plan if everyone was beatin' up one another.
But seriously. Buddy just kinda wanted to hunker down, lick his wounds by this point and he couldn't do that without some dude goin' at him or someone shootin' their gun in the area around him. It was almost becoming a joke at this point.
So that was why when he came near the Casa del Diablo, when he saw those people talking, he was a little less wanting to go up to them and say hi. The bits he could hear from their conversation didn't make them sound like psychos, the brief glances he took of them made him think that they didn't look like psychos, but Buddy couldn't tell for sure. Maybe the next thing one of them'd say was like 'wow, I really love everyone on this planet except for that Buddy dude, let's hunt him down and put his entrails on the wall' and the other one would respond with 'wow, person I'm talking to, that's a great idea! Let's start right now!" That'd be a dream come true for Buddy, right there.
Well.
More like a nightmare but…
Eh, you got his point. You knew why he was standin' outside the pub right now. You knew why he was pushing himself against the wall, listening to what the two in there had to say.
Kinda looked really stupid, but hey, if you'd met the same people Buddy had, you'd be doin' the exact same thing.
((Charlie Pemberton continued from From Dusk Till Dawn))
It’d been quiet. Charlie hadn’t seen anyone else aside from the boy. Maybe she was just lucky, or maybe there was something worse in store. She’d rubbed her wrists, paced, thinking.
You couldn’t do much with donuts. It was food, sure, and good food. But it’d be difficult to defend yourself with them. Maybe you could toss them in someone’s face. However, that’d only give you a chance to run. That was fine by her, but still.
She’d cut them up into quarters so they’d last longer. Charlie hadn’t been too hungry, her stomach ached with each movement. But the size made them like… donut holes, she guessed. It kind of irritated her that some of them were uneven. But she touched one of the more even slices she’d made with the scissors from the medical kit. It was sweet, too sweet for the situation.
So, quietness. The silence made it worse. The fact that she hadn’t seen anything else since she’d woken up made her skin prick. But she knew that sometimes, you needed to do something other than worrying. Sometimes you needed to weightlift, or go to the flea market, or find some Soldiers. While any of these weren’t possible right now, Charlie had to decided to look more in the back to see if there were any resources available. Probably not weapons, but it was a bar. There’d likely be extra food, maybe something she’d could improvise a shiv or something with. That last thought made her throat clench, but she had to push it aside.
Unfortunately, Charlie had checked. She checked and double checked for what felt like hours. She checked again, to be sure. But there was nothing. Just empty boxes and barrels. She was sure she embarrassed herself when she kicked a barrel when she checked for what felt like the longest time.
But she’d stayed in there a bit longer. It was a good place to hide, but she knew she couldn’t find anything.
Charlie, however, had to step outside.
She opened the door.
And gasped audibly when she saw a group of people right nearby.
It’d been quiet. Charlie hadn’t seen anyone else aside from the boy. Maybe she was just lucky, or maybe there was something worse in store. She’d rubbed her wrists, paced, thinking.
You couldn’t do much with donuts. It was food, sure, and good food. But it’d be difficult to defend yourself with them. Maybe you could toss them in someone’s face. However, that’d only give you a chance to run. That was fine by her, but still.
She’d cut them up into quarters so they’d last longer. Charlie hadn’t been too hungry, her stomach ached with each movement. But the size made them like… donut holes, she guessed. It kind of irritated her that some of them were uneven. But she touched one of the more even slices she’d made with the scissors from the medical kit. It was sweet, too sweet for the situation.
So, quietness. The silence made it worse. The fact that she hadn’t seen anything else since she’d woken up made her skin prick. But she knew that sometimes, you needed to do something other than worrying. Sometimes you needed to weightlift, or go to the flea market, or find some Soldiers. While any of these weren’t possible right now, Charlie had to decided to look more in the back to see if there were any resources available. Probably not weapons, but it was a bar. There’d likely be extra food, maybe something she’d could improvise a shiv or something with. That last thought made her throat clench, but she had to push it aside.
Unfortunately, Charlie had checked. She checked and double checked for what felt like hours. She checked again, to be sure. But there was nothing. Just empty boxes and barrels. She was sure she embarrassed herself when she kicked a barrel when she checked for what felt like the longest time.
But she’d stayed in there a bit longer. It was a good place to hide, but she knew she couldn’t find anything.
Charlie, however, had to step outside.
She opened the door.
And gasped audibly when she saw a group of people right nearby.
What happened to you?
And the answer was nothing. Leo was unhurt, save for whatever damage had been done to his hearing. He'd been passed over by Howie's killer for some reason he still didn't understand, or maybe no reason at all. Things had only happened around him, not to him.
"I saw someone get shot and had my stuff stolen." There was really no additional detail necessary, which was good since remembering any more than that made Leo's stomach turn over.
He almost thought to argue when Sylvia offered him the water, but instead took it with a nod. "Thank you." He twisted the cap off and took a couple of gulps before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and closing the bottle again. "Thanks," he repeated.
"And, um... I could help with your arm, I meant. It might be better in a sling than tied down like that." Now, Leo wasn't actually one-hundred percent sure about that, but he'd always seen shoulder and arm injuries immobilized in a sling.
Whatever the effectiveness of that might be, Leo's train of thought and any further conversation were derailed by the sudden noise from the back of the bar. No point in denying it; he jumped, grip tightening on the water bottle as his body raced ahead of his brain in trying to figure out if he was going to have to toss his newfound supplies in someone's face.
But there was no attack, nor any warning of one. God. Every moment, every new encounter was a potential heart attack.
"...Hi," Leo said to the new arrival for lack of anything else, feeling a faint sense of déjà vu.
And the answer was nothing. Leo was unhurt, save for whatever damage had been done to his hearing. He'd been passed over by Howie's killer for some reason he still didn't understand, or maybe no reason at all. Things had only happened around him, not to him.
"I saw someone get shot and had my stuff stolen." There was really no additional detail necessary, which was good since remembering any more than that made Leo's stomach turn over.
He almost thought to argue when Sylvia offered him the water, but instead took it with a nod. "Thank you." He twisted the cap off and took a couple of gulps before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and closing the bottle again. "Thanks," he repeated.
"And, um... I could help with your arm, I meant. It might be better in a sling than tied down like that." Now, Leo wasn't actually one-hundred percent sure about that, but he'd always seen shoulder and arm injuries immobilized in a sling.
Whatever the effectiveness of that might be, Leo's train of thought and any further conversation were derailed by the sudden noise from the back of the bar. No point in denying it; he jumped, grip tightening on the water bottle as his body raced ahead of his brain in trying to figure out if he was going to have to toss his newfound supplies in someone's face.
But there was no attack, nor any warning of one. God. Every moment, every new encounter was a potential heart attack.
"...Hi," Leo said to the new arrival for lack of anything else, feeling a faint sense of déjà vu.
"Should we tell them we're not armed?" Sylvia said, her voice low and stiff.
She had already moved mostly behind him. Leo was taller, larger, and she felt like a child again, hiding behind her mother when her distant relatives had come to visit for the first time.
She should have checked the place. It was always these things that came back to bite her, the unexpected that she should have rightly had cause to expect but had glossed over somehow - being selected for the Program in the wrong attire, fighting two people instead of one, not checking the place she had holed up in for the night.
There didn't seem to be any immediate consequence this time. Whoever it was (she hadn't gotten a good look yet, especially from behind Leo's shoulder), they seemed just as surprised as anyone else in the bar right now.
And her movement had been mostly but not entirely unconscious. She wanted Leo between her and danger, but they had been still working towards getting to know each other, trading help back and forth, and she wondered if she was being too much of a protectee than a potential partner.
At least it seemed like they were together in this, the two of them against this temporary unknown. She hoped, for all her thinking and overthinking, that that was something that was real and not just in her mind.
She had already moved mostly behind him. Leo was taller, larger, and she felt like a child again, hiding behind her mother when her distant relatives had come to visit for the first time.
She should have checked the place. It was always these things that came back to bite her, the unexpected that she should have rightly had cause to expect but had glossed over somehow - being selected for the Program in the wrong attire, fighting two people instead of one, not checking the place she had holed up in for the night.
There didn't seem to be any immediate consequence this time. Whoever it was (she hadn't gotten a good look yet, especially from behind Leo's shoulder), they seemed just as surprised as anyone else in the bar right now.
And her movement had been mostly but not entirely unconscious. She wanted Leo between her and danger, but they had been still working towards getting to know each other, trading help back and forth, and she wondered if she was being too much of a protectee than a potential partner.
At least it seemed like they were together in this, the two of them against this temporary unknown. She hoped, for all her thinking and overthinking, that that was something that was real and not just in her mind.
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Wham Yubeesling
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A… third voice?
Yeah, situation inside the buildin' just became a threesome, Buddy was pretty sure. There wasn't really any tellin' yet whether the new girl brought a fourth along with her but hey, if it was a problem he could just check. If it looked like the situation might be goin' in a bad direction, he'd make sure he wouldn't be goin' the same way. If he heard gunshots goin' off in there, he could just get the fuck right outta here before-
…
Yeah, probably best he go check, huh.
He turned round. Leant his body towards the door. Didn't wanna go in too far just in case that caused too much noise but if he leant in he could- aww shit new girl was lookin' at the door, he…
Uh.
Probably needed to come out now.
There was awkwardness there was fear there was the feeling that this was going to go seriously wrong but he sorta had no choice in the matter. Sorta couldn't do anything but say hi to the group in proper.
So.
Uh.
He stepped out.
Stepped in.
Gave a little wave.
"Uh, hey."
Yeah, situation inside the buildin' just became a threesome, Buddy was pretty sure. There wasn't really any tellin' yet whether the new girl brought a fourth along with her but hey, if it was a problem he could just check. If it looked like the situation might be goin' in a bad direction, he'd make sure he wouldn't be goin' the same way. If he heard gunshots goin' off in there, he could just get the fuck right outta here before-
…
Yeah, probably best he go check, huh.
He turned round. Leant his body towards the door. Didn't wanna go in too far just in case that caused too much noise but if he leant in he could- aww shit new girl was lookin' at the door, he…
Uh.
Probably needed to come out now.
There was awkwardness there was fear there was the feeling that this was going to go seriously wrong but he sorta had no choice in the matter. Sorta couldn't do anything but say hi to the group in proper.
So.
Uh.
He stepped out.
Stepped in.
Gave a little wave.
"Uh, hey."
People. People were here.
Charlie’s heart pounded, but her eyes darted between the three. She tried to remember their names, but nothing was coming up. One was tall, and had his hair in a pompadour. Another was also tall, and had a tanned complexion with toning. The third was a girl with brown hair, standing behind the boy with the tanned skin.
She clenched a fist, tried to stand tall. Her feet was posed, ready to run. Try to remember to breathe, don’t show them your fear. Deep breath.
“Hey,” she forced out quickly. “I’m just…”
Just what? Oh, I’m hiding here, don’t mind me?
“I was just hiding out here since… you know, and… uh, I didn’t expect to see anyone…”
Run? Or keeping talking?
Take another breath.
“Sorry.”
That sounded weaker than she hoped.
Charlie’s heart pounded, but her eyes darted between the three. She tried to remember their names, but nothing was coming up. One was tall, and had his hair in a pompadour. Another was also tall, and had a tanned complexion with toning. The third was a girl with brown hair, standing behind the boy with the tanned skin.
She clenched a fist, tried to stand tall. Her feet was posed, ready to run. Try to remember to breathe, don’t show them your fear. Deep breath.
“Hey,” she forced out quickly. “I’m just…”
Just what? Oh, I’m hiding here, don’t mind me?
“I was just hiding out here since… you know, and… uh, I didn’t expect to see anyone…”
Run? Or keeping talking?
Take another breath.
“Sorry.”
That sounded weaker than she hoped.
Things were suddenly getting crowded in here. Leo couldn't identify any of them as objectively friendly faces, and he squashed the insistent question in the back of his mind whether anyone could truly be considered friendly here.
If he couldn't have faith in others to be good, he could at least have faith in himself to not be stupid and know when he was most at risk. He didn't think he was really at risk just yet, and that had to be good enough.
"We're... not looking for trouble," he finally said, addressing the new arrivals. Not quite what Sylvia suggested, but maybe that was the "don't be stupid" part of the equation.
Now Leo just had to hope that he could say the same for the... guests? If anything, they were all Charlotte's guests, since she had been here the longest, but she didn't seem too eager to host.
"So... what about you two?"
If he couldn't have faith in others to be good, he could at least have faith in himself to not be stupid and know when he was most at risk. He didn't think he was really at risk just yet, and that had to be good enough.
"We're... not looking for trouble," he finally said, addressing the new arrivals. Not quite what Sylvia suggested, but maybe that was the "don't be stupid" part of the equation.
Now Leo just had to hope that he could say the same for the... guests? If anything, they were all Charlotte's guests, since she had been here the longest, but she didn't seem too eager to host.
"So... what about you two?"
"Right," Sylvia said, "we're not looking for trouble."
Just an echo, just an affirmation. Leo had also said "we", and she took some small comfort in that even as she was careful not to read too much into it.
It seemed almost absurd that they were all standing here, fumbling through introductions. She had attacked someone, and Leo had seen someone shot, and she didn't really know what had happened to Charlie and Buddy but they'd probably had their share of experiences too. And yet after a day and a night and so many classmates dead, they still needed to deal with social niceties.
She didn't mind that. It was some sort of structure, something that remained as if they were still meeting as strangers at school.
It was somehow a comfort too that she knew everyone's names, that she knew something for sure. She had a good memory for names, and she didn't need that to recognize Buddy, but it did help for Charlie. Buddy (his name, his hair, his style) - he was unique but weird, and she wondered what people would think of him when he was older before realizing that he probably wasn't going to get much older at all. Charlie, shy, apologizing when there was nothing even to apologize for. Leo too, right in front of her, who she'd always heard was a clown like JB but who seemed plenty serious now.
But then again it wasn't so good to know these things, to get too deep of a feeling of who she was dealing with. They were all going to die if she was to win.
The more she thought of winning, the more artificial and forced the word seemed.
Sylvia realized she was clutching her bad arm again, as if to press it further into her side. It didn't hurt so much when she didn't move it, but maybe Leo was right about the sling. She would have to ask later. She was just a little tired, and thinking too much. Slowly, still aware that Buddy was effectively blocking the exit, she leaned against the table to give herself a small break, almost sitting on it but not quite.
Just an echo, just an affirmation. Leo had also said "we", and she took some small comfort in that even as she was careful not to read too much into it.
It seemed almost absurd that they were all standing here, fumbling through introductions. She had attacked someone, and Leo had seen someone shot, and she didn't really know what had happened to Charlie and Buddy but they'd probably had their share of experiences too. And yet after a day and a night and so many classmates dead, they still needed to deal with social niceties.
She didn't mind that. It was some sort of structure, something that remained as if they were still meeting as strangers at school.
It was somehow a comfort too that she knew everyone's names, that she knew something for sure. She had a good memory for names, and she didn't need that to recognize Buddy, but it did help for Charlie. Buddy (his name, his hair, his style) - he was unique but weird, and she wondered what people would think of him when he was older before realizing that he probably wasn't going to get much older at all. Charlie, shy, apologizing when there was nothing even to apologize for. Leo too, right in front of her, who she'd always heard was a clown like JB but who seemed plenty serious now.
But then again it wasn't so good to know these things, to get too deep of a feeling of who she was dealing with. They were all going to die if she was to win.
The more she thought of winning, the more artificial and forced the word seemed.
Sylvia realized she was clutching her bad arm again, as if to press it further into her side. It didn't hurt so much when she didn't move it, but maybe Leo was right about the sling. She would have to ask later. She was just a little tired, and thinking too much. Slowly, still aware that Buddy was effectively blocking the exit, she leaned against the table to give herself a small break, almost sitting on it but not quite.
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Wham Yubeesling
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So, to sum up the players fightin' in the ring right now:
Leo (Leonardo?) was, by Buddy's standards, a cool dude. He was nice he was a good jokester and he'd gotten wayyyyyyy too much grief for the time he'd fainted in History class. Really, if the reaction everyone else had had to that meant anything to Buddy, he really should have predicted the fact that everybody was killing each other for Uncle Sam right now. Charlie and Sylvia were more in the realm of "total blank" when it came time for Buddy to try and recall stuff on them. Not as if he'd never talked to either of them or anything, but… actually no, Buddy was pretty sure he'd never talked to either of them. They weren't in his circles and they were too out of the way for him for him to get out of his circle so… yeah, into the blank hole they went.
So that meant that only 2/4 of the people here were certified cool people. None of them had appeared on the announcements, though (well at least, he was pretty sure none of them had been on the announcements — fuck you Jason for attacking him right when he was trying to listen out for who killed and who died) so hey, he was gonna trust that the other two also happened to be cool people. Not as if he could really certify it, but hey, fool him once? The shame wasn't on him. So long as they didn't try to put the shame on themselves, he figured they'd make some cool allies, however temporary they would end up being under his plan.
So he stepped forward, entered the room further. Put his hands up.
"Not lookin' for trouble. Sorta lookin' for the opposite of trouble. Other dudes I met earlier were the type that were lookin' for trouble so, uh, I'm feelin' sorta drained right now. If none of you three wanna cause trouble, that's absolutely fine with me."
It was sorta hard to come off as calm when you were on The Program, the last two people you'd met had tried to take your life, and two of the three people in front of you (two of the three people who you were hoping would keep you safe) were complete unknowns in your head before now.
Who knew?
Leo (Leonardo?) was, by Buddy's standards, a cool dude. He was nice he was a good jokester and he'd gotten wayyyyyyy too much grief for the time he'd fainted in History class. Really, if the reaction everyone else had had to that meant anything to Buddy, he really should have predicted the fact that everybody was killing each other for Uncle Sam right now. Charlie and Sylvia were more in the realm of "total blank" when it came time for Buddy to try and recall stuff on them. Not as if he'd never talked to either of them or anything, but… actually no, Buddy was pretty sure he'd never talked to either of them. They weren't in his circles and they were too out of the way for him for him to get out of his circle so… yeah, into the blank hole they went.
So that meant that only 2/4 of the people here were certified cool people. None of them had appeared on the announcements, though (well at least, he was pretty sure none of them had been on the announcements — fuck you Jason for attacking him right when he was trying to listen out for who killed and who died) so hey, he was gonna trust that the other two also happened to be cool people. Not as if he could really certify it, but hey, fool him once? The shame wasn't on him. So long as they didn't try to put the shame on themselves, he figured they'd make some cool allies, however temporary they would end up being under his plan.
So he stepped forward, entered the room further. Put his hands up.
"Not lookin' for trouble. Sorta lookin' for the opposite of trouble. Other dudes I met earlier were the type that were lookin' for trouble so, uh, I'm feelin' sorta drained right now. If none of you three wanna cause trouble, that's absolutely fine with me."
It was sorta hard to come off as calm when you were on The Program, the last two people you'd met had tried to take your life, and two of the three people in front of you (two of the three people who you were hoping would keep you safe) were complete unknowns in your head before now.
Who knew?