((Roy Benson continued from waste of words))
Morning.
Another one. It was almost like they came around once a day or something like that. Crazy. He groaned, squinting even after having been up for a while, rubbing his eyes as the sun let him know just how fucking bright and shiny it could damn well be. At least he’d already relieved the pressure on his bladder that had told him, loudly, that he hadn’t pissed for several hours. Too bad he had aches and pains and stiffness in every other part of his body. Mornings. Frankly, he was getting real fucking sick and tired of them.
But, hey, Roy, a little voice in his head said. Surely seeing another morning meant surviving another day? Surely that was a good thing, yeah?
And, hey, yeah, that was great, that line of thought was real great. But it didn’t feel that way, it didn’t feel that way one little teensy tiny bit. What it felt like was that each day he woke up here was another day he didn’t wake up back home. Every day where his wake-up call was the bright, piercing light of the unfiltered morning sun instead of his phone’s alarm, or whatever makeshift bed he was sleeping on rather than his mom telling him he was gonna be late for school, was just another fantastic reminder that he wasn’t home. He wasn’t safe. He was still out here, on murder island, and no matter how hard he threw himself into the task he’d set upon himself, this still wasn’t where he wanted to be.
Still. At least he had his bag back. And with it, his food. Fucking sick, he’d been missing stale bread and lukewarm water.
As if to spite him, Roy’s stomach rumbled, like a mildly perturbed lion. He frowned, then stared down at the ground in front of him for a moment. He put a leaf in his mouth and chewed it. Two seconds later he spat it out again with a noise of disgust. Jesus. Those fuckin’ vegans must be stronger than he thought if they could eat this day in day out.
He sighed and rested his head against the wall of the mess hall. He hadn’t expected to be back here so soon. He was grateful, sure, that they’d found his bag again. But that was all they’d found. They hadn’t found Rachael at the cabin, or near the cabin, or anywhere where they still had vision of the cabin. They’d gone north, south, east, south-east and west, and all the while, Roy had been gaining a steadily sinking feeling that they were constantly heading away from the place Rachael was heading to.
A sudden gust tugged at Roy’s hair, and he glowered at the wind, before tugging his jacket close and wrapping his good arm around himself. Mornings. Fuck ‘em.
He craned his neck round to try and look into the mess hall, back where Dan and Johnny still were, and sighed again.
They’d stumbled upon a lovely brand-new body in the middle of the hall, last night. It was gross, and skeeved Roy out a ton, both because it was a fucking dead bodies Sherlock that was gonna freak anybody out, and because. Well. He’d known who it was. Or had been, at least. It was… difficult to look at it. Her. It.
…
Despite that, it hadn’t been too bad. For one thing, the way Roy saw it, they were gonna run into corpses eventually. People were killing. The announcements said as much. People were killing and murdering their classmates without a second thought all across the island and Roy couldn’t spin anything witty out of that because it made anger boil up inside of him whenever he thought about it.
For another thing, they had been tired when they’d reached the mess hall. Tired physically, despite all of their athletic natures; trudging across the island and getting the loosest definition of sleep would do that to you. And just utterly fucking tired mentally. They’d looked everywhere. Literally everywhere they could. Walked from one side of the island to the other, switching plans on the fly like they were back out on the field, except these plans were to avoid getting their necks blown up to fuck if they stepped in the wrong zone. Which didn’t happen in football. Not in America, at least.
And after all that, they hadn’t seen hide nor hair nor gun of Rachael. His energy had flagged hardcore over the last couple days. This island? Big. This girl? Small. Maybe they could find her, maybe they’d somehow strike one in a million and run into the same place she was at. Maybe. But Roy had doubted it.
She hadn’t been in the mess hall, either. Pretty much as soon as that had been established, Roy had gone to find as comfy a corner as possible to sleep in.
He’d woken up and wound up out here before the sun was fully up. He couldn’t remember why, and that reason didn’t matter shit any longer.
All of those problems, the cold and the brightness and the uneven ground beneath him, he could have just dealt with by getting up and turning around and walking back into the hall. It was easy. Easiest thing he could do right now. Yet he didn’t do it, and didn’t plan on doing it any time soon.
Because now they knew, and everyone else still breathing on this island knew, exactly where Rachael Langdon had run off to.
He couldn’t look Johnny in the eye just yet.
For once, Roy was lost for words.
Now, Wait, Wait, Wait for Me, Please Hang Around. I'll See You When I Fall Asleep
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Courtography
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(Dan Liu continued from waste of words)
It was morning again and things hadn't been changing for the better. People were continuing to kill and with no rescue yet, he was starting to wonder if that decision was less stupid than he originally thought. It was still definitely wrong. He knew that. But it might not be stupid.
The killing wasn't just something abstract and out of mind anymore though. That was a problem. He couldn't just pretend there wasn't a dead body in the building. He wasn't a pussy, but it was disgusting and it smelled. He wished they'd gone somewhere else.
He hadn't slept well. The fact that there was a dead body in the building bothered him too much. He'd never seen one in the flesh before, besides Mr. Dolph, but he hadn't had to see Mr. Dolph's body just lying there on the floor of the bus either. The girl's body here in the mess hall just stayed put, and there was no one to knock him out this time to stop him from thinking about it.
He had to get away from it for a bit. He wouldn't ditch Roy or Johnny, but he just had to be outside for a bit. His eyes just felt drawn to where he knew the body was if he got closer. It was like a sick obsession in his brain. Was Rachael's similar? It was a sick thing to wonder. He rubbed his hands together. They were slick with sweat.
His footsteps quickly brought him outside.
He saw Roy. He didn't know what to say. They'd been looking for her, and now they had no goal, and he was sure he was supposed to say something about her death, but Dan didn't do touchy-feely shit, even though Roy and Johnny probably needed it. Hell, Dan could probably use someone he could share his feelings with.
He coughed quietly. Was he getting sick or was it a nervous habit? He wasn't sure.
"Morning."
It was morning again and things hadn't been changing for the better. People were continuing to kill and with no rescue yet, he was starting to wonder if that decision was less stupid than he originally thought. It was still definitely wrong. He knew that. But it might not be stupid.
The killing wasn't just something abstract and out of mind anymore though. That was a problem. He couldn't just pretend there wasn't a dead body in the building. He wasn't a pussy, but it was disgusting and it smelled. He wished they'd gone somewhere else.
He hadn't slept well. The fact that there was a dead body in the building bothered him too much. He'd never seen one in the flesh before, besides Mr. Dolph, but he hadn't had to see Mr. Dolph's body just lying there on the floor of the bus either. The girl's body here in the mess hall just stayed put, and there was no one to knock him out this time to stop him from thinking about it.
He had to get away from it for a bit. He wouldn't ditch Roy or Johnny, but he just had to be outside for a bit. His eyes just felt drawn to where he knew the body was if he got closer. It was like a sick obsession in his brain. Was Rachael's similar? It was a sick thing to wonder. He rubbed his hands together. They were slick with sweat.
His footsteps quickly brought him outside.
He saw Roy. He didn't know what to say. They'd been looking for her, and now they had no goal, and he was sure he was supposed to say something about her death, but Dan didn't do touchy-feely shit, even though Roy and Johnny probably needed it. Hell, Dan could probably use someone he could share his feelings with.
He coughed quietly. Was he getting sick or was it a nervous habit? He wasn't sure.
"Morning."
(("Badass" Johnny Lancer continues from waste of words))
None of them in the room had the right to rest.
His muscles ached, screamed no matter what position he laid in, whether he stood or laid on his side or on his back. They screamed for him to move, to find her, before it was too late. And every hour they spent sleeping, resting, doing nothing was an hour closer to it being too late.
And they had creeped towards this deadline, this lateness, for over 48 hours now. Two fucking days. Two days that could've been spent planning, testing, leaving this place. Two announcements, two instances of him bating his breath, waiting for, begging for her name to not show up. Two times he had to hear the names of his friends, two times he had to shorten the list of people to find, people to reunite with.
So much time wasted. And yet, here they were, lounging around in the mess hall, mere yards from Brigid Paxton's body. Like they had the fucking right to.
His feet tapped against the floor, his fingers drummed against the table. His entire body shook. He could count on his hands the number of hours he'd slept the entire time he'd been here. Entire nights spent rolling left, right, on concrete surfaces, half-entertaining, then renouncing the idea of sleep. He felt so wasted, so depleted, yet at the same time, so alive.
Maybe he needed a walk. Never mind the fact that he had taken a walk five times in the past hour. He needed it.
He took the usual path. A wide circle along the perimeter, inside the building. Staying far away from Brigid Paxton's corpse. It wasn't that he wanted to ignore the corpse, treat it as some object. He wasn't sure what he could do for it though, what more he could do other than feel pity, horror, both.
And look at him still walking. Look at how he ran on nothing but anxiety, fear, desperation. And yet, Dan and Roy dared suggest they rest. Johnny, he could rest back at home. He could rest all he wanted there. He could rest with Rachael and Daniel and Roy and Dan and Brandon and everyone else still alive, everyone else still remaining on the list once they got out of here.
But they were only human, with human bodies. Bodies with finite energy, finite resources. So, he'd nodded both times they suggested they settle down somewhere, without a word of disagreement.
While they'd traversed miles across, around, through the island, past churches and forests and fields, Johnny's mind kept on flashing back to the last moment she'd been with them.
She had said something. That soft murmur, those quiet tones rang in his mind. But they made no sense. He couldn't remember whether they dipped in tone, rose in alarm. Whether she had been asking something, making a declaration. If she had told them she was leaving, and then she took their non-response to be approval. Not a single bit of information to be gleaned.
And as that image of Rachael, scared, huddled against a tree, forgotten, came up over and over again, it embedded itself. Dominated. Slowly erased the image he had built up of her in high school. The quiet girl that sat with them in the library, that said a word approximately once every five minutes, but spoke nonetheless. The girl who said so much more with a pen, with a flute, than she ever did with her mouth. The girl whose mere presence brightened up his day everytime.
The girl that had trusted them, been friends with them.
And what was she like now? What was her image now? It was a question that came to him every minute. Every time the announcements came up, stated clearly who died and how. And though this was something he'd never dare put into words, whenever the man named someone other than Rachael, failed to utter her name, he felt something monstrous under all the horror and despair.
He felt relief.
Relief at the fact that they still had time, relief that she could possibly still be somewhere out there, that he could possibly make up for neglecting her.
The speakers crackled for the third time since Rachael's disappearance. He stopped in his path. Hoped and hoped and hoped, beyond hope. The first name announced was Adonis'. He wasn't Rachael. Neither was Damion, nor was Brigid Rachel. He could feel sorry or sad about their deaths after this, after the announcements finished. Clio's name came up, Tania's. And then-
Rachael.
He said 'Rachael Langdon'.
Johnny lowered himself to the floor, and laid his back against the wall. He stared wide-eyed at nothing. Said nothing.
None of them in the room had the right to rest.
His muscles ached, screamed no matter what position he laid in, whether he stood or laid on his side or on his back. They screamed for him to move, to find her, before it was too late. And every hour they spent sleeping, resting, doing nothing was an hour closer to it being too late.
And they had creeped towards this deadline, this lateness, for over 48 hours now. Two fucking days. Two days that could've been spent planning, testing, leaving this place. Two announcements, two instances of him bating his breath, waiting for, begging for her name to not show up. Two times he had to hear the names of his friends, two times he had to shorten the list of people to find, people to reunite with.
So much time wasted. And yet, here they were, lounging around in the mess hall, mere yards from Brigid Paxton's body. Like they had the fucking right to.
His feet tapped against the floor, his fingers drummed against the table. His entire body shook. He could count on his hands the number of hours he'd slept the entire time he'd been here. Entire nights spent rolling left, right, on concrete surfaces, half-entertaining, then renouncing the idea of sleep. He felt so wasted, so depleted, yet at the same time, so alive.
Maybe he needed a walk. Never mind the fact that he had taken a walk five times in the past hour. He needed it.
He took the usual path. A wide circle along the perimeter, inside the building. Staying far away from Brigid Paxton's corpse. It wasn't that he wanted to ignore the corpse, treat it as some object. He wasn't sure what he could do for it though, what more he could do other than feel pity, horror, both.
And look at him still walking. Look at how he ran on nothing but anxiety, fear, desperation. And yet, Dan and Roy dared suggest they rest. Johnny, he could rest back at home. He could rest all he wanted there. He could rest with Rachael and Daniel and Roy and Dan and Brandon and everyone else still alive, everyone else still remaining on the list once they got out of here.
But they were only human, with human bodies. Bodies with finite energy, finite resources. So, he'd nodded both times they suggested they settle down somewhere, without a word of disagreement.
While they'd traversed miles across, around, through the island, past churches and forests and fields, Johnny's mind kept on flashing back to the last moment she'd been with them.
She had said something. That soft murmur, those quiet tones rang in his mind. But they made no sense. He couldn't remember whether they dipped in tone, rose in alarm. Whether she had been asking something, making a declaration. If she had told them she was leaving, and then she took their non-response to be approval. Not a single bit of information to be gleaned.
And as that image of Rachael, scared, huddled against a tree, forgotten, came up over and over again, it embedded itself. Dominated. Slowly erased the image he had built up of her in high school. The quiet girl that sat with them in the library, that said a word approximately once every five minutes, but spoke nonetheless. The girl who said so much more with a pen, with a flute, than she ever did with her mouth. The girl whose mere presence brightened up his day everytime.
The girl that had trusted them, been friends with them.
And what was she like now? What was her image now? It was a question that came to him every minute. Every time the announcements came up, stated clearly who died and how. And though this was something he'd never dare put into words, whenever the man named someone other than Rachael, failed to utter her name, he felt something monstrous under all the horror and despair.
He felt relief.
Relief at the fact that they still had time, relief that she could possibly still be somewhere out there, that he could possibly make up for neglecting her.
The speakers crackled for the third time since Rachael's disappearance. He stopped in his path. Hoped and hoped and hoped, beyond hope. The first name announced was Adonis'. He wasn't Rachael. Neither was Damion, nor was Brigid Rachel. He could feel sorry or sad about their deaths after this, after the announcements finished. Clio's name came up, Tania's. And then-
Rachael.
He said 'Rachael Langdon'.
Johnny lowered himself to the floor, and laid his back against the wall. He stared wide-eyed at nothing. Said nothing.
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
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
“Mornin’.”
Wasn’t really much else he could say in response to Dan’s greeting. Sure as hell wasn’t a ‘good’ morning, after all. He didn’t even turn to look at the guy at first. Even if he hadn’t been able to hear Dan’s voice clearly, he would have known exactly who was standing behind him. Johnny’s mental state was probably at… well, how about eggshell-fucking-thin right now? So Roy just looked out at the sky for a few moments more as Dan stood behind him.
Man, if he didn’t think they tasted like a concentrated blend of death and asshole, this would be the perfect moment for a cigarette.
Eventually, Roy turned to look up at Dan. He wasn’t sure how to set his face. Hopefully it contained the right amount of conflicted feelings that were churning away inside of him right now. The right mix of frustration and anger and begrudging acceptance that this whole shit with chasing Rachael across the ends of the earth and back had led to. Hopefully that was what his face looked like, and not, y’know. Lustful. That’d give the wrong kinda impression.
How close was he to Dan, anyway? He’d always considered his relationship with Johnny better, both here and back at school, but right now? Especially after these announcements? He didn’t have a clue. At least he and Dan could share in the knowledge that these last couple of days had just been a massive, pointless waste of time and energy.
Guh. He was doing the right thing, he was sure of it, but was it worth it when he was distancing himself from his friends because of it? That would be something to chew on, if he didn’t already have a mouthful already.
Man, that was kinda gross, wasn’t it?
“You doing okay? We should be able to get some decent rest, now. Y’know, cause…”
Roy shifted a glance at the open door of the mess hall and lowered his voice even further.
“He said anything yet?”
Wasn’t really much else he could say in response to Dan’s greeting. Sure as hell wasn’t a ‘good’ morning, after all. He didn’t even turn to look at the guy at first. Even if he hadn’t been able to hear Dan’s voice clearly, he would have known exactly who was standing behind him. Johnny’s mental state was probably at… well, how about eggshell-fucking-thin right now? So Roy just looked out at the sky for a few moments more as Dan stood behind him.
Man, if he didn’t think they tasted like a concentrated blend of death and asshole, this would be the perfect moment for a cigarette.
Eventually, Roy turned to look up at Dan. He wasn’t sure how to set his face. Hopefully it contained the right amount of conflicted feelings that were churning away inside of him right now. The right mix of frustration and anger and begrudging acceptance that this whole shit with chasing Rachael across the ends of the earth and back had led to. Hopefully that was what his face looked like, and not, y’know. Lustful. That’d give the wrong kinda impression.
How close was he to Dan, anyway? He’d always considered his relationship with Johnny better, both here and back at school, but right now? Especially after these announcements? He didn’t have a clue. At least he and Dan could share in the knowledge that these last couple of days had just been a massive, pointless waste of time and energy.
Guh. He was doing the right thing, he was sure of it, but was it worth it when he was distancing himself from his friends because of it? That would be something to chew on, if he didn’t already have a mouthful already.
Man, that was kinda gross, wasn’t it?
“You doing okay? We should be able to get some decent rest, now. Y’know, cause…”
Roy shifted a glance at the open door of the mess hall and lowered his voice even further.
“He said anything yet?”
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Courtography
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Roy and Dan's shared looks told Dan most of what he needed to know. He assumed Roy felt the same mix of regret and frustration that he did. And if he didn't, well, Dan wasn't going to get specific about it. Some things were better left unsaid.
Like how Rachael was dead. Neither of them mentioned it directly. Neither of them needed to. They both knew about it and that was that.
"I'm fine," he lied. They both knew that the situation wasn't fine, but they didn't need to get all touchy-feely and shit. Plus since he knew that, it didn't really matter how he responded. That's what he wanted to think anyway. No guarantees that Roy agreed.
"No, but..." his voice got quieter, even though he doubted anyone other than the terrorists were listening.
"Well you know how invested he got..." he trailed off. There was no good way to broach the subject of their wasted time and how Johnny cared more than the rest of them.
Like how Rachael was dead. Neither of them mentioned it directly. Neither of them needed to. They both knew about it and that was that.
"I'm fine," he lied. They both knew that the situation wasn't fine, but they didn't need to get all touchy-feely and shit. Plus since he knew that, it didn't really matter how he responded. That's what he wanted to think anyway. No guarantees that Roy agreed.
"No, but..." his voice got quieter, even though he doubted anyone other than the terrorists were listening.
"Well you know how invested he got..." he trailed off. There was no good way to broach the subject of their wasted time and how Johnny cared more than the rest of them.
It happened, huh. It finally happened.
Johnny blinked. He was looking at Brigid's body. Paying it a lot more attention than he had before.
Her body had bullet holes in it, from where blood leaked out. The announcer said that Rachael had been choked to death. So, small differences. If you cleaned up the blood, covered the holes, would that be how Rachael looked right now? Lying face down, crumpled on the floor? Maybe add a ring of bruises around her neck.
And how long had she been dead? How many hours had they used up looking for a corpse? Where did she die? Had they been looking on the wrong side of the island, or had they been just a few meters from her corpse? Or did they pass her by while she was still alive?
Maybe if they had just looked a little bit more, walked a bit more around the island, lost a few more hours of sleep, maybe she would still be alive.
Or maybe they had killed her the moment they lost sight of her.
The moment they lost focus on her. The moment they forgot her. The moment Johnny had pointed a gun at Irene, focused more on Irene and Roy's quarrel.
He pushed himself up off the floor, and his hands shook, his arms shook. His entire body shook. All that energy that coursed through him, all of it devoted to finding one person on one island, gone to waste, just spending itself in tremors. Eyes dilated. Shaky breaths.
He needed a walk. He just needed a walk.
Johnny took a few uncertain steps, towards the door. Past the body.
The sky was dim. Tiny drops of rain fell on Johnny's skin, chilling him. It felt right.
He walked more steadily towards the boys.
Johnny blinked. He was looking at Brigid's body. Paying it a lot more attention than he had before.
Her body had bullet holes in it, from where blood leaked out. The announcer said that Rachael had been choked to death. So, small differences. If you cleaned up the blood, covered the holes, would that be how Rachael looked right now? Lying face down, crumpled on the floor? Maybe add a ring of bruises around her neck.
And how long had she been dead? How many hours had they used up looking for a corpse? Where did she die? Had they been looking on the wrong side of the island, or had they been just a few meters from her corpse? Or did they pass her by while she was still alive?
Maybe if they had just looked a little bit more, walked a bit more around the island, lost a few more hours of sleep, maybe she would still be alive.
Or maybe they had killed her the moment they lost sight of her.
The moment they lost focus on her. The moment they forgot her. The moment Johnny had pointed a gun at Irene, focused more on Irene and Roy's quarrel.
He pushed himself up off the floor, and his hands shook, his arms shook. His entire body shook. All that energy that coursed through him, all of it devoted to finding one person on one island, gone to waste, just spending itself in tremors. Eyes dilated. Shaky breaths.
He needed a walk. He just needed a walk.
Johnny took a few uncertain steps, towards the door. Past the body.
The sky was dim. Tiny drops of rain fell on Johnny's skin, chilling him. It felt right.
He walked more steadily towards the boys.
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
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
“Yeah.”
Was all Roy said, before he turned to look out at the horizon again. At some point between Dan walking over to him, and their ‘conversation’, if you really fucking stretched the definition of the word, it had started to rain. Tiny little droplets of the stuff, barely even noticeable if you weren’t keeping still. Cooling, refreshing almost. Combined with the soft light, all together it painted a perfectly lovely and relaxing scenario.
Good God, Roy fucking hated it.
He was as far away from ‘relaxed’ as possible right now. He’d always been happy back at home because he actively knew what he was doing at any given point. Call him simple, whatever, do whatever makes you sleep easy at night. Roy played football, he played hockey, he wrote, and he was damn good at all of it. He was, like, 99% certain that he could do any of it with his eyes shut, hands tied behind his back, underwater, no sweat.
And now he’d been thrust out here, into this death game, where the only goal was ‘survival’. How did you survive in the real world? You slept in your nice warm bed, and grabbed leftover KFC from the fridge, and didn’t worry for a second about some shotgun toting maniac breathing down your neck. He’d been constantly, ceaselessly thinking about not just his own safety, out here, but of Johnny and Dan’s and all his other friends, and all of their other friends’ safety, with outliers like Irene constantly getting in the way, and at the end of the day? He didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing. He was alive, he was living, sure, but surviving? He didn’t know. Did Johnny and Dan plan on sticking with him thick and thin or would they up and leave the first instance these worries burrowed their way to the surface? He didn’t goddamn know. Had he done anything but flap his mouth so far, or had he actually made an impact on his, and Johnny, and Dan’s longevity? He didn’t even fucking know the answer to that.
In the silence, it was easy to hear Johnny’s footsteps behind them, even on the damp ground. Roy closed his eyes momentarily, and breathed out, a small cloud of solid air billowing from his lips, unseen by him. This was gonna happen sooner or later, this aftermath, he knew that, but man, he wasn’t looking forwards to it. Yet another thing that he had no clue as to what the outcome might be.
“Hey,” Roy said, standing up and turning to face Johnny. “You doing al-“
Roy felt the fist slam into his cheek, rather than saw it, so quick and out of the blue was it. He stumbled backwards, feeling blood in his mouth, spitting it out onto the ground, before looking at Johnny again, face a mask, mind reeling. One half of his brain told him to keep calm, hold his ground, settle whatever Johnny’s problem was with words and reasoning, he didn’t want to cause another Irene, here.
The other half told him ‘fuck it’, and he was much more inclined to listen to that side.
Roy felt his mind click into gear, a twisted snarl spreading across his lips as he charged at Johnny with his good arm, because he finally had something he knew how to do, and if that something was beating Johnny within an inch of his life, so fucking be it.
Was all Roy said, before he turned to look out at the horizon again. At some point between Dan walking over to him, and their ‘conversation’, if you really fucking stretched the definition of the word, it had started to rain. Tiny little droplets of the stuff, barely even noticeable if you weren’t keeping still. Cooling, refreshing almost. Combined with the soft light, all together it painted a perfectly lovely and relaxing scenario.
Good God, Roy fucking hated it.
He was as far away from ‘relaxed’ as possible right now. He’d always been happy back at home because he actively knew what he was doing at any given point. Call him simple, whatever, do whatever makes you sleep easy at night. Roy played football, he played hockey, he wrote, and he was damn good at all of it. He was, like, 99% certain that he could do any of it with his eyes shut, hands tied behind his back, underwater, no sweat.
And now he’d been thrust out here, into this death game, where the only goal was ‘survival’. How did you survive in the real world? You slept in your nice warm bed, and grabbed leftover KFC from the fridge, and didn’t worry for a second about some shotgun toting maniac breathing down your neck. He’d been constantly, ceaselessly thinking about not just his own safety, out here, but of Johnny and Dan’s and all his other friends, and all of their other friends’ safety, with outliers like Irene constantly getting in the way, and at the end of the day? He didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing. He was alive, he was living, sure, but surviving? He didn’t know. Did Johnny and Dan plan on sticking with him thick and thin or would they up and leave the first instance these worries burrowed their way to the surface? He didn’t goddamn know. Had he done anything but flap his mouth so far, or had he actually made an impact on his, and Johnny, and Dan’s longevity? He didn’t even fucking know the answer to that.
In the silence, it was easy to hear Johnny’s footsteps behind them, even on the damp ground. Roy closed his eyes momentarily, and breathed out, a small cloud of solid air billowing from his lips, unseen by him. This was gonna happen sooner or later, this aftermath, he knew that, but man, he wasn’t looking forwards to it. Yet another thing that he had no clue as to what the outcome might be.
“Hey,” Roy said, standing up and turning to face Johnny. “You doing al-“
Roy felt the fist slam into his cheek, rather than saw it, so quick and out of the blue was it. He stumbled backwards, feeling blood in his mouth, spitting it out onto the ground, before looking at Johnny again, face a mask, mind reeling. One half of his brain told him to keep calm, hold his ground, settle whatever Johnny’s problem was with words and reasoning, he didn’t want to cause another Irene, here.
The other half told him ‘fuck it’, and he was much more inclined to listen to that side.
Roy felt his mind click into gear, a twisted snarl spreading across his lips as he charged at Johnny with his good arm, because he finally had something he knew how to do, and if that something was beating Johnny within an inch of his life, so fucking be it.
Johnny didn't flinch. Roy had thrown his weight into his fist, concentrated hundreds of pounds of force into his fist, and it slammed into his cheek, pushing his head right. He tasted copper, swallowed. Stumbled, almost fell. But he held steady. He'd endured worse. Football tackles, dragon flames, bully punches, beholder glares, sticks and stones. Words. Roy's fist meant nothing, felt like nothing in comparison to everything else.
He had the gall to ask if he was alright. That was what did it, solidified an impulse into a decision. Just another stupid thing that came out of Roy's mouth. The last thing, if Johnny had his way. He wanted to knock his teeth out. Squeeze the air out of him. Keep him from ever saying another stupid thing. Break his limbs. Keep him from ever getting into another fight. Punch his lights out. Keep him from ever scaring another girl away. From losing her.
Wordlessly, he ran towards Roy. Jumped towards him. Hands aimed at his neck.
He had the gall to ask if he was alright. That was what did it, solidified an impulse into a decision. Just another stupid thing that came out of Roy's mouth. The last thing, if Johnny had his way. He wanted to knock his teeth out. Squeeze the air out of him. Keep him from ever saying another stupid thing. Break his limbs. Keep him from ever getting into another fight. Punch his lights out. Keep him from ever scaring another girl away. From losing her.
Wordlessly, he ran towards Roy. Jumped towards him. Hands aimed at his neck.
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
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Courtography
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And out of nowhere the group seemed to be tearing itself apart. He wasn't even sure what prompted it. Neither of them had said a fucking thing to Johnny. Dan stood still, watching the others trade blows. What had gone so wrong? What had happened to them not trying to get in fights like a bunch of idiots?
But of course Johnny couldn't handle himself. This whole time what they did had been decided by what he thought was best and the girl he thought was more important than everyone else.
Him seeing Johnny looking like he was going to try and strangle Roy is what brought Dan into action. He couldn't just stand there while Johnny lashed out at one of the guys who had stood by him.
Dan wasn't the biggest guy out there, but he was moving quick now, and all he cared about was running into Johnny hard enough to knock him off balance.
But of course Johnny couldn't handle himself. This whole time what they did had been decided by what he thought was best and the girl he thought was more important than everyone else.
Him seeing Johnny looking like he was going to try and strangle Roy is what brought Dan into action. He couldn't just stand there while Johnny lashed out at one of the guys who had stood by him.
Dan wasn't the biggest guy out there, but he was moving quick now, and all he cared about was running into Johnny hard enough to knock him off balance.
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Pippi
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Roy’s mind briefly flashed back to home as he spat onto the ground.
On the pitch, or on the rink, 99% of the time the only thing you were able to focus on was whatever was right in front of you. Whether that was the ball, or your teammate, or the goal, or some guy on the other team, didn’t matter – whatever you saw, that was what you were completely zoned in on now. Little scattered bits of thoughts might pop in every now and then, but they’d disappear soon enough. Then it was just you and your target.
Same deal here. He saw the flurry of movement from Dan, cannoning into Johnny, knocking him away and onto the ground and for a moment he was filled with vindication, the knowledge that his efforts to do his fucking best hadn’t gone completely to waste.
Then there was just Johnny in his field of view again, and then he just saw red, as he charged again.
He was on the floor again, on top of Johnny, flinging fists and elbows at him, aiming for his face and his neck as much as he could through his blinding fury. His left arm was straining itself, trying to break out of its cast, just so he could truly give Johnny exactly what was fucking coming to him. Moments ago he’d been doing everything in his goddamn power to protect Johnny. Now he wanted to fucking end him.
There was that scattered bit of thought. The thought that he’d done everything he fucking could to look after these two. Everything possible to make sense of this fucked up island. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t make any fucking sense that he’d put his life on the line to protect Johnny and now he was slamming his fist into his face.
But Johnny had taken everything Roy had worked for and thrown it back in his face, and he was sick and fucking tired of all the bullshit he’d waded through, so you know what? He wasn’t gonna take this lying down.
Roy grabbed Johnny’s shirt with his good hand and slammed him back down into the ground with as much power as he could muster.
On the pitch, or on the rink, 99% of the time the only thing you were able to focus on was whatever was right in front of you. Whether that was the ball, or your teammate, or the goal, or some guy on the other team, didn’t matter – whatever you saw, that was what you were completely zoned in on now. Little scattered bits of thoughts might pop in every now and then, but they’d disappear soon enough. Then it was just you and your target.
Same deal here. He saw the flurry of movement from Dan, cannoning into Johnny, knocking him away and onto the ground and for a moment he was filled with vindication, the knowledge that his efforts to do his fucking best hadn’t gone completely to waste.
Then there was just Johnny in his field of view again, and then he just saw red, as he charged again.
He was on the floor again, on top of Johnny, flinging fists and elbows at him, aiming for his face and his neck as much as he could through his blinding fury. His left arm was straining itself, trying to break out of its cast, just so he could truly give Johnny exactly what was fucking coming to him. Moments ago he’d been doing everything in his goddamn power to protect Johnny. Now he wanted to fucking end him.
There was that scattered bit of thought. The thought that he’d done everything he fucking could to look after these two. Everything possible to make sense of this fucked up island. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t make any fucking sense that he’d put his life on the line to protect Johnny and now he was slamming his fist into his face.
But Johnny had taken everything Roy had worked for and thrown it back in his face, and he was sick and fucking tired of all the bullshit he’d waded through, so you know what? He wasn’t gonna take this lying down.
Roy grabbed Johnny’s shirt with his good hand and slammed him back down into the ground with as much power as he could muster.
She was gone, and he had to ask Johnny if he was alright. They had spent two days walking all over the island for nothing, days they could've spent formulating a plan that still, up to this very moment, consisted of nothing, and he had to ask if he was alright. They had spent, wasted two days all because fucking Roy couldn't shut his mouth, all because between all three of them, somehow not one of them had noticed their companion leaving, and he had to ask if he was fucking alright, and the answer, in case Roy hadn't gotten the message yet was no, he was not alright, he would never be alright.
He'd been inches from Roy's throat. Then the ground rushed up to meet his face. And then Roy and his fists met his face. Multiple times. Bones cracked. Johnny's probably. Air rushed out of his lungs, involuntarily. His right eyelid swelled. Blood flowed from his nose, from the inside of his mouth. And it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Because Roy had caused all of this, Roy had brought those two days to waste, and yet somehow he got to have his retribution first. He got to throw the punches. Johnny needed blood. His blood. Needed to feel Roy squirm under his grip, and then fade away. Needed to vanquish him,
vanquish the blame. Make him pay. Because it was easier to blame someone else. To make someone else pay. It was easier personifying, anthropomorphizing all the regret and anger and disappointment into this human avatar, the one beating the shit out of him right now than it was to admit.
And so that's what he did. Faced all these demons, all this rage, and he fought with it. Head-on.
He leaned his head back, then smashed it into Roy's face. Pulled hard on his left arm.
He'd been inches from Roy's throat. Then the ground rushed up to meet his face. And then Roy and his fists met his face. Multiple times. Bones cracked. Johnny's probably. Air rushed out of his lungs, involuntarily. His right eyelid swelled. Blood flowed from his nose, from the inside of his mouth. And it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Because Roy had caused all of this, Roy had brought those two days to waste, and yet somehow he got to have his retribution first. He got to throw the punches. Johnny needed blood. His blood. Needed to feel Roy squirm under his grip, and then fade away. Needed to vanquish him,
vanquish the blame. Make him pay. Because it was easier to blame someone else. To make someone else pay. It was easier personifying, anthropomorphizing all the regret and anger and disappointment into this human avatar, the one beating the shit out of him right now than it was to admit.
And so that's what he did. Faced all these demons, all this rage, and he fought with it. Head-on.
He leaned his head back, then smashed it into Roy's face. Pulled hard on his left arm.
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
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Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
And Johnny went down fast. Dan was expecting some struggle to knock him over. It was pretty surprising. Movies and TV always made shit like that look like more of a challenge. In this second, it was terrifying. Was it much harder to kill someone?
But the reality they were in didn't give him more time to contemplate. Roy and Johnny were going to punch each other into hamburger unless the fight ended, and fuck Johnny for starting it. Dan didn't want to see either of them with blood coming out of their faces.
But if he got down on the ground on their level he'd just be the one bleeding out of his own face.
So he did the cowardly unmanly thing. He'd be ashamed of it if he'd done it in his regular life, but fuck it, this was SOTF. He aimed a vicious kick at Johnny's ribs. Dan had been hit in the ribs before during games. That shit could hurt.
But the reality they were in didn't give him more time to contemplate. Roy and Johnny were going to punch each other into hamburger unless the fight ended, and fuck Johnny for starting it. Dan didn't want to see either of them with blood coming out of their faces.
But if he got down on the ground on their level he'd just be the one bleeding out of his own face.
So he did the cowardly unmanly thing. He'd be ashamed of it if he'd done it in his regular life, but fuck it, this was SOTF. He aimed a vicious kick at Johnny's ribs. Dan had been hit in the ribs before during games. That shit could hurt.
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Pippi
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- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Pure, blind rage could only take you so far.
It wasn't as though Roy had a lot of other options. He hadn't taken more than a few classes to develop any actual fighting techniques. He had limited knowledge of boxing, MMA, taekwondo, judo, but that was it. Limited. And that was with two functional arms. Using his left would do more damage to himself than Johnny, never mind the overwhelming urge to bring it chopping down onto his neck.
So it was football that Roy drew his fighting style from; nothing but tackles and punches and brute goddamn force. Hitting the weak spots with punches and fierce elbow blows, aiming for the face and the neck and the stomach. Rain blows down on him. Don't give him a free second to block.
And for a few moments, it seemed like that was working.
Right up until the moment Roy pulled his fist back, aiming it for the center of Johnny's face, hoping to hear the sound of breaking bones, when Johnny reared back and slammed his forehead straight into Roy's own face.
There was the sound of breaking bones, all right. Breaking bones and blinding starlight flooding Roy's vision as he reeled back, thick, warm blood already pouring down over his lips. The wind, picking up now, felt like shards of glass being driven into his broken nose, but before Roy could regain his vision, he felt a horrible, wrenching sensation on his left arm, like it was being ripped apart, and he roared in agony, the pain so bad he felt bile rising up his throat. Already off balance, Roy fell, face first into the damp ground.
A moment of hush fell over him. He rolled onto his back, groaning loudly, spitting out blood, every tiny movement sending a spasm of pain ripping through him. He had to get back up, because any second now, Johnny wold be returning Roy's beatdown, and this time he wasn't gonna stop until Roy was a nothing but a lifeless husk, but it felt like his arm had been set ablaze, and the flames were now spreading through his entire body.
All he could do was lie on his back as the rain fell.
And wait.
And drag Johnny down to hell with him.
It wasn't as though Roy had a lot of other options. He hadn't taken more than a few classes to develop any actual fighting techniques. He had limited knowledge of boxing, MMA, taekwondo, judo, but that was it. Limited. And that was with two functional arms. Using his left would do more damage to himself than Johnny, never mind the overwhelming urge to bring it chopping down onto his neck.
So it was football that Roy drew his fighting style from; nothing but tackles and punches and brute goddamn force. Hitting the weak spots with punches and fierce elbow blows, aiming for the face and the neck and the stomach. Rain blows down on him. Don't give him a free second to block.
And for a few moments, it seemed like that was working.
Right up until the moment Roy pulled his fist back, aiming it for the center of Johnny's face, hoping to hear the sound of breaking bones, when Johnny reared back and slammed his forehead straight into Roy's own face.
There was the sound of breaking bones, all right. Breaking bones and blinding starlight flooding Roy's vision as he reeled back, thick, warm blood already pouring down over his lips. The wind, picking up now, felt like shards of glass being driven into his broken nose, but before Roy could regain his vision, he felt a horrible, wrenching sensation on his left arm, like it was being ripped apart, and he roared in agony, the pain so bad he felt bile rising up his throat. Already off balance, Roy fell, face first into the damp ground.
A moment of hush fell over him. He rolled onto his back, groaning loudly, spitting out blood, every tiny movement sending a spasm of pain ripping through him. He had to get back up, because any second now, Johnny wold be returning Roy's beatdown, and this time he wasn't gonna stop until Roy was a nothing but a lifeless husk, but it felt like his arm had been set ablaze, and the flames were now spreading through his entire body.
All he could do was lie on his back as the rain fell.
And wait.
And drag Johnny down to hell with him.
Johnny's ribs cracked. A screaming wrenched itself from his lungs. And so he stopped for a few seconds. Laid back on the ground, eyes closed, squeezed shut from the pain emanating everywhere.
Waves of ice and fire swept across his face, the small drizzles of rain mixing with the rivers of blood coming from his face. He let them pass for the meanwhile. Whining droned in the background, the only noise daring intrude on this scene. He wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop.
And then, for a few seconds, it felt like everything did. Silence. Darkness. Nothing but awareness,
Maybe he should have walked away, honestly. Don't let your emotions get the best of you, you know? You can't ever take anything back. Nothing you gave, and nothing you got. No refunds.
His mother worked in law and his father enforced the law. This was a principle or maxim or whatever that they lived by, something ever present in their day-to-day lives. Everyday, they faced people who would face years in prison because they lost their temper, lashed out on a cop. Brought a bit too much weed with them in the car. Drank a bit too much, thought they could handle going behind the wheels. Everyday, they met people that had made mistakes once. One too many times. And so, they brought those lessons back to the house, told Johnny and Brian to always be careful, to think wisely. That nothing could ever be taken back.
And here Johnny was, bleeding, lying on the ground hoping he could be an exception. Hoping that he could just go back a few seconds, and simply walk away. Or better yet, brave the storm, the deluge of grief, and come out of it with a few friends still. His friends.
And then those few seconds stopped. The rain came back, along with the pain. And that whining, that fucking whining. And he recognized it. And he remembered all the pain that whining had caused. And he wanted it to stop. To shut up. Forever.
You could never take anything back. But you could sure as hell give it back.
Johnny rolled over, straddled Roy. His hands closed around his neck.
Waves of ice and fire swept across his face, the small drizzles of rain mixing with the rivers of blood coming from his face. He let them pass for the meanwhile. Whining droned in the background, the only noise daring intrude on this scene. He wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop.
And then, for a few seconds, it felt like everything did. Silence. Darkness. Nothing but awareness,
Maybe he should have walked away, honestly. Don't let your emotions get the best of you, you know? You can't ever take anything back. Nothing you gave, and nothing you got. No refunds.
His mother worked in law and his father enforced the law. This was a principle or maxim or whatever that they lived by, something ever present in their day-to-day lives. Everyday, they faced people who would face years in prison because they lost their temper, lashed out on a cop. Brought a bit too much weed with them in the car. Drank a bit too much, thought they could handle going behind the wheels. Everyday, they met people that had made mistakes once. One too many times. And so, they brought those lessons back to the house, told Johnny and Brian to always be careful, to think wisely. That nothing could ever be taken back.
And here Johnny was, bleeding, lying on the ground hoping he could be an exception. Hoping that he could just go back a few seconds, and simply walk away. Or better yet, brave the storm, the deluge of grief, and come out of it with a few friends still. His friends.
And then those few seconds stopped. The rain came back, along with the pain. And that whining, that fucking whining. And he recognized it. And he remembered all the pain that whining had caused. And he wanted it to stop. To shut up. Forever.
You could never take anything back. But you could sure as hell give it back.
Johnny rolled over, straddled Roy. His hands closed around his neck.
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
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
It didn't work. Sure it had probably caused a bunch of fucking pain, but Dan hadn't attacked because he wanted to hurt Johnny. Usually he liked the guy pretty well. No, it was to stop him from continuing his attack on Roy. And it hadn't worked.
"Fuck," he breathed out in frustration.
Why was he so damn focused on Roy? Roy hadn't really done anything. Sure he'd made some comments here and there, but that was just talk. Everyone talked shit sometimes. It didn't give him the right to try and strangle him.
His jaw was clenched as his fist flew through the rain towards Johnny's scarred face. The other followed moments later. This guy wasn't going to choke out someone. Not on his watch. They'd kept it together too long to fall to pieces like this.
"Fuck," he breathed out in frustration.
Why was he so damn focused on Roy? Roy hadn't really done anything. Sure he'd made some comments here and there, but that was just talk. Everyone talked shit sometimes. It didn't give him the right to try and strangle him.
His jaw was clenched as his fist flew through the rain towards Johnny's scarred face. The other followed moments later. This guy wasn't going to choke out someone. Not on his watch. They'd kept it together too long to fall to pieces like this.