((Daniel was pretty sure he hadn’t already been shot in the head, but you wouldn’t have a hard time convincing him otherwise.))
pain sharp as the bone fragments that had burst from Mr. Dolph’s skull, boring themselves clear through the side of Daniel’s head and taking his brain along for the ride, scraping inside his skin, prying everything open like a nut or something except what’d spill out wouldn’t be anywhere near as appetizing unless you were nasty like that
Daniel quietly groaned. The floor didn’t feel great. He’d been lying there for a good five minutes which was probably long enough to have a definitive opinion on how comfortable a given surface was, and boy this wasn’t top-ten material.
He’d had headaches before, like he was a human being with a head, come on. Was this the worst? Hard to say, when trying to think about anything only made the pain bust down the door and start screaming even louder, a cacophony of wailing guitars stuck looping around the insides of his ears, drowning out all the other problems he should probably be worrying about.
Pain wasn’t pleasant. Shocker.
At some point in this agonized existence, an idea managed to get its foot in the door long enough to persevere through the door being slammed on said idea’s foot like ten discrete times in a row. Sorry, idea; that’s gotta suck. It was there, though. The idea. What was the idea?
Maybe his head would feel better if it wasn’t pressed up against a hard surface. There we go. That’s an idea. Daniel gathered his willpower, placed his hands against the wooden floorboards. Pushed himself to his knees. Was hit by a sudden wave of nausea, sending him reeling back to the floor, bumping his head just enough to feel like he’d just like, impaled himself on something.
He hadn’t. It just hurt. A whole lot, actually. He’d never thought that “Stand Up” would be an actual goal he’d have to work hard to attain at any point in his life unless he was like ninety years old, but here he was. On the floor, somewhere mysterious and very unpleasant. Yeah, better to think about the immediate pain than that existential feeling of creeping dread.
Introducing the new and improved Magical Knockout Gas! Some side effects may occur. You won’t like any of them. Sorry, buddy.
A Pity Sight for the Magpie
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delicateMachine
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Wham Yubeesling
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Hmph.
It seemed as if some people here were still to wake up.
((Maxwell Lombardi, continued from Meanwhile, On The Nation’s Favourite Reality Show…))
He could see the body on the floor. Next to the rug, between all the chairs and walls. It had been some while since Maxwell had left the room - since Maxwell had decided what he was going to do on this island - and it had been some sort of distance as well. Far from the bedroom, far from where he had woken up, but still in the same building. Still in the same vicinity. Admittedly, Maxwell had not been tracking his distance. The distance, the other rooms between then and now had been a blur, the… uninteresting surroundings leading to his focus being inward. His focus being on what he had just said. What he declared to himself he was going to do.
Survive.
Take his position at the top.
Be so unlike Mr. Dolph. Be so unlike all the people who had died in the previous game.
Be so unlike all the other people at this school. On this trip.
Stand above all of them.
Take his position at the top.
He could do that.
He could beat them.
But not now. Not here. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. Even though it would be easy to strangle the boy, end his life right here, what did that tell the others? What would that mean for Maxwell in the future?
Nothing good.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he was just a boy. It wasn’t as if he was some sort of porcelain dummy, laying on the ground specifically to be Maxwell’s target. He had a name. He had a face. One Maxwell recognized. One Maxwell had talked to. One that - so unlike many of the other people in this school - Maxwell respected. He was the founder of the book club. One that Maxwell had gone to to keep up commitments, to pursue his own hobbies. He was respectful. Interesting conversation. One that - admittedly - Maxwell regretted have to be here. On this island. On the floor of this cabin.
Likely dead within the following couple of days, if probability spoke for anything.
But he had a face.
He had a name.
Maybe Maxwell could still treat him like that, at least for a while.
“Daniel,” he said, standing in the doorframe of the room.
It seemed as if some people here were still to wake up.
((Maxwell Lombardi, continued from Meanwhile, On The Nation’s Favourite Reality Show…))
He could see the body on the floor. Next to the rug, between all the chairs and walls. It had been some while since Maxwell had left the room - since Maxwell had decided what he was going to do on this island - and it had been some sort of distance as well. Far from the bedroom, far from where he had woken up, but still in the same building. Still in the same vicinity. Admittedly, Maxwell had not been tracking his distance. The distance, the other rooms between then and now had been a blur, the… uninteresting surroundings leading to his focus being inward. His focus being on what he had just said. What he declared to himself he was going to do.
Survive.
Take his position at the top.
Be so unlike Mr. Dolph. Be so unlike all the people who had died in the previous game.
Be so unlike all the other people at this school. On this trip.
Stand above all of them.
Take his position at the top.
He could do that.
He could beat them.
But not now. Not here. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. Even though it would be easy to strangle the boy, end his life right here, what did that tell the others? What would that mean for Maxwell in the future?
Nothing good.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he was just a boy. It wasn’t as if he was some sort of porcelain dummy, laying on the ground specifically to be Maxwell’s target. He had a name. He had a face. One Maxwell recognized. One Maxwell had talked to. One that - so unlike many of the other people in this school - Maxwell respected. He was the founder of the book club. One that Maxwell had gone to to keep up commitments, to pursue his own hobbies. He was respectful. Interesting conversation. One that - admittedly - Maxwell regretted have to be here. On this island. On the floor of this cabin.
Likely dead within the following couple of days, if probability spoke for anything.
But he had a face.
He had a name.
Maybe Maxwell could still treat him like that, at least for a while.
“Daniel,” he said, standing in the doorframe of the room.
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The Honeless Beard
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A bowie knife, the manual had said, black block printing - large, friendly letters, a piece of him whispered, causing a slight grin to appear on his face - was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, clipped into the belt loops so that the sheath hung a half inch below the jersey he wore. Sweat beaded along his short-cropped head, a hand sliding across it and sending the sweat flying into the open breeze, his palm coming away damp, slightly gross.
He hadn't walked far since waking, Baxter judged. Sun didn't look too high - not that he'd been an expert on charting it.
The cabin crept closer with his uneven gait, his mouth pulled tight from pain. His leg sent little aching fingers up his thigh every time he stepped on it - must've slept wrong, or banged it back home. Muttering an occasional fuck with every third or so step, Baxter slowed his gait, eyes roving the windows of the cabin, hands clenching tight, releasing.
Then, decision made, he began moving towards the front door, fingers moving to his lips to let out a piercing, shrill whistle.
He hadn't walked far since waking, Baxter judged. Sun didn't look too high - not that he'd been an expert on charting it.
The cabin crept closer with his uneven gait, his mouth pulled tight from pain. His leg sent little aching fingers up his thigh every time he stepped on it - must've slept wrong, or banged it back home. Muttering an occasional fuck with every third or so step, Baxter slowed his gait, eyes roving the windows of the cabin, hands clenching tight, releasing.
Then, decision made, he began moving towards the front door, fingers moving to his lips to let out a piercing, shrill whistle.
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delicateMachine
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Oh. Someone was there.
That was the extent of Daniel's available emotional range that wasn't being taken up by a silent mantra of 'ow. ow, ow.' repeated over and over; though with slightly varying intonation and punctuation. Maybe throw in an "ow, ow, ow', or an 'ow!'! Pain was full of possibilities. Painbilities.
He stared at the shoes in front of him, unwilling and maybe unable (he wasn't gonna risk moving again and then having to puke on himself or at the very least the floor directly in front of his delicate nose to find out) to tilt his head even slightly to try and see the intruder's face. Nice shoes, though. Shiny. Black. It was easier to focus on stimulus that he could stare at, easier to try and connect the dots to find a thought.
Guy's voice sounded familiar. Guy recognized him. Guy was wearing fancy clothes to an aquarium of all places, Daniel didn't understand that, wouldn't you want to avoid the possibility of getting them wet?
He did the math, came to a rough conclusion. "Maxwell?" Except since he was still laying on the floor and in agony and maybe delirious, wasn't quite sure about that one yet, it came out more like a "Muh-well?"
Then some jerk whistled and stabbed Daniel right in the forehead, maybe between his eyes or a bit above that, maybe to the left, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when his hair was on fire and he was also dead.
He groaned, clutching his head and rolling over.
That was the extent of Daniel's available emotional range that wasn't being taken up by a silent mantra of 'ow. ow, ow.' repeated over and over; though with slightly varying intonation and punctuation. Maybe throw in an "ow, ow, ow', or an 'ow!'! Pain was full of possibilities. Painbilities.
He stared at the shoes in front of him, unwilling and maybe unable (he wasn't gonna risk moving again and then having to puke on himself or at the very least the floor directly in front of his delicate nose to find out) to tilt his head even slightly to try and see the intruder's face. Nice shoes, though. Shiny. Black. It was easier to focus on stimulus that he could stare at, easier to try and connect the dots to find a thought.
Guy's voice sounded familiar. Guy recognized him. Guy was wearing fancy clothes to an aquarium of all places, Daniel didn't understand that, wouldn't you want to avoid the possibility of getting them wet?
He did the math, came to a rough conclusion. "Maxwell?" Except since he was still laying on the floor and in agony and maybe delirious, wasn't quite sure about that one yet, it came out more like a "Muh-well?"
Then some jerk whistled and stabbed Daniel right in the forehead, maybe between his eyes or a bit above that, maybe to the left, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when his hair was on fire and he was also dead.
He groaned, clutching his head and rolling over.
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Wham Yubeesling
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“Nice to meet you too.”
And in a way - at the very least, in a way that actually meant something - it really was good that Daniel was here, speaking to Maxwell. Even if he was on the floor, even if he was slurring like an autist, he was still breathing, he was still speaking. He was still alive. Nobody else had killed yet, and if they did, they weren’t in this cabin. Admittedly, the possibility had been unlikely in his mind, but there was still a part of him that worried about it. That there were killers already. That they were here. That they could be around any corner, waiting for the perfect person to strike.
And given the ‘weapon’ that Maxwell had, given that he seemed to somehow induce a sense of sheer hatred by every person below him who wanted to be original, he imagined that he was that perfect person.
That perfect target. The perfect number.
The perfect victim for any aspiring sociopath who happened to come across him.
But that wasn’t something he had to worry about. Not yet, anyway.
At least, not until he heard the whistle. The rapping at the door.
The sounds from outside that made Maxwell question who exactly was making them.
And he ran the options in his head, considered the possibilities of what might happen. Who was out there? What was their intent? What weapon did they have? If Maxwell’s weapon was any indication, it was unlikely that everyone had something actually capable at keeping others at bay, but what if the person out there did?
...Well, if they didn’t, and if they were a threat, then Maxwell could take them, correct? He knew how to fight. He knew how to defend himself. Even if he had been unable to make his belt red, even if he might not be able to stand up to a gun, he was still physically stronger than nearly all the other people at this school.
So he made his choice, once again. He stepped away from Daniel. Towards the door. Opened it.
“B-”
And it became clear to Maxwell that he might not have made the correct choice.
“Baxter.”
And in a way - at the very least, in a way that actually meant something - it really was good that Daniel was here, speaking to Maxwell. Even if he was on the floor, even if he was slurring like an autist, he was still breathing, he was still speaking. He was still alive. Nobody else had killed yet, and if they did, they weren’t in this cabin. Admittedly, the possibility had been unlikely in his mind, but there was still a part of him that worried about it. That there were killers already. That they were here. That they could be around any corner, waiting for the perfect person to strike.
And given the ‘weapon’ that Maxwell had, given that he seemed to somehow induce a sense of sheer hatred by every person below him who wanted to be original, he imagined that he was that perfect person.
That perfect target. The perfect number.
The perfect victim for any aspiring sociopath who happened to come across him.
But that wasn’t something he had to worry about. Not yet, anyway.
At least, not until he heard the whistle. The rapping at the door.
The sounds from outside that made Maxwell question who exactly was making them.
And he ran the options in his head, considered the possibilities of what might happen. Who was out there? What was their intent? What weapon did they have? If Maxwell’s weapon was any indication, it was unlikely that everyone had something actually capable at keeping others at bay, but what if the person out there did?
...Well, if they didn’t, and if they were a threat, then Maxwell could take them, correct? He knew how to fight. He knew how to defend himself. Even if he had been unable to make his belt red, even if he might not be able to stand up to a gun, he was still physically stronger than nearly all the other people at this school.
So he made his choice, once again. He stepped away from Daniel. Towards the door. Opened it.
“B-”
And it became clear to Maxwell that he might not have made the correct choice.
“Baxter.”
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The Honeless Beard
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"'Lo," said Baxter, not breaking his limping gait for a moment. The grass beneath his feet was overgrown and thick, making soft swishing noises as he moved towards where the other boy was standing. His sneakers - once a pearly white - were already becoming stained green around the sides.
He carried the bag - Number Six - crosswise over one shoulder, cutting the silver numbers of his black jersey in half. His jeans were dusty, dirty down one pantleg, and upon closer inspection, his blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
Baxter's eyes traveled up and down Maxwell's form, his brow furrowing as the boy filled the doorway. He stepped up within arm's length of Maxwell, then stopped, stretching upwards to peer into the doorway, past the smaller boy, though he couldn't see much. He worried his lower lip with his teeth, drummed his fingers once on his stomach, and smiled with half of his mouth at Maxwell.
"You, ah," he continued, "you alone, red?"
He carried the bag - Number Six - crosswise over one shoulder, cutting the silver numbers of his black jersey in half. His jeans were dusty, dirty down one pantleg, and upon closer inspection, his blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
Baxter's eyes traveled up and down Maxwell's form, his brow furrowing as the boy filled the doorway. He stepped up within arm's length of Maxwell, then stopped, stretching upwards to peer into the doorway, past the smaller boy, though he couldn't see much. He worried his lower lip with his teeth, drummed his fingers once on his stomach, and smiled with half of his mouth at Maxwell.
"You, ah," he continued, "you alone, red?"
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delicateMachine
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Oh. Someone else was there. He was taller than Maxwell, so he blocked more of the light coming from the doorway. That was pretty nice, even though the invention of windows millennia ago kind of negated the reduction of tiny needles being stabbed continuously in his eyes.
Daniel tried closing his eyes for good measure, but that just made everything start to bounce around the darkness inside his head and that wasn't much fun for anybody. He considered rolling over again so he could actually see his guest, but he'd already had enough adventure for one day. The side of the floor he was currently lying on was a brand-new, mysterious element. Maybe he could negotiate with it.
Daniel tried closing his eyes for good measure, but that just made everything start to bounce around the darkness inside his head and that wasn't much fun for anybody. He considered rolling over again so he could actually see his guest, but he'd already had enough adventure for one day. The side of the floor he was currently lying on was a brand-new, mysterious element. Maybe he could negotiate with it.
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Wham Yubeesling
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Brandon Baxter was… not exactly the sort of person Maxwell had been hoping to see when he had opened that door. He was loud. He was angry. He was one of the footballers, which meant that he was… fairly large. Fairly well built. He was one of the people Maxwell wouldn’t be able to beat in a fight. One of the people that Maxwell just tried to avoid at school, given the less than ideal aspects of his personality. His anger issues. The fact that he just tended to explode at people for looking at him the wrong way. Admittedly, that could be entertaining. Admittedly, Baxter could be a fairly good pitbull, but he was too volatile. Too loud. Too likely to just start barking at Maxwell if he got close.
And of course - looking at his jeans - he was the one here with an actual weapon. A knife.
Better than what Maxwell had.
Something that - in the moment where he had made his choice to open the door - made Maxwell fear for his life, if only for a moment.
But his worries were for naught. Baxter was friendly. Maxwell had been paranoid for nothing.
Again.
He took a breath. Took a moment to consider that. Now it had been twice where he had considered the worst. Now it had been twice where he was wrong to think that. He knew that it would be idiotic to think the best of everything, he knew that things weren’t weren’t going to be positive from now on, but it annoyed him. He’d been wrong twice.
He let his mind sigh as he looked into Baxter’s eyes.
He supposed he had to just stop being incorrect from now on.
“Yes. Daniel’s in here. He’s, um…”
He paused.
Was it right to say this?
He shook his head. He just had to stop doubting himself.
“Not moving.”
And of course - looking at his jeans - he was the one here with an actual weapon. A knife.
Better than what Maxwell had.
Something that - in the moment where he had made his choice to open the door - made Maxwell fear for his life, if only for a moment.
But his worries were for naught. Baxter was friendly. Maxwell had been paranoid for nothing.
Again.
He took a breath. Took a moment to consider that. Now it had been twice where he had considered the worst. Now it had been twice where he was wrong to think that. He knew that it would be idiotic to think the best of everything, he knew that things weren’t weren’t going to be positive from now on, but it annoyed him. He’d been wrong twice.
He let his mind sigh as he looked into Baxter’s eyes.
He supposed he had to just stop being incorrect from now on.
“Yes. Daniel’s in here. He’s, um…”
He paused.
Was it right to say this?
He shook his head. He just had to stop doubting himself.
“Not moving.”
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The Honeless Beard
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Baxter's smile died, winked out of existence, a dead star where there once was gas. Without another word, Baxter moved past the smaller boy, who stepped aside with his forward momentum. He slid to his knees - stumbling a little when his shoes caught on one another, causing what would've been a smooth motion to be jerky and off balance - and bent low near Daniel's head.
He listened for a moment, then his eyes flicked back to Maxwell, an elbow leaning against his knee as he pulled the bag strap from around his shoulder and placed it on the floor. The black jersey rode up with the movement, revealing a black belt and the bowie knife sheath, handle gleaming gold at the tip, brown at the grip. Baxter unzipped the bag at his side, pulling out the huge flashlight they'd been supplied.
"Did you do this?"
He listened for a moment, then his eyes flicked back to Maxwell, an elbow leaning against his knee as he pulled the bag strap from around his shoulder and placed it on the floor. The black jersey rode up with the movement, revealing a black belt and the bowie knife sheath, handle gleaming gold at the tip, brown at the grip. Baxter unzipped the bag at his side, pulling out the huge flashlight they'd been supplied.
"Did you do this?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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“No,” Maxwell said, shaking his head. “He was like that when I got here.”
And Maxwell, admittedly, was worried. Not about Daniel, not about Baxter, but about himself. About how Baxter was talking. About the way he was looking at Maxwell. It made his hair stand on end. It gave Maxwell that tingly feeling. The type he didn’t want. When it was biting and tickling his arms and spreading. Going into his stomach. Going deeper into Maxwell. What would happen if Baxter - Brandon, he meant; Brandon - didn’t believe him? What would happen if he tried to retaliate against what Maxwell would have suppoedly done to what apparently seemed like Baxter’s friend?
A fight, most likely.
Not something good for Maxwell.
Not something Maxwell wanted to do.
But it wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t like the situation would go that way. It wasn’t as if Maxwell was lying, so he doubted Brandon would think that he would. There were signs - tells - that people could notice if someone was lying. They wouldn’t show if one was telling the truth.
Right?
He shook his head. Right. There wasn't anything to worry about.
At least, not yet.
“If I were to guess, I would imagine that it was shock immobilizing him, or something. I wouldn’t imagine that everyone took the…”
He saw the image again. The bullet going through the head of Mr. Dolph. Paused, for a moment.
…
Shook it off. Kept going.
“...Person… dying. Very well.”
He looked away, for a moment.
Saw the image one last time.
“He’s still alive. He responded when I called his name, if that helps you.”
And Maxwell, admittedly, was worried. Not about Daniel, not about Baxter, but about himself. About how Baxter was talking. About the way he was looking at Maxwell. It made his hair stand on end. It gave Maxwell that tingly feeling. The type he didn’t want. When it was biting and tickling his arms and spreading. Going into his stomach. Going deeper into Maxwell. What would happen if Baxter - Brandon, he meant; Brandon - didn’t believe him? What would happen if he tried to retaliate against what Maxwell would have suppoedly done to what apparently seemed like Baxter’s friend?
A fight, most likely.
Not something good for Maxwell.
Not something Maxwell wanted to do.
But it wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t like the situation would go that way. It wasn’t as if Maxwell was lying, so he doubted Brandon would think that he would. There were signs - tells - that people could notice if someone was lying. They wouldn’t show if one was telling the truth.
Right?
He shook his head. Right. There wasn't anything to worry about.
At least, not yet.
“If I were to guess, I would imagine that it was shock immobilizing him, or something. I wouldn’t imagine that everyone took the…”
He saw the image again. The bullet going through the head of Mr. Dolph. Paused, for a moment.
…
Shook it off. Kept going.
“...Person… dying. Very well.”
He looked away, for a moment.
Saw the image one last time.
“He’s still alive. He responded when I called his name, if that helps you.”
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The Honeless Beard
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Baxter listened, the fingers of his free hand gently probing the back of Daniel's head for any sort of bump, or scrape. Ah, it was like that when I got here. An oldie, but a goodie, as far as excuses went. Baxter didn't know Maxwell very well - other than a blown-out reputation and his penchant for ridiculous hair - but he had no real reason to doubt the story he was spinning. Daniel was moving - making sounds, too - but didn't seem physically hurt, no signs of damage on his clothes.
Maxwell's declaration went unacknowledged for the time being, as Baxter slid the flashlight around so that it was pointed at Daniel's face. He'd seen medical staff do this when someone on the field had taken a big hit - shine lights in their eyes, make them look around, checked for dilation. Baxter only kind of knew what he was looking for, admittedly, but it was doing something as opposed to doing nothing.
He reached a fingertip towards Daniel's eyelid, gently lifted it, and shone the beam directly in his face.
Maxwell's declaration went unacknowledged for the time being, as Baxter slid the flashlight around so that it was pointed at Daniel's face. He'd seen medical staff do this when someone on the field had taken a big hit - shine lights in their eyes, make them look around, checked for dilation. Baxter only kind of knew what he was looking for, admittedly, but it was doing something as opposed to doing nothing.
He reached a fingertip towards Daniel's eyelid, gently lifted it, and shone the beam directly in his face.
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delicateMachine
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"Ghhhhhhhh- duh. Dude. Dude," Daniel sputtered, trying to cover his eyes while simultaneously not moving more than he had to. He didn't do great at either.
Okay so maybe Daniel should have been paying more attention to the words in the background but like, they were behind him? In the back. You know what was also in the back? Of his head? Pain. The two kinda wrestled for dominance and while that was going on there was a wall to stare at, when he wasn't staring at the insides of his eyelids. He alternated between them, trying to figure out which was worse. The answer was both. Both were worse. It was downward spiral of bad.
And like, yeah it was weird when Brandon started poking the poke of his head but it wasn't like he was jabbing Daniel's head or anything. It barely registered in the not very grand scheme of things. Having a spotlight shined directly into his corneas is something that would've kinda grated even if he wasn't actually deceased at the moment, though. Was it the sun? Was he staring at the sun? Could he just like, move his head forward an inch and instantly incinerate his head and maybe stop feeling things?
Darn.
"'m nuh- uh, not moving. Yknow? I'm hereandthat's, fine. Ow. Owww." Looks like even that little bit of eloquence was too much for him to handle at the moment.
Okay so maybe Daniel should have been paying more attention to the words in the background but like, they were behind him? In the back. You know what was also in the back? Of his head? Pain. The two kinda wrestled for dominance and while that was going on there was a wall to stare at, when he wasn't staring at the insides of his eyelids. He alternated between them, trying to figure out which was worse. The answer was both. Both were worse. It was downward spiral of bad.
And like, yeah it was weird when Brandon started poking the poke of his head but it wasn't like he was jabbing Daniel's head or anything. It barely registered in the not very grand scheme of things. Having a spotlight shined directly into his corneas is something that would've kinda grated even if he wasn't actually deceased at the moment, though. Was it the sun? Was he staring at the sun? Could he just like, move his head forward an inch and instantly incinerate his head and maybe stop feeling things?
Darn.
"'m nuh- uh, not moving. Yknow? I'm hereandthat's, fine. Ow. Owww." Looks like even that little bit of eloquence was too much for him to handle at the moment.
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Wham Yubeesling
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Brandon didn’t respond. Didn’t look back. He just looked down at Daniel. Brought his flashlight out. Was that good? Was that ideal for Maxwell? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know whether Brandon believed him or not. He didn’t know what would happen if Brandon didn’t believe him. If Brandon would get angry. If there would be a fight.
And he knew that he could just leave, while Brandon was looking the other way. He didn’t have to risk Brandon being angry at him, he didn’t have to risk being here.
But that didn’t seem like the right idea either.
Nothing did.
So he stood there, right next to the doorframe, watching Daniel spasm and shudder to life.
And immediately, he felt a breath come out of his body. A knot in his chest he hadn’t realized he had.
At least Daniel was okay.
At least Maxwell could take solace in that.
And he knew that he could just leave, while Brandon was looking the other way. He didn’t have to risk Brandon being angry at him, he didn’t have to risk being here.
But that didn’t seem like the right idea either.
Nothing did.
So he stood there, right next to the doorframe, watching Daniel spasm and shudder to life.
And immediately, he felt a breath come out of his body. A knot in his chest he hadn’t realized he had.
At least Daniel was okay.
At least Maxwell could take solace in that.
Yaz wasn't sure what was going on but she knew there was a problem.
Her brain had woken up before her body and she couldn't breathe.
Suffocation wasn't the way she wanted to go but while he brain was aware of the danger and was trying to will her arms to move or at the very least force her body to roll over everything was dead weight. Her brain was filling in the feeling she should have had and sending the messages to the rest of her body but they weren't being received. Meanwhile her brain was busy telling her that there was a lack of fresh air entering her body and it couldn't breath.
Yaz tried screaming but again her body didn't comply and instead she produced a a muffled moan or the nearest equivalent. The air all around her face was getting warmer and her body still wasn't responding while her body began to panic. She tried screaming again to no avail.
Then suddenly her body woke up. Yaz planted her hands against the floor and pushed herself up, gasping for air. In her rush she didn't pay attention to her surroundings and rocked her head straight into the underside of the bed.
G04 - Yasmin Carrol: Start
Sleep paralysis was a motherfucker.
Yaz hissed to herself as she rubbed the back of her head with her hands. She had hit the wire mesh hard and there was a tender spot where her head had connected with it. It was nothing compared to her aching nose. She had been lain face down on an old wooden floor, under a bed, which explained all of her breathing problems. Her nose was suffering from it though. She had no idea how long she had been out but it wouldn't have made much difference considering the position she had been in.
As she moved around her head caught something else. Luckily it was softer, feeling it with her hands Yaz realised it was a bag of some sort. There was also the issue of the tightness around her throat but all of those mysteries and issues could wait momentarily.
Crawling out from under the bed Yaz found herself in an old run down wooden room. She guessed it was some sort of cabin maybe? She went to rub her throat but was met only with the cold metal of the collar.
Fuck.
That was a thing.
Her brain, still the most alert part of her walked her back through all the events that had led up to nearly suffocating under a bed.
Fuck.
It was all real then. Not some really fucked up prank show. There were cameras, Yaz could see one in the corner watching her. It had probably caught her mishap with the bed. The fucker. That was going to be someones memory of her. The girl who smacked her head on the bed. She sniffed a little and rubbed at her throat as much as she could with the collar in the way. Whoever had put it on her had made sure it was a tight as it could be.
Yaz turned her bag over, seeing big printed texts.
G04
Ignoring the fact she was now nothing more than a number Yaz opened the bag and rooted around inside it. She was quickly greeted by something with a leather grip, withdrawing it Yaz found herself holding a knife. It had a leather sheath and upon removing it Yaz found it was stained with blood. That was disconcerting. She sniffed again.
The blood was old but blood was still blood at the end of the day, it had belonged to someone or something originally. That issue could wait though. Yaz merely tucked the knife into her pocket and picked up her bag. She could hear some voices nearby so that seemed like the best place to go for the time being. She stood up, took a step and immediately fell into a wall as her legs gave out on her. Her head was spinning just from moving, whatever that gas was it had done a number on her.
Leaning on the wall Yaz edged her way across the room and out the door, eventually her legs got with the program and despite some stumbles she managed to get closer to the voices. As she entered the same room as them Yaz saw they belonged to three people. One she recognized from the hair was Billie Joe Jackson himself, Maxwell Lombardi. The other two she knew vaguely. Brandon and Daniel were their names...and that was the extent of her knowledge of them at the moment.
"Hey guys."
Her voice came out as a ghostly whisper her throat was so dry and tight.
Not the greatest introduction she could have hoped for.
Her brain had woken up before her body and she couldn't breathe.
Suffocation wasn't the way she wanted to go but while he brain was aware of the danger and was trying to will her arms to move or at the very least force her body to roll over everything was dead weight. Her brain was filling in the feeling she should have had and sending the messages to the rest of her body but they weren't being received. Meanwhile her brain was busy telling her that there was a lack of fresh air entering her body and it couldn't breath.
Yaz tried screaming but again her body didn't comply and instead she produced a a muffled moan or the nearest equivalent. The air all around her face was getting warmer and her body still wasn't responding while her body began to panic. She tried screaming again to no avail.
Then suddenly her body woke up. Yaz planted her hands against the floor and pushed herself up, gasping for air. In her rush she didn't pay attention to her surroundings and rocked her head straight into the underside of the bed.
G04 - Yasmin Carrol: Start
Sleep paralysis was a motherfucker.
Yaz hissed to herself as she rubbed the back of her head with her hands. She had hit the wire mesh hard and there was a tender spot where her head had connected with it. It was nothing compared to her aching nose. She had been lain face down on an old wooden floor, under a bed, which explained all of her breathing problems. Her nose was suffering from it though. She had no idea how long she had been out but it wouldn't have made much difference considering the position she had been in.
As she moved around her head caught something else. Luckily it was softer, feeling it with her hands Yaz realised it was a bag of some sort. There was also the issue of the tightness around her throat but all of those mysteries and issues could wait momentarily.
Crawling out from under the bed Yaz found herself in an old run down wooden room. She guessed it was some sort of cabin maybe? She went to rub her throat but was met only with the cold metal of the collar.
Fuck.
That was a thing.
Her brain, still the most alert part of her walked her back through all the events that had led up to nearly suffocating under a bed.
Fuck.
It was all real then. Not some really fucked up prank show. There were cameras, Yaz could see one in the corner watching her. It had probably caught her mishap with the bed. The fucker. That was going to be someones memory of her. The girl who smacked her head on the bed. She sniffed a little and rubbed at her throat as much as she could with the collar in the way. Whoever had put it on her had made sure it was a tight as it could be.
Yaz turned her bag over, seeing big printed texts.
G04
Ignoring the fact she was now nothing more than a number Yaz opened the bag and rooted around inside it. She was quickly greeted by something with a leather grip, withdrawing it Yaz found herself holding a knife. It had a leather sheath and upon removing it Yaz found it was stained with blood. That was disconcerting. She sniffed again.
The blood was old but blood was still blood at the end of the day, it had belonged to someone or something originally. That issue could wait though. Yaz merely tucked the knife into her pocket and picked up her bag. She could hear some voices nearby so that seemed like the best place to go for the time being. She stood up, took a step and immediately fell into a wall as her legs gave out on her. Her head was spinning just from moving, whatever that gas was it had done a number on her.
Leaning on the wall Yaz edged her way across the room and out the door, eventually her legs got with the program and despite some stumbles she managed to get closer to the voices. As she entered the same room as them Yaz saw they belonged to three people. One she recognized from the hair was Billie Joe Jackson himself, Maxwell Lombardi. The other two she knew vaguely. Brandon and Daniel were their names...and that was the extent of her knowledge of them at the moment.
"Hey guys."
Her voice came out as a ghostly whisper her throat was so dry and tight.
Not the greatest introduction she could have hoped for.
-
The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 892
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
"I think he might be okay," Baxter said, his lips twitching as he rose with a wince, putting his weight on his good leg to stand to his full height. He felt a little woozy when he stood to full height, taking a minute to make sure his balance was okay before crossing towards Maxwell, leaving Daniel to moan into the floorboards.
"No dilation in the pupils," he continued, voice soft to acquiesce to Daniel's pain, confidence in his words not at all translating to confidence in his medical ability. "And I didn't feel any bumps on his head. Probably right, just a shock type of thing."
At Yasmin's scratchy greeting, Baxter whirled around, taking another two steps towards Daniel before he fully registered who had spoken. Another person he vaguely remembered from school, a face in the halls.
"Yasmin, hey," he responded, giving her back the whispering tone she had going on. He waved her into the room with his fingers, standing halfway between Maxwell and Daniel, eyes trailing down to her hands, her waist, her bag.
"Have you seen anyone - else, yet," he whispered to the two of them.
"No dilation in the pupils," he continued, voice soft to acquiesce to Daniel's pain, confidence in his words not at all translating to confidence in his medical ability. "And I didn't feel any bumps on his head. Probably right, just a shock type of thing."
At Yasmin's scratchy greeting, Baxter whirled around, taking another two steps towards Daniel before he fully registered who had spoken. Another person he vaguely remembered from school, a face in the halls.
"Yasmin, hey," he responded, giving her back the whispering tone she had going on. He waved her into the room with his fingers, standing halfway between Maxwell and Daniel, eyes trailing down to her hands, her waist, her bag.
"Have you seen anyone - else, yet," he whispered to the two of them.