((Pia Malone continued from Fear and Loathing in Tiki Land))
They holed up in the back bedroom of the cabana, or rather, Pia wrapped Paisley in a blanket and shuffled her over there, piling their bags nearby. She cracked the window open, ignoring the chill. It was getting dark and if they had to bail for some reason, Pia wasn't keen on running through the building and possibly tripping over the mess on the porch.
Speaking of which... Pia sighed and fiddled with Paisley's blanket some more. She was stalling. In a way, it was too bad that whoever it was had run, because part of her was still itching for action. That's why she'd busied herself with moving Paisley and their stuff.
She needed action, because once the action ended, she would have to man up and face what she'd done. And what she'd done was fuck up, way, way more than she'd ever fucked up in her life.
Guns were harder to handle than they looked like, there was that. And Matt and Whoever-It-Was had been fighting and thrashing, in a way that had made it obvious that neither one knew what to do in a proper fight. And Matt has been shot already, bleeding and probably already dying, and really, hadn't she just sped things up a little bit? Gotten herself one step closer to home?
Pia sighed again and hugged her knees, much in the way that Paisley had done earlier. She'd had a lot of practice fooling herself over the last couple months, but here and now, it just wasn't going to stick. So grow a pair and face the music, girl, because covering your ears and going "I can't hear you" will just get you killed faster.
Alright, deep breath. She could do this. And wasn't it funny, how she could shoot up the whole damn place with barely a second thought, and then she had to give herself a pep talk to go and look at a corpse.
It had gotten colder as the sun went down and Pia's breath came in little white puffs as she stepped onto the porch. Her foot struck something and she jumped, swinging the gun at what turned out to be Matt's sunglasses, spinning away from the toe of her shoe. Heat rose in her cheeks, a little private moment of embarrassment in the dusk.
Except it wasn't private at all, was it. Thousands of people, millions even, were watching her mill around and distract herself, probably going "oh, look at poor little Pia, all bark and no bite, just like all those other little girls who went and got themselves killed". Just the thought of that made her grind her teeth.
She bent and picked up Matt's sunglasses, turning back towards him with determination. She was the Pink Diamond. She was Pia freakin' Malone and she was a goddamn badass, and she wasn't about to lose her nerve and prove all of those people right. Looking at him wasn't even that bad, really, not with the light almost gone and mostly hiding the extent of the mess.
Pia crouched, careful not to kneel in any of the gore, and eased the sunglasses back onto Matt's ruined face. "All I can do for ya, bud. Sorry." She let out a breath and stood, and was glad that anyone watching would probably attribute her shivering to the cold.
"Well, Shady, it was alright while it lasted." She turned and squared her shoulders, and managed to not look back as she headed inside again.
CAVE CAVE DEUS VIDET
((Riley Parker's story continues from Plot Twist))
It was getting late and Riley was cold and tired. That was a good sign it was time to hole up for the night. Wielding her flashlight in one hand and her knife in the other, Riley made a slow and cautious path down the beach to the cabanas, which according to her map were the nearest building to the part of the beach she was on.
The night was cold, and by the time she found the cabanas she was shuddering and trying to not bite her tongue with chattering teeth. God damn, wherever they were it sure as heck wasn't a traditional tropical island. It couldn't be said enough; how unfair was it, that of all the seasons to end up in a temperate climate it was hers, and of all the times of year to get picked it was winter? It sucked.
As Riley arrived at the cabana entrances, she spotted a brief flicker of movement. Her flashlight went up, giving a shaky spotlight as a girl she didn't recognize moved away from a corpse on the porch. Riley's heart stopped; was she witness to another murder already? She lowered her flashlight, losing sight of the building.
After carefully making her way to the porch, Riley's flashlight moved back up to the body. She recognized Matt: they clashed a lot, but he was an okay guy. Now he was dead. Riley supposed she should feel sad, but in a way, it was more like surprise. He seemed like a potential contender or a threat, not someone to die so quickly.
Another one bites the dust, and Riley Parker was closer to victory. Right? She knew the girl, who probably killed him, was still here, and she needed to be cautious. So she flicked off the flashlight and crouched, under the window of the cabana.
It was getting late and Riley was cold and tired. That was a good sign it was time to hole up for the night. Wielding her flashlight in one hand and her knife in the other, Riley made a slow and cautious path down the beach to the cabanas, which according to her map were the nearest building to the part of the beach she was on.
The night was cold, and by the time she found the cabanas she was shuddering and trying to not bite her tongue with chattering teeth. God damn, wherever they were it sure as heck wasn't a traditional tropical island. It couldn't be said enough; how unfair was it, that of all the seasons to end up in a temperate climate it was hers, and of all the times of year to get picked it was winter? It sucked.
As Riley arrived at the cabana entrances, she spotted a brief flicker of movement. Her flashlight went up, giving a shaky spotlight as a girl she didn't recognize moved away from a corpse on the porch. Riley's heart stopped; was she witness to another murder already? She lowered her flashlight, losing sight of the building.
After carefully making her way to the porch, Riley's flashlight moved back up to the body. She recognized Matt: they clashed a lot, but he was an okay guy. Now he was dead. Riley supposed she should feel sad, but in a way, it was more like surprise. He seemed like a potential contender or a threat, not someone to die so quickly.
Another one bites the dust, and Riley Parker was closer to victory. Right? She knew the girl, who probably killed him, was still here, and she needed to be cautious. So she flicked off the flashlight and crouched, under the window of the cabana.
(Paisley Hopkins continued from Fear and Loathing in Tiki Land.)
Paisley heard the announcements in her sleep.
The disembodied voice told her things, spat out names that were familiar but abhorrent. Paisley tried her hardest not to listen but the voice kept forcing it's way in. It was mocking her.
"Marcus Redder came up with one from the improv gang when he took a shard of glass to the neck of ..."
Marcus... No, that had to be a lie. In her mind, Paisley pressed a hand over her heart. Marcus Redder would never do something like that. Never. This is just a dream, it's all fake.
And that voice. Something-Daggers, so dry yet so cheerful. God, make it stop. She didn't want to listen to that voice, and that song. Paisley didn't even like rock, and the stomps and claps were giving her a headache. Paisley grabbed the pillow and covered her ear until the music stop and there was nothing but the sound of her heart drumming against her chest.
That was a couple of hours ago. Paisley didn't know that. She fell back to sleep soon after they came on. One moment, she was covering her ear, the next, she was shivering. Why was it so cold?
The familiar plush of pillow was wonderful against her cheek. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to go back to sleep. Paisley was in that state of tiredness where she could have slept for a whole weekend and still feel exhausted. But she could not go to sleep, the cold air made her skin prickle.
She sat up. Turning her head, Paisley looked out the window nearest the bed. Who opened the window? Her fingers clutched the sheets so that they settled over her shoulders. Running a hand through her razzled hair, she scanned the room, noticing the bags piled over by the closet. And Pia -
Oh. Pia. Paisley saw her from the open bedroom door. She smiled.
"Hey." A pause. What could she say? Paisley had to say something, didn't she? "Uhm... how are you feeling?"
Paisley heard the announcements in her sleep.
The disembodied voice told her things, spat out names that were familiar but abhorrent. Paisley tried her hardest not to listen but the voice kept forcing it's way in. It was mocking her.
"Marcus Redder came up with one from the improv gang when he took a shard of glass to the neck of ..."
Marcus... No, that had to be a lie. In her mind, Paisley pressed a hand over her heart. Marcus Redder would never do something like that. Never. This is just a dream, it's all fake.
And that voice. Something-Daggers, so dry yet so cheerful. God, make it stop. She didn't want to listen to that voice, and that song. Paisley didn't even like rock, and the stomps and claps were giving her a headache. Paisley grabbed the pillow and covered her ear until the music stop and there was nothing but the sound of her heart drumming against her chest.
That was a couple of hours ago. Paisley didn't know that. She fell back to sleep soon after they came on. One moment, she was covering her ear, the next, she was shivering. Why was it so cold?
The familiar plush of pillow was wonderful against her cheek. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to go back to sleep. Paisley was in that state of tiredness where she could have slept for a whole weekend and still feel exhausted. But she could not go to sleep, the cold air made her skin prickle.
She sat up. Turning her head, Paisley looked out the window nearest the bed. Who opened the window? Her fingers clutched the sheets so that they settled over her shoulders. Running a hand through her razzled hair, she scanned the room, noticing the bags piled over by the closet. And Pia -
Oh. Pia. Paisley saw her from the open bedroom door. She smiled.
"Hey." A pause. What could she say? Paisley had to say something, didn't she? "Uhm... how are you feeling?"
Pia flopped onto the bed. "I'm holding up, I guess." She rolled onto her side, setting her gun on the bedside table. "You?" She propped her head up on one arm. Sprawled out on the bed like this, talking casually, she could almost pretend that she and Paisley were having a sleepover like they'd done countless times over the years.
...Well, why not? She could use a little escapism right about now. The gun was in the corner of her vision and part of her was still perked for the sounds of someone approaching, but she could pretend.
"You wanna talk?" She could pretend.
...Well, why not? She could use a little escapism right about now. The gun was in the corner of her vision and part of her was still perked for the sounds of someone approaching, but she could pretend.
"You wanna talk?" She could pretend.
Listening to the faint voices inside, Riley was pretty sure they weren't the boy's killer. If they were, it probably wasn't on purpose; the two girls didn't sound like they were plotting so much as coping. So they were probably not threats. That was good. Riley shivered. Fuck it was cold out. She needed shelter, fast, or she'd be the one humiliating herself dying to weather conditions.
So now she needed to make a choice; go in, and risk her life, or stay outside, and continue to risk her life. If they girls were violent, or even just scared, they could kill her easily. The boy looked like he'd been shot, so if they'd killed him it'd been with a gun. Riley had no gun, which was bad. But if they hadn't killed him, it meant they were less likely to be hostile.
And she'd definitely die if she slept outside in winter with no protective gear. So she might as well go inside, and the other cabanas could easily contain ambushes, and that would suck worse than anything these two could offer.
She knocked on the door.
So now she needed to make a choice; go in, and risk her life, or stay outside, and continue to risk her life. If they girls were violent, or even just scared, they could kill her easily. The boy looked like he'd been shot, so if they'd killed him it'd been with a gun. Riley had no gun, which was bad. But if they hadn't killed him, it meant they were less likely to be hostile.
And she'd definitely die if she slept outside in winter with no protective gear. So she might as well go inside, and the other cabanas could easily contain ambushes, and that would suck worse than anything these two could offer.
She knocked on the door.
"That's good," Paisley responded, the blankets pulled up just under her chin. "My head kind of hurts, if I'm being honest. But I'll survive."
She smiled. It was good that Pia found her. Of course she wished that she was never brought here. Paisley didn't think her heart could handle being on her lonesome after... Well, Matt and Caroline. Pia was always so steadfast. Paisley always envied that quality.
Just as Paisley was about to respond, there was a sharp knock on the door. She leapt out of bed, spinning her head towards the back of the room. What if it was a scared kid from school looking for shelter? What if it was an ambush?
Paisley didn't want a repeat of Matt. She turned to Pia and shot her a look.
"Is the plan still on?" She said, low, but she held up a hand right after. "Don't answer that."
Think. She pressed a finger to her temple. The situation was a dichotomy for her between diplomacy and anarchy. Paisley recognized the inherent fallacy, a false dilemma, so there had to be an alternative. Paisley shuffled to the open window. No one.
"We can escape through here," Paisley stated, as if Pia didn't already figure that out. "Okay. You should answer that. Take my gun with you though. It's scarier looking. I'll stay back, keep a quick look out at the window." She frowned. "Just be careful, okay?"
She smiled. It was good that Pia found her. Of course she wished that she was never brought here. Paisley didn't think her heart could handle being on her lonesome after... Well, Matt and Caroline. Pia was always so steadfast. Paisley always envied that quality.
Just as Paisley was about to respond, there was a sharp knock on the door. She leapt out of bed, spinning her head towards the back of the room. What if it was a scared kid from school looking for shelter? What if it was an ambush?
Paisley didn't want a repeat of Matt. She turned to Pia and shot her a look.
"Is the plan still on?" She said, low, but she held up a hand right after. "Don't answer that."
Think. She pressed a finger to her temple. The situation was a dichotomy for her between diplomacy and anarchy. Paisley recognized the inherent fallacy, a false dilemma, so there had to be an alternative. Paisley shuffled to the open window. No one.
"We can escape through here," Paisley stated, as if Pia didn't already figure that out. "Okay. You should answer that. Take my gun with you though. It's scarier looking. I'll stay back, keep a quick look out at the window." She frowned. "Just be careful, okay?"
Pia couldn't help getting a little huffy when someone went and knocked on their door. The nerves came surging back just a moment later, but indignity came first. Come on, it was late and she'd just laid down.
Paisley was on edge again almost immediately. The plan was indeed still on. Over the last couple hours when she was distracting herself, Pia had been tweaking and adjusting and reviewing in her head, but the plan, such as it was, was definitely still on.
Keep Paisley safe, hook back up with Caroline and whoever else, and do what she had to do to get them to victory. A million little doubts and "but"s and "what-if"s kept trying to resurface, so many other people than Paisley, Caroline, and the last two, but Paisley was all Pia had in the here and now, and that was what she was going to fight for.
She slid off the bed, rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath before picking up Paisley's gun. It was heavier, didn't sit as well in her hands as the Vektor. She wasn't really sure she was even holding it correctly, but she didn't have all night to try and figure it out.
"I'll be fine," she told Paisley. "If things go sour, don't hang around, just bail out the window. I'll be right behind you." Pia chewed her lip for a moment and then added, "Hang onto my gun."
She turned and strode into the front of the cabana, just as another knock sounded. She stopped a good few feet back, enough that she'd be out of reach even if whoever came through the door was some kind of giant with gorilla arms.
"It's open," she called.
The door slowly opened, revealing a girl that Pia didn't recognize.
"Hold it." Time slowed to a crawl as the new girl registered the gun and tensed, and Pia raised the barrel just slightly. Cool and serious, not jerky and aggressive. Like she knew what she was doing.
"What color is your bandanna, Hoodie?"
Paisley was on edge again almost immediately. The plan was indeed still on. Over the last couple hours when she was distracting herself, Pia had been tweaking and adjusting and reviewing in her head, but the plan, such as it was, was definitely still on.
Keep Paisley safe, hook back up with Caroline and whoever else, and do what she had to do to get them to victory. A million little doubts and "but"s and "what-if"s kept trying to resurface, so many other people than Paisley, Caroline, and the last two, but Paisley was all Pia had in the here and now, and that was what she was going to fight for.
She slid off the bed, rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath before picking up Paisley's gun. It was heavier, didn't sit as well in her hands as the Vektor. She wasn't really sure she was even holding it correctly, but she didn't have all night to try and figure it out.
"I'll be fine," she told Paisley. "If things go sour, don't hang around, just bail out the window. I'll be right behind you." Pia chewed her lip for a moment and then added, "Hang onto my gun."
She turned and strode into the front of the cabana, just as another knock sounded. She stopped a good few feet back, enough that she'd be out of reach even if whoever came through the door was some kind of giant with gorilla arms.
"It's open," she called.
The door slowly opened, revealing a girl that Pia didn't recognize.
"Hold it." Time slowed to a crawl as the new girl registered the gun and tensed, and Pia raised the barrel just slightly. Cool and serious, not jerky and aggressive. Like she knew what she was doing.
"What color is your bandanna, Hoodie?"
Hurried whispers before an invitation. Riley hesitantly entered; this was risky, but it was better than being out in the cold. Immediately questions were raised. Hoodie? How nice. Riley brushed it off; normally she'd be annoyed, but exceptions had to be made for now. Pissing people off on SOTF out of spite was a poor life decision if there ever was one.
She also had a large gun, which was a good motivator to stay civil. Riley wished yet again that she had a gun rather than the knife in her hoodie pocket, but there was nothing she could do about that, at least not for now. Being shot was something she could avoid, though; she just needed to not cheese people off.
"I'm Honey Badgers, but I'm not looking for trouble." She began letting her voice crack, hopefully good for sympathy. "It's freezing and I'm just looking for a place to rest for the night. Is it okay if I stay here?"
She looked down at the gun in the girl's hand. "If you want, I'll just leave and find somewhere else." She looked back towards the door.
She also had a large gun, which was a good motivator to stay civil. Riley wished yet again that she had a gun rather than the knife in her hoodie pocket, but there was nothing she could do about that, at least not for now. Being shot was something she could avoid, though; she just needed to not cheese people off.
"I'm Honey Badgers, but I'm not looking for trouble." She began letting her voice crack, hopefully good for sympathy. "It's freezing and I'm just looking for a place to rest for the night. Is it okay if I stay here?"
She looked down at the gun in the girl's hand. "If you want, I'll just leave and find somewhere else." She looked back towards the door.
((Permission to skip given by Ciel))
No gun pointed back at her, at least. The unfamiliar bandanna was a letdown, but Pia supposed that running into anyone from either the Bears or Scorpions after Matt and Caroline would have been ridiculously lucky.
The girl said she wasn't looking for trouble. Pia looked her over critically once more before lowering the gun just a fraction. "We don't want any trouble either."
Shoot her, the people behind the cameras were probably saying. You don't know her, you don't owe her anything, shoot her now before she decides she is looking for trouble after all.
Pia's finger brushed the trigger. "We're looking for the Bronze Bears. Have you seen anyone with that bandanna, and if you did, where were they?"
No gun pointed back at her, at least. The unfamiliar bandanna was a letdown, but Pia supposed that running into anyone from either the Bears or Scorpions after Matt and Caroline would have been ridiculously lucky.
The girl said she wasn't looking for trouble. Pia looked her over critically once more before lowering the gun just a fraction. "We don't want any trouble either."
Shoot her, the people behind the cameras were probably saying. You don't know her, you don't owe her anything, shoot her now before she decides she is looking for trouble after all.
Pia's finger brushed the trigger. "We're looking for the Bronze Bears. Have you seen anyone with that bandanna, and if you did, where were they?"
Riley shook her head. "I haven't, at least, I don't think I have."
At least her gambit was paying off; they didn't seem violent, at least not for now. And there wasn't much point stringing her along when killing her now would be easy.
So for now, she was safe.
Riley looked around the room. "Mind if I sit down? I've been walking like all day."
At least her gambit was paying off; they didn't seem violent, at least not for now. And there wasn't much point stringing her along when killing her now would be easy.
So for now, she was safe.
Riley looked around the room. "Mind if I sit down? I've been walking like all day."
The gun felt heavy in her hand as she slid the magazine back into the chamber. She slapped it in with a soft click. Then, taking a quick glance at the manual, she took hold of the slide and pulled it back. Ch-chnk.
Well. That was a lot easier than she expected. As morbid as her situation was, hearing that sound made Paisley smile. Only hours ago she was beside herself, but now? She was adapting. She dreaded the thought of actually using it, but learning how to load the gun so quickly filled Paisley's chest with a large amount of pride.
Pia wouldn't mind that Paisley took the manual from her daypack, right? While Paisley didn't receive a manual herself(screwdrivers are pretty straightforward!), she figured that there must be some documentation on handling a gun. Paisley was under the assumption that most of the kids on the island with her had very little experience with firearms. If the showrunners wanted them to kill each other, they would have to include instructions!
Turns out her postulation was half-correct. She felt a bit guilty, digging through Pia's backpack without even asking for permission. On the bright side, Paisley didn't find anything embarrassing? Like a diary? Pia didn't seem the type to keep a diary, and if she did, well, Paisley wasn't sure if she could keep herself from taking a peek. Thankfully she didn't see anything like that. It only took a few seconds for her to find the manual and start flipping through it. She would have put the manual back before Pia noticed, though.
Paisley didn't know much about guns. She only just learned the name of this one, the "Vektor SP1". It sounded cool, though Paisley was more worried about it's practicality. Loading it was easy, sure, but was it useful? Would she be able to use it if she had to?
Then again, hypothetically speaking, she didn't have to use it at all. Honestly, Paisley could easily take care of herself with the broom pole. But a broom could not stop a bullet. So she she had to learn, whether she wanted to or not.
Turning the page, Paisley focused on her grip but mainly keeping her attention squarely on crack in the door. She pointed the pistol ahead with both hands, through the opening in the door. She checked the sights before lowering it to her hip. Just as the manual said. She couldn't see who it was, only making out Pia's figure and a vague shadow, Paisley had checked the window first and thankfully there was no signs of a second person.
It was a girl. The voice was raspy but cracking with a feminine twang. The rasp suggested that the individual was a smoker, of what Paisley couldn't surmise. Or it could just be her natural voice. Or she had a cold. It was hard to make out distinguishing marks about a person from just their voice alone. She needed to see this girl's face to be able to find anything concrete.
It occurred to Paisley that not everyone in this sick, pathetic excuse for a game wanted to play. But that did not change the fact that the plan was still theoretically on. Pia needed nine more. There can only be one.
In a perfect world, Paisley would make it out with Tucker, Pia and Mar... just Tucker and Pia. But she wasn't stupid. Oh sure, she could hope and pray that Tucker was still alive until the cows came home but... It would be foolish to go waddling all over the island looking for him. That's if she didn't hyperventilate again. Pia was all she had and Paisley trusted her. So she decided she wasn't going to run. If something happened, she would stay and fight.
Paisley turned and looked back at the window again. As gracefully as she leapt from mental tightrope to tightrope, Paisley prayed it would not come to that.
Well. That was a lot easier than she expected. As morbid as her situation was, hearing that sound made Paisley smile. Only hours ago she was beside herself, but now? She was adapting. She dreaded the thought of actually using it, but learning how to load the gun so quickly filled Paisley's chest with a large amount of pride.
Pia wouldn't mind that Paisley took the manual from her daypack, right? While Paisley didn't receive a manual herself(screwdrivers are pretty straightforward!), she figured that there must be some documentation on handling a gun. Paisley was under the assumption that most of the kids on the island with her had very little experience with firearms. If the showrunners wanted them to kill each other, they would have to include instructions!
Turns out her postulation was half-correct. She felt a bit guilty, digging through Pia's backpack without even asking for permission. On the bright side, Paisley didn't find anything embarrassing? Like a diary? Pia didn't seem the type to keep a diary, and if she did, well, Paisley wasn't sure if she could keep herself from taking a peek. Thankfully she didn't see anything like that. It only took a few seconds for her to find the manual and start flipping through it. She would have put the manual back before Pia noticed, though.
Paisley didn't know much about guns. She only just learned the name of this one, the "Vektor SP1". It sounded cool, though Paisley was more worried about it's practicality. Loading it was easy, sure, but was it useful? Would she be able to use it if she had to?
Then again, hypothetically speaking, she didn't have to use it at all. Honestly, Paisley could easily take care of herself with the broom pole. But a broom could not stop a bullet. So she she had to learn, whether she wanted to or not.
Turning the page, Paisley focused on her grip but mainly keeping her attention squarely on crack in the door. She pointed the pistol ahead with both hands, through the opening in the door. She checked the sights before lowering it to her hip. Just as the manual said. She couldn't see who it was, only making out Pia's figure and a vague shadow, Paisley had checked the window first and thankfully there was no signs of a second person.
It was a girl. The voice was raspy but cracking with a feminine twang. The rasp suggested that the individual was a smoker, of what Paisley couldn't surmise. Or it could just be her natural voice. Or she had a cold. It was hard to make out distinguishing marks about a person from just their voice alone. She needed to see this girl's face to be able to find anything concrete.
It occurred to Paisley that not everyone in this sick, pathetic excuse for a game wanted to play. But that did not change the fact that the plan was still theoretically on. Pia needed nine more. There can only be one.
In a perfect world, Paisley would make it out with Tucker, Pia and Mar... just Tucker and Pia. But she wasn't stupid. Oh sure, she could hope and pray that Tucker was still alive until the cows came home but... It would be foolish to go waddling all over the island looking for him. That's if she didn't hyperventilate again. Pia was all she had and Paisley trusted her. So she decided she wasn't going to run. If something happened, she would stay and fight.
Paisley turned and looked back at the window again. As gracefully as she leapt from mental tightrope to tightrope, Paisley prayed it would not come to that.
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Latin For Dragula
- Posts: 399
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 10:28 pm
((Vahka Basayev continued from It's Dangerous to Go Alone, Take This))
There are three things an artist can do with a mistake.
First, they can fix it. Erase a bad line from a sketch, correct a foul in the routine, go back and practice over a sour note in the bar. That was the easy way. Just a matter of time.
The second option was to hide it. Maybe you were rushed and didn't have time to correct that shading. Maybe someone was listening to that trill you fucked up. Maybe fixing it wasn't an option. So you down play that shit as hard as you can, and hope nobody calls you on it.
Then there was Vahka's favorite option, brought to his attention by the immortal Arthur T. Read: Own it. Pretend like it was all part of the plan. You didn't make a mistake, you were just adding personal flair. It required a hell of a lot more effort, but if it was good enough for Arthur and his fuckin' piano solo, it was good enough for him.
That's why he listened to Marcus's voice echo out from the announcements with a knowing, if delayed smile and a slight chuckle, instead of the shock he was feeling internally. He never expected Marcus to kill. He barely expected him to survive after how poorly their encounter had gone. But the crazy little bastard had managed.
From a certain perspective, that meant Marcus was a mistake. On an emotional level, he'd killed one of Vahka's friends. One that Vahka had abandoned, yeah, but one he'd made a conscious decision not to fuck with. That crossed some sort of line.
On a more practical level, it meant that Marcus was still a potential threat. Maybe more of one than he'd been before their fight, since now he was desperate and apparently out for blood. That didn't fit the Marcus he knew, but the Marcus he knew had never been put through anything like their little scuffle. Looked like he was a fast adapter.
In short? He fucked up. But he wasn't going to show it. Not for the camera. For the camera, everything was going according to plan.
He didn't dwell on the moment. Instead, he kept advancing towards the back of one-floor, wooden building in front of him, his newly acquired sword resting flatly on his shoulder and his partner in crime at his back. To the outside world, there was no hint of distress or planning. There was only self-assurance, care-free arrogance, written all over his face. Just the way he wanted it to be.
His train of thought was brought to a halt by movement in the back window. They weren't alone anymore, and he wasn't quite as anonymous as he was a few hours ago. Then again, the face in the window wasn't exactly a stranger either.
Paisley.
There are three things an artist can do with a mistake.
First, they can fix it. Erase a bad line from a sketch, correct a foul in the routine, go back and practice over a sour note in the bar. That was the easy way. Just a matter of time.
The second option was to hide it. Maybe you were rushed and didn't have time to correct that shading. Maybe someone was listening to that trill you fucked up. Maybe fixing it wasn't an option. So you down play that shit as hard as you can, and hope nobody calls you on it.
Then there was Vahka's favorite option, brought to his attention by the immortal Arthur T. Read: Own it. Pretend like it was all part of the plan. You didn't make a mistake, you were just adding personal flair. It required a hell of a lot more effort, but if it was good enough for Arthur and his fuckin' piano solo, it was good enough for him.
That's why he listened to Marcus's voice echo out from the announcements with a knowing, if delayed smile and a slight chuckle, instead of the shock he was feeling internally. He never expected Marcus to kill. He barely expected him to survive after how poorly their encounter had gone. But the crazy little bastard had managed.
From a certain perspective, that meant Marcus was a mistake. On an emotional level, he'd killed one of Vahka's friends. One that Vahka had abandoned, yeah, but one he'd made a conscious decision not to fuck with. That crossed some sort of line.
On a more practical level, it meant that Marcus was still a potential threat. Maybe more of one than he'd been before their fight, since now he was desperate and apparently out for blood. That didn't fit the Marcus he knew, but the Marcus he knew had never been put through anything like their little scuffle. Looked like he was a fast adapter.
In short? He fucked up. But he wasn't going to show it. Not for the camera. For the camera, everything was going according to plan.
He didn't dwell on the moment. Instead, he kept advancing towards the back of one-floor, wooden building in front of him, his newly acquired sword resting flatly on his shoulder and his partner in crime at his back. To the outside world, there was no hint of distress or planning. There was only self-assurance, care-free arrogance, written all over his face. Just the way he wanted it to be.
His train of thought was brought to a halt by movement in the back window. They weren't alone anymore, and he wasn't quite as anonymous as he was a few hours ago. Then again, the face in the window wasn't exactly a stranger either.
Paisley.
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Un-Persona*
- Posts: 189
- Joined: Mon Sep 17, 2018 4:55 am
((Vincent Holway: RBP1 - TV2 - Last Time In It's Dangerous To Go Alone, Take This))
Vincent realized that he didn't hear many names he knew on the announcements, and the ones he did, he didn't know well. Therefore, he hadn't thought much about them once they ended. It was just a recap of the useless weeds who had been cut down in the early shillings of the game. The only thing that of some use was the name of the dangerzone areas, and even those lost their importance once they were no longer any sort of threat.
He wasn't ignorant enough to dismiss the announcements entirely, but until the time came where one of them would help him in any manner, they were meaningless. He didn't particularly care for the music either. It was the type of song they would play at a baseball game when the home team scored. He grimaced at the thought of them playing something so...peppy should he die and announce his name.
Vince sneered at the thought of him dying. As if. The game couldn't afford to lose him, one of the very few who'd make a respectful winner. At the very least, a presentable one. He had even changed into the costume they had given him, cap and strapped boots and gloves and all. It was a comfortably snug military uniform. Seemed to fit just right for him. Made him feel stronger. And less cold. That was also a plus.
Speaking of strong, Vincent couldn't help but to admire Vahka right now. He held the sword properly on his shoulder, relaxed, but also confident. It was as if it was nothing, that Vahka was always meant to wield the Zweihander. Maybe fate usually worked out like this.
Neverminding that, they continued to march, sword and knife in accord respectively, across the island. Maybe to find more recruits, or simply conquer wherever they come across for the moment, leisurely. They had halted for the moment, Vahka as if he were in a trance or in wonderment. Vincent looked where Vahka was looking, a girl in a window in his field of vision.
Vincent slowly reached for his knife, placed in back of his costume's belt, feeling the leather gloves touch and rub the steel of the blade.
Vincent realized that he didn't hear many names he knew on the announcements, and the ones he did, he didn't know well. Therefore, he hadn't thought much about them once they ended. It was just a recap of the useless weeds who had been cut down in the early shillings of the game. The only thing that of some use was the name of the dangerzone areas, and even those lost their importance once they were no longer any sort of threat.
He wasn't ignorant enough to dismiss the announcements entirely, but until the time came where one of them would help him in any manner, they were meaningless. He didn't particularly care for the music either. It was the type of song they would play at a baseball game when the home team scored. He grimaced at the thought of them playing something so...peppy should he die and announce his name.
Vince sneered at the thought of him dying. As if. The game couldn't afford to lose him, one of the very few who'd make a respectful winner. At the very least, a presentable one. He had even changed into the costume they had given him, cap and strapped boots and gloves and all. It was a comfortably snug military uniform. Seemed to fit just right for him. Made him feel stronger. And less cold. That was also a plus.
Speaking of strong, Vincent couldn't help but to admire Vahka right now. He held the sword properly on his shoulder, relaxed, but also confident. It was as if it was nothing, that Vahka was always meant to wield the Zweihander. Maybe fate usually worked out like this.
Neverminding that, they continued to march, sword and knife in accord respectively, across the island. Maybe to find more recruits, or simply conquer wherever they come across for the moment, leisurely. They had halted for the moment, Vahka as if he were in a trance or in wonderment. Vincent looked where Vahka was looking, a girl in a window in his field of vision.
Vincent slowly reached for his knife, placed in back of his costume's belt, feeling the leather gloves touch and rub the steel of the blade.
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Shoot her now.
Shoot her now, and you don't have to waste time making small talk with someone you never would have met if you weren't in this mess. Get your name out there, let people know you're not messing around. Get the ones who matter to come looking for you, if they're here.
"Sure, you can sit. Dunno if it'd really be a good idea for you to spend the night, but I don't mind if you rest for a while." Pia could hear Paisley moving in the other room, but she didn't turn to look, just in case Hoodie did have something up her sleeve.
Pia relaxed her arms, but didn't lower the gun completely. She didn't know how it would feel to fire it, but the Vektor had given her trouble enough, and it was tiny in comparison. She wasn't keen on getting all bruised up from firing off this monster of a gun, but that didn't mean she couldn't use it.
At least it was a good, hefty weight.
"Traveling alone, then? Lookin' for your friends?" Pia wondered how this girl had felt, hearing so many names on the announcements, seeing Matt's body on the front porch. A lot of the dead were unfamiliar to her, but for someone from the other school, each and every name listed would be a punch to the gut.
Shoot her now, and you don't have to waste time making small talk with someone you never would have met if you weren't in this mess. Get your name out there, let people know you're not messing around. Get the ones who matter to come looking for you, if they're here.
"Sure, you can sit. Dunno if it'd really be a good idea for you to spend the night, but I don't mind if you rest for a while." Pia could hear Paisley moving in the other room, but she didn't turn to look, just in case Hoodie did have something up her sleeve.
Pia relaxed her arms, but didn't lower the gun completely. She didn't know how it would feel to fire it, but the Vektor had given her trouble enough, and it was tiny in comparison. She wasn't keen on getting all bruised up from firing off this monster of a gun, but that didn't mean she couldn't use it.
At least it was a good, hefty weight.
"Traveling alone, then? Lookin' for your friends?" Pia wondered how this girl had felt, hearing so many names on the announcements, seeing Matt's body on the front porch. A lot of the dead were unfamiliar to her, but for someone from the other school, each and every name listed would be a punch to the gut.
Riley shrugged. "Just...trying to get by, really. Not keen to die, you know what I mean?" Riley looked at the gun in the other girl's hand; it was a pretty big rifle, to say the least, and Riley was more than a little intimidated. But she wasn't going to show it. Fear was weakness in SOTF, and that'd make her an easy target in this situation.
Confidence. That was one of her limited tools right now, and she needed to keep it going.
Riley looked towards the nearest seat, a little wood chair, and set herself down with a sigh of relief. Walking was not Riley's forte, so the kind of exhaustion that had set in from all the traveling was not familiar to Riley. Now that she could rest, Riley desperately wanted to take a nap, but that wasn't an option right now.
"So what's your story? Just going around?"
Confidence. That was one of her limited tools right now, and she needed to keep it going.
Riley looked towards the nearest seat, a little wood chair, and set herself down with a sigh of relief. Walking was not Riley's forte, so the kind of exhaustion that had set in from all the traveling was not familiar to Riley. Now that she could rest, Riley desperately wanted to take a nap, but that wasn't an option right now.
"So what's your story? Just going around?"