Surprisingly, things didn't get worse. Not at all. Actually, they got a bit better. Someone else came over to help. And someone... someone was soothing him. Saying nice things. Helping him feel better. Trying to coax him into standing up, keeping moving. That's right, they had to move. Had to keep mobile, or else they'd really be in trouble. Someone would come and kill them. It was, after all, The Program.
It was The Program, and he'd been crying, and people had helped him. People he'd never have expected to give him a second glance had been decent to him. No, more than that, Juliet Watanabe had been decent to him, had helped him out. Had taken him hostage, too. She was not the easiest person to figure out. Perhaps it all had something to do with honor or some other abstract ideal. Right now, though, that was irrelevant. Karl had been sufficiently distracted to calm down a little. His jaw hurt like mad. He was still sniffling, leaking tears and blood and snot, but he was at least somewhat mobile.
He looked at Juliet. Blinked. Dug in his pocket for a tissue, and tried to wipe the worst of the gunk off his face.
She was right. They had to get moving. Had to go before someone worse than Bryant came along. He couldn't even begin to figure out what had stopped the boy from taking things further, from—no, that wasn't true. Juliet had stopped him. Their status as a team, forced or not, had probably saved Karl's life.
It was just too confusing.
He still hurt. Was still dizzy. But they'd made a lot of noise. It was time to try to stop crying and listen to Juliet.
"I-I'll be fine," he said. "A-and... thanks."
Strange Fruit
Moderator: Sh4dE
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Bryant sat back on his heels, listening to what Tyler said. He still believed that what Tyler was saying was some of the stupidest shit he'd heard since he woke up, but the kid was so...goddamn...sincere about it that Bryant was taken aback. This kid really believed that all that needed to happen was everybody had to just sit tight, sit Indian-style in a circle and sing Kumbaya and everyone would get out alive.
Bryant never had respect for a white person in his life. Ever (except maybe that muscled chick from the weight room). But this kid, somehow, by being so blissfully ignorant and sticking to it, was garnering just a bit of it. That and he reassured Bryant he was ready to get down and dirty if the situation called for it. That Bryant believed him on. Just because the wrestlers looked like male strippers in those singlets didn't mean they couldn't fuck somebody up.
"Hey, I'm 'bout to tell you like it is. I'm sure you believe what you talking, but somebody fucks with me, they gettin' fucked with." Bryant looked over at Karl, who was getting to his feet now. He pointed with his free hand at him.
"That right there was me getting something out of my system. I'ma let you know, right here, right now, boss. Someone comes at me..." He gestured with his freshly wrapped hands, grinned wide. "They gettin' both barrels."
He snorted derisively. "Sorry man, but I ain't gonna be talking too much. I'm sure someone around here would be fine with spreading my black ass out on the ground with a slug when I try to spread your word."
Sean was over there with Karl now, too. Bryant wasn't sure he cared about being alone or not. He felt like he accomplished something here, something to be proud of.
"I'm about to head out. Anybody wanna come with me, I ain't about to stop you." He said, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear.
Bryant never had respect for a white person in his life. Ever (except maybe that muscled chick from the weight room). But this kid, somehow, by being so blissfully ignorant and sticking to it, was garnering just a bit of it. That and he reassured Bryant he was ready to get down and dirty if the situation called for it. That Bryant believed him on. Just because the wrestlers looked like male strippers in those singlets didn't mean they couldn't fuck somebody up.
"Hey, I'm 'bout to tell you like it is. I'm sure you believe what you talking, but somebody fucks with me, they gettin' fucked with." Bryant looked over at Karl, who was getting to his feet now. He pointed with his free hand at him.
"That right there was me getting something out of my system. I'ma let you know, right here, right now, boss. Someone comes at me..." He gestured with his freshly wrapped hands, grinned wide. "They gettin' both barrels."
He snorted derisively. "Sorry man, but I ain't gonna be talking too much. I'm sure someone around here would be fine with spreading my black ass out on the ground with a slug when I try to spread your word."
Sean was over there with Karl now, too. Bryant wasn't sure he cared about being alone or not. He felt like he accomplished something here, something to be proud of.
"I'm about to head out. Anybody wanna come with me, I ain't about to stop you." He said, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear.
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storyspoiler*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:09 am
Karl was on her lap. Heavy and weak. "I-I'll be fine," he said. "A-and... thanks." He wiped his face with a tissue. Guess beat-up people were the same everywhere.
"No worries." She said. Lie. But close enough to the truth.
But now Bryant was speaking. She looked up to listen.
"I'm about to head out. Anybody wanna come with me, I ain't about to stop you."
He was looking at her. He was looking directly at her.
Did she want to go with Bryant?
Hell no!
He was the sort of cockamamie person who greeted someone by punching them. What a dick.
But wait, it wasn't hell no, not right yet. Bryant was a sort-of-friend, an enemy-friend, a friend who she'd had vicious arguments with, but who'd tried, clumsily, to pull her up when she was broken and bitter. And he was a good fighter-he'd gotten pounded more than her in the General's Pride race wars and did his fair share of pounding back. Kickboxing or boxing or something. He was harsh and suspicious and racist to a T; but that might mean he'd be more willing to help her and Marilyn and, if she convinced him, Claire.
We could get back at all them what toyed with us.
Revenge fantasies were visceral and delicious. She could keep one behind her eyes for more moments than strictly necessary.
We could do this shit. Barricade ourselves. Steal from the dead. Make weapons out of trash. I've seen it before: every dirt-poor resistance group. Hit them back. For Mom. For Dad. For Simon. For me.
For me.
But here Karl was, heavy on her lap. Loathesome and snivelling. She'd hated him all her life--maybe hate with a twist of respect, when he'd argued her into a corner politically, but still, a burning fifteen-year-old's hatred, thinking of her parents, of Marilyn shoved into a locker, see the world you speak for? You don't understand, you mustn't understand!
Fury and frustration and fear when she wondered if he might understand, might see and be loyal.
And now she could leave him. Face-first in the concrete like this. Isn't this how she had been left, leg broken in four places? Isn't this how Marilyn had been left, time and time and time?
Bryant. Marilyn. Even Claire, too honest and too plain. Simon, shot through the head. Mom and Dad, dental-tooled and dead.
But when she thought about it too hard, a rebellion and sweet sickness went with the thought of leaving some kid she had taken hostage to die on an ugly street.
You fucking comforted him! You can't leave him!
She wondered, briefly, what it would have taken to get her to shoot Karl in the beginning, at the watchtower.
If I left him here, he mightn't die…
But they'd given him an American flag. A fucking American flag. He had been one of their most loyal--she couldn't say yes-men, because his damn politics had been more complicated than that. He'd lapped up all their shit; he'd believed in it. He'd riffed off it like a slam poet. And they had given him an American flag.
Little shites.
Well. There was one thing she was sure of. She couldn't have both Bryant and Karl at once. That would suck like lollipops and squid.
Ack. Bryant was looking at her. She had to speak. She peered down at Karl's battered face. Swallowed. Swallowed again.
"I'm looking for Marilyn." That was an easy way to start. "Claire too. And Durriken. I've been using this one as my bullet shield, but lately I've become enamored of making sure he isn't punched in the face."
Sure. That sounded cool. That sounded plausible. This was no time to make new enemies.
"I want to be able to go fast now, so I think I'll just stay paired with the apple polish. But if--but if any of you find Marilyn or Claire, please protect them. Give me a signal, I dunno, find some chalk and draw--draw a clover with the initials of your building in it. Or something. I'll pay you."
That all came out much too fast. Her signal was stupid. She barreled on.
"Name a price. Name a price. I'm just looking for them."
Repeating herself. Ick. She probably sounded so desperate (surprise). Karl was on her lap. Could he even walk? He could totally walk.
"Stand up, you." She said to Karl, awkwardly inserting her arm under his shoulder. "Let's go."
(Juliet Watanabe continued in A Couple of Cooks in the Kitchen)
"No worries." She said. Lie. But close enough to the truth.
But now Bryant was speaking. She looked up to listen.
"I'm about to head out. Anybody wanna come with me, I ain't about to stop you."
He was looking at her. He was looking directly at her.
Did she want to go with Bryant?
Hell no!
He was the sort of cockamamie person who greeted someone by punching them. What a dick.
But wait, it wasn't hell no, not right yet. Bryant was a sort-of-friend, an enemy-friend, a friend who she'd had vicious arguments with, but who'd tried, clumsily, to pull her up when she was broken and bitter. And he was a good fighter-he'd gotten pounded more than her in the General's Pride race wars and did his fair share of pounding back. Kickboxing or boxing or something. He was harsh and suspicious and racist to a T; but that might mean he'd be more willing to help her and Marilyn and, if she convinced him, Claire.
We could get back at all them what toyed with us.
Revenge fantasies were visceral and delicious. She could keep one behind her eyes for more moments than strictly necessary.
We could do this shit. Barricade ourselves. Steal from the dead. Make weapons out of trash. I've seen it before: every dirt-poor resistance group. Hit them back. For Mom. For Dad. For Simon. For me.
For me.
But here Karl was, heavy on her lap. Loathesome and snivelling. She'd hated him all her life--maybe hate with a twist of respect, when he'd argued her into a corner politically, but still, a burning fifteen-year-old's hatred, thinking of her parents, of Marilyn shoved into a locker, see the world you speak for? You don't understand, you mustn't understand!
Fury and frustration and fear when she wondered if he might understand, might see and be loyal.
And now she could leave him. Face-first in the concrete like this. Isn't this how she had been left, leg broken in four places? Isn't this how Marilyn had been left, time and time and time?
Bryant. Marilyn. Even Claire, too honest and too plain. Simon, shot through the head. Mom and Dad, dental-tooled and dead.
But when she thought about it too hard, a rebellion and sweet sickness went with the thought of leaving some kid she had taken hostage to die on an ugly street.
You fucking comforted him! You can't leave him!
She wondered, briefly, what it would have taken to get her to shoot Karl in the beginning, at the watchtower.
If I left him here, he mightn't die…
But they'd given him an American flag. A fucking American flag. He had been one of their most loyal--she couldn't say yes-men, because his damn politics had been more complicated than that. He'd lapped up all their shit; he'd believed in it. He'd riffed off it like a slam poet. And they had given him an American flag.
Little shites.
Well. There was one thing she was sure of. She couldn't have both Bryant and Karl at once. That would suck like lollipops and squid.
Ack. Bryant was looking at her. She had to speak. She peered down at Karl's battered face. Swallowed. Swallowed again.
"I'm looking for Marilyn." That was an easy way to start. "Claire too. And Durriken. I've been using this one as my bullet shield, but lately I've become enamored of making sure he isn't punched in the face."
Sure. That sounded cool. That sounded plausible. This was no time to make new enemies.
"I want to be able to go fast now, so I think I'll just stay paired with the apple polish. But if--but if any of you find Marilyn or Claire, please protect them. Give me a signal, I dunno, find some chalk and draw--draw a clover with the initials of your building in it. Or something. I'll pay you."
That all came out much too fast. Her signal was stupid. She barreled on.
"Name a price. Name a price. I'm just looking for them."
Repeating herself. Ick. She probably sounded so desperate (surprise). Karl was on her lap. Could he even walk? He could totally walk.
"Stand up, you." She said to Karl, awkwardly inserting her arm under his shoulder. "Let's go."
(Juliet Watanabe continued in A Couple of Cooks in the Kitchen)
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
((Sorry for the skip, but since Karl's just heading out, I figure it's fine))
The world was clear again. It still hurt, still sucked, but that was okay. Karl was fine now. Mostly fine. Okay, his suit was ruined and his jaw was aching something fierce, but that was tolerable. Juliet had kept Bryant off, and now they were getting along passably or something of the sort. Bryant was even offering them the opportunity to come along with him. Wonderful. Really.
Karl was about to protest when Juliet went ahead and begged off. He hadn't been expecting that. Had sort of figured she'd be all for sticking with Bryant. After all, he had a good arm, was radical in politics. Sean too. They were all the people Karl had pitted himself against in school, all the people he'd narced on to the administration for their little crimes. Funny, that now they weren't his biggest worries. He took a few deep breaths, forced his eyes to focus on his feet. Juliet mentioned the people they were searching for. Good. They were getting moving again. Heading out.
The one worrisome thing was that Juliet once again offered some form of reciprocation for assistance. It was... well, in theory, Karl had no problems with it. One nice turn deserved another, and all that. Thing was, she was coming off desperate, like she needed these guys. She was putting herself in a bad bargaining position, a place where she could very easily be manipulated and played. Karl knew all about unreasonable demands, had seen them used enough times to catch them out. Would Juliet know, though? Or was she so idealistically caught up in the goodness of humanity or whatever that she wouldn't see what they were doing to her?
But no, that wasn't fair, not at all. She'd seen the nasty side of what people could do. Likely more than he had. No, his real worry...
Well, she said she'd give them whatever they wanted if they found Marilyn. That event also coincided with the end of Karl's usefulness as a hostage who knew the lay of the land. And it was pretty clear what Bryant wanted. Would it be unreasonable to imagine Juliet handing Karl over to Bryant, promising to pretend she didn't hear the screams?
He didn't think she'd do it for kicks or revenge. To get Marilyn, though? Who knew? She was willing to take a prisoner for it, willing to protect someone she hated for it. It was something to think about.
He finished drying his face, dropped the messy tissue to the ground, and shakily stood with Juliet's help.
"S-see you," he said to Bryant and Sean and Tyler, shooting them a brief wave. Better to be a bit friendly, just in case. Maybe one of them would bail him out later. It certainly wouldn't hurt to engender a tiny bit of good will.
And then, they were off.
((Karl Chalmers continued in A Couple of Cooks in the Kitchen))
The world was clear again. It still hurt, still sucked, but that was okay. Karl was fine now. Mostly fine. Okay, his suit was ruined and his jaw was aching something fierce, but that was tolerable. Juliet had kept Bryant off, and now they were getting along passably or something of the sort. Bryant was even offering them the opportunity to come along with him. Wonderful. Really.
Karl was about to protest when Juliet went ahead and begged off. He hadn't been expecting that. Had sort of figured she'd be all for sticking with Bryant. After all, he had a good arm, was radical in politics. Sean too. They were all the people Karl had pitted himself against in school, all the people he'd narced on to the administration for their little crimes. Funny, that now they weren't his biggest worries. He took a few deep breaths, forced his eyes to focus on his feet. Juliet mentioned the people they were searching for. Good. They were getting moving again. Heading out.
The one worrisome thing was that Juliet once again offered some form of reciprocation for assistance. It was... well, in theory, Karl had no problems with it. One nice turn deserved another, and all that. Thing was, she was coming off desperate, like she needed these guys. She was putting herself in a bad bargaining position, a place where she could very easily be manipulated and played. Karl knew all about unreasonable demands, had seen them used enough times to catch them out. Would Juliet know, though? Or was she so idealistically caught up in the goodness of humanity or whatever that she wouldn't see what they were doing to her?
But no, that wasn't fair, not at all. She'd seen the nasty side of what people could do. Likely more than he had. No, his real worry...
Well, she said she'd give them whatever they wanted if they found Marilyn. That event also coincided with the end of Karl's usefulness as a hostage who knew the lay of the land. And it was pretty clear what Bryant wanted. Would it be unreasonable to imagine Juliet handing Karl over to Bryant, promising to pretend she didn't hear the screams?
He didn't think she'd do it for kicks or revenge. To get Marilyn, though? Who knew? She was willing to take a prisoner for it, willing to protect someone she hated for it. It was something to think about.
He finished drying his face, dropped the messy tissue to the ground, and shakily stood with Juliet's help.
"S-see you," he said to Bryant and Sean and Tyler, shooting them a brief wave. Better to be a bit friendly, just in case. Maybe one of them would bail him out later. It certainly wouldn't hurt to engender a tiny bit of good will.
And then, they were off.
((Karl Chalmers continued in A Couple of Cooks in the Kitchen))
Juliet had taken Karl with her, and just as quickly as it happened, and one of the objects of Bryant's hatred was gone. The fire in his lungs had been mostly breathed out now, and he found himself oddly calm, as if he'd done something incredibly right.
There wasn't anything left to do here. He felt crowded, standing as he was in the presence of two white boys (who admittedly hadn't done anything wrong. Yet.) It was time to move on.
"I'm out. Like I said, somebody comin' with me whatever. If not, I'll see you 'round." He snorted at that, turned on his heels, and started heading away from the administration building.
((Bryant Carver continued in Get Ready to Fly ))
There wasn't anything left to do here. He felt crowded, standing as he was in the presence of two white boys (who admittedly hadn't done anything wrong. Yet.) It was time to move on.
"I'm out. Like I said, somebody comin' with me whatever. If not, I'll see you 'round." He snorted at that, turned on his heels, and started heading away from the administration building.
((Bryant Carver continued in Get Ready to Fly ))
It... well, it wasn't a yes. But it wasn't exactly a no either, right? Bryant wasn't going to actively go around and tell people what Tyler had said, but he wasn't about to start blasting anybody in the face. Tyler could count that as a victory. Well, a sort've victory. A plus, at the very least. It was a good start. This was four people, he'd got to tell, and things were only just getting started. Well, maybe he couldn't count the laid out Karl in that count, but even so Juliet was sure to tell him before very long.
Speaking of Juliet, she had a request of her own. Claire. Durriken. Marilyn. Names that Tyler could confidently put faces to. If he could find any of them, he'd certainly do as Juliet asked. Not for any kind of reward or payment, just because she'd asked for help. Helping people out was the right thing to do, regardless of whatever consequences could arise from it. That was Tyler's way.
He gave Juliet a wink and a nod. "You got it. I see them, I let you know however I can and try and keep them safe. Nothing needed in return, we need to pull together here."
Tyler didn't know if she heard him. Didn't matter, the intention was still there.
Dusting down his tracksuit, he turned in the other direction to that which everyone else had headed off. If Bryant had gone thataway, Karl and Juliet the other... Well, best to fan out, right?
Time to spread the word. It had to work, it had to.
Tyler didn't know what he'd do if it didn't.
((Tyler Blake continued in Actions Speak Louder Than Words))
Speaking of Juliet, she had a request of her own. Claire. Durriken. Marilyn. Names that Tyler could confidently put faces to. If he could find any of them, he'd certainly do as Juliet asked. Not for any kind of reward or payment, just because she'd asked for help. Helping people out was the right thing to do, regardless of whatever consequences could arise from it. That was Tyler's way.
He gave Juliet a wink and a nod. "You got it. I see them, I let you know however I can and try and keep them safe. Nothing needed in return, we need to pull together here."
Tyler didn't know if she heard him. Didn't matter, the intention was still there.
Dusting down his tracksuit, he turned in the other direction to that which everyone else had headed off. If Bryant had gone thataway, Karl and Juliet the other... Well, best to fan out, right?
Time to spread the word. It had to work, it had to.
Tyler didn't know what he'd do if it didn't.
((Tyler Blake continued in Actions Speak Louder Than Words))
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chitoryu12*
- Posts: 64
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:16 am
((John Ferrara continued from Question?))
"O, say can you seeeeee--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!"
BAM
A nine millimeter bullet flew past the speaker, missing by a foot. The singing continued on.
It's difficult to describe how John felt at that time. It was a bevy of emotions from rage to sadness to fear to hate to pride.
Rage at the world for putting him in this mess.
Sadness at killing someone who never did anything against him.
Fear for his life.
Hate for the government.
Pride at his will to survive.
It was unclear to everyone who saw him, John included, which of the conflicting emotions had the most hold over him. He gave no outward sign but tears, clenched teeth, and a look of fire in his eyes.
He paid little heed to his surroundings. He could have walked by 30 people or none or any number in between. All thoughts drifted inward, drifting onto himself and his monstrous actions. And every time he thought, he thought of Wendy Fischer. Thought of the fire crawling up her bare legs, blackening the flesh. Thought of the red hole. Thought of her smile as she looked up at him, cooking alive.
With every thought, John's emotions only grew in their intensity.
They would not stop until they hit their own deadly plateau. And nobody knew when that would be. All that could be said is that it was like a car hitting brick wall: you smash into it and go no further, and nothing is ever right afterward.
((John Ferrara continued in Small Comforts))
"O, say can you seeeeee--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!"
BAM
A nine millimeter bullet flew past the speaker, missing by a foot. The singing continued on.
It's difficult to describe how John felt at that time. It was a bevy of emotions from rage to sadness to fear to hate to pride.
Rage at the world for putting him in this mess.
Sadness at killing someone who never did anything against him.
Fear for his life.
Hate for the government.
Pride at his will to survive.
It was unclear to everyone who saw him, John included, which of the conflicting emotions had the most hold over him. He gave no outward sign but tears, clenched teeth, and a look of fire in his eyes.
He paid little heed to his surroundings. He could have walked by 30 people or none or any number in between. All thoughts drifted inward, drifting onto himself and his monstrous actions. And every time he thought, he thought of Wendy Fischer. Thought of the fire crawling up her bare legs, blackening the flesh. Thought of the red hole. Thought of her smile as she looked up at him, cooking alive.
With every thought, John's emotions only grew in their intensity.
They would not stop until they hit their own deadly plateau. And nobody knew when that would be. All that could be said is that it was like a car hitting brick wall: you smash into it and go no further, and nothing is ever right afterward.
((John Ferrara continued in Small Comforts))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler chitoryu12. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Sean had kind of faded into the background during the exchange. The others went their own ways, but he didn't really feel the safest with any of them. Bryant had been fine to follow, sure, but that was before he went and clocked a guy for... well, okay, relatively little reason. Anyways, Sean made his own way off.
((Sean Tucker continued in Plenty Death To Go Around))
((Sean Tucker continued in Plenty Death To Go Around))