((Karl Chalmers continued from Some Folks Are Born Made to Wave the Flag))
The trek had been uneventful, right up until the gunshots. Those had been disconcerting. Apparently, they had taken too long. Their grace period had expired.
Even worse, the disturbance originated from their destination. Juliet, to her credit, waited a little while. It felt like five minutes at least, maybe more like ten. Thing was, that was nowhere near long enough. No, Karl would feel safe going into that building in maybe a day or so, if ever. The shots could be completely innocent (well, okay, relatively innocent), just some student testing their only means of protection. On the other hand, there was a decent chance that someone had just been wasted. With Karl's luck, he'd enter the building to find Harris Van Allen standing over Marilyn's smoking corpse. Then he'd really be out of luck, with a vengeful Juliet behind him and a psychotic Harris in front of him.
It'd be about par for the course.
There wasn't really any way to explain this to Juliet, though. Especially not given her gracious restraint thus far when it came to throwing Karl into blatantly suicidal situations. No, Juliet ordered him in, explaining with admirable candor that if one of them had to catch a bullet, it would be Karl. Just great. Exactly as he predicted, their partnership was already making him a little jumpy and nervous. But hey, better to walk into a potential storm of bullets than stay out here and deal with a guaranteed one. She'd mentioned code words. A smart idea. Of course, if stuff got nasty, he'd more likely be screaming over the staccato burst of a machine gun, but it was the thought that counted.
"Right," he said. Nothing more was needed.
So in he went, trying to walk lightly and quietly, breathing shallowly, through his mouth. It didn't work too well; he was scared and twitchy and he tripped over his own feet twice. Then, getting the door open was kind of a pain, but he managed. There went any stealth, though. The bullets would be coming any time now. Any time.
No bullets.
So Karl stumbled around inside. He didn't go for his light. No need to telegraph his location that badly. He took three steps forward, then froze completely as someone ducked around a crate, blinding him with a flashlight. Karl instinctively threw his hands up, shielding himself from nothing in particular, nearly dropping his bag, slung behind him, in the process. Not that a fall would damage it any. Maybe dent his food or something.
And there was a voice. Oh god. Matthew Gourlay.
This day could probably not get any worse. Karl knew all about Matthew. A fellow privileged boy. A fellow member of student government. Someone who scared Karl, just a little, even before this mess. Someone who now had some kind of terrifying space gun or something and was demanding Karl's stuff.
Just brilliant. As he'd predicted, Karl was caught between two guns.
He did the only reasonable thing: moving very, very slowly and carefully, he brought his bag around to his front, and said, "Hey, all yours."
Then, just to prevent things from escalating, he added, "There's someone outside waiting for me. Lemme tell them I'll be a sec.
"Hey, everything's all clear in here," he called out. "Just want a sec to finish the search."
M05: START
Moderator: Sh4dE
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
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storyspoiler*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:09 am
(All GMing approved by chitoryu12)
Juliet had heard everything.
Matthew Gourlay. Ew. What a bitch. He scared her a little bit--he was huge and muscled, and had broken her leg the second time, the most painful break, kicking until the bone had come through the skin. She swallowed. And apparently he had a gun now.
Well, so did she.
So lack of weaponry wasn't the problem. The problem was that neither of them really knew how to use guns (she assumed her gun was point and shoot, but was it really?) and Karl was somewhere in between her and That Bitch. She was already feeling (she tried to quash the thought) somewhat guilty for sticking Karl in the middle of a crossfire. She wasn't going to shoot him in the back if she could help it.
Matthew Gourlay, though, was an easy target. He had a light on him, for God's sake. And he was rifling through Karl's bag as if his idiot gun gave him all the power, as if he could afford tunnel vision. Probably didn't think anyone would send in the unarmed man first.
So. Deal with Matthew Gourlay without shooting Karl in the back. This could be very hard, or this could be very easy.
She levelled her gun, and very carefully shot to the far right of Matthew Gourlay.
Matthew sprang up. "Hey, what the FUCK man?!" He pointed the gun at Karl. Well, crap damn. "Who the fuck is that?!"
But he was looking to the left of the huge warehouse doors now, to where the shot came from, where the mystery assailant (who had a gun and was clearly going to stay back, right?) was, which was good, because Juliet was going right.
Ninja skills, don't fail me now.
Ninja skills were not really Juliet's forte. But she could dance, which meant she could walk silently with some facility. And a brown jacket and brown tabi boots were mostly nonreflective.
Don't die, don't die, don't die…
Matthew was shouting things at Karl. What the fuck are you trying to pull?! I'll kick the shit out of you! Who the fuck did you come with?!" He was waving the gun--God, those things looked violent--and--
BLAM
He had just let off a shot.
Close enough.
And Juliet's hand was around his face now, and the other hand was jerking his gun arm away from anything that could possibly be relevant to shoot (Karl, Karl, mostly Karl, also me, fuck) and she really needed a third hand to draw her own gun, but that wasn't something she could purchase right now, so she was grappling for his fingers, trying to draw off their grip, make him drop his gun. And he was screaming something unintelligible, and she was deciding that Matthew Gourlay was really a coward when he was losing a fight (and he really wasn't losing even, for fuck's sake) and then she lost patience and just used her first hand to grab his nose and twist it.
She didn't think it was broken. But it was bleeding a lot. And he was yelling, and she pushed him away from her (ew, blood), and he fell, still holding his stupid gun. But now she could draw her gun and point it at his head.
"Wh-wh-wh-what do you want?!" He was crying now, snot coming out of his nose. Sniveling worm. God, he was gross.
And she was about to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Damnit, she had the gun now. She was going to make the speeches.
Yeah. Keep the gun pointed at his head. "You are a fucker, and a coward. Are you really sniveling at me now? You want to play this game with your stupid pistol, you really ought to be morally prepared to kill. And that means knowing that at some point, you're going to be on the other side of a gun."
That said, I never thought I'd be on this side of a gun.
Okay, making a speech was not nearly as satisfying as she had hoped it would be. And she really didn't want to shoot some crying boy on the floor. It seemed distasteful.
Not to mention immoral. It's not like you're trying to be him, after all.
"Stand up," she said. "And leave this place. And until you get more than a pastry's worth of spine, don't go taking fucking potshots at people's point men."
She kept the gun trained on him, saw his eyes light up. Guess being given a second chance really does make people happy.
But that wasn't what his eyes were lighting up for, apparently.
He grinned. "Heads up, point man."
Fuck--
She jumped, but he had already pulled the trigger. Motherfucker, don't let him be dead, if he dies I'm responsible for that, what the fuck was I thinking, I should have just come in myself--
Turns out, bullets at close range are deafening, so she couldn't even tell if Karl had been shot or not. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. One hand over her ear to stop it from ringing. And he was still grinning his stupid grin, swinging the gun around to her, when she shot him.
BLAM
Yeah. Turns out bullets don't go "pew pew", like you hear in the movies. Turns out they sound like little bombs going off by your ear.
Also, her wrist hurt.
And Matthew was screaming like a girl, she didn't feel any pity for him at all. He was bleeding out of somewhere (the shoulder?) and fleeing as fast as his soccer legs could carry him to the side exit. And her hand was trembling so hard she couldn't level the gun.
Did I just kill that guy?
Juliet had heard everything.
Matthew Gourlay. Ew. What a bitch. He scared her a little bit--he was huge and muscled, and had broken her leg the second time, the most painful break, kicking until the bone had come through the skin. She swallowed. And apparently he had a gun now.
Well, so did she.
So lack of weaponry wasn't the problem. The problem was that neither of them really knew how to use guns (she assumed her gun was point and shoot, but was it really?) and Karl was somewhere in between her and That Bitch. She was already feeling (she tried to quash the thought) somewhat guilty for sticking Karl in the middle of a crossfire. She wasn't going to shoot him in the back if she could help it.
Matthew Gourlay, though, was an easy target. He had a light on him, for God's sake. And he was rifling through Karl's bag as if his idiot gun gave him all the power, as if he could afford tunnel vision. Probably didn't think anyone would send in the unarmed man first.
So. Deal with Matthew Gourlay without shooting Karl in the back. This could be very hard, or this could be very easy.
She levelled her gun, and very carefully shot to the far right of Matthew Gourlay.
Matthew sprang up. "Hey, what the FUCK man?!" He pointed the gun at Karl. Well, crap damn. "Who the fuck is that?!"
But he was looking to the left of the huge warehouse doors now, to where the shot came from, where the mystery assailant (who had a gun and was clearly going to stay back, right?) was, which was good, because Juliet was going right.
Ninja skills, don't fail me now.
Ninja skills were not really Juliet's forte. But she could dance, which meant she could walk silently with some facility. And a brown jacket and brown tabi boots were mostly nonreflective.
Don't die, don't die, don't die…
Matthew was shouting things at Karl. What the fuck are you trying to pull?! I'll kick the shit out of you! Who the fuck did you come with?!" He was waving the gun--God, those things looked violent--and--
BLAM
He had just let off a shot.
Close enough.
And Juliet's hand was around his face now, and the other hand was jerking his gun arm away from anything that could possibly be relevant to shoot (Karl, Karl, mostly Karl, also me, fuck) and she really needed a third hand to draw her own gun, but that wasn't something she could purchase right now, so she was grappling for his fingers, trying to draw off their grip, make him drop his gun. And he was screaming something unintelligible, and she was deciding that Matthew Gourlay was really a coward when he was losing a fight (and he really wasn't losing even, for fuck's sake) and then she lost patience and just used her first hand to grab his nose and twist it.
She didn't think it was broken. But it was bleeding a lot. And he was yelling, and she pushed him away from her (ew, blood), and he fell, still holding his stupid gun. But now she could draw her gun and point it at his head.
"Wh-wh-wh-what do you want?!" He was crying now, snot coming out of his nose. Sniveling worm. God, he was gross.
And she was about to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Damnit, she had the gun now. She was going to make the speeches.
Yeah. Keep the gun pointed at his head. "You are a fucker, and a coward. Are you really sniveling at me now? You want to play this game with your stupid pistol, you really ought to be morally prepared to kill. And that means knowing that at some point, you're going to be on the other side of a gun."
That said, I never thought I'd be on this side of a gun.
Okay, making a speech was not nearly as satisfying as she had hoped it would be. And she really didn't want to shoot some crying boy on the floor. It seemed distasteful.
Not to mention immoral. It's not like you're trying to be him, after all.
"Stand up," she said. "And leave this place. And until you get more than a pastry's worth of spine, don't go taking fucking potshots at people's point men."
She kept the gun trained on him, saw his eyes light up. Guess being given a second chance really does make people happy.
But that wasn't what his eyes were lighting up for, apparently.
He grinned. "Heads up, point man."
Fuck--
She jumped, but he had already pulled the trigger. Motherfucker, don't let him be dead, if he dies I'm responsible for that, what the fuck was I thinking, I should have just come in myself--
Turns out, bullets at close range are deafening, so she couldn't even tell if Karl had been shot or not. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. One hand over her ear to stop it from ringing. And he was still grinning his stupid grin, swinging the gun around to her, when she shot him.
BLAM
Yeah. Turns out bullets don't go "pew pew", like you hear in the movies. Turns out they sound like little bombs going off by your ear.
Also, her wrist hurt.
And Matthew was screaming like a girl, she didn't feel any pity for him at all. He was bleeding out of somewhere (the shoulder?) and fleeing as fast as his soccer legs could carry him to the side exit. And her hand was trembling so hard she couldn't level the gun.
Did I just kill that guy?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler storyspoiler. 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.
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chitoryu12*
- Posts: 64
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:16 am
Pain.
Matt Gourlay's world was pain.
His nose was burning. His shoulder was burning. His lungs were burning. His ears were ringing and his vision was black.
Broken nose. Lead bullet in the shoulder. Exhaustion. Loud noises. Muzzle flash in a dark room.
All of this combined to make Matt's existence a living hell.
He stumbled away from Juliet and Karl, dazed and confused. How had this fucked up? How did he not get them? He was a badass, the one who would make it out alive. The one who could kill in cold blood and get what he wanted with the power of ammunition.
So how was it that a little girl with a revolver, an INFERIOR girl no less, got to him?
He pushed these stray thoughts aside. Now was not the time to be thinking of this. There was a thin rectangle of light ahead. A doorway. Freedom.
Matt Gourlay opened the door, the sun stinging his eyes.
He was hit in the face by a banjo.
_____________________________________
John had heard more gunshots. By this point, he knew that there was something going down. Something bad. And it hadn't stopped yet.
He pressed his ear to the door. Footsteps. Ragged breathing. Moaning.
Coming toward this door.
Okay, here we go. Wish I was in baseball instead....
He took a classic baseball stance, left foot back and his arms cocked back with the eagle-adorned banjo. The door opened. He swung.
CRACK
Splinters flew and strings twanged as the banjo collided with the face of the person running out the door, clotheslining him and sending him flying onto his back. The shock traveled up his arm and stopped at his shoulders, vibrating his bones like a guitar string.
He looked down at the kid. He was in a sorry state. His nose was bleeding and slightly twisted and crunched and his shirt was stained with blood from a shoulder wound that looked a lot like a bullet injury.
John hefted the banjo, turning it in his arms and examining it. It was tougher than he thought; it mostly kept its shape and only three of the strings had come loose. Pieces of cream-colored wood dotted the dirt around the moaning figure. He wouldn't be up for a while.
He recognized him. It was Matt Gourlay. Racist asshole from student government and the same damn soccer team. They had never gotten along. He was always giving John dirty, smug looks. He came from money and knew that his family was better than his. He hated him with a passion. And he loved cracking this asshole in the face more than anything.
Looking back down, he spotted something. A REALLY odd looking gun. It was long, one you needed two hands, and had what looked like a futuristic thermos on the top. Military prototype or some shit?
He picked it up, and found it surprisingly heavy. The whole thing looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.
It was awesome.
He quickly rifled through Matt's pack. There were three more of the cylinders, which were apparently the magazines. He pulled the manual out; apparently it was called a Calico Liberty III, but he'd flip through it later. The magazines were astoundingly heavy, enough even if he lost the gun they could probably kill someone with their weight. It was probably why the gun was so heavy right now.
He dumped the three magazines into his pack, each making a satisfying thud. Then he looked at Matt.
The sniveling little douchebag. He was nothing but a stain. Filthy and useless, and got more than he deserved in life. John looked at the gun in his hand. He felt something odd, something he had never felt before in his life.
Power.
He pointed it down and pulled the trigger.
BANG
Nothing like the movies.
It was louder than he thought it would be; he flinched, his ears ringing at the sudden noise. The gun jumped in his hand, almost threatening to kick all the way out and clatter to the ground. There was no star-shaped flame at the muzzle. Merely a puff of smoke. A single brass casing thumped to the ground.
Matt Gourlay flinched slightly at the impact. A hole was torn in his white shirt on both sides, the bullet easily passing through and lodging in the dirt under him. Blood spattered on the end of the Calico's muzzle. And then Matt was still.
So that was it. John Ferrara had just done it. One down, too many to go.
He would win this and make it back to his family. One way or another, he would show them. Show all those bastards what it meant to be a Ferrara. A proud Italian.
Slinging his daypack over his shoulder, Jonathan Ferrara marched onward. He was ready.
((John Ferrara continued in Driven to Drink))
______________________________
Matt barely even noticed the pain. He was starting to become delirious.
As his eyes fluttered open, he was vaguely aware that his torso was warm and wet. If he had been more aware, he would have realized that he was bleeding to death. His brain was becoming starved of oxygen.
But instead, he was captured by visions.
He couldn't recognize the faces in front of him or the voices in his head. The only thing he could see was the color: dark brown. Every one of them. And the voices were impossible to understand. All sorts of different languages all coming out at once, but all vaguely similar. One word suddenly rang out, forcing all the others into the background.
Ulistahili
He didn't know what it meant. Only that it wasn't what he wanted to hear.
The faces started to disappear. Everything was fading, blurring into one another.
His last thought was fear. What was on the other side? Would God be waiting? Would he be punished? Or was there nothing.
He found out.
M19: Matthew Gourlay - Deceased
Matt Gourlay's world was pain.
His nose was burning. His shoulder was burning. His lungs were burning. His ears were ringing and his vision was black.
Broken nose. Lead bullet in the shoulder. Exhaustion. Loud noises. Muzzle flash in a dark room.
All of this combined to make Matt's existence a living hell.
He stumbled away from Juliet and Karl, dazed and confused. How had this fucked up? How did he not get them? He was a badass, the one who would make it out alive. The one who could kill in cold blood and get what he wanted with the power of ammunition.
So how was it that a little girl with a revolver, an INFERIOR girl no less, got to him?
He pushed these stray thoughts aside. Now was not the time to be thinking of this. There was a thin rectangle of light ahead. A doorway. Freedom.
Matt Gourlay opened the door, the sun stinging his eyes.
He was hit in the face by a banjo.
_____________________________________
John had heard more gunshots. By this point, he knew that there was something going down. Something bad. And it hadn't stopped yet.
He pressed his ear to the door. Footsteps. Ragged breathing. Moaning.
Coming toward this door.
Okay, here we go. Wish I was in baseball instead....
He took a classic baseball stance, left foot back and his arms cocked back with the eagle-adorned banjo. The door opened. He swung.
CRACK
Splinters flew and strings twanged as the banjo collided with the face of the person running out the door, clotheslining him and sending him flying onto his back. The shock traveled up his arm and stopped at his shoulders, vibrating his bones like a guitar string.
He looked down at the kid. He was in a sorry state. His nose was bleeding and slightly twisted and crunched and his shirt was stained with blood from a shoulder wound that looked a lot like a bullet injury.
John hefted the banjo, turning it in his arms and examining it. It was tougher than he thought; it mostly kept its shape and only three of the strings had come loose. Pieces of cream-colored wood dotted the dirt around the moaning figure. He wouldn't be up for a while.
He recognized him. It was Matt Gourlay. Racist asshole from student government and the same damn soccer team. They had never gotten along. He was always giving John dirty, smug looks. He came from money and knew that his family was better than his. He hated him with a passion. And he loved cracking this asshole in the face more than anything.
Looking back down, he spotted something. A REALLY odd looking gun. It was long, one you needed two hands, and had what looked like a futuristic thermos on the top. Military prototype or some shit?
He picked it up, and found it surprisingly heavy. The whole thing looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.
It was awesome.
He quickly rifled through Matt's pack. There were three more of the cylinders, which were apparently the magazines. He pulled the manual out; apparently it was called a Calico Liberty III, but he'd flip through it later. The magazines were astoundingly heavy, enough even if he lost the gun they could probably kill someone with their weight. It was probably why the gun was so heavy right now.
He dumped the three magazines into his pack, each making a satisfying thud. Then he looked at Matt.
The sniveling little douchebag. He was nothing but a stain. Filthy and useless, and got more than he deserved in life. John looked at the gun in his hand. He felt something odd, something he had never felt before in his life.
Power.
He pointed it down and pulled the trigger.
BANG
Nothing like the movies.
It was louder than he thought it would be; he flinched, his ears ringing at the sudden noise. The gun jumped in his hand, almost threatening to kick all the way out and clatter to the ground. There was no star-shaped flame at the muzzle. Merely a puff of smoke. A single brass casing thumped to the ground.
Matt Gourlay flinched slightly at the impact. A hole was torn in his white shirt on both sides, the bullet easily passing through and lodging in the dirt under him. Blood spattered on the end of the Calico's muzzle. And then Matt was still.
So that was it. John Ferrara had just done it. One down, too many to go.
He would win this and make it back to his family. One way or another, he would show them. Show all those bastards what it meant to be a Ferrara. A proud Italian.
Slinging his daypack over his shoulder, Jonathan Ferrara marched onward. He was ready.
((John Ferrara continued in Driven to Drink))
______________________________
Matt barely even noticed the pain. He was starting to become delirious.
As his eyes fluttered open, he was vaguely aware that his torso was warm and wet. If he had been more aware, he would have realized that he was bleeding to death. His brain was becoming starved of oxygen.
But instead, he was captured by visions.
He couldn't recognize the faces in front of him or the voices in his head. The only thing he could see was the color: dark brown. Every one of them. And the voices were impossible to understand. All sorts of different languages all coming out at once, but all vaguely similar. One word suddenly rang out, forcing all the others into the background.
Ulistahili
He didn't know what it meant. Only that it wasn't what he wanted to hear.
The faces started to disappear. Everything was fading, blurring into one another.
His last thought was fear. What was on the other side? Would God be waiting? Would he be punished? Or was there nothing.
He found out.
M19: Matthew Gourlay - Deceased
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
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As soon as he'd spoken, Karl began to wonder if he'd made the right choice in signaling. Most likely, Juliet would run off and leave him. Then again, maybe she'd assume he was trying to ditch her, and come check things out. There was pretty much no way that would end well.
No point worrying too much about it now. Whatever would happen, there was no more Karl could do to influence it. He just waited, as Matthew dug through his bag. Great. Well, at least Juliet would have to feed Karl over the next few days, if she wanted him to be of any use at all. They'd be short on food, but they'd cope. Of course, he'd probably end up getting stale bread and crackers while—suddenly, a gunshot rang out.
Karl reacted purely on instinct, cringing away from Matthew, wondering if the boy had maybe taken a shot. Only, then there was yelling. Yelling and pointing and questioning. Matthew wanted to know who had shot, which could only mean... Oh, god no. Juliet had decided to effect his rescue. She had decided that it was a perfect time to stir up trouble, and Karl was right in the middle of the thing, without even his flag to throw into Matthew's face. There was no way this would end well for him. In fact, almost no way he could see it ending that didn't involve him getting pumped full of lead.
"I think it's my friend," Karl began, trying to stall for a second, at the same time tensing to sprint for cover. "I guess she misunderstood—"
Not that Matthew was paying any attention. He was waving his gun, screaming at Karl, and then he fired. Luckily, the shot went off in a totally harmless direction, missing Karl by a mile. Unluckily, he was still surprised enough to try to jump clear, letting out a combination shriek and scream as he did so. He landed on the ground, banging his elbow a little, then rolled, ready for the next shot to lance his chest. Matthew, however, had more important problems, as Juliet had gotten in close and seemed pretty intent on making Matthew's day just as bad as Karl's. He saw her hands on her victim's face, saw blood, and was suddenly very, very glad he possessed the honored position of helpless captive, because it meant he wasn't an enemy and thus got to keep his nose.
There was a little exchange going on, Matthew blubbering and Juliet chastising him, trying to maybe educate him of his sins or something. It didn't seem like Matthew was in a great position to learn, but that was just fine with Karl, who was by now creeping across the floor on his hands and knees, heading for a nearby crate, hoping to find some shelter until the little altercation had run its course. It looked like things would be over soon. Juliet was telling Matthew to leave, telling him not to point his gun at—wait a second she was drawing his attention back to Karl and that probably wasn't the best thing in the world at the moment and—
Karl dived for cover as the gunshot rang out and the violence picked up again. He probably screamed, but there was no way to tell over the ringing in his ears. He could have sworn he felt the bullet pass over his head, though, upon examination a millisecond later, he saw that it had smashed into the wall a much more comfortable margin from him. He only paused for the briefest of moments, though, getting up and running in a crouch, finally making it to one of the crates, as another gunshot rang out, this one a different pitch, and Matthew started screaming.
Footfalls, running away.
Karl peaked out from behind his crate, caught sight of Matthew beating a hasty retreat. Saw the dripping trail he left, the red on the floor. It was almost enough to make Karl queasy. That could wait, though. As quickly as he could, he jogged back to his bag, the contents of which Matthew had not had time to pilfer, then turned to Juliet. He was about to speak, when there was a crash outside the warehouse. A few moments later, it was followed by the sound of Matthew's gun firing again.
"I think," Karl panted, "that maybe we should get out of here. I'm pretty sure Marilyn wouldn't stick around with this noise."
Unsaid: And we sure as hell shouldn't either.
No point worrying too much about it now. Whatever would happen, there was no more Karl could do to influence it. He just waited, as Matthew dug through his bag. Great. Well, at least Juliet would have to feed Karl over the next few days, if she wanted him to be of any use at all. They'd be short on food, but they'd cope. Of course, he'd probably end up getting stale bread and crackers while—suddenly, a gunshot rang out.
Karl reacted purely on instinct, cringing away from Matthew, wondering if the boy had maybe taken a shot. Only, then there was yelling. Yelling and pointing and questioning. Matthew wanted to know who had shot, which could only mean... Oh, god no. Juliet had decided to effect his rescue. She had decided that it was a perfect time to stir up trouble, and Karl was right in the middle of the thing, without even his flag to throw into Matthew's face. There was no way this would end well for him. In fact, almost no way he could see it ending that didn't involve him getting pumped full of lead.
"I think it's my friend," Karl began, trying to stall for a second, at the same time tensing to sprint for cover. "I guess she misunderstood—"
Not that Matthew was paying any attention. He was waving his gun, screaming at Karl, and then he fired. Luckily, the shot went off in a totally harmless direction, missing Karl by a mile. Unluckily, he was still surprised enough to try to jump clear, letting out a combination shriek and scream as he did so. He landed on the ground, banging his elbow a little, then rolled, ready for the next shot to lance his chest. Matthew, however, had more important problems, as Juliet had gotten in close and seemed pretty intent on making Matthew's day just as bad as Karl's. He saw her hands on her victim's face, saw blood, and was suddenly very, very glad he possessed the honored position of helpless captive, because it meant he wasn't an enemy and thus got to keep his nose.
There was a little exchange going on, Matthew blubbering and Juliet chastising him, trying to maybe educate him of his sins or something. It didn't seem like Matthew was in a great position to learn, but that was just fine with Karl, who was by now creeping across the floor on his hands and knees, heading for a nearby crate, hoping to find some shelter until the little altercation had run its course. It looked like things would be over soon. Juliet was telling Matthew to leave, telling him not to point his gun at—wait a second she was drawing his attention back to Karl and that probably wasn't the best thing in the world at the moment and—
Karl dived for cover as the gunshot rang out and the violence picked up again. He probably screamed, but there was no way to tell over the ringing in his ears. He could have sworn he felt the bullet pass over his head, though, upon examination a millisecond later, he saw that it had smashed into the wall a much more comfortable margin from him. He only paused for the briefest of moments, though, getting up and running in a crouch, finally making it to one of the crates, as another gunshot rang out, this one a different pitch, and Matthew started screaming.
Footfalls, running away.
Karl peaked out from behind his crate, caught sight of Matthew beating a hasty retreat. Saw the dripping trail he left, the red on the floor. It was almost enough to make Karl queasy. That could wait, though. As quickly as he could, he jogged back to his bag, the contents of which Matthew had not had time to pilfer, then turned to Juliet. He was about to speak, when there was a crash outside the warehouse. A few moments later, it was followed by the sound of Matthew's gun firing again.
"I think," Karl panted, "that maybe we should get out of here. I'm pretty sure Marilyn wouldn't stick around with this noise."
Unsaid: And we sure as hell shouldn't either.
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storyspoiler*
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There was a loud bang outside the door, and Matthew's gun fired again. Motherfucker--I hope they don't come back in here. She was still holding the gun, not quite steady, in the direction where Matthew had left.
What the fuck?
Karl scrambled out from behind a crate. Uninjured. Good.
"I think," he puffed, "that maybe we should get out of here. I'm pretty sure Marilyn wouldn't stick around with this noise."
Right. Marilyn. Noise. Juliet lowered the gun. "Yeah."
They trekked out of the warehouse, Karl leading, Juliet following. She stuck closer to him this time; if some idiot was going to take potshots now, she was sure as hell going to make it harder.
Aghh. Her hands were still shaking. Her left hand was holding the gun. She took her fingers off the hammer and trigger. No need to do something crazy because she'd lost all fine dexterity control.
Her right hand was covered in blood.
(Juliet Watanabe continued in Daddy's Little Girl Ain't A Girl No More)
What the fuck?
Karl scrambled out from behind a crate. Uninjured. Good.
"I think," he puffed, "that maybe we should get out of here. I'm pretty sure Marilyn wouldn't stick around with this noise."
Right. Marilyn. Noise. Juliet lowered the gun. "Yeah."
They trekked out of the warehouse, Karl leading, Juliet following. She stuck closer to him this time; if some idiot was going to take potshots now, she was sure as hell going to make it harder.
Aghh. Her hands were still shaking. Her left hand was holding the gun. She took her fingers off the hammer and trigger. No need to do something crazy because she'd lost all fine dexterity control.
Her right hand was covered in blood.
(Juliet Watanabe continued in Daddy's Little Girl Ain't A Girl No More)
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
For all their disagreements when it came to politics, morality, and just about everything else, Karl and Juliet synced up pretty well when it came to realizing it was time to hit the road. No way Marilyn would be here, and it seemed like the warehouse had attracted not scared people hiding for their lives, but rather the truly dangerous ones, the early attempted killers and the predatory players.
And just where did Karl and Juliet fit into that equation? She'd been more than willing to take action, more than capable of hurting Matthew with her bare hands, of shooting him when things went sour. For all Karl knew, Matthew would bleed to death, and this would be the first kill of the season. It seemed unlikely that the boy had succeeded in killing anyone before Karl and Juliet arrived; after all, he'd been fairly calm and in control at the start, and he had quickly proved that that was not his reaction in the face of stress. Moreover, there weren't any other notable bloodstains.
There'd be time to worry about all that later. For now, it was time to clear out before round two. Gourlay's gun had been fired, which might have meant that they boy had recovered some, or, worse, that someone even more dangerous was approaching.
At Juliet's direction, Karl led the way out of the building, moving as cautiously and quickly as possible, keeping a low profile.
((Karl Chalmers continued in Daddy's Little Girl Ain't a Girl No More))
((End of thread))
And just where did Karl and Juliet fit into that equation? She'd been more than willing to take action, more than capable of hurting Matthew with her bare hands, of shooting him when things went sour. For all Karl knew, Matthew would bleed to death, and this would be the first kill of the season. It seemed unlikely that the boy had succeeded in killing anyone before Karl and Juliet arrived; after all, he'd been fairly calm and in control at the start, and he had quickly proved that that was not his reaction in the face of stress. Moreover, there weren't any other notable bloodstains.
There'd be time to worry about all that later. For now, it was time to clear out before round two. Gourlay's gun had been fired, which might have meant that they boy had recovered some, or, worse, that someone even more dangerous was approaching.
At Juliet's direction, Karl led the way out of the building, moving as cautiously and quickly as possible, keeping a low profile.
((Karl Chalmers continued in Daddy's Little Girl Ain't a Girl No More))
((End of thread))