(Patrick Reynolds continued from I Can Hear the Bells)
"Um, I think we're lost."
And so that statement summarized what Patrick Reynolds was thinking that exact moment.
He looked around at his surroundings, trying to catch wind of where he was. Obviously, he was in some are not directly inside the town, as he noted that the buildings began thinning out the farther they walked. There were still some buildings around, as Patrick could observe, as well as a train-stop building. The train-stop building itself was a peculiar building, considering that it was riddled with bullet holes. Patrick off-handedly thought about whether or not some of his more violent classmates had already done battle. He shivered for a second at the thought.
He had been aiming to head for the Sheriff's Office to look for supplies but he had ended up in the Outskirts, by some stretch of fate. He had been blindly following the map the whole way, not really paying attention to where he was going the whole time. By the time he and Pepper had gotten to the Outskirts, Patrick realized that he had been reading the map wrong. And had been upside down the entire time.
He glanced at Pepper, who was looking quite uncomfortable standing there. She looked just as lost as Patrick, but it was obvious from her gaze that she was pinning the blame on Patrick. He couldn't really blame her.
But it seemed that this semi-apathy wasn't only because of the fact that they were lost. For the past couple of hours of wandering around aimlessly, they hadn't found anybody. They hadn't encountered one person they knew, or even didn't know.
"Hey, Pepper," he began to say," don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll someone or something soon. We can't be the only ones out here, right? There were like, what, fifty students in our class? We're sure to find people soon!"
Patrick patted Pepper on the shoulder, as if to show his point. Patrick vaguely realized that he had probably been a bit too nice when dealing with Pepper. I'm treating her like a child, he realized. Goddamn it, Patrick. When will you stop being so... condescending to others? Is that even the right word?
Gulping, he muttered, "Why don't we, um, check the train-stop?"
He ran over to the train-stop building, intent on finding someone, anything, that would make him feel better. For Pepper's sake, too, of course. But Patrick needed to keep his own sanity. Doing something substantial like searching for supplies or helping people was going to be his modus operandi for the rest of his stay at the island.
Heh. Modus operandi; I'm surprised I even know what that means.
From Where You're Kneeling
Private Thread
** Pepper Clarke, female no. 23, continued from... I Can Hear the Bells
Was anyone looking for them?It was a thought that had been dancing around Pepper Clarke’s mind since she and Patrick left the decrepit old town some time ago. Surely someone would realize they were missing, wouldn’t they? That something wasn’t completely right? Someone out there would have to realize that their kid, or grandkid in Pepper’s case, hadn’t come home when they were supposed to. Or would they? How long were they supposed to be on the trip, anyway? Better yet, where had they even been going? It wasn’t normal for her to forget things, but for some reason she couldn’t find an answer for any of her questions, as if that part of her brain had been removed or something.
She shivered, not from the weather (which had not made the change from ‘blistering hot’), but from a newfound sense of helplessness. Grimly, she scanned the horizon for any form of rescue, past some rocky mountains in the distance. She could almost picture a helicopter passing the mountains on its way to pick them up and free them from the ‘game’, or better yet, she could see herself, thinner and confident, leading her classmates across the perilous mountains into salvation beyond.
She’d be the hero, the one people wrote about rather than the one who wrote about them. Pepper smiled softly to herself as she clutched her still unopened bag closer to her chest, burying her face slightly into the rough material.
That would be the day. Fat ole’ Pepper trying to lead a group of kids across a mountain. Keep dreaming, girlfriend.
"Um, I think we're lost."
Jarred from her thoughts, Pepper glanced over at Patrick, whom seemed hopelessly lost as he studied the map in his hands. Which, by association, made her hopelessly lost as well, seeing as she’d been following him blindly since they’d left Ramona and Benny. Not to mention quietly. The two had barely talked the entire journey, which wasn’t to say Patrick hadn’t tried—he had—but Pepper was never really much of a talker, not until she was comfortable.
She wasn’t much of a toucher either, evident from her squirming as Patrick tried to reassure her that they’d find someone soon—which she immediately felt bad about.
“It’s, uhm, okay?” She stated softly, though it came off moreso as a question, “At least we’re not completely alone, right?”
She felt obligated to make small talk with him as the duo bounded toward the, admittedly, seedy-looking train station—eerily pock-marked with several bullet holes. He had been the one that took her on as his own responsibility, as humiliating as it was to admit.
“So, uhm, anyone… in particular you wanna find? Like, uhh, a girlfriend or something? Or a boyfriend if that’s what you’re into? ‘Cause, erm, there’s nothing wrong with that? Not to say that you look gay or anything, ‘cause you don’t, but, uhhh, uhm, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that either?”
She groaned internally, fighting the urge to rip her hair out.
Why on Earth couldn't she just be a normal human and interact with other humans in a normal way? Honestly.
[[OOC: Aw, this probably isn't the best job, because I'm rather tired, but it wouldn't be cool for me to make you guys wait any longer so here goes.]]
[[Delilah Rivers Continued From: Water Under the Bridge.]]
Delilah ran, she ran for a long time until her legs could barely take it anymore.
She took down her pace to a very slow, zombie like walk, once she saw the traces of what appeared to be a cluster of buildings at a short distance. She held the sheathed cavalry sword against herself as she did with her bag before, tightly against herself like a hug. She didn't feel wet anymore. The desert heat had practically hardened and dried all traces of Richard's blood on her skin and clothes. Still visible, but no longer fresh except for the small gash on the side of her forehead from the rock she had fell on after Richard struck her.
Why? Why had she gone off alone. This was a stupid idea. She was all alone, by herself, helpless with no one to follow. She was a fool for doing so. Back at the bridge were Sam, who had proven to want to help her and keep her safe and a friend of hers in Clair. They were the support she needed in this situation and she went ahead and ran away from it all to who knows what unknowns lay across the wasteland.
Not to mention that in her hurry to run away from everyone she hadn't even been smart enough to bring along her bag. All she had now was her assigned weapon and Richard's cowbell - that was all. She pulled it out of her pocket and began to ring it with every step she took toward what she assumed was some sort of Ghost Town. It was an odd thing, that cowbell. Sorta like a trophy.
Nearing the town outskirts was a task, one that made Delilah feel rather tired, thirsty and hungry once she got there. But she had no food. No water. Nothing. The tears that seemed to come so easily before wouldn't come out, her body seemingly depleted of all liquids, as her face scrunched up into a self-pitying weep.
Delilah fell to the ground, near a few bullet ridden structures. She just wanted to lay here. Without food, without drinkable water for her parched insides. She'd be weak and be easy picking for any dangerous people. Heck, without any rations, maybe she'd just starve and die pathetically like this in the middle of the dirt.
The problem was, Delilah really didn't want to die.
There had to be a solution to this somehow. All she needed was a bag, any bag would do, as long as it still contained the necessary supplies. Maybe someone friendly would find her? Maybe they'd help her and share their rations with her.
But then again, the constant fear that not everyone were to be trusted with their lives on the line kept Delilah uneasy. Again, she was an easy target, they could get rid of her easily, especially if they knew what she did. They could very well guess and never trust Delilah themselves. She had killed, after all, which made her dangerous - a threat to their lives. Some people would just kill. No sensible person would let someone like that free and it scared her. It really scared her. Some people, like Richard, wouldn't even need that reason. Some people were just plain, bad. They hunt and prey on the weak, so Delilah needed to tell herself to be strong. She needed to be...
Preemptive.
Get them before they get you. It felt so wrong to think like that. But still, it was a realistic action. She didn't have to resort to that though. There could still be nice people like Sam around, at least she hoped. She hadn't seen many people, not since the bridge. They could have all started playing the Sheriff's "game" by now.
For now, she laid there, on the dried yellow-brown grass and sulked in her emotions, hoping anyone, anyone friendly could help.
[[Delilah Rivers Continued From: Water Under the Bridge.]]
Delilah ran, she ran for a long time until her legs could barely take it anymore.
She took down her pace to a very slow, zombie like walk, once she saw the traces of what appeared to be a cluster of buildings at a short distance. She held the sheathed cavalry sword against herself as she did with her bag before, tightly against herself like a hug. She didn't feel wet anymore. The desert heat had practically hardened and dried all traces of Richard's blood on her skin and clothes. Still visible, but no longer fresh except for the small gash on the side of her forehead from the rock she had fell on after Richard struck her.
Why? Why had she gone off alone. This was a stupid idea. She was all alone, by herself, helpless with no one to follow. She was a fool for doing so. Back at the bridge were Sam, who had proven to want to help her and keep her safe and a friend of hers in Clair. They were the support she needed in this situation and she went ahead and ran away from it all to who knows what unknowns lay across the wasteland.
Not to mention that in her hurry to run away from everyone she hadn't even been smart enough to bring along her bag. All she had now was her assigned weapon and Richard's cowbell - that was all. She pulled it out of her pocket and began to ring it with every step she took toward what she assumed was some sort of Ghost Town. It was an odd thing, that cowbell. Sorta like a trophy.
Nearing the town outskirts was a task, one that made Delilah feel rather tired, thirsty and hungry once she got there. But she had no food. No water. Nothing. The tears that seemed to come so easily before wouldn't come out, her body seemingly depleted of all liquids, as her face scrunched up into a self-pitying weep.
Delilah fell to the ground, near a few bullet ridden structures. She just wanted to lay here. Without food, without drinkable water for her parched insides. She'd be weak and be easy picking for any dangerous people. Heck, without any rations, maybe she'd just starve and die pathetically like this in the middle of the dirt.
The problem was, Delilah really didn't want to die.
There had to be a solution to this somehow. All she needed was a bag, any bag would do, as long as it still contained the necessary supplies. Maybe someone friendly would find her? Maybe they'd help her and share their rations with her.
But then again, the constant fear that not everyone were to be trusted with their lives on the line kept Delilah uneasy. Again, she was an easy target, they could get rid of her easily, especially if they knew what she did. They could very well guess and never trust Delilah themselves. She had killed, after all, which made her dangerous - a threat to their lives. Some people would just kill. No sensible person would let someone like that free and it scared her. It really scared her. Some people, like Richard, wouldn't even need that reason. Some people were just plain, bad. They hunt and prey on the weak, so Delilah needed to tell herself to be strong. She needed to be...
Preemptive.
Get them before they get you. It felt so wrong to think like that. But still, it was a realistic action. She didn't have to resort to that though. There could still be nice people like Sam around, at least she hoped. She hadn't seen many people, not since the bridge. They could have all started playing the Sheriff's "game" by now.
For now, she laid there, on the dried yellow-brown grass and sulked in her emotions, hoping anyone, anyone friendly could help.
Patrick searched the train-stop for anything, but a few minutes of cabinet-checking and looking under objects made it very obvious that there was nothing there. Either nothing was there in the first place or looters had already gotten to the place before Patrick and Pepper. It didn't really matter at this point and Patrick faced Pepper as she awkwardly asked him a question about wanting to find a girlfriend or boyfriend or someone.
"No, nothing like that. Never really had a girlfriend, come to think of it. Is that odd? Handsome guy like me and he doesn't have a girlfriend?" Patrick smiled good-naturedly and shrugged.
Patrick stepped out of the train-stop building for a moment and sat down on the steps. He nudged a rock with his foot, eventually kicking it a considerable distance away. He watched as it tumbled over a pothole. Passing time in this place seemed dread-inducing.
"Anyway," he said, "there are a lot of other people we could be meeting up with that might help us. The theatre group is one; I love those guys. And my track buddies. And Martin and Roy and Renee. We have a lot of allies out here."
Patrick looked at Pepper, standing there weirdly in the sunlight. Her posture suggested that she was worn and tired and wishing she were somewhere else. Combined with her physical, er, problems, one would find a person that'd have a hard time getting anywhere in this place. Patrick vaguely mused at how she could possibly survive in a place like this where people would try to kill you every step of the way.
Now death was a real bummer to talk about and he was getting pretty hungry; he didn't eat anything since he'd gotten there. So Patrick pulled out his bag, opened it, and pulled out a loaf of bread. He munched on it hungrily, finishing up about three-quarters of it before realizing that he should probably be preserving it for later. He shoved it back into his bag.
"We should probably get going. There's nothing here." He got up and started walking away to examine another building. To his surprise, there was a person sitting there, looking dejected near the back of the building.
Delilah Rivers, the French-Canadian theatre girl. Man, Patrick and the rest were finding these theatre guys like they were magnets to Patrick's metal. And Delilah was really good friends with Pepper if he wasn't mistaken.
He called to Pepper, "Hey Pepper, guess who's here!"
Patrick was about to grin and greet her when he noticed the dried blood on her clothes, hands, face, everywhere. There was a gash on the side of her head. She held a sheathed sword to her chest tightly. Patrick's optimistic attitude lost its fervor.
"Delilah?" he asked cautiously. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
What happened to this girl?
He walked over to her, kneeling when he was right in front of her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. "Hey, look at me second, please? It's me Patrick Reynolds, remember? I was in theatre in with you."
"No, nothing like that. Never really had a girlfriend, come to think of it. Is that odd? Handsome guy like me and he doesn't have a girlfriend?" Patrick smiled good-naturedly and shrugged.
Patrick stepped out of the train-stop building for a moment and sat down on the steps. He nudged a rock with his foot, eventually kicking it a considerable distance away. He watched as it tumbled over a pothole. Passing time in this place seemed dread-inducing.
"Anyway," he said, "there are a lot of other people we could be meeting up with that might help us. The theatre group is one; I love those guys. And my track buddies. And Martin and Roy and Renee. We have a lot of allies out here."
Patrick looked at Pepper, standing there weirdly in the sunlight. Her posture suggested that she was worn and tired and wishing she were somewhere else. Combined with her physical, er, problems, one would find a person that'd have a hard time getting anywhere in this place. Patrick vaguely mused at how she could possibly survive in a place like this where people would try to kill you every step of the way.
Now death was a real bummer to talk about and he was getting pretty hungry; he didn't eat anything since he'd gotten there. So Patrick pulled out his bag, opened it, and pulled out a loaf of bread. He munched on it hungrily, finishing up about three-quarters of it before realizing that he should probably be preserving it for later. He shoved it back into his bag.
"We should probably get going. There's nothing here." He got up and started walking away to examine another building. To his surprise, there was a person sitting there, looking dejected near the back of the building.
Delilah Rivers, the French-Canadian theatre girl. Man, Patrick and the rest were finding these theatre guys like they were magnets to Patrick's metal. And Delilah was really good friends with Pepper if he wasn't mistaken.
He called to Pepper, "Hey Pepper, guess who's here!"
Patrick was about to grin and greet her when he noticed the dried blood on her clothes, hands, face, everywhere. There was a gash on the side of her head. She held a sheathed sword to her chest tightly. Patrick's optimistic attitude lost its fervor.
"Delilah?" he asked cautiously. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
What happened to this girl?
He walked over to her, kneeling when he was right in front of her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. "Hey, look at me second, please? It's me Patrick Reynolds, remember? I was in theatre in with you."
((Cameo Conroy continues from Sparks of the Tempest))
Don't go near her.
The grass crunched almost mutedly under her boots as she shuffled around the grass sprouted and dying along the side of the train stop. No one knew she was there. Cameo could see them go about their business, but nobody knew she was there. She saw the kid, and the horrendous monster of a girl, and the dainty one almost out of sight and covered in blood, all from the broadside she was hiding.
She had only just arrived when people started to show up. No time to act, she'd shrunken down the sides of the building until they wanted to go, but it didn't look like they were leaving. That was until the other girl showed up, covered in what she knew perfectly well now was blood. And it wasn't just that it was there, it was that it was everywhere, all over her skin, her clothing, like she'd been dipped in it. A gruelling thought it was.
Death had graced her. She may not have been the victim, but she knew that unmistakably gaunt and hallowed look anyway. It may as well have been the very look that came over her own face upon finding that boy's body down by the water, only wracked in more terror than apathy and calm.
But people would do their things. They would wander, and they would happen upon such an emotional girl, and they would do what the boy was doing and go towards her. It was human behaviour.
Cameo wanted to run at him, to stop him.
Don't go near her.
Don't go near her.
She's going to kill you.
Don't go near her.
The grass crunched almost mutedly under her boots as she shuffled around the grass sprouted and dying along the side of the train stop. No one knew she was there. Cameo could see them go about their business, but nobody knew she was there. She saw the kid, and the horrendous monster of a girl, and the dainty one almost out of sight and covered in blood, all from the broadside she was hiding.
She had only just arrived when people started to show up. No time to act, she'd shrunken down the sides of the building until they wanted to go, but it didn't look like they were leaving. That was until the other girl showed up, covered in what she knew perfectly well now was blood. And it wasn't just that it was there, it was that it was everywhere, all over her skin, her clothing, like she'd been dipped in it. A gruelling thought it was.
Death had graced her. She may not have been the victim, but she knew that unmistakably gaunt and hallowed look anyway. It may as well have been the very look that came over her own face upon finding that boy's body down by the water, only wracked in more terror than apathy and calm.
But people would do their things. They would wander, and they would happen upon such an emotional girl, and they would do what the boy was doing and go towards her. It was human behaviour.
Cameo wanted to run at him, to stop him.
Don't go near her.
Don't go near her.
She's going to kill you.
(Skipping Mimi to avoid deadline problems)
(GMing Approved)
Delilah sat on the ground, a neutral look on her face. Patrick couldn't figure her out. On the one hand, she was bloody so something must have happened to her. On the other, well, Patrick figured that not all of that blood was hers. The fact that she wasn't answering any of his questions certainly wasn't helping.
Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. He got up and paced for a second. He looked at Delilah.
"At the very least, can you tell me if you're all right, physically?" Patrick asked with desperation.
Delilah gave a small nod, hugging her sword. She seemed pretty protective of the thing, like she was hiding something...
Oh, God. Don't tell me...
Things weren't adding up. The bloody clothes, the sword, the way Delilah was acting; it was getting really out of the ordinary.
Patrick inhaled sharply. He was bad enough at getting secrets out of people in a normal environment. In this high-stress, blood-filled situation they found themselves in, what chance did he have? But he had to know. If Delilah had done something, hurt someone... then Patrick needed to know if he should leave her behind.
Patrick felt that small pang of guilt he always felt when he knew he'd be hurting someone, even unintentionally. He had seen enough of that sort of thing from his father, and he didn't need to become like him. Especially now, when he needed to be strong.
Patrick faced Delilah, his face becoming hard. "Why is there so much blood, Delilah?" Patrick asked with uncharacteristic seriousness.
Delilah suddenly stiffened and her eyes widened, focused on Patrick. He suddenly felt like his approach wasn't going to be as effective as he was hoping, but he had to keep going.
"Why are you so afraid to tell me?" he demanded. "You know I won't hurt you! You know that; we're friends, remember?"
I'm doing this wrong! Patrick, why are you going about it like this? Don't be demanding!
But he wasn't stopping. He was on a roll, now. Patrick went down to Delilah and grabbed her shoulder asking, "Why don't you think about Pepper, huh? Don't you think she'd want to know what happened?"
But Patrick knew that the moment he grabbed her shoulder, things were going to go bad. Delilah froze when he grabbed her shoulder. He could feel her breath quickening and her heart was going crazy. He really should have seen it, considering her hand suddenly shifted to her sword's hilt.
He almost expected it then, when her sword flew out and slashed through his abdomen. He screamed as loudly as he'd ever screamed. He fell on his back, feeling the rough surface of the ground against the back of his shirt.
Oh God, oh God, oh God...
The wound was bleeding profusely and he was feeling incredibly light-headed. He shot a hand on the wound in a futile attempt to try and cover it up. He could feel how deep the cut went. It hurt more than anything else he'd ever felt. Nothing was close to the pain he was feeling at that moment.
Then his eyes rested on Delilah. She stood over him and he briefly saw an expression flash through her face. Was it guilt? Remorse? Disgust? He didn't know, but he did know that she had done something horrible before meeting up with him. It must have been horrible if she was willing to risk killing him over it.
And that's when it hit Patrick. He was going to die. Oddly enough, he didn't feel as inconclusive about it as he thought he would be. In fact, death felt alost comforting considering the pain he was in.
He looked at Delilah again. Trying his hardest he managed to croak out, "Delilah. Please..." When he saw her raise the sword, he knew that she got the message. There was no reason to prolong the pain.
As she plunged the sword into his heart, the only thought he had was, Do you think you'll be able to live with this, Delilah?
[M16: Patrick Reynolds - GAME OVER]
(GMing Approved)
Delilah sat on the ground, a neutral look on her face. Patrick couldn't figure her out. On the one hand, she was bloody so something must have happened to her. On the other, well, Patrick figured that not all of that blood was hers. The fact that she wasn't answering any of his questions certainly wasn't helping.
Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. He got up and paced for a second. He looked at Delilah.
"At the very least, can you tell me if you're all right, physically?" Patrick asked with desperation.
Delilah gave a small nod, hugging her sword. She seemed pretty protective of the thing, like she was hiding something...
Oh, God. Don't tell me...
Things weren't adding up. The bloody clothes, the sword, the way Delilah was acting; it was getting really out of the ordinary.
Patrick inhaled sharply. He was bad enough at getting secrets out of people in a normal environment. In this high-stress, blood-filled situation they found themselves in, what chance did he have? But he had to know. If Delilah had done something, hurt someone... then Patrick needed to know if he should leave her behind.
Patrick felt that small pang of guilt he always felt when he knew he'd be hurting someone, even unintentionally. He had seen enough of that sort of thing from his father, and he didn't need to become like him. Especially now, when he needed to be strong.
Patrick faced Delilah, his face becoming hard. "Why is there so much blood, Delilah?" Patrick asked with uncharacteristic seriousness.
Delilah suddenly stiffened and her eyes widened, focused on Patrick. He suddenly felt like his approach wasn't going to be as effective as he was hoping, but he had to keep going.
"Why are you so afraid to tell me?" he demanded. "You know I won't hurt you! You know that; we're friends, remember?"
I'm doing this wrong! Patrick, why are you going about it like this? Don't be demanding!
But he wasn't stopping. He was on a roll, now. Patrick went down to Delilah and grabbed her shoulder asking, "Why don't you think about Pepper, huh? Don't you think she'd want to know what happened?"
But Patrick knew that the moment he grabbed her shoulder, things were going to go bad. Delilah froze when he grabbed her shoulder. He could feel her breath quickening and her heart was going crazy. He really should have seen it, considering her hand suddenly shifted to her sword's hilt.
He almost expected it then, when her sword flew out and slashed through his abdomen. He screamed as loudly as he'd ever screamed. He fell on his back, feeling the rough surface of the ground against the back of his shirt.
Oh God, oh God, oh God...
The wound was bleeding profusely and he was feeling incredibly light-headed. He shot a hand on the wound in a futile attempt to try and cover it up. He could feel how deep the cut went. It hurt more than anything else he'd ever felt. Nothing was close to the pain he was feeling at that moment.
Then his eyes rested on Delilah. She stood over him and he briefly saw an expression flash through her face. Was it guilt? Remorse? Disgust? He didn't know, but he did know that she had done something horrible before meeting up with him. It must have been horrible if she was willing to risk killing him over it.
And that's when it hit Patrick. He was going to die. Oddly enough, he didn't feel as inconclusive about it as he thought he would be. In fact, death felt alost comforting considering the pain he was in.
He looked at Delilah again. Trying his hardest he managed to croak out, "Delilah. Please..." When he saw her raise the sword, he knew that she got the message. There was no reason to prolong the pain.
As she plunged the sword into his heart, the only thought he had was, Do you think you'll be able to live with this, Delilah?
[M16: Patrick Reynolds - GAME OVER]
Eventually, Delilah pulled herself against the bullet ridden, wooden wall and slumped against it in a sitting position.
A few minutes later she begun to hear voices. A boy's voice mainly. People. She stiffened, unsure how to react to the newcomers, aside from being extremely cautious.
It wasn't until the boy mentioned Pepper's name, that Delilah allowed herself to relax the slightest bit; her heart lighting up after hearing her best friend's name.
Pepper. She was here and she was safe.
Then the boy came into view, running toward her. Immediately questioning her, his hand on her shoulder, touching her, shaking her and again, Delilah began to tense up.
Delilah couldn't answer his query. If she did she'd have to tell him the whole story and she couldn't. She could not let anyone know.
She remembered Patrick from theatre. He was friendly enough, but like most students from Alderbrook, she had rarely talked to him outside of the club.
Delilah stared at him, trying to read his expression, whether or not she could invest trust in him, as he began to pace around in front of her. He asked whether or not she was alright physically, to which Delilah answered with a small nod.
That's all she would give him. Basic answers, with the least possible information, to avoid any unnecessary digging.
Then his expression changed. Patrick's face hardened as he glared at her and she could not keep herself from seeing Richard's in it.
"Why is there so much blood, Delilah?"
Her eyes widened, her muscles stiffened, and her breathing picked up.
Suspicion.
He was on to her. He was beginning to figure it out. Putting everything together, just by looking at her.
Patrick's voice grew louder, more frightening. He was a bigger than her, stronger than her and Delilah tightened her hold on her sabre, afraid of what he might do to her if he found out the whole truth.
"Why are you so afraid to tell me?" he demanded. "You know I won't hurt you! You know that; we're friends, remember?"
Friends? She knew him from Theatre yes, he even happened to be a pretty nice fellow, but she didn't know him well enough to consider a friend. In this situation, he hadn't been anywhere as gentle toward her as Sam had been, either. In fact he was making her rather distressed rather than helping to calm her down.
"Why don't you think about Pepper, huh? Don't you think she'd want to know what happened?"
Pepper. That was right, she was here. But she could not allow Patrick to poison her ears any longer. Pepper didn't need to know the bloody details. No one did.
Then she felt his arms grip her shoulders. Patrick had grabbed her in an uncomfortable way. He touched her. She did not like being touched, especially in this way and she was a terrified. She could only think of Richard once more, when he had done the same. She did not know what Patrick could be capable of.
He knew. He had been suspicious, but Delilah knew right there that Patrick knew. He just wanted her to admit it out loud, as he shook for an answer. Her heart pumped rapidly and her hand went and found it's way to the hilt of her sabre.
In one quick slice - Patrick was on the ground.
Fresh blood added with the rest on her hands and the sound of Patrick's scream continued to echo within her ears.
While she stood above the laying, bleeding boy, Delilah tilted her head and looked at him. His wound was bleeding profusely as he groaned and writhed on the ground. She felt pangs of guilt as she watched him in that state. It didn't have to be this way, but she had no choice.
It was either him or her and Delilah chose herself.
"Delilah. Please..." He was begging. Not for his life, but for death.
The least she could do, was to put him out of his misery. End the pain. End the suffering. Her goal was to live, there was no need to prolong his pain. She'd make it quick.
With two hands Delilah, gripped the handle of her sword, kneeled down and plunged the sabre into his chest.
Coup de grâce.
When Delilah was sure Patrick was no longer alive, she immediately took his bag. She had supplies again.
He had mentioned Pepper, so she was near and sure enough, Delilah turned around and saw her only a few feet away.
There was no reason to fear her. She knew Pepper, she was not threat. She was by far her closest friend.
"Pepper." She replied quietly.
This was no good, her poor friend was obviously just as scared as she was. She hated to see Pepper like that. She needed to ease her up, get her comfortable. It was no use having two frightened girls around. They'd be easy targets for dangerous psychopaths. So she brushed her short hair back from her forehead, with her wet palms, doing her best to collect herself after her most recent activity.
Then she allowed herself to smile.
It was an exaggerated one, with the corners of her mouth stretching and pushing her cheek muscles all the way back. It might not have been the best idea, but it was the only one she could think of to keep Pepper comfortable.
Delilah patted the flat end of her sword against her face and extended her other arm forward, palm up and blood dripping from her fingers.
An invitation for her friend to join her. If that wasn't clear enough; Delilah also spoke up as cheery as she possibly could for the other girl. Her French Canadian accent, rolling off her tongue.
"Come with me, Pepper... I'll keep you safe!"
A few minutes later she begun to hear voices. A boy's voice mainly. People. She stiffened, unsure how to react to the newcomers, aside from being extremely cautious.
It wasn't until the boy mentioned Pepper's name, that Delilah allowed herself to relax the slightest bit; her heart lighting up after hearing her best friend's name.
Pepper. She was here and she was safe.
Then the boy came into view, running toward her. Immediately questioning her, his hand on her shoulder, touching her, shaking her and again, Delilah began to tense up.
Delilah couldn't answer his query. If she did she'd have to tell him the whole story and she couldn't. She could not let anyone know.
She remembered Patrick from theatre. He was friendly enough, but like most students from Alderbrook, she had rarely talked to him outside of the club.
Delilah stared at him, trying to read his expression, whether or not she could invest trust in him, as he began to pace around in front of her. He asked whether or not she was alright physically, to which Delilah answered with a small nod.
That's all she would give him. Basic answers, with the least possible information, to avoid any unnecessary digging.
Then his expression changed. Patrick's face hardened as he glared at her and she could not keep herself from seeing Richard's in it.
"Why is there so much blood, Delilah?"
Her eyes widened, her muscles stiffened, and her breathing picked up.
Suspicion.
He was on to her. He was beginning to figure it out. Putting everything together, just by looking at her.
Patrick's voice grew louder, more frightening. He was a bigger than her, stronger than her and Delilah tightened her hold on her sabre, afraid of what he might do to her if he found out the whole truth.
"Why are you so afraid to tell me?" he demanded. "You know I won't hurt you! You know that; we're friends, remember?"
Friends? She knew him from Theatre yes, he even happened to be a pretty nice fellow, but she didn't know him well enough to consider a friend. In this situation, he hadn't been anywhere as gentle toward her as Sam had been, either. In fact he was making her rather distressed rather than helping to calm her down.
"Why don't you think about Pepper, huh? Don't you think she'd want to know what happened?"
Pepper. That was right, she was here. But she could not allow Patrick to poison her ears any longer. Pepper didn't need to know the bloody details. No one did.
Then she felt his arms grip her shoulders. Patrick had grabbed her in an uncomfortable way. He touched her. She did not like being touched, especially in this way and she was a terrified. She could only think of Richard once more, when he had done the same. She did not know what Patrick could be capable of.
He knew. He had been suspicious, but Delilah knew right there that Patrick knew. He just wanted her to admit it out loud, as he shook for an answer. Her heart pumped rapidly and her hand went and found it's way to the hilt of her sabre.
In one quick slice - Patrick was on the ground.
Fresh blood added with the rest on her hands and the sound of Patrick's scream continued to echo within her ears.
While she stood above the laying, bleeding boy, Delilah tilted her head and looked at him. His wound was bleeding profusely as he groaned and writhed on the ground. She felt pangs of guilt as she watched him in that state. It didn't have to be this way, but she had no choice.
It was either him or her and Delilah chose herself.
"Delilah. Please..." He was begging. Not for his life, but for death.
The least she could do, was to put him out of his misery. End the pain. End the suffering. Her goal was to live, there was no need to prolong his pain. She'd make it quick.
With two hands Delilah, gripped the handle of her sword, kneeled down and plunged the sabre into his chest.
Coup de grâce.
When Delilah was sure Patrick was no longer alive, she immediately took his bag. She had supplies again.
He had mentioned Pepper, so she was near and sure enough, Delilah turned around and saw her only a few feet away.
There was no reason to fear her. She knew Pepper, she was not threat. She was by far her closest friend.
"Pepper." She replied quietly.
This was no good, her poor friend was obviously just as scared as she was. She hated to see Pepper like that. She needed to ease her up, get her comfortable. It was no use having two frightened girls around. They'd be easy targets for dangerous psychopaths. So she brushed her short hair back from her forehead, with her wet palms, doing her best to collect herself after her most recent activity.
Then she allowed herself to smile.
It was an exaggerated one, with the corners of her mouth stretching and pushing her cheek muscles all the way back. It might not have been the best idea, but it was the only one she could think of to keep Pepper comfortable.
Delilah patted the flat end of her sword against her face and extended her other arm forward, palm up and blood dripping from her fingers.
An invitation for her friend to join her. If that wasn't clear enough; Delilah also spoke up as cheery as she possibly could for the other girl. Her French Canadian accent, rolling off her tongue.
"Come with me, Pepper... I'll keep you safe!"
((Cameo Conroy continues in A Perfect Day))
[[Short post to avoid inactivity, as I wait for Pepper to respond.]]
Delilah kept up her smile while looking brightly at her best friend, her hand still outreaching toward her.
At the same time she wondered what was in Patrick's bag. She knew there would be food and water to eat and drink so she wouldn't die. Maybe extra clothes - something Delilah really needed right about now, but Patrick was a boy and boy clothes wouldn't do. Then she remembered the fact that everyone had weapons, anxious to see what Patrick's was.
She'd check as soon as Pepper joined her so they could get moving to somewhere safe.
Away from the scene of her unfortunate, but necessary crime.
Delilah kept up her smile while looking brightly at her best friend, her hand still outreaching toward her.
At the same time she wondered what was in Patrick's bag. She knew there would be food and water to eat and drink so she wouldn't die. Maybe extra clothes - something Delilah really needed right about now, but Patrick was a boy and boy clothes wouldn't do. Then she remembered the fact that everyone had weapons, anxious to see what Patrick's was.
She'd check as soon as Pepper joined her so they could get moving to somewhere safe.
Away from the scene of her unfortunate, but necessary crime.
Time seemed to move in slow motion, if not stopping all together as everything Pepper knew—or thought she knew—crumbled around her.
Everything had gone to Hell on a speeding bullet. One moment, Patrick was talking to her about never having had a girlfriend, something she could painfully relate to, and the next he was gone, flame extinguished by the one person she considered closer than family. The entire scene replayed itself in her head, Patrick’s pained scream ringing through her ears long after warmth had left his body.
She hadn’t even registered falling to her knees, foolishly trying to process anything. All she could do was despondantly stare at Patrick’s body, hot tears pricking the corner of her eyes as she locked on her companion’s peaceful face.
It almost looked as if he were sleeping, finally finding serenity from the nightmare they’d been forced into.
Anguish washed across her face.
Is it a good dream, Pat? Did you find everything you were looking for?
Pepper buried her face into her shaking hands. She didn’t want to see Delilah, fear creeping deep into the recesses of her mind as she envisioned her friend covered in blood and smiling. She didn’t want to acknowledge the monster the had taken over her friend.
Her nails dug deep into her skin in an effort to expell the mental images, flashing between the gore of Patrick’s death and her own iminent death that she was sure would be at the hands of her closest friend.
She was ready for it. Just don’t make her suffer, give her the peace that Patrick found in his slumber.
Her response came in the form of a cold droplet on her forehead.
She knew it wasn’t rain immediately.
Removing her face from her hands, she ran the tips of her fingers across her forehead, horror washing over her as she examined the wet red substance.
"Come with me, Pepper... I'll keep you safe!"
Pepper looked up at her friend, her fear realizing itself as she was met with the bloody smile of Delilah Rivers, dried blood caking her face, fresh coating an extended hand.
An audible choke squeezed it’s way out as her breath hitched in her throat.
Timidly, she took her friend’s hand, coating her own in Patrick’s blood. Delilah was all she had, the one person who she counted on to keep her from complete despair back home.
Through the tear streaks left in the filth and behind the horror, desperation marked Pepper’s face as she moved to hug Delilah.
And she laughed. Long, hard laughs that shook her entire body.
She tried to tell herself it was happiness overtaking her, having finally found her best friend, but the anguished sobs and the fear that was rattling her bones told a different story.
Everything had gone to Hell on a speeding bullet. One moment, Patrick was talking to her about never having had a girlfriend, something she could painfully relate to, and the next he was gone, flame extinguished by the one person she considered closer than family. The entire scene replayed itself in her head, Patrick’s pained scream ringing through her ears long after warmth had left his body.
She hadn’t even registered falling to her knees, foolishly trying to process anything. All she could do was despondantly stare at Patrick’s body, hot tears pricking the corner of her eyes as she locked on her companion’s peaceful face.
It almost looked as if he were sleeping, finally finding serenity from the nightmare they’d been forced into.
Anguish washed across her face.
Is it a good dream, Pat? Did you find everything you were looking for?
Pepper buried her face into her shaking hands. She didn’t want to see Delilah, fear creeping deep into the recesses of her mind as she envisioned her friend covered in blood and smiling. She didn’t want to acknowledge the monster the had taken over her friend.
Her nails dug deep into her skin in an effort to expell the mental images, flashing between the gore of Patrick’s death and her own iminent death that she was sure would be at the hands of her closest friend.
She was ready for it. Just don’t make her suffer, give her the peace that Patrick found in his slumber.
Her response came in the form of a cold droplet on her forehead.
She knew it wasn’t rain immediately.
Removing her face from her hands, she ran the tips of her fingers across her forehead, horror washing over her as she examined the wet red substance.
"Come with me, Pepper... I'll keep you safe!"
Pepper looked up at her friend, her fear realizing itself as she was met with the bloody smile of Delilah Rivers, dried blood caking her face, fresh coating an extended hand.
An audible choke squeezed it’s way out as her breath hitched in her throat.
Timidly, she took her friend’s hand, coating her own in Patrick’s blood. Delilah was all she had, the one person who she counted on to keep her from complete despair back home.
Through the tear streaks left in the filth and behind the horror, desperation marked Pepper’s face as she moved to hug Delilah.
And she laughed. Long, hard laughs that shook her entire body.
She tried to tell herself it was happiness overtaking her, having finally found her best friend, but the anguished sobs and the fear that was rattling her bones told a different story.
"It is ok. Please don't be scared, Pepper. Je t'apprécie beaucoup."
Delilah smiled when Pepper accepted her hand and gave her a hug, laughing along with her.
She pulled back from her friend, looked at her and watched tears run down Pepper's face. She smiled at her, doing her best to cheer her friend up and gave her another hug. She pulled back again, putting her sword down, away from the bigger girl.
The French girl, took off her newly soaked jacket and wiped the blood from her hands onto it. Carefully, she put her hands up to Pepper's face and gently used her fingers to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Pepper's trembling did not go unnoticed. Delilah knew she was scared, afraid of this whole game, but it was okay now. Delilah understood, she felt the same way. But now they had each other and Delilah was sure to keep her safe from all the crazy people. She knew that Pepper knew that. Still she needed her friend to relax.
With her hands still on Pepper's face, Delilah leaned in and gave a kiss on each of her cheeks and gave one more hug. The same old greeting she'd give to her back home. A little ounce of normalcy was a nice touch. It kept you grounded and god knows, that both Pepper and Delilah needed that after everything that happened. With Patrick, with Richard - it was bound to happen again, Delilah knew it, she had to be careful. Not everyone were good people, like Pepper, like Clair... like Sam.
It was the wrong move, leaving them. They were good people, she could trust them not to hurt her. She had been too emotional back then, but she had some time to think during her walk here. Perhaps it would be a wise decision to go back and look for Sam again. Yeah, it was time to let Pepper know.
"Pepper. We must move on, no? I need to wash up and we should find somewhere we can satisfy our appetites."
Delilah picked up Patrick's bag and her trusty sabre again as she prepared herself for travel, before extending her palm to Pepper once more.
"I know a fine place 'En route by the river."
[[Delilah Rivers Continued To: Devil Nights.]]
Delilah smiled when Pepper accepted her hand and gave her a hug, laughing along with her.
She pulled back from her friend, looked at her and watched tears run down Pepper's face. She smiled at her, doing her best to cheer her friend up and gave her another hug. She pulled back again, putting her sword down, away from the bigger girl.
The French girl, took off her newly soaked jacket and wiped the blood from her hands onto it. Carefully, she put her hands up to Pepper's face and gently used her fingers to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Pepper's trembling did not go unnoticed. Delilah knew she was scared, afraid of this whole game, but it was okay now. Delilah understood, she felt the same way. But now they had each other and Delilah was sure to keep her safe from all the crazy people. She knew that Pepper knew that. Still she needed her friend to relax.
With her hands still on Pepper's face, Delilah leaned in and gave a kiss on each of her cheeks and gave one more hug. The same old greeting she'd give to her back home. A little ounce of normalcy was a nice touch. It kept you grounded and god knows, that both Pepper and Delilah needed that after everything that happened. With Patrick, with Richard - it was bound to happen again, Delilah knew it, she had to be careful. Not everyone were good people, like Pepper, like Clair... like Sam.
It was the wrong move, leaving them. They were good people, she could trust them not to hurt her. She had been too emotional back then, but she had some time to think during her walk here. Perhaps it would be a wise decision to go back and look for Sam again. Yeah, it was time to let Pepper know.
"Pepper. We must move on, no? I need to wash up and we should find somewhere we can satisfy our appetites."
Delilah picked up Patrick's bag and her trusty sabre again as she prepared herself for travel, before extending her palm to Pepper once more.
"I know a fine place 'En route by the river."
[[Delilah Rivers Continued To: Devil Nights.]]
Pepper froze under Delilah’s touch, her legs buckling uncomfortably as her friend ran a hand colder than ice over her face. She found herself searching Delilah’s eyes, desperate to find any flicker of the friend she knew back home buried beneath the frosty gaze. Anything. Any sign at all that this Delilah was the same one from Alderbrook, not the bloodied monster burned deep into her mind. The Delilah who’d sit and clap cheerfully with her during the school’s plays, who’d stay up with her into the wee hours of the morning raiding the fridge and watching the musicals that they loved so dearly.
Hazy and unfocused. Anger. Fear. Desperation, maybe. That was all Pepper could find, Delilah Rivers by face and name, but not by heart and soul. It tore her up, overwhelming loss gripping tightly at her chest as Delilah smiled at her. She did everything in her power to focus on her, keep all her attention on Delilah so as not to turn around and see what she was truly capable. It was too painful. Not only to see Patrick like that, but to accept that her friend had done it.
For a moment, perhaps from years of sharing her secrets with nobody but Delilah, she wanted to tell Delilah about the meeting at the light post, tell her that they could be safe.
But no matter how much it pained her to admit it; they wouldn’t be. This Delilah was unhinged, unpredictable in what she’d do. They’d ask about Patrick and Delilah would lose it, God knows how many there’d been before him. She searched her friend’s face once more, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
It was the first time they’d kept secrets from one another.
But if Pepper couldn’t save Patrick, she’d make sure Benny and Ramona stayed safe. She owed them that much.
Tersely, she nodded her head, forcing a small, pained ‘mm-hmm’ in agreement when Delilah wanted to get going. It pained her to watch her unceremoniously take Patrick’s bag from next to his body, barely even acknowledging that it was there. He deserved more than that. A burial and a few words, at least.
Inwardly, she promised to come back and give him one as she began walking with Delilah toward the river she mentioned.
But Pepper wouldn’t wash her hands. The blood would remind her of the boy who deserved to live a long, full life. She was guilty by association. She was. If she hadn’t been so scared, she could have stopped it.
She wouldn’t let it happen again. There wasn’t time to be timid when innocent people were dying.
She’d do better, Patrick.
Promise.
Hazy and unfocused. Anger. Fear. Desperation, maybe. That was all Pepper could find, Delilah Rivers by face and name, but not by heart and soul. It tore her up, overwhelming loss gripping tightly at her chest as Delilah smiled at her. She did everything in her power to focus on her, keep all her attention on Delilah so as not to turn around and see what she was truly capable. It was too painful. Not only to see Patrick like that, but to accept that her friend had done it.
For a moment, perhaps from years of sharing her secrets with nobody but Delilah, she wanted to tell Delilah about the meeting at the light post, tell her that they could be safe.
But no matter how much it pained her to admit it; they wouldn’t be. This Delilah was unhinged, unpredictable in what she’d do. They’d ask about Patrick and Delilah would lose it, God knows how many there’d been before him. She searched her friend’s face once more, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
It was the first time they’d kept secrets from one another.
But if Pepper couldn’t save Patrick, she’d make sure Benny and Ramona stayed safe. She owed them that much.
Tersely, she nodded her head, forcing a small, pained ‘mm-hmm’ in agreement when Delilah wanted to get going. It pained her to watch her unceremoniously take Patrick’s bag from next to his body, barely even acknowledging that it was there. He deserved more than that. A burial and a few words, at least.
Inwardly, she promised to come back and give him one as she began walking with Delilah toward the river she mentioned.
But Pepper wouldn’t wash her hands. The blood would remind her of the boy who deserved to live a long, full life. She was guilty by association. She was. If she hadn’t been so scared, she could have stopped it.
She wouldn’t let it happen again. There wasn’t time to be timid when innocent people were dying.
She’d do better, Patrick.
Promise.
** Pepper Clarke, female no. 23, continued in… Devil Nights