God, Tiny was really resisting the urge to punch Oliver in the face until he zipped that crappy mouth of his shut and it was getting harder and harder to keep himself from lashed out at everything. He didn't want to admit that he really hated what he had become and he wondered why he had been so eager in the beginning to do terrible acts to his classmates. He even had the nerve of wanting to hurt Fisher. His friend!
Fisher was trying to defuse the situation and Tiny knew that they didn't have a choice in the matter anymore. They were all going to die. All but one and Tiny didn't want to crush Fisher's spirit like that. So Tiny did the one thing that he knew was going to bite him in the butt. He was going to try to keep Oliver's attention on him the whole time and then maybe he could try to get the gun out of Oliver's hands.
It was a long shot.
Five steps away from Oliver.
Tiny found himself letting out a pensive sigh and he reached a hand up to his necklace, holding onto it for some brief comfort. "You think that I don't know what I am, Oliver? I know that I'm a bad person for killin' Penny and Lucy, I know that! But at least, I'm not tryin' to be all fuckin' high and mighty about it. I'm tryin' to change into a better person. Fuck, I suck at bein' a nice guy. At least I'm not like you, asshole." He said in a sharp tone as he was staring at Oliver with cold eyes and he was feeling a wave of anger boiling inside of him.
Three steps away from Oliver.
Tiny was now rolling his eyes in annoyance and he raised his arms up in a shrugging motion, getting tired of talking to Oliver now. "So what are you goin' to do now? Shoot me?" He asked bitterly with a small smug smile on his face. "You gonna shoot me?"
He let out a taunting laugh at the other boy.
"I fucking dare you..."
Reason It Out
Tagging Cactus (Open!)
-
Primrosette
- Posts: 902
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Oliver knew that Tiny didn't get it, but now it was becoming obvious that Tiny really didn't get it.
With Fisher's pointlessness becoming static in the background, it was all Oliver could do to watch the trail of Tiny's mental gymnastics. 'Yes, I did a bad thing BUT YOU DID WORSE SO HA' wasn't exactly the point Oliver himself would have taken in this situation, especially considering Oliver really didn't give a shit at this point about the moral implications of anything he'd done. The fate of the world rested on his shoulders, what did good or bad factor into it? His actions were above ethics.
But Tiny was just an angry little boy - he racked up double Oliver's killcount while Oliver was defending himself from a single Anvi, and now he wanted to preach about Oliver's own morality. There were just one problem, though, and that was the fact the moment you kill two people in cold blood, you don't get to preach anymore. You've been disrobed, the alter is now woodchips, and your holy book of Protestantism burns to the touch. Oliver wasn't condemning Tiny - he was just trying to point this out, to make him see.
And Tiny never would, because he would die on this peninsula a delusion.
Especially considering he was now trying to get intimate with Oliver's space. He wasn't exactly close before, but with every word he tried to get himself closer. Not the smartest thing, considering the gun in his hands and the bullet-proof vest around his torso and the gun in his back pocket, but after witnessing Tiny's attempts to build a castle of ethics, he shouldn't have been surprised to see the other boy was delusional in all aspects of his life.
Which wasn't even taking into account that Tiny now thought that Oliver was all talk no walk even after his name had appeared twice in the announcements, one of which was for killing the most prolific murderer here. So when Tiny dared Oliver to shoot him, he raised his eyebrow. He couldn't be making it this easy, could he? He couldn't seriously be playing chicken this late? Unfortunately, Oliver didn't have time to question the other boy's idiocy in live replay. There was only so many opportunities like this left.
"Okay."
He adjusted his grip, aimed at Tiny's torso, and pulled the trigger.
With Fisher's pointlessness becoming static in the background, it was all Oliver could do to watch the trail of Tiny's mental gymnastics. 'Yes, I did a bad thing BUT YOU DID WORSE SO HA' wasn't exactly the point Oliver himself would have taken in this situation, especially considering Oliver really didn't give a shit at this point about the moral implications of anything he'd done. The fate of the world rested on his shoulders, what did good or bad factor into it? His actions were above ethics.
But Tiny was just an angry little boy - he racked up double Oliver's killcount while Oliver was defending himself from a single Anvi, and now he wanted to preach about Oliver's own morality. There were just one problem, though, and that was the fact the moment you kill two people in cold blood, you don't get to preach anymore. You've been disrobed, the alter is now woodchips, and your holy book of Protestantism burns to the touch. Oliver wasn't condemning Tiny - he was just trying to point this out, to make him see.
And Tiny never would, because he would die on this peninsula a delusion.
Especially considering he was now trying to get intimate with Oliver's space. He wasn't exactly close before, but with every word he tried to get himself closer. Not the smartest thing, considering the gun in his hands and the bullet-proof vest around his torso and the gun in his back pocket, but after witnessing Tiny's attempts to build a castle of ethics, he shouldn't have been surprised to see the other boy was delusional in all aspects of his life.
Which wasn't even taking into account that Tiny now thought that Oliver was all talk no walk even after his name had appeared twice in the announcements, one of which was for killing the most prolific murderer here. So when Tiny dared Oliver to shoot him, he raised his eyebrow. He couldn't be making it this easy, could he? He couldn't seriously be playing chicken this late? Unfortunately, Oliver didn't have time to question the other boy's idiocy in live replay. There was only so many opportunities like this left.
"Okay."
He adjusted his grip, aimed at Tiny's torso, and pulled the trigger.
-
Primrosette
- Posts: 902
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Tiny felt the sudden impact of pain as he heard the gunshot and he stumbled backwards a few steps, feeling himself struggling to breathe. Had he always wanted things to end like this? Where he had been so close to the end? He had been thinking of letting Fisher shoot him if they were the only ones left at the end of this fucked-up nightmare and now he realized that maybe he had wanted to die after what happened with Lucy. But there was no way that he could let Oliver live. He had to take him out with him or die trying to do so.
"H-Heh.... Ha, ha, h-ha, ha...!" Tiny didn't know why he was laughing at this screwed up situation as it was hurting more in his torso area and he was feeling the blood on his skin. He was now glaring at Oliver with pure determination set in his eyes and his hands were now clenched into tight fists. "L-Look at that.... Not self-defence this.... this t-t-time, huh, Oliver..?"
He then suddenly sprinted right into Oliver and his shoulder impacted against Oliver's chest, making them both land onto the sand. Tiny was still on top of Oliver and he was suddenly feeling the wave of adrenaline starting to fade away. He was dying right now and he didn't care anymore. He was too focused on hurting Oliver to take notice of his draining health.
He was starting to hit Oliver in the face.
The chin first.
Then his nose.
His jaw the third time.
Tiny then coughed violently.
Blood was dripping down his own chin and droplets fell onto Oliver who was under his weakening weight.
"H-Heh.... Ha, ha, h-ha, ha...!" Tiny didn't know why he was laughing at this screwed up situation as it was hurting more in his torso area and he was feeling the blood on his skin. He was now glaring at Oliver with pure determination set in his eyes and his hands were now clenched into tight fists. "L-Look at that.... Not self-defence this.... this t-t-time, huh, Oliver..?"
He then suddenly sprinted right into Oliver and his shoulder impacted against Oliver's chest, making them both land onto the sand. Tiny was still on top of Oliver and he was suddenly feeling the wave of adrenaline starting to fade away. He was dying right now and he didn't care anymore. He was too focused on hurting Oliver to take notice of his draining health.
He was starting to hit Oliver in the face.
The chin first.
Then his nose.
His jaw the third time.
Tiny then coughed violently.
Blood was dripping down his own chin and droplets fell onto Oliver who was under his weakening weight.
If Oliver were up to continue the conversation, he would have pointed out that, no, obviously shooting Tiny in the stomach was not self-defense, and if there was some sort of clever point he was trying to make, some sort of grandstand to topple, then he wasn't really getting it across in his lifetime because he now had a bullet in the gut. Did they miss the part where he killed the most dangerous person here already?
Of course, he didn't expect the other boy to pounce on him. He hadn't been in a scuffle like this with another bloke since way back in his early teens, and in essence the actions were the same - attempted punches to the face, attempted blocks by Oliver himself that were fruitless, but Oliver was lucky in that Tiny by this point had the strength of a thirteen-year-old boy thanks to the whole 'shot in the intestine' thing, so the worst he got before the other boy started violently coughing blood onto his face was his bottom lip had been split open by his own teeth and his face felt sore.
It really was a summation of his entire class, wasn't it? Some grand attempt at a big poetic statement, only for it to whither into nothing?
Either way, the Oliver who lay under the other boy's weight, covered in coughs of blood and a busted lip in tow, had enough of this, and with a mighty heave, roughly pushed the other boy off of himself and as far away as he could manage from his position.
This was just getting sad now. He had to finish this up quickly.
Of course, he didn't expect the other boy to pounce on him. He hadn't been in a scuffle like this with another bloke since way back in his early teens, and in essence the actions were the same - attempted punches to the face, attempted blocks by Oliver himself that were fruitless, but Oliver was lucky in that Tiny by this point had the strength of a thirteen-year-old boy thanks to the whole 'shot in the intestine' thing, so the worst he got before the other boy started violently coughing blood onto his face was his bottom lip had been split open by his own teeth and his face felt sore.
It really was a summation of his entire class, wasn't it? Some grand attempt at a big poetic statement, only for it to whither into nothing?
Either way, the Oliver who lay under the other boy's weight, covered in coughs of blood and a busted lip in tow, had enough of this, and with a mighty heave, roughly pushed the other boy off of himself and as far away as he could manage from his position.
This was just getting sad now. He had to finish this up quickly.
-
Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
They didn't listen — of course they didn't listen. Fisher knew he may as well have been talking to a pair of brick walls who'd gone and lost their marbles for all of the sense that Tiny and Oliver were making. He got it, truly, he did. Both of these guys were used to committing violence while in this particular circumstance. He'd seen it from Tiny first-hand, and while he'd managed to walk his classmate back from the precipice, it was deep within him. It wasn't exactly going away any time soon.
As for Oliver? Oliver was batty. He'd gone off the fucking deep end. 'I just want to talk to him', my ass — was the refrain for Fisher during the entirety of the conversation. No, it wasn't a conversation, it was a confrontation. Everything was a bloody confrontation now. Especially at this point, where most of the class had gone and lost their humanity. Fisher wondered if anyone else was still thinking with a semblance of reason, even trying to—
His train of thought was viciously cut off as Tiny sarcastically snapped at Oliver, demanding that if the boy were going to shoot him, he get it over with.
Fisher could barely believe his eyes when Oliver shrugged, and obliged.
The gunshot caused him to take a step back, the pistol — Tiny's pistol — feeling cool in his own hands. He could do something, he could stop all of this from happening with one motion of a finger on the trigger, but that, it just —
"Stop it! Goddamn it, stop it!"
Tiny, to his credit, wasn't going down without a fight. Taking a shot in the gut, he still launched himself at Oliver, and the two went down in a scuffle. It could have been taking place on any playground in all of England, on any other day. It just seemed so ordinary. Except for the fact that they were on a beach.
And Tiny had been shot in the stomach.
And Fisher and Oliver held pistols.
Everyone else was probably dead.
So what the hell could he do? His feet were frozen in place as Oliver pushed Tiny off of him and started to get up. He should have helped his friend, he should have helped the guy who came into the bar looking to kill him and left vowing to protect him. He should have said something, done something.
Instead, he stood, frozen in place, unable to lift the revolver, fear having crept in and overwhelmed him at the worst possible moment. He could only look at Tiny with all of the regret that he could muster. Tiny had tried to protect them — first with Sebbo and now with Oliver — and it was going to cost him. All because Fisher couldn't defeat a simple enemy.
His own fear.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing full well what lay ahead for the both of them.
As for Oliver? Oliver was batty. He'd gone off the fucking deep end. 'I just want to talk to him', my ass — was the refrain for Fisher during the entirety of the conversation. No, it wasn't a conversation, it was a confrontation. Everything was a bloody confrontation now. Especially at this point, where most of the class had gone and lost their humanity. Fisher wondered if anyone else was still thinking with a semblance of reason, even trying to—
His train of thought was viciously cut off as Tiny sarcastically snapped at Oliver, demanding that if the boy were going to shoot him, he get it over with.
Fisher could barely believe his eyes when Oliver shrugged, and obliged.
The gunshot caused him to take a step back, the pistol — Tiny's pistol — feeling cool in his own hands. He could do something, he could stop all of this from happening with one motion of a finger on the trigger, but that, it just —
"Stop it! Goddamn it, stop it!"
Tiny, to his credit, wasn't going down without a fight. Taking a shot in the gut, he still launched himself at Oliver, and the two went down in a scuffle. It could have been taking place on any playground in all of England, on any other day. It just seemed so ordinary. Except for the fact that they were on a beach.
And Tiny had been shot in the stomach.
And Fisher and Oliver held pistols.
Everyone else was probably dead.
So what the hell could he do? His feet were frozen in place as Oliver pushed Tiny off of him and started to get up. He should have helped his friend, he should have helped the guy who came into the bar looking to kill him and left vowing to protect him. He should have said something, done something.
Instead, he stood, frozen in place, unable to lift the revolver, fear having crept in and overwhelmed him at the worst possible moment. He could only look at Tiny with all of the regret that he could muster. Tiny had tried to protect them — first with Sebbo and now with Oliver — and it was going to cost him. All because Fisher couldn't defeat a simple enemy.
His own fear.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing full well what lay ahead for the both of them.
-
Primrosette
- Posts: 902
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Tiny had been shoved off of Oliver and now he was laying on the sandy beach, struggling to stop himself from wanting to cry from all the agonizing pain that he could feel taking over his weakening body. But he wasn't going to give Oliver the satisfaction that he had got to Tiny and that Tiny was now going to die without taking the other boy with him. He had failed in doing the right thing and now he was laying that with a gut wound that was fucking up his body as he continued to lay there.
God, he really wished that he could go back home. He wished that this was just a nightmare in his head. He wished that he could stay to help Fisher. God, he wished he could have done things differently with Oliver. He wished.... He wished....
Auntie, I'm sorry for being such a fuck-up.... I hope you and Mum can live on without me....
His hand was touching the necklace again as he let out a pained groan as he slowly sat up a bit and his body was trying to fight back against the agony that he was feeling so clearly. His eyes were getting a little blurred with visible tears and he felt a smile spread across his bloody lips. He was looking over at Fisher and he knew that Fisher had to protect himself now without him being around. Tiny didn't wanted Fisher to blame himself as Tiny had been the one who messed things up and he knew that he had to say something to his friend that he cared about too much.
"F...F-Fisher, I'm.... I'm sor-"
He heard a noise.
A flash of heaviness in his chest as he fell back once more.
He was sure that he heard Fisher's voice before everything faded away from Tiny Sterling forever....
M06 - TINY STERLING - DECEASED
God, he really wished that he could go back home. He wished that this was just a nightmare in his head. He wished that he could stay to help Fisher. God, he wished he could have done things differently with Oliver. He wished.... He wished....
Auntie, I'm sorry for being such a fuck-up.... I hope you and Mum can live on without me....
His hand was touching the necklace again as he let out a pained groan as he slowly sat up a bit and his body was trying to fight back against the agony that he was feeling so clearly. His eyes were getting a little blurred with visible tears and he felt a smile spread across his bloody lips. He was looking over at Fisher and he knew that Fisher had to protect himself now without him being around. Tiny didn't wanted Fisher to blame himself as Tiny had been the one who messed things up and he knew that he had to say something to his friend that he cared about too much.
"F...F-Fisher, I'm.... I'm sor-"
He heard a noise.
A flash of heaviness in his chest as he fell back once more.
He was sure that he heard Fisher's voice before everything faded away from Tiny Sterling forever....
M06 - TINY STERLING - DECEASED
Oliver could still feel the vibration from the gunshot that ended Tiny's life.
Once he'd gotten the other boy off of him, he'd scrambled to his feet, picked the rifle back up which had flung to the side when Tiny made his move, returned to his grip, and pulled the trigger once again at the same boy.
Tiny wasn't getting up again.
He wanted to feel something new, but it was all still about the goal. There were two reasons Tiny was dead - one was because Tiny was a threat, the other was that Tiny gave him a reason to. He really did hate the other, delusional boy when it came down to it, and it made it easier to do what needed to be done. There wouldn't be a repeat of Phoebe.
Oliver watched as the life ebbed from Tiny's features, and looked up at Fisher.
"So, Fisher."
He didn't move the nozzle. It was still aimed at what used to be Tiny.
"Do you plan on being the last one standing?"
There was only one good answer for Fisher here - here's hoping he could figure out which one it was.
Once he'd gotten the other boy off of him, he'd scrambled to his feet, picked the rifle back up which had flung to the side when Tiny made his move, returned to his grip, and pulled the trigger once again at the same boy.
Tiny wasn't getting up again.
He wanted to feel something new, but it was all still about the goal. There were two reasons Tiny was dead - one was because Tiny was a threat, the other was that Tiny gave him a reason to. He really did hate the other, delusional boy when it came down to it, and it made it easier to do what needed to be done. There wouldn't be a repeat of Phoebe.
Oliver watched as the life ebbed from Tiny's features, and looked up at Fisher.
"So, Fisher."
He didn't move the nozzle. It was still aimed at what used to be Tiny.
"Do you plan on being the last one standing?"
There was only one good answer for Fisher here - here's hoping he could figure out which one it was.
-
Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
Tiny had been mid-sentence when Oliver had pulled the trigger and executed him. What was worse; Fisher had been looking right at the boy, staring him right in the face. One moment, he was mid-apology, and the next—
Well, it wasn't exactly something you just up and forgot. The image of life quite literally exiting someone's body was horrifying when prolonged, but it sent his stomach into a tailspin all the same; it happened so quickly. Fisher shut his own eyes in grief, in fear, in grim acceptance. All of the emotions flooded through his body seemingly at once. Through all of it, there was one — something that had only occasionally popped through the surface as he'd been fighting for his life. Only in the bar had he felt true desperation at the situation at hand, but now?
All he had was frustration.
Frustration at the Americans, for kidnapping them. At Pippa, for murdering Freya and ruining absolutely everything. At himself, for letting Lena down by sending her away; indirectly leading to her death, and for letting Tiny down; he should have done more. God in heaven above, he should have done more. He was frustrated at Tiny, for dying. Frustrated at Oliver, for wielding the weapon that would lead to his deliverance.
Fisher was frustrated with the world, for being this way — such a fucked-up place that was filled with so much death and destruction, to the point that a world power saw fit to try and aggressively maneuver itself to be the caretaker of every country there was. Since he'd been alive, all he'd heard were stories of the warmongering Americans. They'd annex countries, they'd attack weaker powers, they'd try and stretch their influence all over the world. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to learn all that he could about them; make films and understand why the Americans did what they did. It wasn't enough to know that they wanted to rule everything; why was that so?
Once upon a time had been last week.
Once upon a time seemed so far away.
Oliver said something, and once upon a time didn't really matter anymore. Fisher opened his eyes, and looked at the other boy; the murderer, and narrowed his eyelids. He felt defeated. But the frustration took hold; Oliver was talking down to him, as though he had all of the power. Pompous asshole. He did have all of the power, the gun in Fisher's hand notwithstanding. He still hadn't pointed it at anyone.
He didn't think he knew how.
"Did I plan for it?" Fisher echoed the boy's words, his voice thick with indignation. "I didn't plan for anything."
He wasn't kidding; the thought hadn't once crossed his mind. Being the sole survivor was a concept that was so far-fetched that it seemed alien. Fisher wasn't a murderer; he wasn't a killer. His weapon was humour, the more he could joke around, the more comfortable he felt.
Big fucking surprise, he hadn't felt comfortable once since waking up here.
"I guess I never," he paused for a second, trying to find the right word, acutely aware that this was a test. "I never thought it would go this far."
Fisher had never been very good at taking tests.
"Probably missed the boat on that one, eh mate?"
His voice was downcast, still thick with frustration but a layer of resignation. It didn't matter what he said to Oliver. The boy was still going to eventually turn around and gun him down, just as he had to Tiny and those who'd come before him. This was a test, and he'd almost certainly failed.
Fisher looked down at the pistol in his hands.
Well, it wasn't exactly something you just up and forgot. The image of life quite literally exiting someone's body was horrifying when prolonged, but it sent his stomach into a tailspin all the same; it happened so quickly. Fisher shut his own eyes in grief, in fear, in grim acceptance. All of the emotions flooded through his body seemingly at once. Through all of it, there was one — something that had only occasionally popped through the surface as he'd been fighting for his life. Only in the bar had he felt true desperation at the situation at hand, but now?
All he had was frustration.
Frustration at the Americans, for kidnapping them. At Pippa, for murdering Freya and ruining absolutely everything. At himself, for letting Lena down by sending her away; indirectly leading to her death, and for letting Tiny down; he should have done more. God in heaven above, he should have done more. He was frustrated at Tiny, for dying. Frustrated at Oliver, for wielding the weapon that would lead to his deliverance.
Fisher was frustrated with the world, for being this way — such a fucked-up place that was filled with so much death and destruction, to the point that a world power saw fit to try and aggressively maneuver itself to be the caretaker of every country there was. Since he'd been alive, all he'd heard were stories of the warmongering Americans. They'd annex countries, they'd attack weaker powers, they'd try and stretch their influence all over the world. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to learn all that he could about them; make films and understand why the Americans did what they did. It wasn't enough to know that they wanted to rule everything; why was that so?
Once upon a time had been last week.
Once upon a time seemed so far away.
Oliver said something, and once upon a time didn't really matter anymore. Fisher opened his eyes, and looked at the other boy; the murderer, and narrowed his eyelids. He felt defeated. But the frustration took hold; Oliver was talking down to him, as though he had all of the power. Pompous asshole. He did have all of the power, the gun in Fisher's hand notwithstanding. He still hadn't pointed it at anyone.
He didn't think he knew how.
"Did I plan for it?" Fisher echoed the boy's words, his voice thick with indignation. "I didn't plan for anything."
He wasn't kidding; the thought hadn't once crossed his mind. Being the sole survivor was a concept that was so far-fetched that it seemed alien. Fisher wasn't a murderer; he wasn't a killer. His weapon was humour, the more he could joke around, the more comfortable he felt.
Big fucking surprise, he hadn't felt comfortable once since waking up here.
"I guess I never," he paused for a second, trying to find the right word, acutely aware that this was a test. "I never thought it would go this far."
Fisher had never been very good at taking tests.
"Probably missed the boat on that one, eh mate?"
His voice was downcast, still thick with frustration but a layer of resignation. It didn't matter what he said to Oliver. The boy was still going to eventually turn around and gun him down, just as he had to Tiny and those who'd come before him. This was a test, and he'd almost certainly failed.
Fisher looked down at the pistol in his hands.
Oliver wasn't quite sure why everyone fancied themselves a philosopher, especially considering he wasn't sure any of them were even doing the subject for their A-Levels. It's not like he was asking hard, out-there questions about the meaning of existence, especially since he already knew his purpose.
Fisher gave the proper answer, though. If he'd said he was planning on winning, things would be a lot more grim for him.
"Alright then."
It was time to leave. Oliver didn't know how many people were left alive, but he wasn't risking attracting attention with the gunshots. He pulled the aim of the gun up from lazily pointing at Tiny's body, to aimed at the other boy, before indicating with it towards the town.
"Let's go. You lead."
((Oliver Davies continued in I Should Have Known))
Fisher gave the proper answer, though. If he'd said he was planning on winning, things would be a lot more grim for him.
"Alright then."
It was time to leave. Oliver didn't know how many people were left alive, but he wasn't risking attracting attention with the gunshots. He pulled the aim of the gun up from lazily pointing at Tiny's body, to aimed at the other boy, before indicating with it towards the town.
"Let's go. You lead."
((Oliver Davies continued in I Should Have Known))
-
Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
Fisher only took a moment to consider the pistol in his hands. Raising it against Oliver would only cause his own demise. It would all but assure that the other boy struck him down as quickly as he had Tiny. Fate may have had a sinister plan for Fisher Darden and his peers, but he wasn't in any hurry to make that particular appointment. At Oliver's words, Fisher's brow furrowed, and he looked up from the pistol in his hands, only to find himself now at gunpoint.
"Let's go? I, what," he blinked in confusion, trying to understand. Oliver hadn't had a tough time executing Tiny; he had done so with an almost indignant look on his face. How dare he try and get one over on me, how dare he try and survive. It was all rather ridiculous.
Fisher didn't see Oliver anymore; all he could see now was the muzzle of a weapon being aimed squarely at him. The blackness beckoned to him.
"Fine, yeah. We'll go."
When the darkness beckoned to you, Fisher figured that the best option was to turn around and head the other way.
So he did, with Oliver following along, holding him at gunpoint. He didn't know where he was going, but he supposed that decision wasn't his to make anymore. Taken captive by the Americans, he was now Oliver's captive as well.
He was a hostage squared.
A splendid way to end a bugger of a day.
((Fisher Darden continued in I Should Have Known))
"Let's go? I, what," he blinked in confusion, trying to understand. Oliver hadn't had a tough time executing Tiny; he had done so with an almost indignant look on his face. How dare he try and get one over on me, how dare he try and survive. It was all rather ridiculous.
Fisher didn't see Oliver anymore; all he could see now was the muzzle of a weapon being aimed squarely at him. The blackness beckoned to him.
"Fine, yeah. We'll go."
When the darkness beckoned to you, Fisher figured that the best option was to turn around and head the other way.
So he did, with Oliver following along, holding him at gunpoint. He didn't know where he was going, but he supposed that decision wasn't his to make anymore. Taken captive by the Americans, he was now Oliver's captive as well.
He was a hostage squared.
A splendid way to end a bugger of a day.
((Fisher Darden continued in I Should Have Known))