“Don't worry man, I ain’t scared of a dare and you shouldn't be either. You can dare me to do the same and I would say it with only, like, six ounces of shame.” Vasily was smiling, and he felt like it was genuine. “Now c’mon, go on, don’t pussy out on me,” he said, in a tone that feels half forced. He wanted Keegan to know that he didn’t have to do it if it made him uncomfortable, but before he could say some lame, sappy shit like that Keegan already grinned and got up and started walking towards the edge.
He hoped that anyone who spotted them isn’t someone with a gun and an intent to kill, but on the bright side- they are far, far away from anywhere else below.
“Fisk Bateman,” Keegan started, and Vasily couldn’t hold back that giddy feeling, like oh god here it comes here it comes.
“I yearn for your sensual touch-” And that’s when Vasily started to laugh- “and want nothing more than for you to stir my insides with your pulsating man-met.”
That certainly took his mind off of things.
Vasily was fucking gaffawling. Bawling-on-the-floor- laughing. High-pitched, and a little wheezy, and very much real.
“You- you fucking mad- hahaha- you absolute madlad,” he choked out, almost spilling out of his chair.
Then, he went dead silent and ran to Keegan.
“Wait, what’s going on? Do you need any- Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Wait here. Hold on,” he instructed, patting Keegan on the back.
“Lemme get the gun, you stay back.”
You Deserved Better Than You Got (Someone's Got To Say It Sometime 'Cause It's True)
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MurderWeasel
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"Yeah," Keegan said. "Okay."
His grip tightened on the railing. The metal was solid under his palms, but less smooth than he'd thought at first. He could feel the little bumps and ridges from welding or oxidation or paint or whatever happened to railings on cruise ships getting exposed to the salty ocean air every single day.
He wanted to do more. He wanted to do anything. He couldn't possibly object to what Vasily was saying. He didn't know what an objection would even look like. He couldn't make out the details clearly, couldn't tell quite who was winning or losing, but there were his friends, fighting with someone else, in mortal danger once again and here he was playing fucking Truth Or Dare as if Giselle wasn't dead and as if the rest of them wouldn't follow at any moment.
He couldn't just watch this. He couldn't do anything else. He'd never in his life touched a gun, and it would probably take him an hour to reach the place where the fight was in the condition he was in. Assuming, of course, he made it at all. Moving quickly was still a dodgy proposition.
"We need to do something," he muttered, not sure if Vasily would even hear him.
But there was nothing.
His grip tightened on the railing. The metal was solid under his palms, but less smooth than he'd thought at first. He could feel the little bumps and ridges from welding or oxidation or paint or whatever happened to railings on cruise ships getting exposed to the salty ocean air every single day.
He wanted to do more. He wanted to do anything. He couldn't possibly object to what Vasily was saying. He didn't know what an objection would even look like. He couldn't make out the details clearly, couldn't tell quite who was winning or losing, but there were his friends, fighting with someone else, in mortal danger once again and here he was playing fucking Truth Or Dare as if Giselle wasn't dead and as if the rest of them wouldn't follow at any moment.
He couldn't just watch this. He couldn't do anything else. He'd never in his life touched a gun, and it would probably take him an hour to reach the place where the fight was in the condition he was in. Assuming, of course, he made it at all. Moving quickly was still a dodgy proposition.
"We need to do something," he muttered, not sure if Vasily would even hear him.
But there was nothing.
Alright, playtime’s over.
Vasily walked back to the railing with a gun in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was laughing just thirty seconds ago.
''Wait, shit, they're too close together… gotta, like… Gotta wait for them to separate.''
A 3-inch difference becomes 3 yards quickly when you’re up high enough.
Everyone was so close together. He could barely differentiate between his friends and his… other friends that he has to kill.
He held his breath and waited.
And all the time was staring right at the fight, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he could have helped.
He was a person with a gun and an aerial advantage. Fuck. If this wasn’t a literal machine gun, and he had a scope or even just two eyes, he probably could have had a more clear-cut strategy of just shooting down on everybody without a roof over their heads.
Yeah, that’d be great.
But it’s not a thought he should be entertaining right now. Neither is the worry that his heart was beating too fast.
''I think they're… I think they may be losing. Not sure, though, the tide's… probably turnin''' he muttered frantically, just audible enough for Keegan to hear.
Vasily walked back to the railing with a gun in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was laughing just thirty seconds ago.
''Wait, shit, they're too close together… gotta, like… Gotta wait for them to separate.''
A 3-inch difference becomes 3 yards quickly when you’re up high enough.
Everyone was so close together. He could barely differentiate between his friends and his… other friends that he has to kill.
He held his breath and waited.
And all the time was staring right at the fight, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he could have helped.
He was a person with a gun and an aerial advantage. Fuck. If this wasn’t a literal machine gun, and he had a scope or even just two eyes, he probably could have had a more clear-cut strategy of just shooting down on everybody without a roof over their heads.
Yeah, that’d be great.
But it’s not a thought he should be entertaining right now. Neither is the worry that his heart was beating too fast.
''I think they're… I think they may be losing. Not sure, though, the tide's… probably turnin''' he muttered frantically, just audible enough for Keegan to hear.
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MurderWeasel
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Keegan squinted. His vision wasn't amazing even with his glasses on, and somehow or other they seemed to constantly be smudged, fogged, or otherwise rendered less than ideally translucent ever since he woke up in this place. He couldn't rightly say what was happening on the ship so far below and in the distance, not for sure.
With that understood, from where he was standing he actually thought that things were really hard to call, much more than Vasily was giving credit for. Several people were on the ground, there was someone else he couldn't identify at all lurking off on the wings, and it was such a mess he couldn't even say if anyone was dead or alive. That wasn't a clean disadvantage, and as poor as Keegan's vision might seem, at least it wasn't monocular.
Not that any of that meant anything. He could be deluding himself. He probably was, just pulling whatever comfort he could from nowhere to try to assuage the pain of powerlessness sweeping over him. His hands hurt as they squeezed the metal bar tighter still. He couldn't tell if the sticky sensation was ocean air residue or perspiration.
"They shouldn't be doing this," he said quietly. "I don't think that's Ivan. They need everyone."
There was no more everyone. Giselle was gone.
"What are they doing?"
With that understood, from where he was standing he actually thought that things were really hard to call, much more than Vasily was giving credit for. Several people were on the ground, there was someone else he couldn't identify at all lurking off on the wings, and it was such a mess he couldn't even say if anyone was dead or alive. That wasn't a clean disadvantage, and as poor as Keegan's vision might seem, at least it wasn't monocular.
Not that any of that meant anything. He could be deluding himself. He probably was, just pulling whatever comfort he could from nowhere to try to assuage the pain of powerlessness sweeping over him. His hands hurt as they squeezed the metal bar tighter still. He couldn't tell if the sticky sensation was ocean air residue or perspiration.
"They shouldn't be doing this," he said quietly. "I don't think that's Ivan. They need everyone."
There was no more everyone. Giselle was gone.
"What are they doing?"
He could answer Keegan later, because Vasily didn't get what they were doing either.
That's alright.
He saw Jasper go down. He saw people seperate. He saw other people who didn't seem like they were friendly.
Machine guns were designed for surpressing fire- thousands of bullets were used for every one that hit.
He took a breath. He made a decision.
He pulled the trigger.
That's alright.
He saw Jasper go down. He saw people seperate. He saw other people who didn't seem like they were friendly.
Machine guns were designed for surpressing fire- thousands of bullets were used for every one that hit.
He took a breath. He made a decision.
He pulled the trigger.
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MurderWeasel
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Keegan hadn't been expecting anything specific. He was still caught completely off-guard by the sudden cacophonous rattle of gunfire. He jerked upwards, and the only reason his grip on the railing didn't tighten was that he was already clinging to it just about as desperately as he could. He didn't yelp, but mostly because he was too surprised.
He'd been watching the action down below, without really understanding it any more as time passed, just stewing in his own inability to accomplish anything, but there Vasily went, reaching out and having an impact regardless.
It was probably dumb luck that nobody seemed to have been ventilated. Keegan admired the decisiveness and confidence on display, even as he restrained vague horror at the carelessness. Because, while there were certainly threats to Fisk and the others down there, the absent Respects were also kind of in the line of fire, and a one-eyed boy spraying bullets from a distant ship was not going to be the most discerning about collateral damage.
"Whoa," Keegan said, several seconds after the fact. He wasn't even really able to hear himself, so he said it again but louder: "Whoa.
"Vasily, I, we... I think they backed off?" he stammered, "But, but we have to be careful."
Why was this harder to put to words than what he'd screamed out seconds ago?
He'd been watching the action down below, without really understanding it any more as time passed, just stewing in his own inability to accomplish anything, but there Vasily went, reaching out and having an impact regardless.
It was probably dumb luck that nobody seemed to have been ventilated. Keegan admired the decisiveness and confidence on display, even as he restrained vague horror at the carelessness. Because, while there were certainly threats to Fisk and the others down there, the absent Respects were also kind of in the line of fire, and a one-eyed boy spraying bullets from a distant ship was not going to be the most discerning about collateral damage.
"Whoa," Keegan said, several seconds after the fact. He wasn't even really able to hear himself, so he said it again but louder: "Whoa.
"Vasily, I, we... I think they backed off?" he stammered, "But, but we have to be careful."
Why was this harder to put to words than what he'd screamed out seconds ago?
He hoped that the bullets were aimed well enough to not hit Fisk and Friends.
And, somehow, that actually didn’t go that horribly.
There was this feeling of power- this rush, kind of, of shooting at an invisible enemy and having them run from him without even knowing where he was. For a second, he thought, I could get used to this, and it made him simultaneously guilty and proud of himself.
And there was this second feeling, this carelessness- this freedom. He had keegan, and he had the supplies. Technically, if the bullets had hit Fisk, he could just take the bags and the gun and maybe Keegan and run. He felt bad, almost, for thinking like this. But… but he didn’t feel that bad. Not bad enough.
So he kept his finger on the trigger for just a little more before Keegan told him to knock it off in the most polite terms.
Vasily almost relished in the ‘whoa.’ Like it was a badge- a confirmation of the sheer insanity of what he just did.
It felt good.
It made him feel warm and tingly inside his abdominal cavity. Praise did that to him a lot. Vasily tried so hard all his life to be this person that would garner this sort of reaction. He smiled.
“Yeah, yeah. Got it. Shit, I probably almost hit someone on our side there. Whatever. Got… uh, whoeverthefuck there to run.”
And his gun was still aimed at her, just in case.
And, somehow, that actually didn’t go that horribly.
There was this feeling of power- this rush, kind of, of shooting at an invisible enemy and having them run from him without even knowing where he was. For a second, he thought, I could get used to this, and it made him simultaneously guilty and proud of himself.
And there was this second feeling, this carelessness- this freedom. He had keegan, and he had the supplies. Technically, if the bullets had hit Fisk, he could just take the bags and the gun and maybe Keegan and run. He felt bad, almost, for thinking like this. But… but he didn’t feel that bad. Not bad enough.
So he kept his finger on the trigger for just a little more before Keegan told him to knock it off in the most polite terms.
Vasily almost relished in the ‘whoa.’ Like it was a badge- a confirmation of the sheer insanity of what he just did.
It felt good.
It made him feel warm and tingly inside his abdominal cavity. Praise did that to him a lot. Vasily tried so hard all his life to be this person that would garner this sort of reaction. He smiled.
“Yeah, yeah. Got it. Shit, I probably almost hit someone on our side there. Whatever. Got… uh, whoeverthefuck there to run.”
And his gun was still aimed at her, just in case.
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MurderWeasel
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"It's cool," Keegan said. "If everyone's alright, it's all okay."
He totally was not actually sure everyone was alright. The active fighting seemed to have tapered off, and the figures that looked most like his allies appeared to be withdrawing, but he couldn't say for sure that the other side didn't have guns they could use. Maybe creating distance was going to cost his friends dearly. Maybe they'd been too terribly hurt already.
He shook his head, forcing his fingers to loosen their grip. He still held the railing, but as casually as he could manage, and he made himself turn away from the scene he couldn't influence and do his best to look Vasily in the eye.
"They'll be fine," he said. "We'll get everyone back together, and..."
And what? He wished he had some great idea to make things better, pull them back out of the pit, bring Giselle back to life, but that was a lost cause. All he could think to do was continue the plan. It was just as doomed as it'd ever been, but maybe they could pretend.
Keegan lifted one hand from the railing, feeling his skin peel away from the metal. He pressed his fingers to his forehead. They felt clammy.
"Okay.
"Truth or dare?"
He totally was not actually sure everyone was alright. The active fighting seemed to have tapered off, and the figures that looked most like his allies appeared to be withdrawing, but he couldn't say for sure that the other side didn't have guns they could use. Maybe creating distance was going to cost his friends dearly. Maybe they'd been too terribly hurt already.
He shook his head, forcing his fingers to loosen their grip. He still held the railing, but as casually as he could manage, and he made himself turn away from the scene he couldn't influence and do his best to look Vasily in the eye.
"They'll be fine," he said. "We'll get everyone back together, and..."
And what? He wished he had some great idea to make things better, pull them back out of the pit, bring Giselle back to life, but that was a lost cause. All he could think to do was continue the plan. It was just as doomed as it'd ever been, but maybe they could pretend.
Keegan lifted one hand from the railing, feeling his skin peel away from the metal. He pressed his fingers to his forehead. They felt clammy.
"Okay.
"Truth or dare?"
Hm.
Ok. Yeah, they probably didn’t need his help anymore. The thread of gunfire and Jasper’s freshly bleeding… corpse? Corpse. Jasper’s freshly bleeding corpse would be enough to deter everyone there, probably.
Allright, back to the game. Serotonin generation time. Serotonin. He rolled that word in his tongue around his tongue. It felt like one of those gibberish words that sound good put together but unfamiliar and meaningless.
He tried his best to give Keegan a shit-eating grin. Somebody has to be the one with the confidence around here, and it’s gotta be him. Keegan didn't look like somebody who faked their entire persona for half a decade straight and also didn't have a gunshot wound.
“Yeah, sure. Can’t waste bullets, y’know.”
He wrenched his head away from the scene. Grin still plastered on his face. Staring directly at Keegan’s left eye.
“Dare. Hit me with your worst shot. Uh. That’s… is that a pun?”
He tugged at the ruffles on his shirt a bit.
“Whatever. Wanna go back?”
(He couldn’t stop thinking about Calla. He needed to stop thinking about Calla.)
Oh, and he realized that there’s no single good eyeball between the two of them. That, too. He also thought about that.
Ok. Yeah, they probably didn’t need his help anymore. The thread of gunfire and Jasper’s freshly bleeding… corpse? Corpse. Jasper’s freshly bleeding corpse would be enough to deter everyone there, probably.
Allright, back to the game. Serotonin generation time. Serotonin. He rolled that word in his tongue around his tongue. It felt like one of those gibberish words that sound good put together but unfamiliar and meaningless.
He tried his best to give Keegan a shit-eating grin. Somebody has to be the one with the confidence around here, and it’s gotta be him. Keegan didn't look like somebody who faked their entire persona for half a decade straight and also didn't have a gunshot wound.
“Yeah, sure. Can’t waste bullets, y’know.”
He wrenched his head away from the scene. Grin still plastered on his face. Staring directly at Keegan’s left eye.
“Dare. Hit me with your worst shot. Uh. That’s… is that a pun?”
He tugged at the ruffles on his shirt a bit.
“Whatever. Wanna go back?”
(He couldn’t stop thinking about Calla. He needed to stop thinking about Calla.)
Oh, and he realized that there’s no single good eyeball between the two of them. That, too. He also thought about that.
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MurderWeasel
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"Yeah," Keegan said. He did not move from the railing. "Sure."
The figures moved down below and still he couldn't make out details. It was like playing a real time strategy game, Starcraft 2 or something, except precisely the opposite because he had no control and the heaviest of investments in the fate of the anonymous units doing battle so far beneath him.
Slowly, he pulled his left hand free too. Slowly, he turned around and hobbled back over to the chair. The narwhal horn, which had leaned awkwardly against the railing, supported him, more or less. The pain had hit this place where it was always there, always bothering him, but rarely bubbling far enough to the surface to be direct immediate agony unless he did something to jar it, like touch somewhere near his injury or physically exert himself or cough or inhale particularly deeply.
"And, hmm, I dare you to..."
The truth was, Keegan had kicked the game back into play because he wasn't really sure what else to do, how to move past what they'd just witnessed and quell their anxieties, even if only temporarily. It was all he could think of to keep the pair of them from going mad waiting for their friends to return, or to fail to do so. But now Keegan had to come up with something involved enough to keep them occupied but lighthearted enough to keep them from thinking. Goddammit. Where was a jar of mustard when you needed it?
"Okay," he said, "how about this?"
Keegan swept his arm out towards the pool, where an inflatable alligator still bobbed merrily. He knew that Vasily and Fisk had been playing around in it yesterday. It seemed safe enough.
"I dare you to jump in," he said, "but no cannonball shit. You have to be tough."
His lips turned up into a grin that was only mostly forced.
"Belly flop or bust."
The figures moved down below and still he couldn't make out details. It was like playing a real time strategy game, Starcraft 2 or something, except precisely the opposite because he had no control and the heaviest of investments in the fate of the anonymous units doing battle so far beneath him.
Slowly, he pulled his left hand free too. Slowly, he turned around and hobbled back over to the chair. The narwhal horn, which had leaned awkwardly against the railing, supported him, more or less. The pain had hit this place where it was always there, always bothering him, but rarely bubbling far enough to the surface to be direct immediate agony unless he did something to jar it, like touch somewhere near his injury or physically exert himself or cough or inhale particularly deeply.
"And, hmm, I dare you to..."
The truth was, Keegan had kicked the game back into play because he wasn't really sure what else to do, how to move past what they'd just witnessed and quell their anxieties, even if only temporarily. It was all he could think of to keep the pair of them from going mad waiting for their friends to return, or to fail to do so. But now Keegan had to come up with something involved enough to keep them occupied but lighthearted enough to keep them from thinking. Goddammit. Where was a jar of mustard when you needed it?
"Okay," he said, "how about this?"
Keegan swept his arm out towards the pool, where an inflatable alligator still bobbed merrily. He knew that Vasily and Fisk had been playing around in it yesterday. It seemed safe enough.
"I dare you to jump in," he said, "but no cannonball shit. You have to be tough."
His lips turned up into a grin that was only mostly forced.
"Belly flop or bust."
He felt ill. Almost literally.
Vasily’s never really been good with boats. When he was twelve, his parents took him on a cruise ship to Mexico. He spent the entire time playing video games, gorging on the buffet, and going to wherever mom and dad suggested for him to go before walking out early. He got lost three times. He remembered the vivid fear when he leaned against the railing- he was short back then, and it felt like every breeze could blow him from between the metal bars into the ocean. After his 13th birthday, the ocean always smelled like oysters and oysters always reminded him, just a bit, of his eye fluid spilling out into his palms.
Maybe that can be another excuse to be uninvolved with whatever was going on down there. Fisk was fucking insane.
Focus. On. Keegan.
“Man, do I… do I change into something for that? Actually? Actually no, I take that back. I take that back. You’re gonna say that I can’t change into anything, so… wait for me for a sec, I’m gonna take my bag and change into swimming gear,” he said, strolling towards the bags and getting just that.
The aforementioned gear referring to a pair of swimming trunks that may still be damp inside his bag.
Vasily didn’t have a pool at home and didn’t really enjoy public pools by themselves either, but he remembered a string of hotel pools and a cruise pool, which he only distinctly remembered for that one time the ship went through rough waves and the water was sloshing and got all over the place. He chickened out when mom and dad were diving. He was the type to enter the water slowly when he didn’t have people he knew watching him and he was also the type that went flying right in with clenched teeth to look cool to his friends.
The point is- Keegan was a sadistic sociopath. But also Vasily was probably one, to, for the previous dare (and literally everything he did since he got dropped on this godforsaken flotilla) so he wasn’t going to just puss out or anything.
His figure disappeared behind the door, leaving Keegan just there, alone, for almost a minute.
...
Annnnnd he’s back in his Mariner’s trunks.
Vasily’s never really been good with boats. When he was twelve, his parents took him on a cruise ship to Mexico. He spent the entire time playing video games, gorging on the buffet, and going to wherever mom and dad suggested for him to go before walking out early. He got lost three times. He remembered the vivid fear when he leaned against the railing- he was short back then, and it felt like every breeze could blow him from between the metal bars into the ocean. After his 13th birthday, the ocean always smelled like oysters and oysters always reminded him, just a bit, of his eye fluid spilling out into his palms.
Maybe that can be another excuse to be uninvolved with whatever was going on down there. Fisk was fucking insane.
Focus. On. Keegan.
“Man, do I… do I change into something for that? Actually? Actually no, I take that back. I take that back. You’re gonna say that I can’t change into anything, so… wait for me for a sec, I’m gonna take my bag and change into swimming gear,” he said, strolling towards the bags and getting just that.
The aforementioned gear referring to a pair of swimming trunks that may still be damp inside his bag.
Vasily didn’t have a pool at home and didn’t really enjoy public pools by themselves either, but he remembered a string of hotel pools and a cruise pool, which he only distinctly remembered for that one time the ship went through rough waves and the water was sloshing and got all over the place. He chickened out when mom and dad were diving. He was the type to enter the water slowly when he didn’t have people he knew watching him and he was also the type that went flying right in with clenched teeth to look cool to his friends.
The point is- Keegan was a sadistic sociopath. But also Vasily was probably one, to, for the previous dare (and literally everything he did since he got dropped on this godforsaken flotilla) so he wasn’t going to just puss out or anything.
His figure disappeared behind the door, leaving Keegan just there, alone, for almost a minute.
...
Annnnnd he’s back in his Mariner’s trunks.
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MurderWeasel
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Yeah, Keegan played himself there. Like, what was he gonna say? You can change, Vasily? You can't? He didn't feel comfortable making that choice, or thinking about it, or imaging the process or results one way or the other. Not comfortable at all.
Keegan stared up into the sky and thought about pain and bullets and Giselle and not the rustle of clothing out of sight.
((FR03: Keegan Garcia and FR02: Vasily Ivanov continued in Picnic After The Panic))
Keegan stared up into the sky and thought about pain and bullets and Giselle and not the rustle of clothing out of sight.
((FR03: Keegan Garcia and FR02: Vasily Ivanov continued in Picnic After The Panic))