Dead girls couldn't die.
So she still breathed. Ragged, painful breaths. But breaths all the same. The pain serving as a beautiful reminder of what had been lost. Her hand still rested on her heart and it still beat. Even with holes in her body and metal in her organs, she remained in limbo. Meanwhile, the finale continued without her.
A graceless and desperate clash as everyone fought against the obvious. A battle with time could never truly be won, only delayed. The noises reached her ears as her vision faltered. Blurry and blackening against the amber tinged night sky. Ashes and smoke obscuring the clouds. She smiled as the flames lapped around her. They were eager still to embrace her fully, to join with her.
But sadly they would be forced to wait. One was still trapped and it would not be fair to leave it separated from its brothers. Plus, she still had a door to open. She twisted her upper-body and placed her palms on the concrete. A wonderful chill. With one great push, she was on her knees, watching her blood leak out.
Many holes and multiple catastrophes showed their effects. She was red now. The flow staining her clothes and skin equally. Fear, dread and gore. The prey had reached out and torn her stomach open, split her chest apart. She was a dead girl and a broken one. The grin stayed on her face as she raised a hand, a bloody handprint left behind. Proof she had been present. She had really been there. A bloody ghost of flesh and bone.
She tasted herself and received nothing but ashes.
The firefly stirred with her and shook. Her eyes snapped to it, reaching out, she plucked it from where it had come to rest. There was one final journey they had to go on.
With another push, she was on her feet. She took a shaky step forward and her body tipped to one side, her hands came up as she crashed into the side of a container. A laugh came from her lips and she pushed off the container, taking two steps to gain her balance. Then she moved towards the cataclysm.
Walking felt strange.
She had no choice though.
Her board was gone.
We Own The Night
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Pippi
- Posts: 1121
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
SMACK
Bunny reeled, the impact of bludgeon to chin sending her staggering backwards, almost causing her to collapse backwards into a muddy puddle, her body crying out at the insulting injury added to the teetering pile of straw. She clutched at her head, stars flashing in and out of blurred vision. It took her a moment to realise she was using her now-empty gun hand to do so.
The knowledge that her gun was now gone, lost to the flames, stung even worse than the pain reverberating through jaw into the rest of her skull. But neither was as bad, as viciously infuriating, as the impossibility that stood in front of her.
“How… you…”
Wendy was dead. Bunny had seen her die. The bullets had hit her. She had fallen. That was it. That was supposed to be it. And yet, here she was. Barely standing, but there, the presence that she couldn’t expel no matter how hard she tried. Maybe Wendy wasn’t breathing. Maybe what was dead couldn’t die.
No. No, no, no, that couldn’t be it. She wouldn’t let that be it. There was only one thing she could think of worse than Maxwell’s shitty, selfish plan, and that was letting Wendy take the final, decisive victory. She couldn’t get the last laugh. Not after everything she’d done, and every way she’d justified doing them.
Bunny was going to stop her. Even if it killed her.
She roared, propelling herself forwards with animalistic rage, hands shaped into claws, lunging for Wendy’s throat.
Bunny reeled, the impact of bludgeon to chin sending her staggering backwards, almost causing her to collapse backwards into a muddy puddle, her body crying out at the insulting injury added to the teetering pile of straw. She clutched at her head, stars flashing in and out of blurred vision. It took her a moment to realise she was using her now-empty gun hand to do so.
The knowledge that her gun was now gone, lost to the flames, stung even worse than the pain reverberating through jaw into the rest of her skull. But neither was as bad, as viciously infuriating, as the impossibility that stood in front of her.
“How… you…”
Wendy was dead. Bunny had seen her die. The bullets had hit her. She had fallen. That was it. That was supposed to be it. And yet, here she was. Barely standing, but there, the presence that she couldn’t expel no matter how hard she tried. Maybe Wendy wasn’t breathing. Maybe what was dead couldn’t die.
No. No, no, no, that couldn’t be it. She wouldn’t let that be it. There was only one thing she could think of worse than Maxwell’s shitty, selfish plan, and that was letting Wendy take the final, decisive victory. She couldn’t get the last laugh. Not after everything she’d done, and every way she’d justified doing them.
Bunny was going to stop her. Even if it killed her.
She roared, propelling herself forwards with animalistic rage, hands shaped into claws, lunging for Wendy’s throat.
A feeling of alarm reverberated through her soul from the roaring uncharacteristic rage of her adversary. Not since...
The concrete floor of the area had changed, terraformed into dirt, mud and tar. Transforming from bunny to gardener as she lunged for her throat.
She couldn't do as she had done before, her strength mostly bled out from her body and she dropped Mr. Dolph next to Maxwell.
Then Wendy remembered. The girl had no power, not anymore. She'd lost it, her gun and facade of undauntedness. Just like the gardener before, she had lost all patience as Wendy had finally gotten under her skin, ready to prune her petals as had been done to Panya once upon a time.
The talons wrapped around Wendy's neck, forcing her down, as Wendy's own hand went to her Ugg boots, the familiar small steel still tucked discretely inside. Wendy's initial shock turned to a quick show of glossy teeth as she stared into the burning, fiery eyes of her opponent. She knee'd the bunny turned gardener in the gut, temporarily forcing her off with an additional shove, but not enough to stop her.
Still hurting from the pain from being shot, falling and being choked, Wendy gasped a few breaths as she scooted backward on the ground to her bag. Rage unwavering Bunny lunged once more, but Bridgette's old blade was finally out in the open, pointed, despite the small distance separating them. Bunny had noticed, but that didn't stop her will to kill once and for all.
What she hadn't noticed was the ballistic knife's trigger switch as Wendy pressed it, sending the spring powered missile to close the gap between them.
The concrete floor of the area had changed, terraformed into dirt, mud and tar. Transforming from bunny to gardener as she lunged for her throat.
She couldn't do as she had done before, her strength mostly bled out from her body and she dropped Mr. Dolph next to Maxwell.
Then Wendy remembered. The girl had no power, not anymore. She'd lost it, her gun and facade of undauntedness. Just like the gardener before, she had lost all patience as Wendy had finally gotten under her skin, ready to prune her petals as had been done to Panya once upon a time.
The talons wrapped around Wendy's neck, forcing her down, as Wendy's own hand went to her Ugg boots, the familiar small steel still tucked discretely inside. Wendy's initial shock turned to a quick show of glossy teeth as she stared into the burning, fiery eyes of her opponent. She knee'd the bunny turned gardener in the gut, temporarily forcing her off with an additional shove, but not enough to stop her.
Still hurting from the pain from being shot, falling and being choked, Wendy gasped a few breaths as she scooted backward on the ground to her bag. Rage unwavering Bunny lunged once more, but Bridgette's old blade was finally out in the open, pointed, despite the small distance separating them. Bunny had noticed, but that didn't stop her will to kill once and for all.
What she hadn't noticed was the ballistic knife's trigger switch as Wendy pressed it, sending the spring powered missile to close the gap between them.
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1121
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- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Her claws wrapped around Wendy’s neck, and she pressed down, mouth twisted into a furious snarl, squeezing with all her might. Whether she managed to suffocate her to death, or her nails tore into her throat first, Bunny didn’t give a shit. All that she cared about was breaking Wendy, once and for all. She’d fallen out of sight and escaped death once already. Now, Bunny was going to keep her right where she could see her, and watch the life disappear from her eyes.
Wendy smiled. Maxwell had smiled too, when the machinenpistole had been aimed at him. Because that, in the end, that was the only thing they could do when they weren’t in control. Somehow, they thought that was winning. That getting the moral high ground gave you a ‘better’ victory than if you tried to actually play. There was only one way to win, in anything in life. You reached the goal. And to get there you had to cheat, and lie, and step on as many people as possible.
She knew that. These two didn’t. That was why she, and only she, was going to win.
Wendy shoved her away with a knee to the stomach, and Bunny gasped, sucking in air as she staggered back. A momentarily rebuttal. Nothing more. She snorted, seeing the knife in Wendy’s hand, and she strode forwards again, readying her foot to stamp down, crack bones underneath her heel.
A flash of silver. A rush of wind. A dull pain in her stomach again, only this time, Bunny knew that if her body wasn’t already decorated with bruises and scars and wounds, she would be screaming in agony. She looked down at the steel jutting out of her stomach, at the blood already spreading out from the center of the Akira poster, starting to drip onto the ground. She put another step forwards, and her whole body felt like it was about to collapse.
It was still movement. She could still go forwards.
Bunny roared again as she descended upon Wendy, practically falling onto her, swiping at her, trying to punch and claw and strangle the girl beneath her, lashing out in any way she could manage to finally destroy her.
Wendy smiled. Maxwell had smiled too, when the machinenpistole had been aimed at him. Because that, in the end, that was the only thing they could do when they weren’t in control. Somehow, they thought that was winning. That getting the moral high ground gave you a ‘better’ victory than if you tried to actually play. There was only one way to win, in anything in life. You reached the goal. And to get there you had to cheat, and lie, and step on as many people as possible.
She knew that. These two didn’t. That was why she, and only she, was going to win.
Wendy shoved her away with a knee to the stomach, and Bunny gasped, sucking in air as she staggered back. A momentarily rebuttal. Nothing more. She snorted, seeing the knife in Wendy’s hand, and she strode forwards again, readying her foot to stamp down, crack bones underneath her heel.
A flash of silver. A rush of wind. A dull pain in her stomach again, only this time, Bunny knew that if her body wasn’t already decorated with bruises and scars and wounds, she would be screaming in agony. She looked down at the steel jutting out of her stomach, at the blood already spreading out from the center of the Akira poster, starting to drip onto the ground. She put another step forwards, and her whole body felt like it was about to collapse.
It was still movement. She could still go forwards.
Bunny roared again as she descended upon Wendy, practically falling onto her, swiping at her, trying to punch and claw and strangle the girl beneath her, lashing out in any way she could manage to finally destroy her.
This was it. The one thread she had yet to pull before the end officially began. The moment Everett’s nasty spitting killer became another flopping fish out of water.
Wendy pushed back with somewhat relative ease despite the fuzzy feeling of shot sternum, concussion and breathtaking pain all over.
The writhing mess now weakened continued to crawl, grabbing, clawing at her ankles, in an effort to climb up on her, ballistic edge jutting out of it’s vile soul.
It had landed a few hits, during the slight struggle under dead weight, but it was abundantly clear that without the power, that outward advantage which made F18 so comfortable this whole time and manifested into a reputation; she was nothing.
That knowledge, seeing the incoherent zombie it had devolved into. Oh so satisfying, yet not enough.
For Everett.
A handshake. Ballistic handle with ballistic blade. Met once again.
One twist and Wendy broke free, bloody hand. The gardener’s knife, now whole, stayed put.
Scratches, real scratches, were on her forearm, dripping her own bit of red out from the scuffle. Wendy stared down at it, gritted teeth. They seemed to glow. Heat intensifying.
Bunny - no - Dead Fish, let out a long horrific sound unlike any other. Mouth wide open.
It was as if the skies opened up that very second and the lion in the stars said to remember.
“Remember that soup I made, Bunny?” Practically tearing the silver cracker tin out from her bag as she said so.
Every moment from Wendy Fischer’s safari adventure, passed through her thoughts in a flash; the good friends, the fun times, the bad people, the ugly mistakes. Details that would be too much to list. Just like the burning cabin she hallucinated them both in once again as if it was a simulation, made even more believable by the very real wildfire running through the shipping yard. Pure hate just rushing through her veins at this point.
For Everett.
Wendy ripped the lid off the tin, grabbed Bunny by the hair, mouth still open - if not it definitely was now - pulled back and forced the tin into her mouth, shoving the purple slop down her throat.
“EAT IT!”
Wendy pushed back with somewhat relative ease despite the fuzzy feeling of shot sternum, concussion and breathtaking pain all over.
The writhing mess now weakened continued to crawl, grabbing, clawing at her ankles, in an effort to climb up on her, ballistic edge jutting out of it’s vile soul.
It had landed a few hits, during the slight struggle under dead weight, but it was abundantly clear that without the power, that outward advantage which made F18 so comfortable this whole time and manifested into a reputation; she was nothing.
That knowledge, seeing the incoherent zombie it had devolved into. Oh so satisfying, yet not enough.
For Everett.
A handshake. Ballistic handle with ballistic blade. Met once again.
One twist and Wendy broke free, bloody hand. The gardener’s knife, now whole, stayed put.
Scratches, real scratches, were on her forearm, dripping her own bit of red out from the scuffle. Wendy stared down at it, gritted teeth. They seemed to glow. Heat intensifying.
Bunny - no - Dead Fish, let out a long horrific sound unlike any other. Mouth wide open.
It was as if the skies opened up that very second and the lion in the stars said to remember.
“Remember that soup I made, Bunny?” Practically tearing the silver cracker tin out from her bag as she said so.
Every moment from Wendy Fischer’s safari adventure, passed through her thoughts in a flash; the good friends, the fun times, the bad people, the ugly mistakes. Details that would be too much to list. Just like the burning cabin she hallucinated them both in once again as if it was a simulation, made even more believable by the very real wildfire running through the shipping yard. Pure hate just rushing through her veins at this point.
For Everett.
Wendy ripped the lid off the tin, grabbed Bunny by the hair, mouth still open - if not it definitely was now - pulled back and forced the tin into her mouth, shoving the purple slop down her throat.
“EAT IT!”
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1257
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
Typical. The one time during these past seven days where Maxwell felt he could die with dignity, and someone just had to rise from the grave and save his life. Honestly, at this point, he was pretty sure this island’s sole purpose was just to fuck with him.
But whatever. Maxwell Lombardi was still alive, and really, that was the best thing he could reasonably ask for. He was laid down on the ground, eyes open, the after-image of Bunny and Wendy a faint imprint on his vision. He knew they weren’t there anymore — their screams reached his ears from a place far closer than Maxwell was comfortable with — yet he still felt paralyzed. Too afraid to move. He’d thought he’d been okay with dying before Wendy swooped out of nowhere to save him, but no. No he had not. He had been okay with dying and now he had decided he had never been okay with dying. This past day had been riddled with contradictions and hypocrisies and sudden changes in the story he was in the middle of telling, and all this was was another one to add to the pile.
But again, whatever. If Maxwell were to let down every expectation he had given himself, he might as well do it while also still being alive. Didn’t matter how messy all of this had been if it worked out for him in the end, correct?
Yes. Correct. He began to move. Tried to roll over to the left, felt his shoulder scream, rolled over to the right instead. There were new screams and shouts coming from whatever Wendy and Bunny were doing and he really hoped they were still pre-occupied enough to not see whatever grand next step he had to think about once he got up. He brought his one working arm closer to his body, brought both his legs — working or otherwise — in with it, and went from lying face-down to kneeling. He put his balance on his legs, let his bag hit the ground, and now he could-
See Kris, walking toward him, having also come back from the dead. He stood there, for a moment. Saw the inferno in her eyes. The firefly in her hand.
Thought about dying one last time.
…
Made a choice.
Ran for his life.
But whatever. Maxwell Lombardi was still alive, and really, that was the best thing he could reasonably ask for. He was laid down on the ground, eyes open, the after-image of Bunny and Wendy a faint imprint on his vision. He knew they weren’t there anymore — their screams reached his ears from a place far closer than Maxwell was comfortable with — yet he still felt paralyzed. Too afraid to move. He’d thought he’d been okay with dying before Wendy swooped out of nowhere to save him, but no. No he had not. He had been okay with dying and now he had decided he had never been okay with dying. This past day had been riddled with contradictions and hypocrisies and sudden changes in the story he was in the middle of telling, and all this was was another one to add to the pile.
But again, whatever. If Maxwell were to let down every expectation he had given himself, he might as well do it while also still being alive. Didn’t matter how messy all of this had been if it worked out for him in the end, correct?
Yes. Correct. He began to move. Tried to roll over to the left, felt his shoulder scream, rolled over to the right instead. There were new screams and shouts coming from whatever Wendy and Bunny were doing and he really hoped they were still pre-occupied enough to not see whatever grand next step he had to think about once he got up. He brought his one working arm closer to his body, brought both his legs — working or otherwise — in with it, and went from lying face-down to kneeling. He put his balance on his legs, let his bag hit the ground, and now he could-
See Kris, walking toward him, having also come back from the dead. He stood there, for a moment. Saw the inferno in her eyes. The firefly in her hand.
Thought about dying one last time.
…
Made a choice.
Ran for his life.
Pain.
It was a freeing sensation.
Her body felt different as her blood steadily drained away.
Walking felt strange. Lighter.
Free of everything that held her down. She was able to move forwards.
He saw her as he rose and the realization spread across his face. His chance of avoiding his fate had passed. The door she needed to open for him sat waiting. She smiled as he ran. It didn't matter where. There was no escape for him. She was going to open the cage. She didn't know where the boy and his ghost were. Perhaps he had already moved on, perhaps not. It was a shame to not see him.
She whispered to the firefly as she moved closer to the two that were fighting. She spoke of how well-behaved, how patient it had been and how its long journey was over. It was finally going to be freed. It would be able to join its brothers and sisters. The fire lapped around her and she reached out to stroke it. It knew her time had come and they had reached an understanding.
She had been alive, physically, until she wasn't.
She had sat and she had breathed, but it had all been empty.
For she was dead. She had been dead since she had woken. Like they were all had been. Only one of them got to leave the island after all.
Blood started to pool in her mouth. Liberation had never tasted so metallic.
After as long as she had waited and been told she would be judged for freeing another. She had traveled with Keiji until she had lost him. Through it all her blood continued to flow. But it was only temporary. Just like their battle. The sun would soon rise and it would all be over.
The light coiled around her, the darkness had long retreated. She held the firefly out to it. In return, it lit the fuse on its brothers' prison.
They were so close together.
The other two had tried, but none of it mattered.
"It's ok," she whispered as she moved closer to the pair. "It's over."
The glass shattered against the ground and the long captive firefly roared free. Its siblings rejoicing and leaping towards the sky in celebration. The flames hungrily surged forward, consuming all three of them.
She watched as her blood and skin burned away, turning to ash. She smiled as she fell back.
The fire ripped and tore at her but her smile remained.
The cage door swung open and the sun started to rise.
Meanwhile, Kris laughed.
She had done it.
She was free.
It was a freeing sensation.
Her body felt different as her blood steadily drained away.
Walking felt strange. Lighter.
Free of everything that held her down. She was able to move forwards.
He saw her as he rose and the realization spread across his face. His chance of avoiding his fate had passed. The door she needed to open for him sat waiting. She smiled as he ran. It didn't matter where. There was no escape for him. She was going to open the cage. She didn't know where the boy and his ghost were. Perhaps he had already moved on, perhaps not. It was a shame to not see him.
She whispered to the firefly as she moved closer to the two that were fighting. She spoke of how well-behaved, how patient it had been and how its long journey was over. It was finally going to be freed. It would be able to join its brothers and sisters. The fire lapped around her and she reached out to stroke it. It knew her time had come and they had reached an understanding.
She had been alive, physically, until she wasn't.
She had sat and she had breathed, but it had all been empty.
For she was dead. She had been dead since she had woken. Like they were all had been. Only one of them got to leave the island after all.
Blood started to pool in her mouth. Liberation had never tasted so metallic.
After as long as she had waited and been told she would be judged for freeing another. She had traveled with Keiji until she had lost him. Through it all her blood continued to flow. But it was only temporary. Just like their battle. The sun would soon rise and it would all be over.
The light coiled around her, the darkness had long retreated. She held the firefly out to it. In return, it lit the fuse on its brothers' prison.
They were so close together.
The other two had tried, but none of it mattered.
"It's ok," she whispered as she moved closer to the pair. "It's over."
The glass shattered against the ground and the long captive firefly roared free. Its siblings rejoicing and leaping towards the sky in celebration. The flames hungrily surged forward, consuming all three of them.
She watched as her blood and skin burned away, turning to ash. She smiled as she fell back.
The fire ripped and tore at her but her smile remained.
The cage door swung open and the sun started to rise.
Meanwhile, Kris laughed.
She had done it.
She was free.
End
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Pippi
- Posts: 1121
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Of course she fucking remembered.
She remembered everything Wendy had done, all of the things she’d said, all the ways she’d tried to bend the truth, and obscure the facts, and put herself above them like some goddamn paragon of heroism and righteousness. There was only one way out here to be ‘good’, and Wendy had missed that mark entirely, littering bodies in her wake, waltzing around with a fucking tin of poison in her bag.
And all with that stupid, dumb, vacuous expression on her stupid, dumb face.
Bunny snarled again, rearing back to slash her nails across Wendy’s features once more, leaving herself wide open. She felt the sudden pull of hands grabbing her hair, as her head yanked backwards, hard enough she thought her neck was about to snap, letting out a choked cry of alarm.
It was enough for the foul-smelling liquid to flow past the scars and dried blood on her lips and down her throat before she could properly react. The pain hit almost immediately, a burning sensation, fire scorching the inside of her mouth, and Bunny choked and coughed, trying to throw it all back up, trying to get rid of the poison seeping into her bloodstream as she pushed away from Wendy, pushed backwards, right as the fireflies landed and shattered around her.
She took one, single moment to work out what had happened. One moment was enough for the inferno to spot its opportunity, for it to billow and cover the ground and to engulf Bunny in flames.
She was screaming now, sheer panic in her voice, as the fire blazed inside of her and roared around her, grabbing and tearing at her clothes and her hair and her flesh and her bones. She fell, first to her knees, then onto her face, as her body fell apart, crying in fear all the way down.
Bunny’s hand reached out, clawing into the ground, cracked fingernails digging in and trying to pull her dead weight forwards. Her sleeve was ablaze, nothing but shimmering flames now, but she still tried, desperately, to pull herself forwards, drag herself across the line of fire, across the finishing line, because this wasn’t how it ended, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, she was supposed to win, she was going to win, only her, only her, it was her, it was her, it was her, it was
she was
it
no
The inferno swallowed her whole, and Bunny vanished.
She remembered everything Wendy had done, all of the things she’d said, all the ways she’d tried to bend the truth, and obscure the facts, and put herself above them like some goddamn paragon of heroism and righteousness. There was only one way out here to be ‘good’, and Wendy had missed that mark entirely, littering bodies in her wake, waltzing around with a fucking tin of poison in her bag.
And all with that stupid, dumb, vacuous expression on her stupid, dumb face.
Bunny snarled again, rearing back to slash her nails across Wendy’s features once more, leaving herself wide open. She felt the sudden pull of hands grabbing her hair, as her head yanked backwards, hard enough she thought her neck was about to snap, letting out a choked cry of alarm.
It was enough for the foul-smelling liquid to flow past the scars and dried blood on her lips and down her throat before she could properly react. The pain hit almost immediately, a burning sensation, fire scorching the inside of her mouth, and Bunny choked and coughed, trying to throw it all back up, trying to get rid of the poison seeping into her bloodstream as she pushed away from Wendy, pushed backwards, right as the fireflies landed and shattered around her.
She took one, single moment to work out what had happened. One moment was enough for the inferno to spot its opportunity, for it to billow and cover the ground and to engulf Bunny in flames.
She was screaming now, sheer panic in her voice, as the fire blazed inside of her and roared around her, grabbing and tearing at her clothes and her hair and her flesh and her bones. She fell, first to her knees, then onto her face, as her body fell apart, crying in fear all the way down.
Bunny’s hand reached out, clawing into the ground, cracked fingernails digging in and trying to pull her dead weight forwards. Her sleeve was ablaze, nothing but shimmering flames now, but she still tried, desperately, to pull herself forwards, drag herself across the line of fire, across the finishing line, because this wasn’t how it ended, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, she was supposed to win, she was going to win, only her, only her, it was her, it was her, it was her, it was
she was
it
no
The inferno swallowed her whole, and Bunny vanished.
Numb.
That was all. No pain, nothing, no more. So much from everything. The gunshot, the fall, the struggles, everything and now the flames. It overloaded until it became nothing. The noise was also nothing. Not what it was moments earlier. Nothing but the strange silence of sizzle at the end of the fireworks.
The bottled fireflies they were, now free, traveled every which way, fluttering through the air, converging with the rest of the swarm. They were rising higher and faster, spreading further and further with every touch of debris, devouring all in it's path more like locusts than fireflies as fuel in its wake. The dark billowing clouds of smoke, blanketing near all view except for the red-orange wisps; mirrored the image of this all-consuming plague. Everything became nothing but the swarm.
Nearly everything.
It was only mere minutes before it went from a struggle for payback, to the enigma of the voice, to the crash, to the flash. She should have been toast right then and there, in both great fear and fascination.
Instead a charred, ashen hand pulled forward through the rubble beneath, breaking free from the bottom edge of this hellfire prison. It had been a small jump when she realized what Krissy intended by ‘over’ with her sealed fireball, but just enough movement where she wasn’t instantly incinerated. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, not without him. Not until he was safe.
She had powered through, crawled ahead, left behind the roasting ash that became of Bunny. She could only drag herself to her goal, upper half roasting into a flaking black mass, under-belly side, melting, scraping and stinging against the poisons of the area.
Smoke made it even more difficult to breathe on top of the already existing gunshot and injuries sustained, entering all possible orifices causing weak wheezing and light-headedness. It was instinct which told her to move, to get out of there, to find him, to make sure he got out as well.
Finally she was out, though only half-way. The trail had traveled up her now burnt to dust Uggs, scorching her legs, her clothing, strawberry shorts caught fire, traveled up her torso, peeled her flesh to crisp. Her once lengthy blonde braids now almost completely shriveled except for the cropped gold roots on her scalp. Wendy Fischer was practically charcoal when she saw Maxwell, sitting at the base of a container, facing the approaching flames.
Wendy could barely speak, but she looked at the young Brit, half blinded. Her eternal smirk, still faintly recognizable. She opened her outstretched arms, uncovering from her cradling embrace what she had successfully protected and rescued from the fire.
“Please,” her voice coarse, a whisper.
The large scaly headless carp rolled out of her hands.
“Make them remember Mr. Dolph.”
She put her head down for their teacher. Would have cried except no tears were available. She knew she wasn’t special, just another number on the GPS of this awful game. At least with Maxie and Chuck still out there, she could rest assured that someone deserving would remain. Someone who could perhaps take the fight straight to the powers that be. Straight to the shadow man. She promised that to herself on behalf of Felicia, Yumi, Scarlett, the real Mr. Dolph and now it would be. In the end, she wasn’t dumb after all, right?
The fluttering embers and wisps of flames quickly started to morph before her eyes.
Into butterflies. The same fiery orange, majestic monarchs which pollinated poor, petal-less Panya in the flowery fields.
The monarchs swiftly surrounded Wendy Fischer F29 as she took one final breath and marveled at the kaleidoscope beauty washing her over.
FLASH
"Sounds like a plan, then. Let's try the Officer's Quarters or the Hospital. The quarters will probably have the best equipment and the hospital might have some medical supplies lying around. You never know, right?"
Huh?
"Well, if we run into any killers of the male persuasion, we'll just throw the pantless wonder over here at them. Perfect weapon.”
Wendy felt dazed, disoriented, unsure what was happening or where she was, staring blankly forward at first before collecting herself to the tune of voices from the group speaking around her.
“Who are -- what is this?,” panic rising in her voice.
“Um, helllooo, we just went through intros Wendy. Weren’t ya paying attention. That’s Chris. That’s Brendan. This is Helmut Von Slappenstien and I’m your good ole’ awesomesss buddy Megan Jacobsen.”
What? Megan Jac-- she heard that name before. That was the name of one of the girls, from the first time the terrorists kidnapped… But even that memory started to fade like a dream. The word: Program, grew louder in her mind and she remembered.
Her eyes widened, as she stared at her forearm covered with scratches - at her hands, holding a lighter in one and a bottle of butane in the other. At the garage and depot they were currently in. At her bag number F18 which she despised for some strange reason.
“This can’t be happening. I - We need to get out of here… we-”
In the blink of an eye Wendy Fischer F18 was on the ground injured and shot - in the center of a blazing inferno.
That was all. No pain, nothing, no more. So much from everything. The gunshot, the fall, the struggles, everything and now the flames. It overloaded until it became nothing. The noise was also nothing. Not what it was moments earlier. Nothing but the strange silence of sizzle at the end of the fireworks.
The bottled fireflies they were, now free, traveled every which way, fluttering through the air, converging with the rest of the swarm. They were rising higher and faster, spreading further and further with every touch of debris, devouring all in it's path more like locusts than fireflies as fuel in its wake. The dark billowing clouds of smoke, blanketing near all view except for the red-orange wisps; mirrored the image of this all-consuming plague. Everything became nothing but the swarm.
Nearly everything.
It was only mere minutes before it went from a struggle for payback, to the enigma of the voice, to the crash, to the flash. She should have been toast right then and there, in both great fear and fascination.
Instead a charred, ashen hand pulled forward through the rubble beneath, breaking free from the bottom edge of this hellfire prison. It had been a small jump when she realized what Krissy intended by ‘over’ with her sealed fireball, but just enough movement where she wasn’t instantly incinerated. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, not without him. Not until he was safe.
She had powered through, crawled ahead, left behind the roasting ash that became of Bunny. She could only drag herself to her goal, upper half roasting into a flaking black mass, under-belly side, melting, scraping and stinging against the poisons of the area.
Smoke made it even more difficult to breathe on top of the already existing gunshot and injuries sustained, entering all possible orifices causing weak wheezing and light-headedness. It was instinct which told her to move, to get out of there, to find him, to make sure he got out as well.
Finally she was out, though only half-way. The trail had traveled up her now burnt to dust Uggs, scorching her legs, her clothing, strawberry shorts caught fire, traveled up her torso, peeled her flesh to crisp. Her once lengthy blonde braids now almost completely shriveled except for the cropped gold roots on her scalp. Wendy Fischer was practically charcoal when she saw Maxwell, sitting at the base of a container, facing the approaching flames.
Wendy could barely speak, but she looked at the young Brit, half blinded. Her eternal smirk, still faintly recognizable. She opened her outstretched arms, uncovering from her cradling embrace what she had successfully protected and rescued from the fire.
“Please,” her voice coarse, a whisper.
The large scaly headless carp rolled out of her hands.
“Make them remember Mr. Dolph.”
She put her head down for their teacher. Would have cried except no tears were available. She knew she wasn’t special, just another number on the GPS of this awful game. At least with Maxie and Chuck still out there, she could rest assured that someone deserving would remain. Someone who could perhaps take the fight straight to the powers that be. Straight to the shadow man. She promised that to herself on behalf of Felicia, Yumi, Scarlett, the real Mr. Dolph and now it would be. In the end, she wasn’t dumb after all, right?
The fluttering embers and wisps of flames quickly started to morph before her eyes.
Into butterflies. The same fiery orange, majestic monarchs which pollinated poor, petal-less Panya in the flowery fields.
The monarchs swiftly surrounded Wendy Fischer F29 as she took one final breath and marveled at the kaleidoscope beauty washing her over.
FLASH
"Sounds like a plan, then. Let's try the Officer's Quarters or the Hospital. The quarters will probably have the best equipment and the hospital might have some medical supplies lying around. You never know, right?"
Huh?
"Well, if we run into any killers of the male persuasion, we'll just throw the pantless wonder over here at them. Perfect weapon.”
Wendy felt dazed, disoriented, unsure what was happening or where she was, staring blankly forward at first before collecting herself to the tune of voices from the group speaking around her.
“Who are -- what is this?,” panic rising in her voice.
“Um, helllooo, we just went through intros Wendy. Weren’t ya paying attention. That’s Chris. That’s Brendan. This is Helmut Von Slappenstien and I’m your good ole’ awesomesss buddy Megan Jacobsen.”
What? Megan Jac-- she heard that name before. That was the name of one of the girls, from the first time the terrorists kidnapped… But even that memory started to fade like a dream. The word: Program, grew louder in her mind and she remembered.
Her eyes widened, as she stared at her forearm covered with scratches - at her hands, holding a lighter in one and a bottle of butane in the other. At the garage and depot they were currently in. At her bag number F18 which she despised for some strange reason.
“This can’t be happening. I - We need to get out of here… we-”
In the blink of an eye Wendy Fischer F18 was on the ground injured and shot - in the center of a blazing inferno.
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Wham Yubeesling
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He didn’t make it far.
Only fifteen metres, this time. Maxwell was getting worse and worse at running the more he tried. At the very least, his routine of flying through the air before skidding across the ground was prematurely stopped by a shipping crate that had been in front of him. Made him feel like his head had been split open and, to be frank, wasn’t particularly preferable to the usual routine, but at least he had stopped. At least now he could start the process again quicker. Get his limbs closer to him, move from lying down to kneeling, turn his neck around quickly so he could see how long he had to go before Kris got him and-
Stared.
Found himself on his ass as he watched the firefly blossom into an inferno. Felt his muscles borderline relax as the two outlines within dropped and vanished.
Felt them lock up again as a third shape escaped the flame and started crawling directly towards him.
He didn’t even try to move. He wasn’t sure he could even if he had tried. It wasn’t even as if Maxwell was exhausted. It was just… shock. Resignation, maybe. This island was out to spite him and this was just another way of doing so. Give him a second of hope that he was safe from the fire just to have someone come out to grab him by the throat and drag him in. Whatever. He wasn’t going to try. Doing so would just cause something else to come out of the blue and undercut whatever he was trying to do. Really. There was absolutely no winning for Maxwell here.
So he wasn’t all that surprised when the burning girl collapsed before she could make it to where he was. All he could really do to react was sigh and listen to what… Wendy? was saying. She handed him… a dead fish? That she named after Mr. Dolph?? That he was now assigned to protect from now on???
He just kinda sat there, mouth agape as she died. This place could just not stop topping itself, apparently.
But whatever. Now everything was over. Slowly — now that he had the spare time to be careful about it — he stood up. Looked around. The firefly was still burning, even if the flame no longer stood as powerful as it had once been. He could see the outlines he had seen before again. Two more corpses. Kris and Bunny, if he were to hazard a guess.
That meant two left. Him and Chuck. He looked at the sight one last time. Found his eyes placing themselves on the fish. Mr. Dolph. The thing he was supposed to preserve. Make people remember.
He shook his head. Turned and took a step away from the sight. There were only two people left, by his count. There was no point focusing on stupid things anymore. He needed to find Chuck.
“Charles…”
His voice came out choked, way quieter than he had meant for it to be. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Charles…”
He let the words hang for a few seconds before figuring that Chuck must not have heard him. He tried again, this time as a shout.
”Charles…”
Still no response.
Whatever. Maxwell was done with this.
“MAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...”
Only fifteen metres, this time. Maxwell was getting worse and worse at running the more he tried. At the very least, his routine of flying through the air before skidding across the ground was prematurely stopped by a shipping crate that had been in front of him. Made him feel like his head had been split open and, to be frank, wasn’t particularly preferable to the usual routine, but at least he had stopped. At least now he could start the process again quicker. Get his limbs closer to him, move from lying down to kneeling, turn his neck around quickly so he could see how long he had to go before Kris got him and-
Stared.
Found himself on his ass as he watched the firefly blossom into an inferno. Felt his muscles borderline relax as the two outlines within dropped and vanished.
Felt them lock up again as a third shape escaped the flame and started crawling directly towards him.
He didn’t even try to move. He wasn’t sure he could even if he had tried. It wasn’t even as if Maxwell was exhausted. It was just… shock. Resignation, maybe. This island was out to spite him and this was just another way of doing so. Give him a second of hope that he was safe from the fire just to have someone come out to grab him by the throat and drag him in. Whatever. He wasn’t going to try. Doing so would just cause something else to come out of the blue and undercut whatever he was trying to do. Really. There was absolutely no winning for Maxwell here.
So he wasn’t all that surprised when the burning girl collapsed before she could make it to where he was. All he could really do to react was sigh and listen to what… Wendy? was saying. She handed him… a dead fish? That she named after Mr. Dolph?? That he was now assigned to protect from now on???
He just kinda sat there, mouth agape as she died. This place could just not stop topping itself, apparently.
But whatever. Now everything was over. Slowly — now that he had the spare time to be careful about it — he stood up. Looked around. The firefly was still burning, even if the flame no longer stood as powerful as it had once been. He could see the outlines he had seen before again. Two more corpses. Kris and Bunny, if he were to hazard a guess.
That meant two left. Him and Chuck. He looked at the sight one last time. Found his eyes placing themselves on the fish. Mr. Dolph. The thing he was supposed to preserve. Make people remember.
He shook his head. Turned and took a step away from the sight. There were only two people left, by his count. There was no point focusing on stupid things anymore. He needed to find Chuck.
“Charles…”
His voice came out choked, way quieter than he had meant for it to be. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Charles…”
He let the words hang for a few seconds before figuring that Chuck must not have heard him. He tried again, this time as a shout.
”Charles…”
Still no response.
Whatever. Maxwell was done with this.
“MAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...”
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General Goose
- Posts: 318
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Chuck had closed his eyes.
He had laid his head back and entered a deep slumber.
He had gone towards the light.
And yet he had not died. Instead, with a start, he woke up again.
To hear a loud 'MAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO' ring throughout the space. To feel a sudden heat, distant yet still causing him to feel suddenly uncomfortable in his hoodie, suddenly feeling a clammy layer of perspiration coating his face and sinking into his clothes and causing the cut on his face - which now seemed so irrelevant, so trivial - to suddenly sting as a bead of sweat ended up trickling irritatingly into the dent in his skin. To remember - always a shock, the one thing about this island that he'd failed to get desensitised to - where he was, except now with the novelty of having a gunshot wound in his chest.
He threw his head back, but had already pressed his head back almost as far as it would go and so grimaced as his skull bashed against the metal.
It took Chuck a couple of extra seconds to realise that the Marco had been someone calling out to him. He blinked, tilted his head forward, moved his jaw around a bit, all in some futile effort to wake up his senses but not so much as to inflame his nerve endings and fully wake him up to just how much pain he was in. Fuck. Okay. Chuck knew how to respond to this. This was his thing. He even appreciated the effort. It was such a...perfect way to reach out to him, to add a little touch of whimsy to his life. It took Chuck slightly too long to deduce that it had been Maxwell who made the call. Should have been obvious. Even without the accent, he was the only guy.
But it was good that it was Maxwell. He...okay, yeah, he didn't want to say that he hoped the others were dead, but like, Kris coming for a final chat would have been awkward and weird in a way that Chuck did not currently have the energy to process. Bunny would have probably tortured him on his way out or something. Wendy...yeah, Wendy was cool. That Maxwell was calling out to him meant everyone else was dead, probably. Chuck hated that. It no longer felt like an avoidable tragedy - the notion that there was some wonderful third option to the terrorists' "survive or die" dichotomy that meant nobody got their hands dirty had been pretty comprehensively punctured by the bullet wound - but still. It sucked. There was no diluting that. No taking away from that. Its inevitability didn't make it any less of an injustice.
But it felt abstract. Distant. Something he didn't have to confront. Not yet. Not in all its visceral, gory detail.
He swallowed.
"POOOOOLOOOOO-"
He began coughing. Okay. Fuck. Shouting was too much. Too difficult. He began keeling over - or at least, as much as he could with so little energy and stamina left in his body - and began spluttering and wheezing. Fuck. He felt like a fucking zombie. Probably looked like one too. A sweaty, bloody, crippled zombie, with a hole in his torso and a cut on his face and scruffs and abrasions all over his body and a stylish yet damaged hat on his head.
He had laid his head back and entered a deep slumber.
He had gone towards the light.
And yet he had not died. Instead, with a start, he woke up again.
To hear a loud 'MAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO' ring throughout the space. To feel a sudden heat, distant yet still causing him to feel suddenly uncomfortable in his hoodie, suddenly feeling a clammy layer of perspiration coating his face and sinking into his clothes and causing the cut on his face - which now seemed so irrelevant, so trivial - to suddenly sting as a bead of sweat ended up trickling irritatingly into the dent in his skin. To remember - always a shock, the one thing about this island that he'd failed to get desensitised to - where he was, except now with the novelty of having a gunshot wound in his chest.
He threw his head back, but had already pressed his head back almost as far as it would go and so grimaced as his skull bashed against the metal.
It took Chuck a couple of extra seconds to realise that the Marco had been someone calling out to him. He blinked, tilted his head forward, moved his jaw around a bit, all in some futile effort to wake up his senses but not so much as to inflame his nerve endings and fully wake him up to just how much pain he was in. Fuck. Okay. Chuck knew how to respond to this. This was his thing. He even appreciated the effort. It was such a...perfect way to reach out to him, to add a little touch of whimsy to his life. It took Chuck slightly too long to deduce that it had been Maxwell who made the call. Should have been obvious. Even without the accent, he was the only guy.
But it was good that it was Maxwell. He...okay, yeah, he didn't want to say that he hoped the others were dead, but like, Kris coming for a final chat would have been awkward and weird in a way that Chuck did not currently have the energy to process. Bunny would have probably tortured him on his way out or something. Wendy...yeah, Wendy was cool. That Maxwell was calling out to him meant everyone else was dead, probably. Chuck hated that. It no longer felt like an avoidable tragedy - the notion that there was some wonderful third option to the terrorists' "survive or die" dichotomy that meant nobody got their hands dirty had been pretty comprehensively punctured by the bullet wound - but still. It sucked. There was no diluting that. No taking away from that. Its inevitability didn't make it any less of an injustice.
But it felt abstract. Distant. Something he didn't have to confront. Not yet. Not in all its visceral, gory detail.
He swallowed.
"POOOOOLOOOOO-"
He began coughing. Okay. Fuck. Shouting was too much. Too difficult. He began keeling over - or at least, as much as he could with so little energy and stamina left in his body - and began spluttering and wheezing. Fuck. He felt like a fucking zombie. Probably looked like one too. A sweaty, bloody, crippled zombie, with a hole in his torso and a cut on his face and scruffs and abrasions all over his body and a stylish yet damaged hat on his head.
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Wham Yubeesling
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There it was. Maxwell knew Chuck had it in him to embrace just how ridiculous this whole thing was.
More importantly, Maxwell knew where Chuck was now. Now they could… do something. He didn’t know. The plan to wait until the boats arrived was long past the point of possible implementation, thanks to a certain rabbit, but it still seemed like a good idea to find Chuck. Reconvene. Figure out if there was anything they could do next. It felt as if this game was too far gone for Maxwell to stand a chance of beating it, but…
There was still time. He had to try.
So he walked towards Chuck. Let his response echo internally as he hobbled his way through the maze of shipping containers. Along the way laid the trident he’d dropped and he took a pause to pick it up again. Place it in his right hand. Walk with slightly more ease. It felt… odd. He’d only been walking like this an hour or two ago but in his head it felt like far longer since he’d last had the trident in his hand. The displacement wasn’t a particularly new feeling — the days before this one had felt like months — but it still felt jarring compared to the rest of this… surprisingly peaceful walk.
The idea could’ve merited more thought, more detail, but it was at that point when he heard Chuck. Specifically, his breathing. Laboured, but steady. Strained, yet still alive. He moved. Felt his left leg ache just a little harder as his stride sped up. He turned what he imagined was the final corner, started walking towards the Chuck-shaped shape on the ground, and:
“I figured it’d be best you know that we’re the l-”
…
…
Maxwell just stood there.
Stood there, stared, and came to the slow realization that he had won this game.
More importantly, Maxwell knew where Chuck was now. Now they could… do something. He didn’t know. The plan to wait until the boats arrived was long past the point of possible implementation, thanks to a certain rabbit, but it still seemed like a good idea to find Chuck. Reconvene. Figure out if there was anything they could do next. It felt as if this game was too far gone for Maxwell to stand a chance of beating it, but…
There was still time. He had to try.
So he walked towards Chuck. Let his response echo internally as he hobbled his way through the maze of shipping containers. Along the way laid the trident he’d dropped and he took a pause to pick it up again. Place it in his right hand. Walk with slightly more ease. It felt… odd. He’d only been walking like this an hour or two ago but in his head it felt like far longer since he’d last had the trident in his hand. The displacement wasn’t a particularly new feeling — the days before this one had felt like months — but it still felt jarring compared to the rest of this… surprisingly peaceful walk.
The idea could’ve merited more thought, more detail, but it was at that point when he heard Chuck. Specifically, his breathing. Laboured, but steady. Strained, yet still alive. He moved. Felt his left leg ache just a little harder as his stride sped up. He turned what he imagined was the final corner, started walking towards the Chuck-shaped shape on the ground, and:
“I figured it’d be best you know that we’re the l-”
…
…
Maxwell just stood there.
Stood there, stared, and came to the slow realization that he had won this game.
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General Goose
- Posts: 318
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:51 pm
Chuck noticed Maxwell pause. Just standing there, frozen in time, with all motion and all sense of urgency immediately vacating his person. It wasn't hard to work out what it was that had caused Maxwell to stop right in his tracks. Wasn't hard at all. Chuck knew exactly what...news was imparted by his current state. Knew exactly what conclusion the cogs in Maxwell's brain had come to. He sighed, defeated and tired, lethargic and surprisingly apathetic, a bit too preoccupied with the bigger picture to get all riled up and indignant about the little bit of extra cruelty that came from coming so far yet tripping at the final hurdle.
Maxwell wasn't saying it though.
They both knew it. God, it was obvious from that look in his eyes - mostly recognition so far, some kind of responsibility, thankfully no hints of gleeful triumph that Chuck could make out - that Maxwell knew. But whether out of shock and surprise or some antiquated yet endearing sense of social propriety, Maxwell wasn't saying it. He was letting the obvious hang in the air. There was a risk that, unless Chuck said something, they'd just stare at each other until he expired. "So, yeah. Chuck had to say something. Not that he minded. Kept him busy. Kept him distracted, analysing things like this. A useful coping mechanism from all the crying and family and friends and meaning of life stuff that teetered behind the edge, threatening to burst out in a wave of emotion that he probably didn't have the energy to sustain.
"Well, congratulations are in order I guess," Chuck said with a weak and weary smile. Smiling hurt less than frowning. Corny as fuck, but it was true. Otherwise he'd just default to resting bitch face, which, yeah. So unlike Chuck.
"Unless I...like." He mimed tapping something on his wrist. "Pull out some wacky Predator self-destruct shenanigans and blow up this forest of shipping containers then...yeah. You've won."
He looked at Maxwell. He had said the others were gone. "Feels like months, doesn't it." Chuck had felt like he had been dying for the longest time. Ever since Wendy had left him, he'd been alone with his thoughts. They'd been quiet. Mercifully so, really. Chuck would hate to come up with a brilliant story idea or devise a radical policy solution to fix a global problem right now. That'd be so frustrating. And he couldn't handle sifting through the cacophonic jumble of regrets and ineffectual pleas and fears and existential dreads and desires to be hugged and all that jazz. He'd already contemplated and pondered that well dry. "Tell me...just...indulge a dying man's curiosity. How'd they die?" It wasn't just his curiosity. There was a reason he was asking this.
Maxwell wasn't saying it though.
They both knew it. God, it was obvious from that look in his eyes - mostly recognition so far, some kind of responsibility, thankfully no hints of gleeful triumph that Chuck could make out - that Maxwell knew. But whether out of shock and surprise or some antiquated yet endearing sense of social propriety, Maxwell wasn't saying it. He was letting the obvious hang in the air. There was a risk that, unless Chuck said something, they'd just stare at each other until he expired. "So, yeah. Chuck had to say something. Not that he minded. Kept him busy. Kept him distracted, analysing things like this. A useful coping mechanism from all the crying and family and friends and meaning of life stuff that teetered behind the edge, threatening to burst out in a wave of emotion that he probably didn't have the energy to sustain.
"Well, congratulations are in order I guess," Chuck said with a weak and weary smile. Smiling hurt less than frowning. Corny as fuck, but it was true. Otherwise he'd just default to resting bitch face, which, yeah. So unlike Chuck.
"Unless I...like." He mimed tapping something on his wrist. "Pull out some wacky Predator self-destruct shenanigans and blow up this forest of shipping containers then...yeah. You've won."
He looked at Maxwell. He had said the others were gone. "Feels like months, doesn't it." Chuck had felt like he had been dying for the longest time. Ever since Wendy had left him, he'd been alone with his thoughts. They'd been quiet. Mercifully so, really. Chuck would hate to come up with a brilliant story idea or devise a radical policy solution to fix a global problem right now. That'd be so frustrating. And he couldn't handle sifting through the cacophonic jumble of regrets and ineffectual pleas and fears and existential dreads and desires to be hugged and all that jazz. He'd already contemplated and pondered that well dry. "Tell me...just...indulge a dying man's curiosity. How'd they die?" It wasn't just his curiosity. There was a reason he was asking this.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1257
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Once upon a time Maxwell Lombardi — sixteen, seventeen years old? — had gone to an honestly rather average house party. It’d been… really not particularly noteworthy. He had gone there because he had wanted to see the depths of human depravity and all he’d really received was bad music and average conversation. He had talked to Paris about the state of affairs. He had maybe talked to Yasmin about the merits of photography. He had entered a confrontation with Clio — god, had she been a bitch — and managed to walk out of it before the situation had escalated. All things that theoretically could’ve also happened somewhere at school. The fact that he could still remember it after everything that had happened could in some way qualify as a miracle.
But there was a reason he could. Chuck had been at that party, as well. A nondescript shape peeking over a couch while Clio had had her squabble. A figure in the background while Paris and he had talked about art with Yasmin. Two people, interlocked at a party, who yet never actually talked to one another.
Two people, interlocked at a party, now the only two of their class still alive.
There was poetry, in that.
“Kris killed herself. Took one of her firefli-” he shook his head. “Took one of her molotovs and set herself ablaze. Took the other two with her.” He paused for a bit. Questioned whether there was anything else worth adding.
“Wendy lasted a little bit longer than the other two. Made it all the way to me. Told me to take care of this dead fish, for… some reason.”
Of course, the two wouldn’t be two for long. Someone had done the work for Maxwell. There was only room for this conversation, and then…
And then it’d be time whatever came next. Home didn’t feel comfortable to say. Neither did life.
He shook his head again. He supposed he would delay thinking about that until the time finally came.
“...And I guess Bunny killed you?”
But there was a reason he could. Chuck had been at that party, as well. A nondescript shape peeking over a couch while Clio had had her squabble. A figure in the background while Paris and he had talked about art with Yasmin. Two people, interlocked at a party, who yet never actually talked to one another.
Two people, interlocked at a party, now the only two of their class still alive.
There was poetry, in that.
“Kris killed herself. Took one of her firefli-” he shook his head. “Took one of her molotovs and set herself ablaze. Took the other two with her.” He paused for a bit. Questioned whether there was anything else worth adding.
“Wendy lasted a little bit longer than the other two. Made it all the way to me. Told me to take care of this dead fish, for… some reason.”
Of course, the two wouldn’t be two for long. Someone had done the work for Maxwell. There was only room for this conversation, and then…
And then it’d be time whatever came next. Home didn’t feel comfortable to say. Neither did life.
He shook his head again. He supposed he would delay thinking about that until the time finally came.
“...And I guess Bunny killed you?”
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General Goose
- Posts: 318
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Chuck had, despite the last minute correction, heard that comment about the fireflies. It brought a smile to the very corner of his lips. "You would not believe your eyes..." he murmured, his dosiness and disorientation adding a naturally lyrical lilt to his voice. Chuck's head dopily tilted from side to side, as he found himself relaxing at the sight of being presented with Maxwell, of the prospect of Maxwell being the sole survivor something that he could be relaxed with. His adrenaline - which Chuck hadn't thought had been flowing, slumped against a container as he was - was definitely in retreat.
"No idea what to say about the dead fish, though," Chuck murmured. "She probably meant something with it, but like...I guess keep a hold on it and watch the tapes back later to find out?" The prospect of rewatching this saga was not a fun one, that Chuck knew, but if he was serious about honoring the dead...
Oh. That reminded him.
"Uh. Kyran. He was cool. There were a whole bunch of us. Trying to do something. Like, civil disobedience or non-violent protest or whatever it was. I don't know." Chuck blinked. He still had the necklace. "No idea what to do with it. But like, if you're taking a fish..." He reached under his shirt, pulling it out, holding it up to Max. A heart necklace.
He'd almost forgotten.
There was so much he'd forgotten, but he had some time left to remember.
"Bunny shot me, aye."
He remembered something. It'd been at the back of his mind - it wasn't like the necklace, something he'd properly forgotten - but still. He almost had. Would have been awkward. "Maxwell...you remember what the guy said?" Chuck spoke calmly. With resignation, not to his fate necessarily, but with the somewhat morbid nature of his final request.
"You get to go home. As long as you've killed one person. Otherwise it'll be a waste. Looks like you ain't got a choice." He looked up at Maxwell. 'No judgement', his eyes said.
"No idea what to say about the dead fish, though," Chuck murmured. "She probably meant something with it, but like...I guess keep a hold on it and watch the tapes back later to find out?" The prospect of rewatching this saga was not a fun one, that Chuck knew, but if he was serious about honoring the dead...
Oh. That reminded him.
"Uh. Kyran. He was cool. There were a whole bunch of us. Trying to do something. Like, civil disobedience or non-violent protest or whatever it was. I don't know." Chuck blinked. He still had the necklace. "No idea what to do with it. But like, if you're taking a fish..." He reached under his shirt, pulling it out, holding it up to Max. A heart necklace.
He'd almost forgotten.
There was so much he'd forgotten, but he had some time left to remember.
"Bunny shot me, aye."
He remembered something. It'd been at the back of his mind - it wasn't like the necklace, something he'd properly forgotten - but still. He almost had. Would have been awkward. "Maxwell...you remember what the guy said?" Chuck spoke calmly. With resignation, not to his fate necessarily, but with the somewhat morbid nature of his final request.
"You get to go home. As long as you've killed one person. Otherwise it'll be a waste. Looks like you ain't got a choice." He looked up at Maxwell. 'No judgement', his eyes said.