As the gun fired, it snapped backwards, the recoil sending it spiraling out of Robin's grasp and carrying her hand along enough that her wrist started sending sharp jolts of pain up her arm, though she at least lost her hold before anything broke inside. She cried out, but quietly enough that she could not even hear it against the echoing in her ears. It took Robin only a moment to snatch the gun up again, this time in her left hand. She wasn't going to be caught unawares, not now. Not here, when she had won.
Because even with her aching wrist and her burning face and the blood dripping from her chin, she was in much better shape than Bailey was. Robin could still walk away from this, while it was clear, from the redness spreading over her and from the defeated tone of her words, that Bailey wouldn't be going anywhere ever again.
Any will to resist seemed to go out of Bailey after she uttered her last little insult. Robin was no doctor, but she doubted the girl would hold on more than a minute or two longer. It was, after all, a lot of blood that was flowing out of her.
So ended one more awful, meddlesome girl who decided to hassle Robin. Good riddance.
She moved quickly, slipping in, zipping Bailey's bag open, grabbing what spare ammunition she could easily reach, as well as the instruction manual. As Robin looked at it, red spots appeared on the pages, only two at first, but quickly followed by half a dozen more. The weapon looked very complicated, and it was hard to focus through the blood. She might have stared mesmerized for some time, had not a familiar voice cut through the night. It was distant, but it was recognizable. Shawn was calling for her.
This was bad. Robin needed time. She needed time to come up with an excuse, and to see if she could fix her face a little. She didn't want Shawn to see her like this, to ask questions before she was ready. She definitely didn't want him to find her kneeling over Bailey's corpse. Robin coughed a few times, sending more droplets of blood flying from the gashes across her face, and pulled herself shakily to her feet.
Shawn had heard. That meant he might be coming here. He'd probably take a straight line, which meant Robin could buy some time by looping back to the shack. He'd come back to it for his supplies, she thought; knowing him, he'd be pretty likely to rush off without them if he thought she was in trouble.
With that thought in mind, Robin headed off at a slight angle, towards the woods. She glanced back at Bailey, and for just a moment considered taking another shot, just to be safe. The girl wasn't moving, though, and Robin's right wrist was hurting almost more than her face. She could already feel it swelling up. Doing anything more certain would've involved trying to strangle Bailey, or break her neck or something, and that would take time, and then Shawn would catch her and the questions would be so much more immediate and difficult to deflect. It just wasn't worth it.
So Robin just told herself that Bailey was dead. That settled, she slunk into the dark forest, heading back to the shack on a path she was pretty sure wouldn't intersect Shawn's.
Shack Attack
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
-
jimmydalad
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:38 pm
She didn't bother trying to stop her looting her bag. There really wasn't any point. Bailey was just trying to do her best to survive in her current circumstances long enough for the girl to disappear. She had to stay on and she prayed that Robin wouldn't try to finish the job off. That would make her job immensely more harder. She was lucky the gun could only hold a single bullet. She wasn't sure if Robin was aware of that. It's not like she was going to tell her though.
The voice of Shawn suddenly appeared and Robin looked shocked. From what she could guess, she didn't expect him to come looking for her. If Bailey wasn't trying to conserve her energy, she would of laughed. How ironic, only now was fate starting to turn in her favor. Where was Lady Luck a few minutes ago? Then again, that really wasn't something that luck could quantify. It was her fault for rushing and her fault for hesitating. Now she was going to die.
It was a bitter thought.
So many killers on the island. Robin was one of many. She wished she could've done something. Yet she couldn't. She was hopeless in this game right from the beginning to the end. She didn't help anyone, just caused mischief and chaos. It was probably her fault that Felicia was dead. It was a bad moment of judgement. A time she lost her facade. The facade she had trained her life to perfect. During her time on the island, she felt it slip away with each passing day.
She noticed that Robin left and for a while, wondered about what she was going to do. She was still conscious, but the blood continued to seep out. A blood pool was starting to form around her and she realized it was only a matter of time before she would completely fade away from the world of man. To think she would die like this. It was funny. She never expected this to happen.
Bailey was a woman who always put her faith in luck. Chance was her life and she was always the type of person to take risks. However, when it came to the Program, she didn't think she would be a part of it. It was always something distant, something of such small probability that she never considered it to be a risk in the first place. Yet no. Out of all the schools in America, Patriot High was chosen and out of all the students, she was chosen. What misfortune.
She couldn't help but think about Jeff Roberts. The kid suffered a lot, so it only felt fair that he didn't have to go and take part in this horrible game. He was probably one of her closest friends and she could only imagine how he was feeling when he watched her in the Program. Her mind then flashed over to her father. She was his protégé, learning all of her skills from him. She didn't even want to see his face as he watched his girl bleed out and die.
Looking around, the trees were so pretty. If only she wasn't in the Program, she might've gained inspiration to draw from them. Heck. The entire place was picturesque. So many things she could've drawn. So many things she could've done. She could've opened her own casino, or at the very least become a dealer. She could've been rolling in money. She could've spent the rest of the life happy and carefree. However, it seemed that fate had other plans for her.
Something struck her. She still had her sketchpad and pens. Even if she didn't have pens, she still had the blood that was continuing to pool around her. She had to warn Shawn. She knew he was coming. After all, he must've heard the gunshot. He would see the body. He would see her. She needed to warn him.
Putting all of her effort into moving her body, a gargantuan effort, she got out her sketchpad and a pencil. While she got those out, she also got out a single card, the Ace of Spades. She might as well leave a calling card. With pencil in hand, Bailey started to write. Her handwriting was messing and with every passing moment, she could feel her consciousness starting to fade. She focused on writing though, pushing away all of the pain in her body telling her to stop, telling her to just give up. She wouldn't give up. That wasn't her.
Pencil stroke. Write like this. Bailey had to remind herself how to write, focusing on the action as a coping mechanism for the pain. She wasn't going to let the pain get the better of her. She had to save Shawn, or at the very least make him aware. Her life was slipping bit by bit and Bailey needed to do this. Needed to finish the message.
After a while, she finished. Her muscles slackened and her body completely collapsed. The Ace of Spades fell into the pool of blood, coloring it with a distinct shade of red. Using the last of her energy, she picked up the card and put it on the sketchpad. She hoped that Shawn would keep it, or at the very least show it to Robin. She wished she was alive to see her stupid face when she found out what she did.
Bailey would make sure she regret not finishing her off. She was going to get her revenge on the bitch.
She wasn't going to die without making her feel it.
She was going to pay.
She was going to pay.
She was going to....
The voice of Shawn suddenly appeared and Robin looked shocked. From what she could guess, she didn't expect him to come looking for her. If Bailey wasn't trying to conserve her energy, she would of laughed. How ironic, only now was fate starting to turn in her favor. Where was Lady Luck a few minutes ago? Then again, that really wasn't something that luck could quantify. It was her fault for rushing and her fault for hesitating. Now she was going to die.
It was a bitter thought.
So many killers on the island. Robin was one of many. She wished she could've done something. Yet she couldn't. She was hopeless in this game right from the beginning to the end. She didn't help anyone, just caused mischief and chaos. It was probably her fault that Felicia was dead. It was a bad moment of judgement. A time she lost her facade. The facade she had trained her life to perfect. During her time on the island, she felt it slip away with each passing day.
She noticed that Robin left and for a while, wondered about what she was going to do. She was still conscious, but the blood continued to seep out. A blood pool was starting to form around her and she realized it was only a matter of time before she would completely fade away from the world of man. To think she would die like this. It was funny. She never expected this to happen.
Bailey was a woman who always put her faith in luck. Chance was her life and she was always the type of person to take risks. However, when it came to the Program, she didn't think she would be a part of it. It was always something distant, something of such small probability that she never considered it to be a risk in the first place. Yet no. Out of all the schools in America, Patriot High was chosen and out of all the students, she was chosen. What misfortune.
She couldn't help but think about Jeff Roberts. The kid suffered a lot, so it only felt fair that he didn't have to go and take part in this horrible game. He was probably one of her closest friends and she could only imagine how he was feeling when he watched her in the Program. Her mind then flashed over to her father. She was his protégé, learning all of her skills from him. She didn't even want to see his face as he watched his girl bleed out and die.
Looking around, the trees were so pretty. If only she wasn't in the Program, she might've gained inspiration to draw from them. Heck. The entire place was picturesque. So many things she could've drawn. So many things she could've done. She could've opened her own casino, or at the very least become a dealer. She could've been rolling in money. She could've spent the rest of the life happy and carefree. However, it seemed that fate had other plans for her.
Something struck her. She still had her sketchpad and pens. Even if she didn't have pens, she still had the blood that was continuing to pool around her. She had to warn Shawn. She knew he was coming. After all, he must've heard the gunshot. He would see the body. He would see her. She needed to warn him.
Putting all of her effort into moving her body, a gargantuan effort, she got out her sketchpad and a pencil. While she got those out, she also got out a single card, the Ace of Spades. She might as well leave a calling card. With pencil in hand, Bailey started to write. Her handwriting was messing and with every passing moment, she could feel her consciousness starting to fade. She focused on writing though, pushing away all of the pain in her body telling her to stop, telling her to just give up. She wouldn't give up. That wasn't her.
Pencil stroke. Write like this. Bailey had to remind herself how to write, focusing on the action as a coping mechanism for the pain. She wasn't going to let the pain get the better of her. She had to save Shawn, or at the very least make him aware. Her life was slipping bit by bit and Bailey needed to do this. Needed to finish the message.
After a while, she finished. Her muscles slackened and her body completely collapsed. The Ace of Spades fell into the pool of blood, coloring it with a distinct shade of red. Using the last of her energy, she picked up the card and put it on the sketchpad. She hoped that Shawn would keep it, or at the very least show it to Robin. She wished she was alive to see her stupid face when she found out what she did.
Bailey would make sure she regret not finishing her off. She was going to get her revenge on the bitch.
She wasn't going to die without making her feel it.
She was going to pay.
She was going to pay.
She was going to....
BAILEY WILLIAMS: DEAD
While the girl was dead, her words lived on:
"Robin is a liar and a murderer. She murdered me and she will murder again. Stop her before it is too late.
P.S. The Bloody Spades shall always live on."
While the girl was dead, her words lived on:
"Robin is a liar and a murderer. She murdered me and she will murder again. Stop her before it is too late.
P.S. The Bloody Spades shall always live on."
(Minus accessories)
(Minus accessories)
-
CondorTalon
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 1:22 am
Still no answer. After the gunshot he'd not heard anything else.
"Damn it," he muttered to himself.
He ran, over towards the source of the gunshot. He hoped to find absolutely nothing, he hoped that nothing was there waiting for him. As he ran, he wanted to rationalize the noise he'd heard as being anything but a gunshot. Or at the very least, he hoped that it had been a wide shot, or anything along those lines. Anything would have been better than what was going through his head right now.
Of course, that wouldn't do, would it? Not here.
At this point, he didn't really expect Robin to be in any danger. There was no reason to worry about her any longer, because she was in-fucking-vincible. This was... This was something else though, and it didn't take him long to figure out what had actually happened. Robin was gone, but there was a body here. Not hers, of course.
He stepped a bit closer to it. Bailey. They weren't exactly the greatest of friends, but they knew each other. A passing 'hey' as they encountered each other in the halls. The occasional conversation about schoolwork and whatnot.
What the fuck was happening?
Why did the world just go to shit this quickly?
He made his way over to the sketchbook laying on the ground. He'd already known, and the message had only confirmed it.
He looked back at the shack, off in the distance. He had left his stuff there.
But he couldn't stay any longer.
There was another bag, near the body. Bailey's most likely. He searched through it. There was still things inside, but no weapon. Presumably, someone had taken it. Presumably, that someone had been Robin.
He didn't want to loot her stuff, but he needed it. He couldn't go back to get his own bag and risk running into Robin. He needed out, now. So, he closed the bag and shouldered it.
He hesitated, looking again at the sketchbook. After a moment of reflection, he picked up the card and pocketed it.
"Sorry, Bailey."
He turned his back on the building he was just at, and headed out.
If he never returned to this shack it would be too soon.
((Shawn Bowe-Crooke continued in Step Two: ?))
"Damn it," he muttered to himself.
He ran, over towards the source of the gunshot. He hoped to find absolutely nothing, he hoped that nothing was there waiting for him. As he ran, he wanted to rationalize the noise he'd heard as being anything but a gunshot. Or at the very least, he hoped that it had been a wide shot, or anything along those lines. Anything would have been better than what was going through his head right now.
Of course, that wouldn't do, would it? Not here.
At this point, he didn't really expect Robin to be in any danger. There was no reason to worry about her any longer, because she was in-fucking-vincible. This was... This was something else though, and it didn't take him long to figure out what had actually happened. Robin was gone, but there was a body here. Not hers, of course.
He stepped a bit closer to it. Bailey. They weren't exactly the greatest of friends, but they knew each other. A passing 'hey' as they encountered each other in the halls. The occasional conversation about schoolwork and whatnot.
What the fuck was happening?
Why did the world just go to shit this quickly?
He made his way over to the sketchbook laying on the ground. He'd already known, and the message had only confirmed it.
He looked back at the shack, off in the distance. He had left his stuff there.
But he couldn't stay any longer.
There was another bag, near the body. Bailey's most likely. He searched through it. There was still things inside, but no weapon. Presumably, someone had taken it. Presumably, that someone had been Robin.
He didn't want to loot her stuff, but he needed it. He couldn't go back to get his own bag and risk running into Robin. He needed out, now. So, he closed the bag and shouldered it.
He hesitated, looking again at the sketchbook. After a moment of reflection, he picked up the card and pocketed it.
"Sorry, Bailey."
He turned his back on the building he was just at, and headed out.
If he never returned to this shack it would be too soon.
((Shawn Bowe-Crooke continued in Step Two: ?))
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Robin stumbled into the shack, and sure enough, Shawn had gone out. He was probably searching through the woods for the source of the sound, maybe worrying about her. Maybe he was doing something else. He could have even just stepped out for a bathroom break. It didn't matter. His belongings were still there. That meant speed was of the essence. Robin didn't think it would be easy to explain to him how she'd gotten hurt, and, more than that, she didn't want him to see her such a mess. At least the blood stains were nothing new; her provided jacket was getting pretty badly covered in the stuff now. Robin couldn't remember how many different sources it came from.
It was getting hard to remember much of anything. Robin's face was burning and her wrist was aching and every muscle in her body felt stiff. Fatigue was washing over her, threatening to drag her down. It felt like the best thing in the world would just be to go back to sleep, but she couldn't, because Shawn would have a whole lot of unanswered questions if she did that and he found her, and then he might leave her while she slept if she couldn't give him all the explanations he wanted. So Robin instead took a deep breath and sucked her left cheek between her teeth and bit down hard, until it hurt in a more sharp and direct way than anything else that was going on. She did not draw blood, and was thankful for that, because the taste was already strong in her mouth and she wasn't sure what she would have done had it become even more overbearing.
She was leaving a trail, little drops and splatters of red all across the floor. They stretched from the door to Shawn's bag (because she'd needed to see, to be totally sure he had left his things instead of just an empty container) to her own possessions to a window. There was no good lighting for a reflection, so Robin fished out her flashlight and turned it on and set it down on the floor, and that was enough that she could at least see a little of herself in the glass.
What she saw was not pretty. The entire right side of her face was drenched in blood, her eye a white and brown island in a sea of scarlet. She thought, for a second, that surely with so much blood on her she was bound to die. The idea whipped up a wave of panic, as well as a more subtle uneasiness. Robin was pretty sure that at one point, death had been something she had seen as regrettable but inescapable. Had that changed so much now that she knew she could kill?
But those musings were secondary to shoving that possible fate away for as long as she could. She opened her first aid kit, and took out the antiseptic wipes, and started to clean the blood away.
It hurt more than she had thought anything could, certainly more than her injuries hurt on their own. The sting and burn rose from embers to a blaze, and she cried and whimpered but kept it up. The gouges were long, and even as Robin cleaned them they oozed more blood. She wadded up some of the gauze and pressed it to her face, not even bothering to wrap it but instead just pushing it against the cuts in a big lump. It was tough to do anything with her right hand, with her wrist still giving her trouble every time she moved it. Still, holding a clump of gauze against her face didn't take a whole lot of thought or effort, and even if it magnified the soreness a bit, it beat dripping out even more of her life.
She was beginning to realize that she probably wouldn't be all cleaned up by the time Shawn got back. Maybe that was for the best. He'd see what Bailey had done, and then how could he possibly fault her for her reprisal?
Robin lowered herself to the floor and slumped against the wall, fishing around for the flashlight with her left hand and turning it off, plunging the room into darkness once more. She took deep breaths and tried to pretend the pain wasn't so bad, and when that didn't work at all she distracted herself by trying to figure out just how she'd frame all of this.
But mostly, she just waited for Shawn to come back.
((Robin Pounds continued in 98.7°))
It was getting hard to remember much of anything. Robin's face was burning and her wrist was aching and every muscle in her body felt stiff. Fatigue was washing over her, threatening to drag her down. It felt like the best thing in the world would just be to go back to sleep, but she couldn't, because Shawn would have a whole lot of unanswered questions if she did that and he found her, and then he might leave her while she slept if she couldn't give him all the explanations he wanted. So Robin instead took a deep breath and sucked her left cheek between her teeth and bit down hard, until it hurt in a more sharp and direct way than anything else that was going on. She did not draw blood, and was thankful for that, because the taste was already strong in her mouth and she wasn't sure what she would have done had it become even more overbearing.
She was leaving a trail, little drops and splatters of red all across the floor. They stretched from the door to Shawn's bag (because she'd needed to see, to be totally sure he had left his things instead of just an empty container) to her own possessions to a window. There was no good lighting for a reflection, so Robin fished out her flashlight and turned it on and set it down on the floor, and that was enough that she could at least see a little of herself in the glass.
What she saw was not pretty. The entire right side of her face was drenched in blood, her eye a white and brown island in a sea of scarlet. She thought, for a second, that surely with so much blood on her she was bound to die. The idea whipped up a wave of panic, as well as a more subtle uneasiness. Robin was pretty sure that at one point, death had been something she had seen as regrettable but inescapable. Had that changed so much now that she knew she could kill?
But those musings were secondary to shoving that possible fate away for as long as she could. She opened her first aid kit, and took out the antiseptic wipes, and started to clean the blood away.
It hurt more than she had thought anything could, certainly more than her injuries hurt on their own. The sting and burn rose from embers to a blaze, and she cried and whimpered but kept it up. The gouges were long, and even as Robin cleaned them they oozed more blood. She wadded up some of the gauze and pressed it to her face, not even bothering to wrap it but instead just pushing it against the cuts in a big lump. It was tough to do anything with her right hand, with her wrist still giving her trouble every time she moved it. Still, holding a clump of gauze against her face didn't take a whole lot of thought or effort, and even if it magnified the soreness a bit, it beat dripping out even more of her life.
She was beginning to realize that she probably wouldn't be all cleaned up by the time Shawn got back. Maybe that was for the best. He'd see what Bailey had done, and then how could he possibly fault her for her reprisal?
Robin lowered herself to the floor and slumped against the wall, fishing around for the flashlight with her left hand and turning it off, plunging the room into darkness once more. She took deep breaths and tried to pretend the pain wasn't so bad, and when that didn't work at all she distracted herself by trying to figure out just how she'd frame all of this.
But mostly, she just waited for Shawn to come back.
((Robin Pounds continued in 98.7°))