Delilah was a lot better at resisting than Richard had given her credit for. She exploited his moment of distraction to smash him in the gut and ribs with her elbow. That wasn't fun, not at all. Richard flinched and sputtered as the blows connected, then let out a half-yell half-groan as she stomped on his ankle. This wasn't funny anymore, no way. The girl had progressed from annoyance to irritant to actual source of anger just about as quickly as Richard had ever seen anyone do. She kicked him in the shin, pulled free, and made as if she was going to just leave, just run off like nothing had happened.
Her mistake was slowing down for the bags. Richard was hurting, but sure wasn't down and out. She'd surprised him, had taken advantage of his shock to get loose, but he'd taken punches and kicks before, and from much stronger opponents, at that. He'd learned that if you stayed down, it was an invitation for people to walk all over you, something Sam and Delilah already seemed far too comfortable doing. No, this sort of thing demanded retaliation, just to set a good precedent.
Richard was together enough to lunge forward and grab her by the hair. He was together enough to cough out, "Man, wrong choice."
Then he drew his other hand back and swung it at the side of her head, palm open. The goal was stunning and stinging. He wasn't putting enough force into it to mess her up permanently, or to screw up his fingers, but he sure hoped she'd feel this.
After what she'd done, she deserved it. He'd tried real hard to be reasonable about this whole thing, but they'd just had to make it tough.
Water Under the Bridge
Open
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
The world spun, and Sam found himself still down, still trying to catch a breath. All he needed to do was get some air into those lungs. Yet it was hard, harder than it should have been. A gasp, and air rushed in, and along with it came the sounds of conflict. Richard, no doubt. Taking his bag. Their bags.
Delilah.
He slammed a hand into the ground, trying to prop himself up. He could hear Richard talking now, trying to talk down Delilah, something. Sam just needed to get up, get Richard back for what he'd done. Maybe keep him from doing something else rash, maybe keep him from hurting Delilah. He rose about a foot off the ground before he collapsed again, dizzy. Stupid, stupid, stupid. One punch and this is how he reacted? He needed to get up. Didn't matter how his body felt.
Delilah was yelling now, yelling at Richard. She sounded desperate.
Sheer willpower propelled Sam to his feet, his vision blurry, spots exploding before his eyes at his sudden ascent. The blur that was Richard didn't seem to be facing him. He took a step forward, another step. Running away never crossed his mind. Richard was a threat, a threat that he needed to stop.
Delilah started screaming.
Sam took another step, his vision clearing, just as Richard hit her, and she hit the ground. Hard.
This needed to stop, now. Richard needed to pick on someone his own size.
Sam broke into a charge, his arms outstretched, trying to pin Richard's arms, knock him down, distract him, anything but let him hurt Delilah again.
Delilah.
He slammed a hand into the ground, trying to prop himself up. He could hear Richard talking now, trying to talk down Delilah, something. Sam just needed to get up, get Richard back for what he'd done. Maybe keep him from doing something else rash, maybe keep him from hurting Delilah. He rose about a foot off the ground before he collapsed again, dizzy. Stupid, stupid, stupid. One punch and this is how he reacted? He needed to get up. Didn't matter how his body felt.
Delilah was yelling now, yelling at Richard. She sounded desperate.
Sheer willpower propelled Sam to his feet, his vision blurry, spots exploding before his eyes at his sudden ascent. The blur that was Richard didn't seem to be facing him. He took a step forward, another step. Running away never crossed his mind. Richard was a threat, a threat that he needed to stop.
Delilah started screaming.
Sam took another step, his vision clearing, just as Richard hit her, and she hit the ground. Hard.
This needed to stop, now. Richard needed to pick on someone his own size.
Sam broke into a charge, his arms outstretched, trying to pin Richard's arms, knock him down, distract him, anything but let him hurt Delilah again.
This signature intentionally left blank.
-
CondorTalon
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 1:22 am
((Avoiding inactivity here.))
Clair watched. Watched as the conversation turned into a brawl. She recognized them now, all three of them. It was Richard Ormsby throwing the punches, Sam Wilson and Delilah Rivers receiving them. Clair cringed. She wanted to go down there and help them, but there was no way she was going in there without any resulting injuries. She looked over at Holly, hoping she was thinking the same thing. If she wasn't however, she'd just have to hold her back.
There was nothing they could do at the moment. They'd have to wait until the fight was finished, and do some damage control.
Clair watched. Watched as the conversation turned into a brawl. She recognized them now, all three of them. It was Richard Ormsby throwing the punches, Sam Wilson and Delilah Rivers receiving them. Clair cringed. She wanted to go down there and help them, but there was no way she was going in there without any resulting injuries. She looked over at Holly, hoping she was thinking the same thing. If she wasn't however, she'd just have to hold her back.
There was nothing they could do at the moment. They'd have to wait until the fight was finished, and do some damage control.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Delilah hit the ground. That wasn't so hard, was it? Richard shook out his hand, wiggling his fingers to get rid of the tingling. Problem solved. She seemed totally shocked by the whole thing. She'd been making all kinds of annoying screaming sounds. Maybe a kick would help keep her down. Maybe it would persuade her not to mess around yet again, to just shut up and forget her bags already. Richard bent over, grabbed the strap to Sam's bag, straightened, and pulled back his leg, ready to give her a nice one in the side.
He didn't get the chance. Sam had decided, once again, to play the hero. He slammed into Richard, who was off balance due to his leg position, knocking him to the ground. Richard hadn't been expecting the attack, and his reflexes didn't help him out here. He caught himself on the ground, scraping both of his palms raw, feeling the sting and burn of friction removing layers of skin. The strap dropped from his grasp. The bag thumped to the ground.
Okay. Fuck this. Richard was so over holding back with these people. He'd bludgeon them unconscious, take their stuff, and leave them for hyenas or whatever the hell lived in this desert.
Sam had taken Richard off his feet, but hadn't done much to keep his arms restricted. The boy clearly had no idea what he was doing in a fight. Too bad for him. He shouldn't have gone around picking them. Richard started swinging, punches, elbows, knees, whatever. The goal wasn't to back Sam off now, wasn't to knock him around 'til he wasn't useful. Richard wanted him to hurt. He wanted him to regret what he'd done, to apologize and beg for mercy. Then Richard could spit on him and take his stuff and walk off laughing. Maybe kick the girl once or twice too, but she didn't matter at all until he was done with Sam.
Yeah, this was well out of control, but he didn't care, not anymore.
He didn't get the chance. Sam had decided, once again, to play the hero. He slammed into Richard, who was off balance due to his leg position, knocking him to the ground. Richard hadn't been expecting the attack, and his reflexes didn't help him out here. He caught himself on the ground, scraping both of his palms raw, feeling the sting and burn of friction removing layers of skin. The strap dropped from his grasp. The bag thumped to the ground.
Okay. Fuck this. Richard was so over holding back with these people. He'd bludgeon them unconscious, take their stuff, and leave them for hyenas or whatever the hell lived in this desert.
Sam had taken Richard off his feet, but hadn't done much to keep his arms restricted. The boy clearly had no idea what he was doing in a fight. Too bad for him. He shouldn't have gone around picking them. Richard started swinging, punches, elbows, knees, whatever. The goal wasn't to back Sam off now, wasn't to knock him around 'til he wasn't useful. Richard wanted him to hurt. He wanted him to regret what he'd done, to apologize and beg for mercy. Then Richard could spit on him and take his stuff and walk off laughing. Maybe kick the girl once or twice too, but she didn't matter at all until he was done with Sam.
Yeah, this was well out of control, but he didn't care, not anymore.
(Sincere apologies for my lateness, RL caught up to me fast. Anyways, Holly Romero continued from Rebirth)
The time spent walking had been surprisingly pleasant. There seemed to be deafening silence between the two girls, neither one really having anything to say. Holly was used to the long periods of nothing to listen to but her own thoughts, so it didn't bother her one bit. Some more random digging through her bag had made present a manual for her new gun. Holly had no intention to use the gun, but her gut told her that she might have to end up using it anyways, and there wasn't much else to do except read.
By the time the two companions reached the bridge, Holly was shutting the book and slipping it back into her sack. She had a good enough handle on how to use it, which made her feel a little more secure. Only slightly though, as the weight and shape of the pistol in her hand still felt abnormal and foreign.
Clair suggested stopping for a quick break. Holly nodded silently. She wasn't sure how long they had been walking for, as none of the supplies given to them seemed to tell time, but her legs were aching more than Holly could ever remember them aching. It seemed like a good time to rest.
Soon, the two classmates were plopped down on the ground, Clair helping herself to some of the beef jerky in her pack. Holly ate nothing. Despite the extremely long hike, Holly's gut still felt hollow, almost sickly. She pretty much chalked it up to the emotional stress of the situation sapping her strength. How long would this go on? Even if people did start killing each other - a thought which Holly quickly shook out of her head - would she be able to last all the way to the end.
Any ideas or plans Holly might have had were interrupted when she noticed Clair looking over at her. Before Clair could even tell her, Holly had heard the sounds. Not just the wind or the rushing water or anything like that. Voices. Actual people's voices.
"Wow, more people already? Maybe it's Pepper or Elliot! They could probably lend us a hand, help us get a sense of the situation..."
Holly was about to call out when she noticed Clair motioning for her to stay quiet. Holly nodded, tensing up her lips for good measure. She wasn't really in a position to talk back to the only person keeping her company.
Holly stood up and walked over to Clair as the voices got louder, more aggravated. Holly followed Clair's gaze and caught the sight of three people by the river. It took a few seconds, but she recognized them. The girl was Delilah, who she knew from being one of the drama kids and fairly nice but not much else. She was standing next to Sam, who was a fellow piano player but not much else that came to mind.
It was really the third person Holly was worried about. Richard Ormsby, also known as one of the biggest jerks Holly had the displeasure of knowing. He was big, intimidating, and not afraid of hurting others. If there was anyone Holly could think of that might actually start killing people, it was him.
Sure enough, Holly was left helpless as the conversation took a bad turn. The polite chat turned into an all out brawl over what appeared to be one of the backpacks. Seeing Richard beat someone up wasn't that unusual of a sight, but in a situation, a "game" as the man seemed to call it, like this one, it was unnerving.
Holly's grip on the pistol tightened a little, reminding her it was there. She could do something, maybe just a warning shot or two, try and talk with them-
One glance at Clair instantly got her off the idea. It was clear she was also worried about the whole scuffle, and going in would probably harm them more than it would do good. So Holly remained right where she was next to Clair, practically shivering and praying that the pistol in her hand wouldn't be necessary.
The time spent walking had been surprisingly pleasant. There seemed to be deafening silence between the two girls, neither one really having anything to say. Holly was used to the long periods of nothing to listen to but her own thoughts, so it didn't bother her one bit. Some more random digging through her bag had made present a manual for her new gun. Holly had no intention to use the gun, but her gut told her that she might have to end up using it anyways, and there wasn't much else to do except read.
By the time the two companions reached the bridge, Holly was shutting the book and slipping it back into her sack. She had a good enough handle on how to use it, which made her feel a little more secure. Only slightly though, as the weight and shape of the pistol in her hand still felt abnormal and foreign.
Clair suggested stopping for a quick break. Holly nodded silently. She wasn't sure how long they had been walking for, as none of the supplies given to them seemed to tell time, but her legs were aching more than Holly could ever remember them aching. It seemed like a good time to rest.
Soon, the two classmates were plopped down on the ground, Clair helping herself to some of the beef jerky in her pack. Holly ate nothing. Despite the extremely long hike, Holly's gut still felt hollow, almost sickly. She pretty much chalked it up to the emotional stress of the situation sapping her strength. How long would this go on? Even if people did start killing each other - a thought which Holly quickly shook out of her head - would she be able to last all the way to the end.
Any ideas or plans Holly might have had were interrupted when she noticed Clair looking over at her. Before Clair could even tell her, Holly had heard the sounds. Not just the wind or the rushing water or anything like that. Voices. Actual people's voices.
"Wow, more people already? Maybe it's Pepper or Elliot! They could probably lend us a hand, help us get a sense of the situation..."
Holly was about to call out when she noticed Clair motioning for her to stay quiet. Holly nodded, tensing up her lips for good measure. She wasn't really in a position to talk back to the only person keeping her company.
Holly stood up and walked over to Clair as the voices got louder, more aggravated. Holly followed Clair's gaze and caught the sight of three people by the river. It took a few seconds, but she recognized them. The girl was Delilah, who she knew from being one of the drama kids and fairly nice but not much else. She was standing next to Sam, who was a fellow piano player but not much else that came to mind.
It was really the third person Holly was worried about. Richard Ormsby, also known as one of the biggest jerks Holly had the displeasure of knowing. He was big, intimidating, and not afraid of hurting others. If there was anyone Holly could think of that might actually start killing people, it was him.
Sure enough, Holly was left helpless as the conversation took a bad turn. The polite chat turned into an all out brawl over what appeared to be one of the backpacks. Seeing Richard beat someone up wasn't that unusual of a sight, but in a situation, a "game" as the man seemed to call it, like this one, it was unnerving.
Holly's grip on the pistol tightened a little, reminding her it was there. She could do something, maybe just a warning shot or two, try and talk with them-
One glance at Clair instantly got her off the idea. It was clear she was also worried about the whole scuffle, and going in would probably harm them more than it would do good. So Holly remained right where she was next to Clair, practically shivering and praying that the pistol in her hand wouldn't be necessary.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Flare. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
He grabbed her by the hair - and then he struck her.
It was clear, that Richard wasn't playing around anymore. The grab onto her already rather short hair, wasn't just a simple hair pull to her. It felt like he was yanking the scalp straight from her head. There was an ever present anger with this pull, that Richard didn't have earlier and in the midst of her pained and terrified screaming, she was swearing to herself in her brain, for being so bold. She was stupid and now she was paying for it.
Why couldn't she have just been the wall flower she had always been? She should have just given Richard the bag.
In that split moment, that moment where Richard glared right at her with those Tyrannosaurus eyes, telling her of the mistake she made, she realized why she did it. It was because of Sam.
In the very short amount of time they were companions in this strange and terrifying place, he managed to keep her comfortable and kept her from losing her mind. She didn't open up to much people, but with Sam it was easy. In that short time, Delilah had found Sam to really leave such a lasting impression on her. She did it for Sam.
Richard's open hand was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her parents were hands off parents. She had never gotten into any fights in her life. In fact, as far she could remember, this was probably the first time anyone had ever laid their hands on her like this, especially for a full throttled smack to the side of her head by an over sized male hand.
It hurt. Her head ached inside and stung red on the outside. The force was nothing she had the experience of knowing and thus was unprepared for it. Her small frame tilted over and started falling, not forward or back, but crookedly to the side. She could feel the air swim around her like a massive whiplash as her head connected to the solid ground beneath her.
She heard-no felt a thud, as she landed awkwardly onto the ground. The force was strong enough that she could sense her head literally bounce off the ground and to side, smacking against a flat river side rock hidden beneath the grass.
Delilah's head spun, her world suddenly disappeared. Pain. Wetness. Was she bleeding? Was that tears? She curled herself up, instinctively, unaware of everything around her. No, she could hear sounds. She could hear herself moan. She could even hear the heartbeat through her throbbing skull, from her brain.
Sam. Was-was he okay? She could sense something going on nearby. A struggle of some sort? She wanted to help him, but she didn't know how. She couldn't move. Couldn't even think.
Her thoughts blanked.
It was clear, that Richard wasn't playing around anymore. The grab onto her already rather short hair, wasn't just a simple hair pull to her. It felt like he was yanking the scalp straight from her head. There was an ever present anger with this pull, that Richard didn't have earlier and in the midst of her pained and terrified screaming, she was swearing to herself in her brain, for being so bold. She was stupid and now she was paying for it.
Why couldn't she have just been the wall flower she had always been? She should have just given Richard the bag.
In that split moment, that moment where Richard glared right at her with those Tyrannosaurus eyes, telling her of the mistake she made, she realized why she did it. It was because of Sam.
In the very short amount of time they were companions in this strange and terrifying place, he managed to keep her comfortable and kept her from losing her mind. She didn't open up to much people, but with Sam it was easy. In that short time, Delilah had found Sam to really leave such a lasting impression on her. She did it for Sam.
Richard's open hand was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her parents were hands off parents. She had never gotten into any fights in her life. In fact, as far she could remember, this was probably the first time anyone had ever laid their hands on her like this, especially for a full throttled smack to the side of her head by an over sized male hand.
It hurt. Her head ached inside and stung red on the outside. The force was nothing she had the experience of knowing and thus was unprepared for it. Her small frame tilted over and started falling, not forward or back, but crookedly to the side. She could feel the air swim around her like a massive whiplash as her head connected to the solid ground beneath her.
She heard-no felt a thud, as she landed awkwardly onto the ground. The force was strong enough that she could sense her head literally bounce off the ground and to side, smacking against a flat river side rock hidden beneath the grass.
Delilah's head spun, her world suddenly disappeared. Pain. Wetness. Was she bleeding? Was that tears? She curled herself up, instinctively, unaware of everything around her. No, she could hear sounds. She could hear herself moan. She could even hear the heartbeat through her throbbing skull, from her brain.
Sam. Was-was he okay? She could sense something going on nearby. A struggle of some sort? She wanted to help him, but she didn't know how. She couldn't move. Couldn't even think.
Her thoughts blanked.
Sam felt the collision reverberate in his bones as he slammed into Richard, but what felt best was that he felt some give, something that told him that Richard wouldn't be standing in a moment. He'd been afraid, maybe, that Richard would have been too heavy for him to even tackle properly, but he guessed that he'd gotten the element of surprise.
They slammed into the ground, Sam landing heavily on Richard. Sam winced as his outstretched arms, which he'd locked around Richard in some sort of a pin, collided with hard earth.
He was angry. That was the truth. Richard had just barged in, assaulted them. Nothing gave him the right to do so. Nothing. He'd given into to whatever this crazy game was, all in the name of a few supplies.
So screw the pain, he had Richard down. All he needed to do now was subdue him. At this point, there were no other options; force was the only option Richard would understand. He drew back his right fist. Just punch him a couple times in the head, maybe more. Make sure he wasn't in good enough condition to follow him and Delilah. Then they could run. Threat neutralized.
Then pain exploded as bone met bone, Richard's elbow colliding with Sam's shoulder, ripping an involuntary yell from Sam's mouth.
Goddammit!
Sam threw the punch anyway, but now it was too late. He'd given up his pin to throw the punch, and now Richard was free.
It wasn't that Sam couldn't fight. True, he'd never been in a fight before, but he exercised, he wasn't short, and he wasn't light. Those had to count for something. Unfortunately, they didn't count enough. Soon enough, despite the fact that Sam was fighting back, trying to give as good as he got, he found himself in a hopeless position.
Richard was kicking him, every kick a splitting pain in Sam's side. He was curled up on the ground, protecting his face with his arms, his vision darkening and sputtering as he realized he'd lost, gritting his teeth as he waited for it to end, one way or another.
He realized that he might pass out at any moment. He realized that he didn't know how far Richard might go now. At the very least, he realized that he'd bought some time.
He hoped Delilah would run.
They slammed into the ground, Sam landing heavily on Richard. Sam winced as his outstretched arms, which he'd locked around Richard in some sort of a pin, collided with hard earth.
He was angry. That was the truth. Richard had just barged in, assaulted them. Nothing gave him the right to do so. Nothing. He'd given into to whatever this crazy game was, all in the name of a few supplies.
So screw the pain, he had Richard down. All he needed to do now was subdue him. At this point, there were no other options; force was the only option Richard would understand. He drew back his right fist. Just punch him a couple times in the head, maybe more. Make sure he wasn't in good enough condition to follow him and Delilah. Then they could run. Threat neutralized.
Then pain exploded as bone met bone, Richard's elbow colliding with Sam's shoulder, ripping an involuntary yell from Sam's mouth.
Goddammit!
Sam threw the punch anyway, but now it was too late. He'd given up his pin to throw the punch, and now Richard was free.
It wasn't that Sam couldn't fight. True, he'd never been in a fight before, but he exercised, he wasn't short, and he wasn't light. Those had to count for something. Unfortunately, they didn't count enough. Soon enough, despite the fact that Sam was fighting back, trying to give as good as he got, he found himself in a hopeless position.
Richard was kicking him, every kick a splitting pain in Sam's side. He was curled up on the ground, protecting his face with his arms, his vision darkening and sputtering as he realized he'd lost, gritting his teeth as he waited for it to end, one way or another.
He realized that he might pass out at any moment. He realized that he didn't know how far Richard might go now. At the very least, he realized that he'd bought some time.
He hoped Delilah would run.
This signature intentionally left blank.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Sam actually managed to land a few hits on Richard, and he wasn't half as weak as he looked. That would leave bruises, probably. Light bruises, yeah, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Richard didn't like getting hurt. In fact, one of the best reasons to hit someone first was to avoid getting hit at all. Take someone down, there was no reprisal from them.
So it was time to take Sam down.
It was really a matter of experience. Richard was able to trip Sam up, get him on the ground. Then he started kicking him. He was still holding back, just a little bit. He wasn't trying to maim the kid or anything, wasn't trying to crush his bones or break his face. He just wanted Sam to hurt, and ideally not until waking up a few hours from now. He wanted Sam to spend the rest of his time here, or the rest of his life if this turned out to be for real, regretting his impudence. He wanted Sam to think several times about crossing him if they ever ended up in contact again.
So he just kept kicking Sam. For the moment, the bags were forgotten. He'd pick them up just as soon as he was done with this. For now, though, Richard was completely focused on the boy on the ground, and on making his day as bad as possible.
So it was time to take Sam down.
It was really a matter of experience. Richard was able to trip Sam up, get him on the ground. Then he started kicking him. He was still holding back, just a little bit. He wasn't trying to maim the kid or anything, wasn't trying to crush his bones or break his face. He just wanted Sam to hurt, and ideally not until waking up a few hours from now. He wanted Sam to spend the rest of his time here, or the rest of his life if this turned out to be for real, regretting his impudence. He wanted Sam to think several times about crossing him if they ever ended up in contact again.
So he just kept kicking Sam. For the moment, the bags were forgotten. He'd pick them up just as soon as he was done with this. For now, though, Richard was completely focused on the boy on the ground, and on making his day as bad as possible.
Delilah's head stirred, she felt woozy, but her body seemed to be okay, just her head hurt.
She allowed herself to open her eyes, the sun's rays stung at her eyes and everything seemed to be tinted in yellow. Using her hands, she attempted to push herself up, which was hard but she managed to do so.
A groan escaped her mouth and her steps were crooked, with an obvious sway in her motions. Oh god she felt sick.
Her foot caught on something and she stumbled forward, landing on her knees. Her bag. Her safety blanket. She pulled it close to her chest, hugged it against herself.
Richard hadn't taken it. Wait-Richard.
Sounds started to fill her ear again. Water running rapidly pass nearby and several loud thumping sounds.
Sam!
In back of her, she watched in mind aching horror as a beaten, lightly bloodied Sam was being beaten and viciously kicked by Richard Ormsby as he lay on the ground, barely moving.
Oh. No. Oh God. Oh god no!
Tears started filling her eyes. Hot tears. Burning Tears. Tears of anger.
Not moving, Sam wasn't moving! Richard was going to kill him!
...
And then after he was done with Sam, Richard would finish up the job and kill... Her.
No.
Delilah really didn't want to die.
She allowed herself to open her eyes, the sun's rays stung at her eyes and everything seemed to be tinted in yellow. Using her hands, she attempted to push herself up, which was hard but she managed to do so.
A groan escaped her mouth and her steps were crooked, with an obvious sway in her motions. Oh god she felt sick.
Her foot caught on something and she stumbled forward, landing on her knees. Her bag. Her safety blanket. She pulled it close to her chest, hugged it against herself.
Richard hadn't taken it. Wait-Richard.
Sounds started to fill her ear again. Water running rapidly pass nearby and several loud thumping sounds.
Sam!
In back of her, she watched in mind aching horror as a beaten, lightly bloodied Sam was being beaten and viciously kicked by Richard Ormsby as he lay on the ground, barely moving.
Oh. No. Oh God. Oh god no!
Tears started filling her eyes. Hot tears. Burning Tears. Tears of anger.
Not moving, Sam wasn't moving! Richard was going to kill him!
...
And then after he was done with Sam, Richard would finish up the job and kill... Her.
No.
Delilah really didn't want to die.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Richard unleashed a few more kicks before there was a sudden pain in his side, a piercing feeling like he'd just gotten a stitch. He coughed. It felt a little weird, a little too wet. A glance down showed a piece of metal sticking out of his gut.
What the fuck?
There was a pressure on his back, a ripping agony, and the metal disappeared, only to slam back through a different place a second later. This time he was more aware. He could see that it was the blade of a sword. Not a normal sword, at that. It was a saber. He'd seen those in some textbook. Were those even supposed to work for stabbing? The thing was through him at an angle, maybe due to the curve. He reached down to grab it, but it withdrew again, slashing across his grasping fingers, leaving shallow cuts on them. That hurt more, for some reason. He toppled forward.
There was someone on top of him, bringing down the sword again and again, stabbing and slashing and tearing him apart. He was screaming, now, crying and howling. He tried to wiggle free, but something was messed up inside of him. He couldn't move right.
He was going to die. Someone—no, Delilah, it had to be her, there was no one else around—was stabbing him to death. They'd been armed after all. This was serious, and he'd been taken in, or maybe had just made a bad turn somewhere. This should have been easy to avoid. He should have been able to take them both on, no problem.
There was blood all around, trickling over the ground, tickling his cheeks. That was all he could feel over the pain. What had he done to deserve this? Why was this happening?
He could see Sam through the haze, could see him lying on the ground too, just a few feet away.
That was different. He hadn't been trying to kill the guy, just rough him up some. Just teach him a lesson. No need to kill, not until and unless it was the only way to live.
Then again, he'd tried to take their food, had tried to abandon them in the desert with nothing to sustain themselves.
It all hurt too much for him to divide the blame properly, and everything was getting dark. She must've hit an artery there. This was it. This was all wrong. He didn't want to die. There was nothing, though. Richard was helpless again, and this time there was nobody he could punch to change things, no cutting remark he could make to trash someone's confidence.
It all went black for a few seconds, and that was the scariest part of all, and then he was gone, slipped away like he'd never even been. Life left his body a short time after consciousness.
What the fuck?
There was a pressure on his back, a ripping agony, and the metal disappeared, only to slam back through a different place a second later. This time he was more aware. He could see that it was the blade of a sword. Not a normal sword, at that. It was a saber. He'd seen those in some textbook. Were those even supposed to work for stabbing? The thing was through him at an angle, maybe due to the curve. He reached down to grab it, but it withdrew again, slashing across his grasping fingers, leaving shallow cuts on them. That hurt more, for some reason. He toppled forward.
There was someone on top of him, bringing down the sword again and again, stabbing and slashing and tearing him apart. He was screaming, now, crying and howling. He tried to wiggle free, but something was messed up inside of him. He couldn't move right.
He was going to die. Someone—no, Delilah, it had to be her, there was no one else around—was stabbing him to death. They'd been armed after all. This was serious, and he'd been taken in, or maybe had just made a bad turn somewhere. This should have been easy to avoid. He should have been able to take them both on, no problem.
There was blood all around, trickling over the ground, tickling his cheeks. That was all he could feel over the pain. What had he done to deserve this? Why was this happening?
He could see Sam through the haze, could see him lying on the ground too, just a few feet away.
That was different. He hadn't been trying to kill the guy, just rough him up some. Just teach him a lesson. No need to kill, not until and unless it was the only way to live.
Then again, he'd tried to take their food, had tried to abandon them in the desert with nothing to sustain themselves.
It all hurt too much for him to divide the blame properly, and everything was getting dark. She must've hit an artery there. This was it. This was all wrong. He didn't want to die. There was nothing, though. Richard was helpless again, and this time there was nobody he could punch to change things, no cutting remark he could make to trash someone's confidence.
It all went black for a few seconds, and that was the scariest part of all, and then he was gone, slipped away like he'd never even been. Life left his body a short time after consciousness.
M11, RICHARD ORMSBY: GAME OVER
44 STUDENTS REMAIN
44 STUDENTS REMAIN
-
CondorTalon
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 1:22 am
Holy shit.
Clair stood, watching at the scene before her, her mouth agape at what had just happened.
Richard had started to get more brutal in his punches and kicks. Sam lay on the ground, unconscious. Clair could barely watch the brutality before her. She turned away for a second... for just one measly second, she looked away, and Richard had a sword through his body when she turned back, Delilah behind him holding the hilt. He fell, and she climbed on top of him, stabbing him repeatedly...
And that was that. He was dead. Delilah had killed him.
Holy...
Clair briefly wondered what Holly was thinking right about now. She turned, looking at her. She definitely knew what she herself was thinking.
...shit!
The fight was over. They could go down there now if they wanted to... but did they really want to, now?
No, that was silly. Delilah didn't do it kill, surely. It was self-defense, right? Horribly disproportionate self-defense... but just that all the same.
She hesitated, just for a second. Then she called out.
"Delilah!"
She quickly went over to retrieve her bag before returning to the edge.
"Hey, Delilah!" she repeated, before carefully jogging down the slope. And as she did, that one thought, those two words, played over and over in her head.
Holy shit.
Clair stood, watching at the scene before her, her mouth agape at what had just happened.
Richard had started to get more brutal in his punches and kicks. Sam lay on the ground, unconscious. Clair could barely watch the brutality before her. She turned away for a second... for just one measly second, she looked away, and Richard had a sword through his body when she turned back, Delilah behind him holding the hilt. He fell, and she climbed on top of him, stabbing him repeatedly...
And that was that. He was dead. Delilah had killed him.
Holy...
Clair briefly wondered what Holly was thinking right about now. She turned, looking at her. She definitely knew what she herself was thinking.
...shit!
The fight was over. They could go down there now if they wanted to... but did they really want to, now?
No, that was silly. Delilah didn't do it kill, surely. It was self-defense, right? Horribly disproportionate self-defense... but just that all the same.
She hesitated, just for a second. Then she called out.
"Delilah!"
She quickly went over to retrieve her bag before returning to the edge.
"Hey, Delilah!" she repeated, before carefully jogging down the slope. And as she did, that one thought, those two words, played over and over in her head.
Holy shit.
His nose was bleeding. For a moment, Sam didn't even realize that was why there was wetness trickling down the front of his face. Everything felt blurry again, for the second time in just a few minutes. He'd failed, he knew that, to stop Richard. The kicks had stopped, though, he realized. He didn't know why. He knew there must have been a reason for it; he knew that he should probably struggle to his feet. If Delilah had not run far enough, maybe Richard was chasing her. Maybe he'd failed not only in restraining Richard, but distracting him as well.
Almost unconsciously, he wiped a hand across his face, painting a streak of red across the back of his hand. It took more effort than it should have. His body felt sore, battered. Something in the back of his mind tugged at him, telling him the situation was urgent, had been urgent, somehow, and then he realized, through his pain-dulled mind... The screaming. How did he not notice the screaming? All that was left of it was an echo by the time he even managed to register it.
He propped himself up on one bloodstained hand. Saw Richard die. A pool of blood that dwarfed the stain on the back of Sam's hand. Threat neutralized, permanently.
This wasn't right.
Sam had judged Richard on his actions at school, on his bullying tendencies. He'd tried to compromise with Richard. He'd had almost hated Richard because of his selfish behavior, the sheer fact that Richard had started a fight with them. Maybe he had hated him, somewhere in the middle of the kicking, as the world had begun to fade away. But he'd never wanted Richard dead.
Now Richard was dead and the wrongness of the whole situation hit Sam with all the force of a speeding cement truck.
And Delilah, covered in blood, staring back at him, something reflected in those blue-grey eyes that he thought he might find in his own somehow. Surprise? Guilt? She'd done it to protect him, he realized. He was standing, he realized. She wasn't a threat but was a killer, the blame was all on her and yet it wasn't. A voice in the distance that didn't register; he ignored it.
And as Sam staggered forwards, as his arms wrapped around Delilah in some semblance of a hug, the smell of blood strong in his nostrils, he didn't even know anymore what he was doing or why he was doing it.
Almost unconsciously, he wiped a hand across his face, painting a streak of red across the back of his hand. It took more effort than it should have. His body felt sore, battered. Something in the back of his mind tugged at him, telling him the situation was urgent, had been urgent, somehow, and then he realized, through his pain-dulled mind... The screaming. How did he not notice the screaming? All that was left of it was an echo by the time he even managed to register it.
He propped himself up on one bloodstained hand. Saw Richard die. A pool of blood that dwarfed the stain on the back of Sam's hand. Threat neutralized, permanently.
This wasn't right.
Sam had judged Richard on his actions at school, on his bullying tendencies. He'd tried to compromise with Richard. He'd had almost hated Richard because of his selfish behavior, the sheer fact that Richard had started a fight with them. Maybe he had hated him, somewhere in the middle of the kicking, as the world had begun to fade away. But he'd never wanted Richard dead.
Now Richard was dead and the wrongness of the whole situation hit Sam with all the force of a speeding cement truck.
And Delilah, covered in blood, staring back at him, something reflected in those blue-grey eyes that he thought he might find in his own somehow. Surprise? Guilt? She'd done it to protect him, he realized. He was standing, he realized. She wasn't a threat but was a killer, the blame was all on her and yet it wasn't. A voice in the distance that didn't register; he ignored it.
And as Sam staggered forwards, as his arms wrapped around Delilah in some semblance of a hug, the smell of blood strong in his nostrils, he didn't even know anymore what he was doing or why he was doing it.
This signature intentionally left blank.
Delilah Rivers didn't want to die. She was going to make sure she wouldn't.
Sam Wilson wasn't going to die either. She was going to make sure of it.
So it was true then. There were people out there, people from her own school, her own grade, her own classmates, people she knew - no, knew of playing this game after all. She didn't know most of her class personally and for all she knew, they were all out there doing like Richard showed by example. She didn't know these people really well. Maybe she was right all along with keeping to herself as not everyone was going to be nice like Sam.
As she feared, but realized was inevitable from the very beginning, from when she woke up back in those mines, was that there were going to be those who'd simply follow the Sheriff's wishes and do anything they could to "Win."
Kill or be killed, that was what he said. In this case, Delilah was going to have to take it to heart if she didn't want to die.
She unzipped her bag, the sunlight once again glinting off gold colored metal casing. She reached in, grabbed it, looping her hands around the cavalry saber's hilt, slowly sliding off the casing and dropping it onto the solid earth.
For the first time she saw the full blade, practically shining in the brightness of the mid-day sun, the sharpened edge coming to a slight curve at the tip. She knew what she had to do.
Kill or be killed.
Her head ached from the blow to the head from Richard's hand and the rock earlier, disorientation kicking in as she sped up to where Richard was thrashing Sam into a bloody pulp.
No, she could still save him. Save Sam from dying. He deserved to live, just as much as she did.
The scum standing above him did not.
She could still feel his grimy fingers wrapping around her, squeezing her, touching her. No one touched her. Ever. She eyed the bruises on her arms and knew that there was probably some on her face from when Richard struck her. No one ever went so far to lay a hand on her before and just thinking of how he had hurt her and blemished her perfect, well treated skin, only served to fuel her growing anger at the boy.
The boy who she was going to kill.
She sped up when she was close enough, fighting off the throbbing from her head and ran; point straight forward. She had to do this quick, otherwise Richard was going to turn around and-and hurt her. She didn't like the idea of getting hurt again. She began to panic, there wasn't time to think anymore, it was too late. She had to do it or else she was going to die.
Kill or be killed and Delilah Rivers didn't want to die.
Two hands were clutched around the ornate handle of her sabre. She pulled it back and thrusted forward. Her eyes were closed she realized. There was no reaction. How? Why? She opened them, saw Richard standing there silent as a brick - he wasn't hurting Sam anymore.
With some strength, Delilah pulled back on the sword, blood dripping off the clean blade. It was bloody, but it still looked clean. She stabbed him again, this time with more power and force, so much so, that just watching it you'd assume the person had wronged the stabber before and it was true.
Richard wronged her. He shouldn't have done what he did. He shouldn't have tried to bully them. He shouldn't have hurt Sam. He shouldn't have tried to rob them and leave them for dead. Shouldn't have attacked them and endangered their lives.
And now his life was in danger.
Once the sword went through his back a second time, she relished in the pain she knew he was feeling. It was his choice for brutalizing a nice, good hearted guy like Sam, who didn't deserve a beating for simply trying to protect her. Now Richard was paying for it.
C'est la vie.
Instead of pulling the blade back, Delilah yanked it out, practically ripping the flesh from Richard's back. Again she stabbed, but this time she felt herself lose balance, they both lost balance, Richard was falling to the grass and with the sword still grasped in Delilah's hand. Richard was laying face forward on the ground and she straddled him, yanking the blade out, sitting on his back. And now he was screaming.
The screaming surprised her. This was Richard the bully, Richard the monster. The screaming was such a shock, that it was enough to snap Delilah out of her state of mind. Oh god, what was she doing, why was she doing this? She was killing a guy. Not a monster, just a kid.
But the screaming. No she needed the screaming to stop. She had to make him stop!
She sped up now, her knees on Richard's lower back, her saber thrusting down into and out from him as she stabbed him and stabbed him and stabbed him some more.
Richard was starting to gurgle instead of scream, but he was moving, fighting it. She changed things up and slashed at his back until he stopped. The warm blood puddled around him, on her as well, over her jacket, over her pants, covering her hands and arms, flowing from the sword.
He wasn't moving anymore.
Something between a gasp and a massive intake of air escaped her lips. She'd done it. Richard was dead.
The shaking started, she could feel herself trembling, and she needed to get off and away from him. She stood up backing away from Richard's corpse, staring down at the dead boy in front of her, his back a bloody work of art, hidden only somewhat by his shirt.
Delilah dropped the sword, she looked up, Sam was there standing up, his nose bleeding and his face all bruised up.
He stared at her and approached her, slowly, small steps from the injury he sustained. She had saved him from a beating just in time, but at what cost?
Someone was dead because of her.
Delilah froze in place, lost in thoughts and daydreams about whether she did the right thing. Seconds later, she felt arms wrapped around her again. She was being touched, but unlike Richard this attempt at a hug was somewhat comforting. Blood dripped onto her face. His nose was bleeding and he was staring ahead. She was staring ahead as well, absolutely still, eyes completely open, unblinking.
Then unexpectedly, a voice. A whole new voice, one that she knew and immediately recognized.
Running down the slope from the bridge above, was Clair Belvedere. Former enemy turned good friend.
One would expect that seeing one of their good friends appear would make one happy. Not for Delilah. Instead a sinking feeling started to develop in the pit of her stomach. She had killed someone, with intent. She knew she didn't kill him just to protect Sam. She was a murderer and a threat and they would never trust her again.
Delilah put a hand to Sam's chest and quietly pushed herself out of his hug. She stared back at him, right into his eyes. She stepped back and shook her head.
Samson and Delilah.
Bittersweet. She'd be the death of him.
Clair was calling out to her but she didn't answer, only stared as she approached, tears unwillingly filling her eyes. Delilah wiped at them, but this only caused the blood on her hands to mix with the tears, giving a disturbing image of crying blood. She wiped at them again, staining her cheeks with more red.
A stinging she hadn't noticed before started to make itself known on the side of her forehead. She felt at it, another sting, and more blood. It was her own blood, from when she landed hard on the rock after Richard struck her.
Her foot hit something as she backed up.
Cowbell.
She fell to her knees.
On her knees, she scooped up Richard's cowbell, held it in the palm of her hands and looked down at it in silence, with her sabre and it's casing on either side of her.
Delilah brought the cowbell to her face, right to her eyes and then she started to sob.
Sam Wilson wasn't going to die either. She was going to make sure of it.
So it was true then. There were people out there, people from her own school, her own grade, her own classmates, people she knew - no, knew of playing this game after all. She didn't know most of her class personally and for all she knew, they were all out there doing like Richard showed by example. She didn't know these people really well. Maybe she was right all along with keeping to herself as not everyone was going to be nice like Sam.
As she feared, but realized was inevitable from the very beginning, from when she woke up back in those mines, was that there were going to be those who'd simply follow the Sheriff's wishes and do anything they could to "Win."
Kill or be killed, that was what he said. In this case, Delilah was going to have to take it to heart if she didn't want to die.
She unzipped her bag, the sunlight once again glinting off gold colored metal casing. She reached in, grabbed it, looping her hands around the cavalry saber's hilt, slowly sliding off the casing and dropping it onto the solid earth.
For the first time she saw the full blade, practically shining in the brightness of the mid-day sun, the sharpened edge coming to a slight curve at the tip. She knew what she had to do.
Kill or be killed.
Her head ached from the blow to the head from Richard's hand and the rock earlier, disorientation kicking in as she sped up to where Richard was thrashing Sam into a bloody pulp.
No, she could still save him. Save Sam from dying. He deserved to live, just as much as she did.
The scum standing above him did not.
She could still feel his grimy fingers wrapping around her, squeezing her, touching her. No one touched her. Ever. She eyed the bruises on her arms and knew that there was probably some on her face from when Richard struck her. No one ever went so far to lay a hand on her before and just thinking of how he had hurt her and blemished her perfect, well treated skin, only served to fuel her growing anger at the boy.
The boy who she was going to kill.
She sped up when she was close enough, fighting off the throbbing from her head and ran; point straight forward. She had to do this quick, otherwise Richard was going to turn around and-and hurt her. She didn't like the idea of getting hurt again. She began to panic, there wasn't time to think anymore, it was too late. She had to do it or else she was going to die.
Kill or be killed and Delilah Rivers didn't want to die.
Two hands were clutched around the ornate handle of her sabre. She pulled it back and thrusted forward. Her eyes were closed she realized. There was no reaction. How? Why? She opened them, saw Richard standing there silent as a brick - he wasn't hurting Sam anymore.
With some strength, Delilah pulled back on the sword, blood dripping off the clean blade. It was bloody, but it still looked clean. She stabbed him again, this time with more power and force, so much so, that just watching it you'd assume the person had wronged the stabber before and it was true.
Richard wronged her. He shouldn't have done what he did. He shouldn't have tried to bully them. He shouldn't have hurt Sam. He shouldn't have tried to rob them and leave them for dead. Shouldn't have attacked them and endangered their lives.
And now his life was in danger.
Once the sword went through his back a second time, she relished in the pain she knew he was feeling. It was his choice for brutalizing a nice, good hearted guy like Sam, who didn't deserve a beating for simply trying to protect her. Now Richard was paying for it.
C'est la vie.
Instead of pulling the blade back, Delilah yanked it out, practically ripping the flesh from Richard's back. Again she stabbed, but this time she felt herself lose balance, they both lost balance, Richard was falling to the grass and with the sword still grasped in Delilah's hand. Richard was laying face forward on the ground and she straddled him, yanking the blade out, sitting on his back. And now he was screaming.
The screaming surprised her. This was Richard the bully, Richard the monster. The screaming was such a shock, that it was enough to snap Delilah out of her state of mind. Oh god, what was she doing, why was she doing this? She was killing a guy. Not a monster, just a kid.
But the screaming. No she needed the screaming to stop. She had to make him stop!
She sped up now, her knees on Richard's lower back, her saber thrusting down into and out from him as she stabbed him and stabbed him and stabbed him some more.
Richard was starting to gurgle instead of scream, but he was moving, fighting it. She changed things up and slashed at his back until he stopped. The warm blood puddled around him, on her as well, over her jacket, over her pants, covering her hands and arms, flowing from the sword.
He wasn't moving anymore.
Something between a gasp and a massive intake of air escaped her lips. She'd done it. Richard was dead.
The shaking started, she could feel herself trembling, and she needed to get off and away from him. She stood up backing away from Richard's corpse, staring down at the dead boy in front of her, his back a bloody work of art, hidden only somewhat by his shirt.
Delilah dropped the sword, she looked up, Sam was there standing up, his nose bleeding and his face all bruised up.
He stared at her and approached her, slowly, small steps from the injury he sustained. She had saved him from a beating just in time, but at what cost?
Someone was dead because of her.
Delilah froze in place, lost in thoughts and daydreams about whether she did the right thing. Seconds later, she felt arms wrapped around her again. She was being touched, but unlike Richard this attempt at a hug was somewhat comforting. Blood dripped onto her face. His nose was bleeding and he was staring ahead. She was staring ahead as well, absolutely still, eyes completely open, unblinking.
Then unexpectedly, a voice. A whole new voice, one that she knew and immediately recognized.
Running down the slope from the bridge above, was Clair Belvedere. Former enemy turned good friend.
One would expect that seeing one of their good friends appear would make one happy. Not for Delilah. Instead a sinking feeling started to develop in the pit of her stomach. She had killed someone, with intent. She knew she didn't kill him just to protect Sam. She was a murderer and a threat and they would never trust her again.
Delilah put a hand to Sam's chest and quietly pushed herself out of his hug. She stared back at him, right into his eyes. She stepped back and shook her head.
Samson and Delilah.
Bittersweet. She'd be the death of him.
Clair was calling out to her but she didn't answer, only stared as she approached, tears unwillingly filling her eyes. Delilah wiped at them, but this only caused the blood on her hands to mix with the tears, giving a disturbing image of crying blood. She wiped at them again, staining her cheeks with more red.
A stinging she hadn't noticed before started to make itself known on the side of her forehead. She felt at it, another sting, and more blood. It was her own blood, from when she landed hard on the rock after Richard struck her.
Her foot hit something as she backed up.
Cowbell.
She fell to her knees.
On her knees, she scooped up Richard's cowbell, held it in the palm of her hands and looked down at it in silence, with her sabre and it's casing on either side of her.
Delilah brought the cowbell to her face, right to her eyes and then she started to sob.
-
CondorTalon
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 1:22 am
She knew.
Of course, she had suspected it. She had suspected that something would have changed after what happened. But as she ran down, as she saw the blood, and the look on Delilah's face, she knew, for certain.
Clair knew what that feeling was. Guilt, sorrow. Clair knew that feeling all too well. It must have been hell for Delilah, she couldn't even imagine.
"Delilah..."
She shook her head slowly. Delilah fell to her knees, and began to sob. Clair didn't know what to do. What could she do? She just looked at the crying girl in front of her, the rushing of water being the only sound for miles.
Slowly, Clair reached out, putting a hand on Delilah's shoulder, trying to comfort her.
Of course, she had suspected it. She had suspected that something would have changed after what happened. But as she ran down, as she saw the blood, and the look on Delilah's face, she knew, for certain.
Clair knew what that feeling was. Guilt, sorrow. Clair knew that feeling all too well. It must have been hell for Delilah, she couldn't even imagine.
"Delilah..."
She shook her head slowly. Delilah fell to her knees, and began to sob. Clair didn't know what to do. What could she do? She just looked at the crying girl in front of her, the rushing of water being the only sound for miles.
Slowly, Clair reached out, putting a hand on Delilah's shoulder, trying to comfort her.
Delilah pushed him away, and someone else went to comfort her as she cried. Clair Belvedere, the voice that he had ignored. Delilah's friend. Maybe it would work better for her than it had for him.
Sam just stood there, trying to figure things out. Best, perhaps, to give Delilah her space. He was an acquaintance, no matter what had just happened, whatever kind of game this was. Delilah had been looking for Clair, and now she'd found her. Let them have their time together.
There was a plan. There had been a plan, before Richard had come and died and everything had broken down. Find other people, find some way to get back on that train and back out of this wasteland, call for rescue, something. It might still work.
He limped over to the bags, picked his up. First aid kit inside, he remembered. They could patch themselves up, once everything calmed down.
The goal was to save people, but all it had accomplished so far was getting Richard killed. Maybe that wasn't the fault of the plan. But then, whose fault was it? All there was for sure was the dead body of Richard in a pool of blood and Delilah, on her knees, crying, neither of which he could do anything about.
Sam coughed, awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
"We should get moving," he said, staring at the horizon.
Sam just stood there, trying to figure things out. Best, perhaps, to give Delilah her space. He was an acquaintance, no matter what had just happened, whatever kind of game this was. Delilah had been looking for Clair, and now she'd found her. Let them have their time together.
There was a plan. There had been a plan, before Richard had come and died and everything had broken down. Find other people, find some way to get back on that train and back out of this wasteland, call for rescue, something. It might still work.
He limped over to the bags, picked his up. First aid kit inside, he remembered. They could patch themselves up, once everything calmed down.
The goal was to save people, but all it had accomplished so far was getting Richard killed. Maybe that wasn't the fault of the plan. But then, whose fault was it? All there was for sure was the dead body of Richard in a pool of blood and Delilah, on her knees, crying, neither of which he could do anything about.
Sam coughed, awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
"We should get moving," he said, staring at the horizon.
This signature intentionally left blank.