"Quit staring... creepy fucker."
God, if the sight of this killed her granny. She'd... she'd...
"Hope some asshole with a gun mows us all down."
There Will Be Blood
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Sunnybunny
- Posts: 37
- Joined: Tue Jun 30, 2020 4:13 am
Vasily took in a deep breath.
And another.
''Fisk, Please. He's armed. We already got one.''
When he walked towards the assailant, he was just a little slower. Really took his time looking at Cassini's bleeding figure.
''...Cass? You, uh, you think you're gonna survive this?''
Stupid question.
He asked it anyways.
(She spoke, and he could feel the spite dripping off of it.)
''I think she's a goner.''
A pause, to fill his lungs.
A few steps, to fill the space between him and the attacker.
(Her last words. He just heard two people's last words.
(And Vasily knew that he deserve every drop of malice from them and more.)
His gloved hand laid on Fisk's arm, putting gentle pressure down and squeezing. Blood transferred from one fabric to another. The boy looked into his eyes with slight concern and dissaproval.
''Come on, let's just call a truce. No need to fight when the pros and cons aren't that balanced on our side. I don't even know who that guy is... Hey, you, bother telling us your team and name, y'know, all that? Can't see ya in the dark all that well.''
He trusted Fisk to stab him if something goes wrong. He didn't know if he trusted Fisk to not make this situation go wrong by stabbing him unprompted, though.
And another.
''Fisk, Please. He's armed. We already got one.''
When he walked towards the assailant, he was just a little slower. Really took his time looking at Cassini's bleeding figure.
''...Cass? You, uh, you think you're gonna survive this?''
Stupid question.
He asked it anyways.
(She spoke, and he could feel the spite dripping off of it.)
''I think she's a goner.''
A pause, to fill his lungs.
A few steps, to fill the space between him and the attacker.
(Her last words. He just heard two people's last words.
(And Vasily knew that he deserve every drop of malice from them and more.)
His gloved hand laid on Fisk's arm, putting gentle pressure down and squeezing. Blood transferred from one fabric to another. The boy looked into his eyes with slight concern and dissaproval.
''Come on, let's just call a truce. No need to fight when the pros and cons aren't that balanced on our side. I don't even know who that guy is... Hey, you, bother telling us your team and name, y'know, all that? Can't see ya in the dark all that well.''
He trusted Fisk to stab him if something goes wrong. He didn't know if he trusted Fisk to not make this situation go wrong by stabbing him unprompted, though.
Fisk kept his shiv pointed at Eric as a hand rested itself on his shoulder. Fisk grimaced under his mask as he could feel the sensation of blood staining his custom tailored pinstripe jacket, but truth be told if you didn’t want to ruin your Sunday best, then don’t wear it to SOTF. Cass hoped someone with a machine gun would waste everyone, and Fisk felt a dry cough of a laugh escape his lungs, considering his assigned weapon.
“There’s an idea.”
Didn’t matter for Cassini though, she wouldn’t be around to witness that experience. Maybe Eric would appreciate it. Vasily mentioned she was done just to hammer the point in that they were fucking kill swiped by this petty pickpocket.
Vasily told Fisk not to go for it. He wasn’t worth it. “He just took our fuckin’ kill. The one we did all the work for. That’s one less kill we coulda needed to send one of us home, the little shit.” Little wasn’t an apt description for Eric, stated one of Fisk’s intrusive judgemental thoughts. “Can’t see his team, but we don’t need to ask him shit, it’s Eric over there.“
They could take him. Hell, Fisk was positive he could do it one on one, but Vasily made a great point, only highlighted by what happened to Keegan hours earlier. That sword slid through Cass like she was gelatin, and in Fisk and Vasily’s fatigued state, he had doubts that they could close the distance before one of them took a grievous injury. It wasn’t a question of if they could take him, but should they?
In the end, they shouldn’t. Fisk wasn’t keen on dying early, and even less keen on losing Vasily to such a ignominious end as to die by this craven opportunist. In the end, it was still a victory. Fisk got confirmation that Ivan was hunting the Respects, and potentially building his own militia to combat his, and Cass died to warn them of another potential threat. Fisk eyed the extra bags draping the figure in front of him, and realized that Eric was no greenhorn neither. He was a threat and a capable one at that, and the best move to make was the ones that he excelled at; ambushes, which was ironic considering that that also seemed to be Eric’s MO. May the one with the best wits win; or more likely, the one with more friends.
“It’s your lucky night, Eric. You’ve basked in the glory of The Respects and you’re going to walk away alive.” He lowered the shiv. “Don’t get comfortable. We’ve yet to pay you back for your transgressions against us, OR Cassini’s, and you’re due for both thanks to that little stunt. Want a little taste of it, check out Seth on your way out.” Fisk squinted. “That’s your only victory on us Eric; savor it.” He nodded to Vasily that it was their cue to abscond.
“Until then; ta ta, fatboy.”
((Fisk Bateman continued elsewhere.))
“There’s an idea.”
Didn’t matter for Cassini though, she wouldn’t be around to witness that experience. Maybe Eric would appreciate it. Vasily mentioned she was done just to hammer the point in that they were fucking kill swiped by this petty pickpocket.
Vasily told Fisk not to go for it. He wasn’t worth it. “He just took our fuckin’ kill. The one we did all the work for. That’s one less kill we coulda needed to send one of us home, the little shit.” Little wasn’t an apt description for Eric, stated one of Fisk’s intrusive judgemental thoughts. “Can’t see his team, but we don’t need to ask him shit, it’s Eric over there.“
They could take him. Hell, Fisk was positive he could do it one on one, but Vasily made a great point, only highlighted by what happened to Keegan hours earlier. That sword slid through Cass like she was gelatin, and in Fisk and Vasily’s fatigued state, he had doubts that they could close the distance before one of them took a grievous injury. It wasn’t a question of if they could take him, but should they?
In the end, they shouldn’t. Fisk wasn’t keen on dying early, and even less keen on losing Vasily to such a ignominious end as to die by this craven opportunist. In the end, it was still a victory. Fisk got confirmation that Ivan was hunting the Respects, and potentially building his own militia to combat his, and Cass died to warn them of another potential threat. Fisk eyed the extra bags draping the figure in front of him, and realized that Eric was no greenhorn neither. He was a threat and a capable one at that, and the best move to make was the ones that he excelled at; ambushes, which was ironic considering that that also seemed to be Eric’s MO. May the one with the best wits win; or more likely, the one with more friends.
“It’s your lucky night, Eric. You’ve basked in the glory of The Respects and you’re going to walk away alive.” He lowered the shiv. “Don’t get comfortable. We’ve yet to pay you back for your transgressions against us, OR Cassini’s, and you’re due for both thanks to that little stunt. Want a little taste of it, check out Seth on your way out.” Fisk squinted. “That’s your only victory on us Eric; savor it.” He nodded to Vasily that it was their cue to abscond.
“Until then; ta ta, fatboy.”
((Fisk Bateman continued elsewhere.))
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
"That's... Eric? Oh, yeah! Museum boy. Uh. It's. It's been a while."
Fisk talked.
Fisk said a lot of, to be blunt, bullshit.
There's no glory. There's no transgressions. Just teens desperate to survive.
When Fisk called him Fatboy, a part of Vasily almost wanted to apologize on his behalf. He didn't know why he had that feeling- one second, he was completely willing to murder Cassini, a friend, but now he wanted to be nice to Eric?
(He was relieved. Why was he relieved that Cassini's dead?)
For a second, it was just these three murderers, Fisk finally quiet and walking away after the speech. Click, tap. These signature shoes.
And then he finally knew.
It was because Eric was a threat. He was an equal. They're the predators amongst prey.
(What a load of bullshit. They just got lucky.)
"Anyways... I would say see ya, but... yeah."
He jerked his thumb at Cassini's body. He waved goodbye.
((Vasily continued with Fisk to here))
Fisk talked.
Fisk said a lot of, to be blunt, bullshit.
There's no glory. There's no transgressions. Just teens desperate to survive.
When Fisk called him Fatboy, a part of Vasily almost wanted to apologize on his behalf. He didn't know why he had that feeling- one second, he was completely willing to murder Cassini, a friend, but now he wanted to be nice to Eric?
(He was relieved. Why was he relieved that Cassini's dead?)
For a second, it was just these three murderers, Fisk finally quiet and walking away after the speech. Click, tap. These signature shoes.
And then he finally knew.
It was because Eric was a threat. He was an equal. They're the predators amongst prey.
(What a load of bullshit. They just got lucky.)
"Anyways... I would say see ya, but... yeah."
He jerked his thumb at Cassini's body. He waved goodbye.
((Vasily continued with Fisk to here))
Eric stood in silence, sword drawn, as the two boys conversed. Fisk talked a lot; it came as no surprise really. He had a team name of some sort, "The Respects", and he talked a big game over it. But Eric wasn't impressed. It may have been two against one, but Eric had the advantage; they'd get in each other's way in a tight area like this, and he had the superior weapon.
Instead, they left. Eric said nothing.
Cassini's bag was on the ground. Eric took the bag itself and dumped the contents into the ocean again. Same deal as before. There were now three daypacks looped around his own. Tree boy, goth girl, and 'Cass'. That's what Vasily had called her. That was who he'd killed.
Better him than them. As Eric watched them depart, he saw what they'd done to that other boy. Eric had been merciful by comparison. Really, she couldn't complain, right? It was just the one, singular wound. Eric puked again.
This time it was into the ocean. He gasped, grunting, turning away from the corpse. Throwing up on her body was just rude. She'd needed to die so he could live, but he didn't need to deface her remains. Eric retched again.
Eventually, after far too long, he composed himself. This was inevitable, really. If he wanted to survive, he had to do this. It was a shame, but necessary. He'd heard her talking about horoscopes and stuff while running for her life. It was only a matter of time before someone did her in. That someone just happened to be him. And he wasn't going to let it go to waste. He wasn't here for fun like Fisk and Vasily apparently were. He wasn't screwing around. He was going to make it out alive, come hell or high water.
Eric considered pushing the corpse into the ocean, but he didn't know if that was worth the effort. It was a useless sentiment, and even if he cared about how she'd feel, it might not have been what she'd have wanted. So he left her on the platform and, stumbling only slightly, wandered off to find a place to spend the night.
((Eric Cunningham continued in Revise Script))
Instead, they left. Eric said nothing.
Cassini's bag was on the ground. Eric took the bag itself and dumped the contents into the ocean again. Same deal as before. There were now three daypacks looped around his own. Tree boy, goth girl, and 'Cass'. That's what Vasily had called her. That was who he'd killed.
Better him than them. As Eric watched them depart, he saw what they'd done to that other boy. Eric had been merciful by comparison. Really, she couldn't complain, right? It was just the one, singular wound. Eric puked again.
This time it was into the ocean. He gasped, grunting, turning away from the corpse. Throwing up on her body was just rude. She'd needed to die so he could live, but he didn't need to deface her remains. Eric retched again.
Eventually, after far too long, he composed himself. This was inevitable, really. If he wanted to survive, he had to do this. It was a shame, but necessary. He'd heard her talking about horoscopes and stuff while running for her life. It was only a matter of time before someone did her in. That someone just happened to be him. And he wasn't going to let it go to waste. He wasn't here for fun like Fisk and Vasily apparently were. He wasn't screwing around. He was going to make it out alive, come hell or high water.
Eric considered pushing the corpse into the ocean, but he didn't know if that was worth the effort. It was a useless sentiment, and even if he cared about how she'd feel, it might not have been what she'd have wanted. So he left her on the platform and, stumbling only slightly, wandered off to find a place to spend the night.
((Eric Cunningham continued in Revise Script))