She laughed, and Maxwell’s found his muscles tensing up. It seemed as if what he said had been the wrong answer. Whether he was closer to death or whether he never had a chance of making it out of this in the first place he didn’t know, but he supposed in the end that it didn’t really matter. He would still try, regardless. He would still lay here on the ground, say whatever needed to be said to perhaps finally get him off it. In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure what he would even do if he got out of here, but again, it didn’t matter. The worth was in trying. Continuing to do so, even if the chance of escaping this seemed to grow smaller and smaller with every subsequent word that came out of Kris.
“Then what is my reason, then?”
Well, perhaps there still happened to be a chance. Perhaps there wasn’t. Knowing whether there was one or not required him to understand whatever the fuck it was that Kris was talking about, and the one thing that should’ve made itself clear before now was that neither he nor anyone else on this island was capable of doing that.
“You imply that there is a reason why I should be the one let go. If it isn’t the reason I said, then it’s clear that there’s something major I’m missing about all this.”
Honestly, it was getting harder for him to understand what he himself was trying to convey. What the point of his argument was, if there'd ever been one.
Perhaps the next few seconds could provide him with some clarity.
“So please, feel free to enlighten me on what you’ve made out of me,” he said, doing his best to stare Kris down. “It’s always so interesting to know what others think of me.”
We Own The Night
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1255
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
Anger again. His fantasy didn’t align with the reality. It never would have. He was basing everything off an incorrect detail. He believed he was something he was not. That they all were. It was a cozy lie, warm and comforting. But it was still a false construct, like the social contract they were bound by it was fragile and easily broken.
There was a truth, only one. She had realised early on and abandoned the tattered remnants of the fantasy he desperately clung to. His retaliation for her intrusion was aggression, an immune response against reality. His naivety serving as a shield. Her face didn’t change. Others had yelled at her and she had seen so much. Anger was just another form of expression as viable as any other. But still she leaned in close, stared into his eyes. The light of the fireflies danced over them.
“There isn’t one.”
Her grin dropped.
“Your life is not special.”
She withdrew and stood. Her gaze focused on the light.
“Enjoy your cage.”
Then she disappeared into the maze.
There was a truth, only one. She had realised early on and abandoned the tattered remnants of the fantasy he desperately clung to. His retaliation for her intrusion was aggression, an immune response against reality. His naivety serving as a shield. Her face didn’t change. Others had yelled at her and she had seen so much. Anger was just another form of expression as viable as any other. But still she leaned in close, stared into his eyes. The light of the fireflies danced over them.
“There isn’t one.”
Her grin dropped.
“Your life is not special.”
She withdrew and stood. Her gaze focused on the light.
“Enjoy your cage.”
Then she disappeared into the maze.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1255
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
“Oh, I will.”
There was perhaps a reaction more ideal to have, a better set of words he could have said as Kris vanished into the darkness. Anger, defiance at the believe that he was nothing. Confusion, questions asked at what she meant by her ‘cage,’ of what was about to happen. Either of those would have achieved more, gotten something in response as opposed to his denial, his witty remark, but ultimately — even if his query had given him no clarity — all he needed was what he had. This conversation was over, Kris was gone, and all threat to Maxwell had gone. The only thing he needed to feel was relief that all the above had happened.
It was, however, not best he stay here. He moved. Got himself up, eventually. Moved at a slower speed than before into the maze, in the opposite direction that Kris took.
Maybe it wouldn’t make him as special as Kris seemed to deign herself, but Maxwell honestly could not care less. If it meant that he stayed alive for a few more minutes, loss of dignity seemed like a more than acceptable sacrifice.
There was perhaps a reaction more ideal to have, a better set of words he could have said as Kris vanished into the darkness. Anger, defiance at the believe that he was nothing. Confusion, questions asked at what she meant by her ‘cage,’ of what was about to happen. Either of those would have achieved more, gotten something in response as opposed to his denial, his witty remark, but ultimately — even if his query had given him no clarity — all he needed was what he had. This conversation was over, Kris was gone, and all threat to Maxwell had gone. The only thing he needed to feel was relief that all the above had happened.
It was, however, not best he stay here. He moved. Got himself up, eventually. Moved at a slower speed than before into the maze, in the opposite direction that Kris took.
Maybe it wouldn’t make him as special as Kris seemed to deign herself, but Maxwell honestly could not care less. If it meant that he stayed alive for a few more minutes, loss of dignity seemed like a more than acceptable sacrifice.
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Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Far far away, and so very close by, two other lost children were having their own deep, heartfelt conversation, scampering through the steel jungle by the edge of the sea, searching for one another.
“Wendy! Wendy!! Stop fucking hiding you dumb bitch and let me put another hole in your ugly face!”
Okay, maybe there’d been a tad bit of embellishment there, but c’mon, this was the grand freakin’ finale! She had to do something with the internal narration running through her head to make this all as epic as possible! Cause otherwise, with the other four being such utter dumb dumbs, and Wendy hitting her with a bunch of dead fucking seagulls of all goddamn things and then the stupid cow not even having the balls to fucking fight her face to face cause she was such a pathetic cunt…
Well, it made Bunny pretty dang upset! And how was she supposed to face the terrorists and, later, the TV cameras and paperazzi with a victorious grin on her face when she was just angry and pissed off at everything?
She wasn’t doing a great job at suppressing that, though. She kept trying to think about how satisfying it would be to finally, finally blow Wendy’s brains out, as she stalked the other girl through the shadowy labyrinth of crates, machinenpistole glued to her hand. But then she heard the echoing patter of her footsteps from up ahead, just out of sight, the occasional taunting comment in that permanently dainty, airy-fairy voice, and she’d run after her, around corners, doubling back on herself, and all she’d see would be the flash of Wendy’s bag or the heel of her shoe disappearing round the side of a container again.
And that just made her blood start to boil and rush to her head, and her finger tighten round the trigger, and the bullets to fly, ricocheting and lodging in the crates surrounding them, and her voice to roar as any thoughts of tactics or stealth melted away.
“Bitch! Bitch, get out here you… bitch!”
“Wendy! Wendy!! Stop fucking hiding you dumb bitch and let me put another hole in your ugly face!”
Okay, maybe there’d been a tad bit of embellishment there, but c’mon, this was the grand freakin’ finale! She had to do something with the internal narration running through her head to make this all as epic as possible! Cause otherwise, with the other four being such utter dumb dumbs, and Wendy hitting her with a bunch of dead fucking seagulls of all goddamn things and then the stupid cow not even having the balls to fucking fight her face to face cause she was such a pathetic cunt…
Well, it made Bunny pretty dang upset! And how was she supposed to face the terrorists and, later, the TV cameras and paperazzi with a victorious grin on her face when she was just angry and pissed off at everything?
She wasn’t doing a great job at suppressing that, though. She kept trying to think about how satisfying it would be to finally, finally blow Wendy’s brains out, as she stalked the other girl through the shadowy labyrinth of crates, machinenpistole glued to her hand. But then she heard the echoing patter of her footsteps from up ahead, just out of sight, the occasional taunting comment in that permanently dainty, airy-fairy voice, and she’d run after her, around corners, doubling back on herself, and all she’d see would be the flash of Wendy’s bag or the heel of her shoe disappearing round the side of a container again.
And that just made her blood start to boil and rush to her head, and her finger tighten round the trigger, and the bullets to fly, ricocheting and lodging in the crates surrounding them, and her voice to roar as any thoughts of tactics or stealth melted away.
“Bitch! Bitch, get out here you… bitch!”
Clearly flustered. Even with the pellets rattling against the concrete and metal walls, it was a joy to frustrate her.
Wendy froze for a moment, taking a step side-way along the cover of an adjacent container away from her original path as Bunny ran pass briefly, but it didn't last, perhaps having quickly caught on to the fact that the flash of her blonde braids were no longer immediately visible at their earlier pace. Point was, Bunny was already turning back.
However, Wendy didn't hide, not this time. In fact a beam of light illuminated her clear face, unblemished from the game, from the shadows. A wide, toothy white grin, spreading over her face, as Bunny took notice, lifting, readying the life-shredding power she had in hand.
With a quick flick of the wrist, Wendy flipped the metallic-plastic rod of the flashlight which contained that same spotlight, into a harsh beam of energy directly into Bunny's eyes.
Wendy froze for a moment, taking a step side-way along the cover of an adjacent container away from her original path as Bunny ran pass briefly, but it didn't last, perhaps having quickly caught on to the fact that the flash of her blonde braids were no longer immediately visible at their earlier pace. Point was, Bunny was already turning back.
However, Wendy didn't hide, not this time. In fact a beam of light illuminated her clear face, unblemished from the game, from the shadows. A wide, toothy white grin, spreading over her face, as Bunny took notice, lifting, readying the life-shredding power she had in hand.
With a quick flick of the wrist, Wendy flipped the metallic-plastic rod of the flashlight which contained that same spotlight, into a harsh beam of energy directly into Bunny's eyes.
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General Goose
- Posts: 318
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:51 pm
Chuck had moved into a sitting up position.
He wasn't sure when or how it'd happened. He could guess why - this new position was slightly more comfortable and allowed him a slightly clearer view of the sky, a bit less obstructed by the shipping containers that loomed over him - but even that was just a guess. He wasn't sure what his thinking had been in the moment, why he'd expended valuable energy on an act that was essentially a luxury. A luxury that placed him in a more vulnerable position to boot.
Oh well.
He was here now. Might as well make the most of it. And not worth the energy crawling back to a less comfortable safety. After all, he had a bullet in his gut. He was bleeding. A lot. His sweatshirt was already squelchy and sodden. His jeans had become rather uncomfortable all of a sudden, a few ticklish trickles of blood seeping down his bare legs, having somehow got there yet now unable to be shaken loose. His hat was on his head still. Rather sticky. He was sweating, despite everything. It was hot, granted, but Chuck couldn't help but think that perspiring was a poor use of water at this time.
He looked around. He could hear Bunny swearing.
Bunny was the one who'd shot him, right? Again, he couldn't be quite sure. It was a guess. An educated guess, made with logic and reason, but a guess all the same.
She was swearing a lot.
"God, you're foul-mouthed," he muttered, uncaring if anyone heard him, unaware how far his voice carried. Not his concern.
It was odd, really. Chuck was bleeding to death. He'd reasoned with that. Honestly, there were worse ways this could have ended. After all, he'd had his time to share his thoughts with the camera and make some final prayers - though he'd definitely let both opportunities go to waste, really - but at least he'd had that opportunity. He couldn't complain too much. At least, not comparatively.
The emotion that he was most aware of was curiosity. He knew it wasn't the strongest emotion. He was in pain. He was distressed. He was scared. He felt an odd combination of guilts - guilt that he'd die so meaninglessly, a perverse survivor's guilt that he'd made it this long. But curiosity...Chuck could process that. He could do something about it. He had the energy to do something about it.
He was curious about what his bullet wound looked like.
Odd, really. Of all the things he could have thought about...
But there he was.
He rolled up some of the sweatshirt. Pried away his shirt. It'd give Valve some free marketing, at least. It stung as the fabric was slowly separated from his torso. And then he had a view of it. Not the best view, but the best he could be bothered to get.
It was just red. A pool of red.
Disappointing. With a sigh, he let his shirt fall back down.
He wasn't sure when or how it'd happened. He could guess why - this new position was slightly more comfortable and allowed him a slightly clearer view of the sky, a bit less obstructed by the shipping containers that loomed over him - but even that was just a guess. He wasn't sure what his thinking had been in the moment, why he'd expended valuable energy on an act that was essentially a luxury. A luxury that placed him in a more vulnerable position to boot.
Oh well.
He was here now. Might as well make the most of it. And not worth the energy crawling back to a less comfortable safety. After all, he had a bullet in his gut. He was bleeding. A lot. His sweatshirt was already squelchy and sodden. His jeans had become rather uncomfortable all of a sudden, a few ticklish trickles of blood seeping down his bare legs, having somehow got there yet now unable to be shaken loose. His hat was on his head still. Rather sticky. He was sweating, despite everything. It was hot, granted, but Chuck couldn't help but think that perspiring was a poor use of water at this time.
He looked around. He could hear Bunny swearing.
Bunny was the one who'd shot him, right? Again, he couldn't be quite sure. It was a guess. An educated guess, made with logic and reason, but a guess all the same.
She was swearing a lot.
"God, you're foul-mouthed," he muttered, uncaring if anyone heard him, unaware how far his voice carried. Not his concern.
It was odd, really. Chuck was bleeding to death. He'd reasoned with that. Honestly, there were worse ways this could have ended. After all, he'd had his time to share his thoughts with the camera and make some final prayers - though he'd definitely let both opportunities go to waste, really - but at least he'd had that opportunity. He couldn't complain too much. At least, not comparatively.
The emotion that he was most aware of was curiosity. He knew it wasn't the strongest emotion. He was in pain. He was distressed. He was scared. He felt an odd combination of guilts - guilt that he'd die so meaninglessly, a perverse survivor's guilt that he'd made it this long. But curiosity...Chuck could process that. He could do something about it. He had the energy to do something about it.
He was curious about what his bullet wound looked like.
Odd, really. Of all the things he could have thought about...
But there he was.
He rolled up some of the sweatshirt. Pried away his shirt. It'd give Valve some free marketing, at least. It stung as the fabric was slowly separated from his torso. And then he had a view of it. Not the best view, but the best he could be bothered to get.
It was just red. A pool of red.
Disappointing. With a sigh, he let his shirt fall back down.
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Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Wendy didn’t come out of her hiding place. Nor did she stop and turn around as Bunny was chasing her, allowing her to catch up and get a clear shot. And that was, like, really stupid as far as she was concerned? Like, where was Wendy gonna run? Into the ocean? Was she relying on her being a total airhead to let her survive underwater? Or was she just gonna play this stupid dumb shitty cunty game of cat and mouse until they were both exhausted and unable to move? Then they’d be right before square 2, the square where Bunny shot Wendy in the throat, except Bunny’d be really sweaty and even more gross than she already felt.
And that’d be such a lame way for this all to end, with her all out of breath and unable to make any cool one-liners before she killed Wendy, and the thought of that and the fact that Wendy still wasn’t stopping, was sending her blood rushing to her brain and her face to flush red and for her to get-
“Cunt!”
-really heckin’ annoyed!
Bunny kept running, almost reaching a crossroads in all the containers, when some of the blood faded from her ears, and she realised there was only one set of footsteps slapping against the ground and splashing through muddy puddles. She screeched on her heels, spinning around and immediately walking back the way she’d came; as soon as she stopped running, she could feel her chest tightening and her knees starting to shake.
It didn’t take long for her to find her prey. She was hiding in a little gap between two of the containers, flashlight turned on, illuminating her face. Bunny wrinkled her nose at the sight, stepping towards her, raising the machinenpistole. Who did she think she was, some kinda crappy horror film villain? She had the looks down pat, she’d give her that, and she was the kinda idiot who’d fall for whatever Scooby-Doo trap the heroes set up for her. So, huh, maybe that was a more accurate description than she’d initially thought!”
“There you are,” Bunny said, smiling, glowing. “Now, let’s-”
A brilliant shard of light burst into Bunny’s vision, turning the universe white, making her cry out and stumble backwards. She held onto the gun. Just. Even with her eyes screwed shut, all she could see was brightness and popping, her head erupting with pain, and she groaned with anger and discomfort as she blinked furiously, trying to stand up straight again.
“Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck you, you… I’m gonna slit your goddamn throat!”
And that’d be such a lame way for this all to end, with her all out of breath and unable to make any cool one-liners before she killed Wendy, and the thought of that and the fact that Wendy still wasn’t stopping, was sending her blood rushing to her brain and her face to flush red and for her to get-
“Cunt!”
-really heckin’ annoyed!
Bunny kept running, almost reaching a crossroads in all the containers, when some of the blood faded from her ears, and she realised there was only one set of footsteps slapping against the ground and splashing through muddy puddles. She screeched on her heels, spinning around and immediately walking back the way she’d came; as soon as she stopped running, she could feel her chest tightening and her knees starting to shake.
It didn’t take long for her to find her prey. She was hiding in a little gap between two of the containers, flashlight turned on, illuminating her face. Bunny wrinkled her nose at the sight, stepping towards her, raising the machinenpistole. Who did she think she was, some kinda crappy horror film villain? She had the looks down pat, she’d give her that, and she was the kinda idiot who’d fall for whatever Scooby-Doo trap the heroes set up for her. So, huh, maybe that was a more accurate description than she’d initially thought!”
“There you are,” Bunny said, smiling, glowing. “Now, let’s-”
A brilliant shard of light burst into Bunny’s vision, turning the universe white, making her cry out and stumble backwards. She held onto the gun. Just. Even with her eyes screwed shut, all she could see was brightness and popping, her head erupting with pain, and she groaned with anger and discomfort as she blinked furiously, trying to stand up straight again.
“Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck you, you… I’m gonna slit your goddamn throat!”
Impressive how well that actually worked. The sting from her light practically sent her opponent into hilarious convulsions.
With a brief chuckle at Bunny’s current expense, Wendy brought up her other arm, rapidly switching from flashlight to hand gun. Bunny’s handgun to be precise.
Perhaps the aim wouldn’t be the most accurate, but it was time to take chances. Bunny was distracted and recovering. Bunny was no longer firing a barrage all over the place, just because she could. Just because she had luck of the draw. An advantage - power from the start. With help from the lead Shadow man.
That’s why she couldn’t win this. Bunny wouldn’t do what needed to be done when the game was over. She’d take her reward and run and the cycle would happen all over again. Two people who really deserved to die, wouldn’t.
Wendy earned this, earned her way up to everything she had. Earned her power by outplaying everyone else with social skills enough so that she’d been gifted a pistol and outwitting, no, out-smarting others including Bunny herself. Not once but many, many times. Not to say her game was perfect, after all, she did unintentionally and painfully poison her own allies albeit for reasons she believed were true at the time. She had been underestimated but proved how dumb she wasn’t when it mattered the most. Fortunately the same couldn’t be said for Bunny the Dummy.
It wasn’t much comparatively and Wendy was feeling a twinge of regret for her decision to dispose the more powerful rifle within the bonfire just a few moments earlier, but there weren’t going to be many more openings like this so it would have to do. She aimed the barrel and fired the colt single action toward her spotlighted adversary as well as she could within the brief moment of opportunity, cylinder twisting with bullets ripping through air.
Wendy spun on her heels and ankles, rotating her body for escape, as she braced herself for inevitable retaliation. She unleashed a few more shots to empty the chamber, as she vanished between the containers, with a crouching dash during her stealthy getaway.
With a brief chuckle at Bunny’s current expense, Wendy brought up her other arm, rapidly switching from flashlight to hand gun. Bunny’s handgun to be precise.
Perhaps the aim wouldn’t be the most accurate, but it was time to take chances. Bunny was distracted and recovering. Bunny was no longer firing a barrage all over the place, just because she could. Just because she had luck of the draw. An advantage - power from the start. With help from the lead Shadow man.
That’s why she couldn’t win this. Bunny wouldn’t do what needed to be done when the game was over. She’d take her reward and run and the cycle would happen all over again. Two people who really deserved to die, wouldn’t.
Wendy earned this, earned her way up to everything she had. Earned her power by outplaying everyone else with social skills enough so that she’d been gifted a pistol and outwitting, no, out-smarting others including Bunny herself. Not once but many, many times. Not to say her game was perfect, after all, she did unintentionally and painfully poison her own allies albeit for reasons she believed were true at the time. She had been underestimated but proved how dumb she wasn’t when it mattered the most. Fortunately the same couldn’t be said for Bunny the Dummy.
It wasn’t much comparatively and Wendy was feeling a twinge of regret for her decision to dispose the more powerful rifle within the bonfire just a few moments earlier, but there weren’t going to be many more openings like this so it would have to do. She aimed the barrel and fired the colt single action toward her spotlighted adversary as well as she could within the brief moment of opportunity, cylinder twisting with bullets ripping through air.
Wendy spun on her heels and ankles, rotating her body for escape, as she braced herself for inevitable retaliation. She unleashed a few more shots to empty the chamber, as she vanished between the containers, with a crouching dash during her stealthy getaway.
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Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
There was still light in her eyes, the beams lanced through into her brain making her knees buckle even as she pressed her hand into the side of the shipping crate to keep herself upright, immediately coating the metal with patches of sweat. She thought she could see Wendy’s stupid, ugly, dumb form through the blinding light, but it was hard to tell, what with how badly her body just wanted to crumple to the deck right now.
Not that she was gonna. Obviously! That was silly! Stupid, even! Wendy had a tiny little party trick, big deal! She probably hadn’t even planned that. Probably mistook her flashlight for a gun or something. Just a dumb, waste of a girl who’d gotten a lucky break, and wasn’t gonna get out of this shipping yard al-
More beams of light, white hot, hit her again, in the shoulder and arm this time, causing her to cry out once more, to fall back against the container, to feel the rush of wind as Wendy, that bitch, that worthless cunt run past her. She tried to move her arm, to twist and aim it to return fire, but it felt like someone had branded her shoulder and every movement was killing her. Her entire body was on fire, blood trickling down the length of her arm as she struggled to stay upright.
But then a different kind of fire enveloped her, the boiling mix of anger at her situation and laser-focused hatred towards Wendy flooding her veins. She tried to blink away the bright popping lights in her eyes, face twisting into a snarl, the self-diagnosed righteous anger almost entirely taking over.
Bunny moved away from the wall, breathing heavily. She was still bleeding, still shaking, still half-blinded. She didn’t care. Her foot almost slipped as she started to run, almost catapulting her into the dirt, but as soon as her left caught the ground she was sprinting properly, a roar leaving her lips and from the barrel of the machinenpistole, bullets pinging off of crates as she chased after Wendy.
She was gonna catch up to that girl and rip her to pieces with her bare fucking hands.
Not that she was gonna. Obviously! That was silly! Stupid, even! Wendy had a tiny little party trick, big deal! She probably hadn’t even planned that. Probably mistook her flashlight for a gun or something. Just a dumb, waste of a girl who’d gotten a lucky break, and wasn’t gonna get out of this shipping yard al-
More beams of light, white hot, hit her again, in the shoulder and arm this time, causing her to cry out once more, to fall back against the container, to feel the rush of wind as Wendy, that bitch, that worthless cunt run past her. She tried to move her arm, to twist and aim it to return fire, but it felt like someone had branded her shoulder and every movement was killing her. Her entire body was on fire, blood trickling down the length of her arm as she struggled to stay upright.
But then a different kind of fire enveloped her, the boiling mix of anger at her situation and laser-focused hatred towards Wendy flooding her veins. She tried to blink away the bright popping lights in her eyes, face twisting into a snarl, the self-diagnosed righteous anger almost entirely taking over.
Bunny moved away from the wall, breathing heavily. She was still bleeding, still shaking, still half-blinded. She didn’t care. Her foot almost slipped as she started to run, almost catapulting her into the dirt, but as soon as her left caught the ground she was sprinting properly, a roar leaving her lips and from the barrel of the machinenpistole, bullets pinging off of crates as she chased after Wendy.
She was gonna catch up to that girl and rip her to pieces with her bare fucking hands.
The ping and pang of metal upon metal chased after her pathway. Although she doubted Bunny could see where she was running, never mind shooting - literally, firing every which way in blind anger, the ricocheting and sparks lighting her trail, proved that it was dangerously close. Probably meant Wendy did in fact hit the surface somewhere along the Bunny shaped dart board.
She had twisted and turned within the maze, continuing to hear the crashing upon the walls although further away. Some of the containers were open, allowing for decent temporary hiding, to rest, recover, gather herself somewhat. She laid her stuff down, reloaded, listened, adjusted her bra. The chase really loosened the lace and made things uncomfortable, especially along the strap. Could have gotten rid of the discomfort holding her back, but she already didn't have proper leg wear the whole time, she wasn't about to let the girls loose either. Plus this one was cute. How weird a thought that the other girls along the island over the past week, probably had it worse, especially with how gross some of them looked, Bunny for example.
"Yoo-hoo, Bunny," Wendy called out, when she heard the gunfire cease momentarily, her voice echoing along the corridors of the labyrinth, gliding breezily through the air above and around the hollows of darkness.
"I'll tell you what, I'll give back this gun I borrowed, or let you live," (one of those), "all you have to do is give me your pants."
Wendy pulled out Yumi's gift, the Ballestar Molina, as she remained hidden. Power in each hand.
"Deal?"
She had twisted and turned within the maze, continuing to hear the crashing upon the walls although further away. Some of the containers were open, allowing for decent temporary hiding, to rest, recover, gather herself somewhat. She laid her stuff down, reloaded, listened, adjusted her bra. The chase really loosened the lace and made things uncomfortable, especially along the strap. Could have gotten rid of the discomfort holding her back, but she already didn't have proper leg wear the whole time, she wasn't about to let the girls loose either. Plus this one was cute. How weird a thought that the other girls along the island over the past week, probably had it worse, especially with how gross some of them looked, Bunny for example.
"Yoo-hoo, Bunny," Wendy called out, when she heard the gunfire cease momentarily, her voice echoing along the corridors of the labyrinth, gliding breezily through the air above and around the hollows of darkness.
"I'll tell you what, I'll give back this gun I borrowed, or let you live," (one of those), "all you have to do is give me your pants."
Wendy pulled out Yumi's gift, the Ballestar Molina, as she remained hidden. Power in each hand.
"Deal?"
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Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
She fired wildly down every straight, sparks bursting around her and then vanishing just as quickly as she ran past them, adding to the bright lights and blur that still clouded her vision. Each bright flash and each cloud of dust kicked up could have been a trailing leg, or the remnants left behind by a fleeing, cowardly bitch. All she needed to do was clip a tendon, and her prey would go down.
So she kept on firing, and soon enough, inevitably, the pinging and ricocheting of bullets on metal was replaced with the distinctive click-click-click of a gun without ammo, of a Bunny without bite.
She scowled as she slowed to a light jog, rounding the next corner, instantly grateful for the open container door in front of her, giving her a scant amount of cover in case Wendy decided to fire back, instead of running at the first sign of danger. Even as she grabbed the last handful of bullets from her bag and shoved them haphazardly into her machinenpistole, she couldn’t hear anything over her heavy breathing and the pounding rhythm of her heart.
It took longer this time, therefore, for Bunny to realise that Wendy had stopped again.
She took a deep breath in, then held it, ears pricked up and alert, waiting to try and catch any sort of sound from Wendy. She didn’t have to wait long, and she didn’t have to try very hard, either. Wendy’s stupid, dumb, whiny voice echoed through the shipping yard. She wanted something, huh? She wanted…
What?
Bunny frowned, and as she did so, she felt all the aches and pains criss-crossing her body flare up anew, the brand new scars dug into her shoulder cutting into her worst of all, and she stood up again, slowly walking out of her cover. It wasn’t a question of whether Wendy was blind or stupid; she was pointless. She should have died twelve times over by now. She was here by dumb luck, and that luck, oopsie, was about to run out.
“I’m wearing a fucking skirt, you dumb fuck!”
She slowly stepped out from behind her cover and walked forwards, bracing herself for Wendy to leap out and attack her. Soon as she did, she’d lash out. Then she’d find the others.
Then she’d win.
So she kept on firing, and soon enough, inevitably, the pinging and ricocheting of bullets on metal was replaced with the distinctive click-click-click of a gun without ammo, of a Bunny without bite.
She scowled as she slowed to a light jog, rounding the next corner, instantly grateful for the open container door in front of her, giving her a scant amount of cover in case Wendy decided to fire back, instead of running at the first sign of danger. Even as she grabbed the last handful of bullets from her bag and shoved them haphazardly into her machinenpistole, she couldn’t hear anything over her heavy breathing and the pounding rhythm of her heart.
It took longer this time, therefore, for Bunny to realise that Wendy had stopped again.
She took a deep breath in, then held it, ears pricked up and alert, waiting to try and catch any sort of sound from Wendy. She didn’t have to wait long, and she didn’t have to try very hard, either. Wendy’s stupid, dumb, whiny voice echoed through the shipping yard. She wanted something, huh? She wanted…
What?
Bunny frowned, and as she did so, she felt all the aches and pains criss-crossing her body flare up anew, the brand new scars dug into her shoulder cutting into her worst of all, and she stood up again, slowly walking out of her cover. It wasn’t a question of whether Wendy was blind or stupid; she was pointless. She should have died twelve times over by now. She was here by dumb luck, and that luck, oopsie, was about to run out.
“I’m wearing a fucking skirt, you dumb fuck!”
She slowly stepped out from behind her cover and walked forwards, bracing herself for Wendy to leap out and attack her. Soon as she did, she’d lash out. Then she’d find the others.
Then she’d win.
It nagged her still, clawed at her from the inside, scraping beneath the surface of her skin to be constantly ridiculed with one word.
If only Bunny had the patience Wendy had toward taunting and insults, then maybe she would have taken her by surprise at this point, but if there was anyone dumb here, it was her, not Wendy. Somehow simply speaking had set Bunny off again, revealing herself in a glimpse from her own hiding spot, which was shockingly closer than Wendy had expected. Funnily enough, Bunny had started walking forward, presumably toward where she thought Wendy was, but from where she had peeked, Bunny was actually, stepping away from Wendy's hiding spot, ironically, she was more like Elmer Fudd being very, very quiet, as she crept to the rascally rabbit hole, rather than her cartoon namesake. In this case, the real Bugs Bunny in this scenario was right behind the oblivious hunter, crunching on the carrot in satisfaction.
"Oh - well, I guess that's too bad then."
The moment she spoke, Wendy slid out of her hiding spot, immediately raising the two pistols in hand and firing shots at her foe. The weapons certainly looked impressive this way, intimidating even, but despite the cool visual, this was nowhere near as practical as Wendy had expected, especially without the light of her flashlight to guide her as earlier. Still Wendy did as she could letting loose what she could, even if each shot flicked her wrist back in a whiplash like recoil, as she run and gunned horizontally behind another large shipping container, adjacent, for cover.
Bunny had a quicker reaction time than predicted; spinning around, and letting off a spray of crippling shards in Wendy's general direction.
She should have shrieked at this point, probably would have, maybe even burst out crying if she were the same Wendy seven days ago or so, on that bus, before the grey matter had splattered on her face near the front row. As it was, that version of Wendy was gone the moment their teacher dropped dead. A weak, shameful memory of the past long forgotten. Perhaps that Wendy would have been a pleasant part of a different timeline, but she was a hero of a different story. This was their reality now.
Thanks to Mr. Dolph, she was better, braver, smarter. The loud booming power she had been so terrified of back on the bus and their first day here, was just another part of their island adventure. Still, it hurt. She'd been grazed, clipped somewhere on herself, like a loose itch somewhere on her body. This was the first. After so many days left untouched, her perfect skin had been blemished. Wendy could only grit her teeth as she held her breath. Pain, it was the one thing she wasn't used to and the main advantage that the rest of them had over her now.
Certainly put things into perspective. She was outgunned. Sure she had two of them, but Bunny had a machine gun. Plus the pain had reminded her that Chuck was hurt from the same kind of power, in a worse way back at her picnic site. The one guy left whom Scarlett had trusted and whom she needed to keep alive, to do the right thing once it was all said and done. Sure Maxwell seemed okay, but he was snooty and the other girl maybe had some brain damage. Poor thing, couldn't even speak properly anymore. Always an explanation behind everything Everett would say. Only explanation, to roasting your own hand in an open fire and enjoying it. Unless she was really cold, or drunk. Then again, she did spot some bottles, so maybe Kris is drunk. It all makes sense now.
Another barrage of steel against steel, shattered the brief day dream, refocusing Wendy to the matter at hand. Wendy stepped out and fired back again, popping off with both guns once more like a strange double-braided gunslinger lady in an old western, although with much less of a dead eye. Wendy found herself ducking back as Bunny retaliated with yet another flurry of what seemed liked endless ammunition. She rounded the container based on what she remembered during her exploration of the area for the last twenty-four plus hours, to avoid being trapped by gunfire, but found Bunny circling the area as well counter clockwise from where they were earlier, slowly approaching her direction. The lack of shots fired accompanied with some snide taunting made it clear that Bunny herself didn't know where Wendy stood. Wendy took the opportunity to slip into a little nook between containers. When they were close enough, Wendy swung the pistol as she ran right through, past Bunny, hoping to topple her even temporarily, as she needed to escape, get back to Chuck at the campsite and reload.
The gunfire continued to follow her trail for a brief time, until they weren't anymore, or were at least a comparatively safe distance away. Maybe she got tangled in her own skirt or something. Wendy didn't turn around to find out why, she just kept on going, running zig-zags through the maze. She climbed up, stepping atop close-quartered containers following the slight brightness of her camp, stopping, to reload on the way.
Wendy could feel slight perspiration on her face mix and add volume to what she realized was blood trickling off the fresh graze on her cheek that seemed to stretch over to the tip of her earlobe, as she reached the light of her bonfire. Feathers littered the concrete. Wendy wiped back what she could after staring at her trembling, red coated fingertips, illuminating in the halo of her flame. She still wasn't used to this, not being at an absolute one hundred percent, even if her wounds were mostly superficial. It almost felt like she was ruined to the girly girl cheerleader part of her mind, but she did her best to ignore it.
She scanned her camp. The others were nowhere to be seen, but the one who mattered was still there, upright, sitting. He was still alive, not okay, but doing better than she expected to see him be. Wendy laid her stuff down, next to one of her prearranged camp fire seats and went over to him, saw the pooling of his own blood caked onto his shirt. She smiled a small one, lips sealed, fingers fluttering as she waved.
"I lost her," Wendy spoke softly, carefully, pointing off in the distance off the shipping yard fun house. "But she's not dead."
If only Bunny had the patience Wendy had toward taunting and insults, then maybe she would have taken her by surprise at this point, but if there was anyone dumb here, it was her, not Wendy. Somehow simply speaking had set Bunny off again, revealing herself in a glimpse from her own hiding spot, which was shockingly closer than Wendy had expected. Funnily enough, Bunny had started walking forward, presumably toward where she thought Wendy was, but from where she had peeked, Bunny was actually, stepping away from Wendy's hiding spot, ironically, she was more like Elmer Fudd being very, very quiet, as she crept to the rascally rabbit hole, rather than her cartoon namesake. In this case, the real Bugs Bunny in this scenario was right behind the oblivious hunter, crunching on the carrot in satisfaction.
"Oh - well, I guess that's too bad then."
The moment she spoke, Wendy slid out of her hiding spot, immediately raising the two pistols in hand and firing shots at her foe. The weapons certainly looked impressive this way, intimidating even, but despite the cool visual, this was nowhere near as practical as Wendy had expected, especially without the light of her flashlight to guide her as earlier. Still Wendy did as she could letting loose what she could, even if each shot flicked her wrist back in a whiplash like recoil, as she run and gunned horizontally behind another large shipping container, adjacent, for cover.
Bunny had a quicker reaction time than predicted; spinning around, and letting off a spray of crippling shards in Wendy's general direction.
She should have shrieked at this point, probably would have, maybe even burst out crying if she were the same Wendy seven days ago or so, on that bus, before the grey matter had splattered on her face near the front row. As it was, that version of Wendy was gone the moment their teacher dropped dead. A weak, shameful memory of the past long forgotten. Perhaps that Wendy would have been a pleasant part of a different timeline, but she was a hero of a different story. This was their reality now.
Thanks to Mr. Dolph, she was better, braver, smarter. The loud booming power she had been so terrified of back on the bus and their first day here, was just another part of their island adventure. Still, it hurt. She'd been grazed, clipped somewhere on herself, like a loose itch somewhere on her body. This was the first. After so many days left untouched, her perfect skin had been blemished. Wendy could only grit her teeth as she held her breath. Pain, it was the one thing she wasn't used to and the main advantage that the rest of them had over her now.
Certainly put things into perspective. She was outgunned. Sure she had two of them, but Bunny had a machine gun. Plus the pain had reminded her that Chuck was hurt from the same kind of power, in a worse way back at her picnic site. The one guy left whom Scarlett had trusted and whom she needed to keep alive, to do the right thing once it was all said and done. Sure Maxwell seemed okay, but he was snooty and the other girl maybe had some brain damage. Poor thing, couldn't even speak properly anymore. Always an explanation behind everything Everett would say. Only explanation, to roasting your own hand in an open fire and enjoying it. Unless she was really cold, or drunk. Then again, she did spot some bottles, so maybe Kris is drunk. It all makes sense now.
Another barrage of steel against steel, shattered the brief day dream, refocusing Wendy to the matter at hand. Wendy stepped out and fired back again, popping off with both guns once more like a strange double-braided gunslinger lady in an old western, although with much less of a dead eye. Wendy found herself ducking back as Bunny retaliated with yet another flurry of what seemed liked endless ammunition. She rounded the container based on what she remembered during her exploration of the area for the last twenty-four plus hours, to avoid being trapped by gunfire, but found Bunny circling the area as well counter clockwise from where they were earlier, slowly approaching her direction. The lack of shots fired accompanied with some snide taunting made it clear that Bunny herself didn't know where Wendy stood. Wendy took the opportunity to slip into a little nook between containers. When they were close enough, Wendy swung the pistol as she ran right through, past Bunny, hoping to topple her even temporarily, as she needed to escape, get back to Chuck at the campsite and reload.
The gunfire continued to follow her trail for a brief time, until they weren't anymore, or were at least a comparatively safe distance away. Maybe she got tangled in her own skirt or something. Wendy didn't turn around to find out why, she just kept on going, running zig-zags through the maze. She climbed up, stepping atop close-quartered containers following the slight brightness of her camp, stopping, to reload on the way.
Wendy could feel slight perspiration on her face mix and add volume to what she realized was blood trickling off the fresh graze on her cheek that seemed to stretch over to the tip of her earlobe, as she reached the light of her bonfire. Feathers littered the concrete. Wendy wiped back what she could after staring at her trembling, red coated fingertips, illuminating in the halo of her flame. She still wasn't used to this, not being at an absolute one hundred percent, even if her wounds were mostly superficial. It almost felt like she was ruined to the girly girl cheerleader part of her mind, but she did her best to ignore it.
She scanned her camp. The others were nowhere to be seen, but the one who mattered was still there, upright, sitting. He was still alive, not okay, but doing better than she expected to see him be. Wendy laid her stuff down, next to one of her prearranged camp fire seats and went over to him, saw the pooling of his own blood caked onto his shirt. She smiled a small one, lips sealed, fingers fluttering as she waved.
"I lost her," Wendy spoke softly, carefully, pointing off in the distance off the shipping yard fun house. "But she's not dead."
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General Goose
- Posts: 318
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:51 pm
Chuck was not exactly doing much.
He was sure the others were all caught up in a flurry of activity. Chuck didn't have the clarity of mind, or the advantage of a good vantage point, to really make out the details, but he could get the general tone of what was going on. Couldn't tell the whereabouts and statuses of everyone - though he could make some pretty well-educated guesses, if he bothered to put his mind to it and analyse what was going on - but he could tell the real fight had only just begun and that Chuck's dispatch had been a relatively trivial early step.
He could hear the exchange of gunshots, the trade of half-comprehensible taunts and exclamations from the usual suspects. The frantic energy was heavy in the air around him - this was a maze of containers and shipping crates where every split second impulse, every gamble, every decision, could be a matter of life and death. Chuck had already seemingly lost this battle, by way of a cruel fluke. Now, it wasn't a cruel fluke that Chuck had died. He had known that, outside of some fantastical fluke that went the other way, the only circumstances in which Chuck could ever hope to survive such a dire ordeal were within the confines of his imagination or a video game.
But it was a cruel fluke that he had made it so long. That his gullibility, his lack of cunning and cynicism, his complete physical and emotional unsuitability for a death game, had taken so long to actually have repercussions. Chuck was a nerd, a geek, a dork, a small and sweet boy who loved family and faith and politics and video games and was just generally saccharine and sweet and trusting and based around notions such as equal respect and civility that all seemed laughably quaint when exposed to anything harsh and brutish. Why had it taken so long for him to get shot? Why had it taken so long - long enough that he had actually been able to kill someone, in cold blood, in what was essentially an execution - for him to gain more than a few scrapes and superficial cuts to his clothing? Even the psychological trauma that he had endured up until this post was far less than was to be expected. Why had it taken so long for him to suffer so directly?
He had no idea.
It certainly wasn't fair or just or logical for him to die now, of all times. Not that anything about this fit any of those descriptions. Still. Here he was now. Bleeding by a shipping container as a fight - or fights, he wasn't sure and was surprisingly not that curious about - raged on around him. Chuck was just a forgotten afterthought in that conflict, the more interesting players in the scene having all moved onto other tasks.
At least, until Wendy came back. At first, Chuck was sure that she must have been here by some coincidence - it was, in her judgement, a smart choice of positioning, or a necessary step in a manoeuvre. At most, she had come for something else here. He was surprised - not because of a low opinion of Wendy but because of a low opinion of his own continued presence in this scene - that it seemed like talking to him was part of her goal. She walked over to him, let her guard down, let go of her stuff, to come over and comfort him. Chuck smiled back. He had never known, directly at least, how it was that Wendy had accrued her kills during this island, though he was now willing to bet that at least she had retained her humanity throughout this.
So Bunny was still out there. Chuck halfheartedly shrugged. "Well, neither am I, so I guess that's a silver lining." He'd lost a fair bit of blood, endured a rather nasty shock, and probably had some internal nerves and organs shredded a bit, but Chuck had the suspicion that, if he received some kind of care sooner rather than later, he had a decent chance of survival. That 'if' was pretty much an impossibility, however, so yeah. He was going to die. Fair. Well, not fair. But he could...accept that. "Let me know if there's anything I could do to help. Like bleed on her or something."
Chuck giggled at his own joke, before the act of laughing suddenly became painful and he forced himself to think about more morbid subjects to end it. "I used to think we could beat this. Guess we left it too late. But someone good can still make it home. Can still make a difference." Wendy or Maxwell were good, at least from what he could tell. Kris was...he wasn't sure how Kris fit into the moral spectrum. Bunny was...yeah. Definitely not her. "So just let me know if you need anything and I'll do it." He hoped he'd do something good with his life. This would have to do.
He was sure the others were all caught up in a flurry of activity. Chuck didn't have the clarity of mind, or the advantage of a good vantage point, to really make out the details, but he could get the general tone of what was going on. Couldn't tell the whereabouts and statuses of everyone - though he could make some pretty well-educated guesses, if he bothered to put his mind to it and analyse what was going on - but he could tell the real fight had only just begun and that Chuck's dispatch had been a relatively trivial early step.
He could hear the exchange of gunshots, the trade of half-comprehensible taunts and exclamations from the usual suspects. The frantic energy was heavy in the air around him - this was a maze of containers and shipping crates where every split second impulse, every gamble, every decision, could be a matter of life and death. Chuck had already seemingly lost this battle, by way of a cruel fluke. Now, it wasn't a cruel fluke that Chuck had died. He had known that, outside of some fantastical fluke that went the other way, the only circumstances in which Chuck could ever hope to survive such a dire ordeal were within the confines of his imagination or a video game.
But it was a cruel fluke that he had made it so long. That his gullibility, his lack of cunning and cynicism, his complete physical and emotional unsuitability for a death game, had taken so long to actually have repercussions. Chuck was a nerd, a geek, a dork, a small and sweet boy who loved family and faith and politics and video games and was just generally saccharine and sweet and trusting and based around notions such as equal respect and civility that all seemed laughably quaint when exposed to anything harsh and brutish. Why had it taken so long for him to get shot? Why had it taken so long - long enough that he had actually been able to kill someone, in cold blood, in what was essentially an execution - for him to gain more than a few scrapes and superficial cuts to his clothing? Even the psychological trauma that he had endured up until this post was far less than was to be expected. Why had it taken so long for him to suffer so directly?
He had no idea.
It certainly wasn't fair or just or logical for him to die now, of all times. Not that anything about this fit any of those descriptions. Still. Here he was now. Bleeding by a shipping container as a fight - or fights, he wasn't sure and was surprisingly not that curious about - raged on around him. Chuck was just a forgotten afterthought in that conflict, the more interesting players in the scene having all moved onto other tasks.
At least, until Wendy came back. At first, Chuck was sure that she must have been here by some coincidence - it was, in her judgement, a smart choice of positioning, or a necessary step in a manoeuvre. At most, she had come for something else here. He was surprised - not because of a low opinion of Wendy but because of a low opinion of his own continued presence in this scene - that it seemed like talking to him was part of her goal. She walked over to him, let her guard down, let go of her stuff, to come over and comfort him. Chuck smiled back. He had never known, directly at least, how it was that Wendy had accrued her kills during this island, though he was now willing to bet that at least she had retained her humanity throughout this.
So Bunny was still out there. Chuck halfheartedly shrugged. "Well, neither am I, so I guess that's a silver lining." He'd lost a fair bit of blood, endured a rather nasty shock, and probably had some internal nerves and organs shredded a bit, but Chuck had the suspicion that, if he received some kind of care sooner rather than later, he had a decent chance of survival. That 'if' was pretty much an impossibility, however, so yeah. He was going to die. Fair. Well, not fair. But he could...accept that. "Let me know if there's anything I could do to help. Like bleed on her or something."
Chuck giggled at his own joke, before the act of laughing suddenly became painful and he forced himself to think about more morbid subjects to end it. "I used to think we could beat this. Guess we left it too late. But someone good can still make it home. Can still make a difference." Wendy or Maxwell were good, at least from what he could tell. Kris was...he wasn't sure how Kris fit into the moral spectrum. Bunny was...yeah. Definitely not her. "So just let me know if you need anything and I'll do it." He hoped he'd do something good with his life. This would have to do.
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Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
She’d lost her again. For now.
Bunny scowled as she wiped her face, blood trickling from her lip where Wendy had smacked her in the face with one of her pistols. She breathed heavily, each intake of breath feeling like her lungs were being squeezed dry of their contents. There were more nicks and scratches all across her body, clothes on the verge of becoming rags, more streaks of her own blood criss-crossing herself.
She didn’t move though. Not just yet.
Wendy was out of sight and earshot. Bunny had no clue where she’d scurried off to now, and worse still, she had no clue where she herself was anymore - aside from, obviously, the shipping yard, silly. Once again, Wendy had gotten lucky. Blind, dumb luck, always on her side, letting her slip through the cracks when she should have been killed five times over by now.
But Bunny had to put on her big girl panties and admit that she’d been doing her best to assist in that luck.
She wanted Wendy dead. Obviously. She was a cockroach, a stain that should have died immediately, tripping and breaking her neck like the moron she was, but instead, she’d bumbled her way through this game, constantly being a thorn in Bunny’s side, doing her level best to either kill her or simply make her life a misery, and all the while, acting like she was oh-so high and mighty and fucking pure and good and-
There it was. The blind rage. It felt so good in the moment, but all she had to show for it now was a busted lip and much more blood lost than she’d bargained for. This was supposed to be easy peasy. So. Let it happen. It’d come naturally. Wendy would slip up. Make her usual stupid mistake. She always did. The other three wouldn’t take more than a bullet each after that.
Bunny pushed herself off of the shipping container she was resting on, eeny-meenied in her head, and started walking, slowly, left. If she went the wrong way, no doubt the beeping of her collar would let her know.
The machinenpistole was held tight in her hands, but her finger was no longer on the trigger. No more firing until she had Wendy in her sights. She was close to running on empty.
Bunny scowled as she wiped her face, blood trickling from her lip where Wendy had smacked her in the face with one of her pistols. She breathed heavily, each intake of breath feeling like her lungs were being squeezed dry of their contents. There were more nicks and scratches all across her body, clothes on the verge of becoming rags, more streaks of her own blood criss-crossing herself.
She didn’t move though. Not just yet.
Wendy was out of sight and earshot. Bunny had no clue where she’d scurried off to now, and worse still, she had no clue where she herself was anymore - aside from, obviously, the shipping yard, silly. Once again, Wendy had gotten lucky. Blind, dumb luck, always on her side, letting her slip through the cracks when she should have been killed five times over by now.
But Bunny had to put on her big girl panties and admit that she’d been doing her best to assist in that luck.
She wanted Wendy dead. Obviously. She was a cockroach, a stain that should have died immediately, tripping and breaking her neck like the moron she was, but instead, she’d bumbled her way through this game, constantly being a thorn in Bunny’s side, doing her level best to either kill her or simply make her life a misery, and all the while, acting like she was oh-so high and mighty and fucking pure and good and-
There it was. The blind rage. It felt so good in the moment, but all she had to show for it now was a busted lip and much more blood lost than she’d bargained for. This was supposed to be easy peasy. So. Let it happen. It’d come naturally. Wendy would slip up. Make her usual stupid mistake. She always did. The other three wouldn’t take more than a bullet each after that.
Bunny pushed herself off of the shipping container she was resting on, eeny-meenied in her head, and started walking, slowly, left. If she went the wrong way, no doubt the beeping of her collar would let her know.
The machinenpistole was held tight in her hands, but her finger was no longer on the trigger. No more firing until she had Wendy in her sights. She was close to running on empty.
Humor wasn't exactly Wendy's stronger points, much less understanding the punchline of the kind of jokes her classmates say these days, outside of maybe cartoons. So when Chuck started laughing out loud about bleeding while flinching in pain, Wendy couldn't help but cringe before delivering delayed laugh along of her own - usually her go to reaction when she didn't get it, but figured a joke was being spoken.
"Please don't bleed," Wendy lifted a pistol up, barrel pointed up to the air, signaling the fact that she meant him no harm. "If you see her, make her bleed, like Saachi." She mouthed a quick 'bang-bang' shifting the two pistols in her hands in mock cowboy fashion with faux-gunslinging recoil before laying them flat between them both.
"Someone good can still make it," Wendy said immediately after echoing the boy's own words, eyes focused intently. "You."
Wendy pulled out her own first aid kit, scratching her head, unsure of how to do this. So she put it down next to the pistols.
"I'm sorry, I don't know how," she motioned at the white box with the red cross. "My friend, Everett knew, but Bunny..." she trailed, fluttering her eyelids in a different vibe than earlier, recounting the story from what she had said around the bon-fire earlier, before Bunny messed everything up once again.
"If she gets out, she'll take the easy road, go home and this whole thing happens again. The 'game', what happened to our teacher. His brains all over my face... No Fu-" She stopped herself, she never swore, instead she forced a smile. She tidied herself, quaintly dusted herself off. She whispered to him quietly now "That monster. The one whole killed our teacher needs to go and Bunny is in the way. So can you help me stop this from happening to another field trip?"
She backed away and grinned.
"Oh and do you have anything with more... power?" Wendy motioned to her practically untouched first aid kit and the two hand guns in between them. "I'll trade ya."
[[OOC: Apologies to the readers/writers, I was on vacation for a month and I literally had no internet connection.]]
"Please don't bleed," Wendy lifted a pistol up, barrel pointed up to the air, signaling the fact that she meant him no harm. "If you see her, make her bleed, like Saachi." She mouthed a quick 'bang-bang' shifting the two pistols in her hands in mock cowboy fashion with faux-gunslinging recoil before laying them flat between them both.
"Someone good can still make it," Wendy said immediately after echoing the boy's own words, eyes focused intently. "You."
Wendy pulled out her own first aid kit, scratching her head, unsure of how to do this. So she put it down next to the pistols.
"I'm sorry, I don't know how," she motioned at the white box with the red cross. "My friend, Everett knew, but Bunny..." she trailed, fluttering her eyelids in a different vibe than earlier, recounting the story from what she had said around the bon-fire earlier, before Bunny messed everything up once again.
"If she gets out, she'll take the easy road, go home and this whole thing happens again. The 'game', what happened to our teacher. His brains all over my face... No Fu-" She stopped herself, she never swore, instead she forced a smile. She tidied herself, quaintly dusted herself off. She whispered to him quietly now "That monster. The one whole killed our teacher needs to go and Bunny is in the way. So can you help me stop this from happening to another field trip?"
She backed away and grinned.
"Oh and do you have anything with more... power?" Wendy motioned to her practically untouched first aid kit and the two hand guns in between them. "I'll trade ya."
[[OOC: Apologies to the readers/writers, I was on vacation for a month and I literally had no internet connection.]]