...was written on the note next to the little rock shaped like a tadpole with googly eyes. Fleurette held it in her hands, wondering if this was fate. She didn't understand what was going on, she didn't even know where she was. She was an exchange student, stuck between the crossfire of two nations she had nothing to do with them. Her mom would probably be pissed and try to get her out, but she knew that the distance between her and her old home was an ocean long.
After setting the rock aside, Fleurette continued emptying the closet. She was searching. For something. Fleurette wanted answers to her questions, and she knew she could find them somewhere here.
The map had the names of the locations but it didn't tell her where she was. She didn't want to die without knowing. She wondered if people would even want to kill her, would people even kill each other? This sounded like a waste. Nobody would kill each other, right? Why would they? It's not like anybody would go home.
They were all prisoners of war, and nobody would win this. It would have been better if they lined Fleurette and her peers, and shoot them. All at once or one at a time didn't matter, but they were all effectively dead. Her family probably thought she was dead, so did the rest of the school and her friends at the studio.
Her hands found a coat. She grabbed it. There was a shirt with flowers, she also grabbed that. She exited the closet and looked in the shelves. Whoever lived here had to leave fast, they didn't even take their pictures. Kids smiling, a man and what appeared to be his wife, she also grabbed them but hid them under the bed. She hoped when the citizens came back, at least if they did, they would be glad an unknown dead girl managed to save some of their memories.
Fleurette pushed a shelf in front of the door. She didn't want to leave this place. She set the stone on her lap and laid down in the bed. She felt better now that the pictures were gone. It was a bit dusty. She could see the street through the window. She decided to investigate the room more, she felt like someone could see her front outside and maybe they would try to do something. Fleurette wanted to be left alone.
She grabbed the coat from earlier and some nails she found on the ground. With Pierrette, she hammered the nails through the coat then set it on the window. She thanked Private Gravel for her service then set her down once again. Some light still went through, but she felt better. Nobody could really see her now.
She opened the second door leading to the bathroom. Blood was spattered around, the curtain was closed, the lights were broken. Did the Americans killed the people who lived here? The opened the curtain of the bath, revealing more dry blood on the wall. Someone had clearly died here. She twisted the shower knob, and some water fell. Could she drink this? She wasn't sure, but she knew it was probably in limited supply so she closed it. The dry blood at the bottom of the tub became wet again and started to move toward the hole. She closed the curtain. She tested the sink, there was some water. Fleurette decided she would avoid the bathroom for now, she felt like something terrible had happened here.
Back in the bedroom, she peeked outside again. She held the coat over her head. She was waiting for something to happen.
My name is Private Gravel. Remember; you rock.
It made a certain amount of sense, didn’t it?
There was what looked like a residential district of sorts. That meant the possibility of food and other resources. Checking wouldn’t hurt. Well, if you aren’t careful. Others might have the same idea. She did not want to encounter any hooligans that felt she would be a good target.
Then again, Phoebe knew she shouldn’t expect fresh warm fish and chips just laying around. Maybe some fresh clothes, since the climate was different enough from Bellington and already she was feeling a little out of sorts with her blazer.
But she needed something, anything, to make herself feel… a little more practical. Phoebe had done enough curling and crying as is. Her heart still pounded and ached, her face felt tired, her legs felt sluggish.
Maybe she needed to find a place to hide, as well. The district was practical enough a plan. Again, it made sense that there would be at least something left behind, right? She hadn’t actually looked through her bag yet, come to think of it, but if she found a hideout somewhere in the district, where all the stores and houses were, maybe she could find a quiet, sheltered place to sort through her bag, and occasionally wander out if she needed anything else that wasn’t accounted for. That was the plan for now, at least.
So that’s why Phoebe was currently in a kitchen, peeking through the cabinets for a moment.
And that’s when she heard a pounding noise.
A flinch had reminded her that she’d been taken off guard. It reminded her of someone hammering on something. She stood quietly, holding the cabinet door for a moment. Then, she closed it, waiting for any more noises.
It was a long silence before she started to hear the faint sound of what sounded like someone running a shower or something. Very faint, but she could hear it. Another room, maybe.
Which meant the possibility she wasn’t alone.
It took Phoebe another long silence to figure out where to go from that point. But, her feet carried her to one of the bedrooms, where she thought the noises were coming from.
She bit a dry lip, thinking for a moment.
She grabbed the handle.
The door didn’t budge.
There was what looked like a residential district of sorts. That meant the possibility of food and other resources. Checking wouldn’t hurt. Well, if you aren’t careful. Others might have the same idea. She did not want to encounter any hooligans that felt she would be a good target.
Then again, Phoebe knew she shouldn’t expect fresh warm fish and chips just laying around. Maybe some fresh clothes, since the climate was different enough from Bellington and already she was feeling a little out of sorts with her blazer.
But she needed something, anything, to make herself feel… a little more practical. Phoebe had done enough curling and crying as is. Her heart still pounded and ached, her face felt tired, her legs felt sluggish.
Maybe she needed to find a place to hide, as well. The district was practical enough a plan. Again, it made sense that there would be at least something left behind, right? She hadn’t actually looked through her bag yet, come to think of it, but if she found a hideout somewhere in the district, where all the stores and houses were, maybe she could find a quiet, sheltered place to sort through her bag, and occasionally wander out if she needed anything else that wasn’t accounted for. That was the plan for now, at least.
So that’s why Phoebe was currently in a kitchen, peeking through the cabinets for a moment.
And that’s when she heard a pounding noise.
A flinch had reminded her that she’d been taken off guard. It reminded her of someone hammering on something. She stood quietly, holding the cabinet door for a moment. Then, she closed it, waiting for any more noises.
It was a long silence before she started to hear the faint sound of what sounded like someone running a shower or something. Very faint, but she could hear it. Another room, maybe.
Which meant the possibility she wasn’t alone.
It took Phoebe another long silence to figure out where to go from that point. But, her feet carried her to one of the bedrooms, where she thought the noises were coming from.
She bit a dry lip, thinking for a moment.
She grabbed the handle.
The door didn’t budge.
CYBERS:
HARERAISER (Winter Castillo)The synthwave bunnygirl programmer roller weeb!
Currently: Confused? Horrified?
SECOND CHANCES
Junko KurosawaThink Johnny Knoxville but a teenage girl.
Currently: Ridng a shopping cart (in-between threads)
Bella Bianchi
Ballet dancer with pressure.
Currently: In the student lounge
(Meanwhile in the past...)
Her eyes were peeking through the dusty window when she heard someone behind her. Her ears alerted her of someone walking up the stairs then trying to open the door. She saw the doorknob move, but the shelf was blocking the door. She wondered if someone could kick down the door. The shelf wasn't a permanent option, just a little reminder that one day the door would open.
Fleurette kept her breathing under control. She wanted to avoid panicking even if anxiety was the only emotion she could feel. Fleurette didn't wait for the person on the other side of pound again. Her mouth possessed a mind of its own, deciding to answer the unspoken question.
"It's Margot. Fleurette, if you can say it."
She clutched her rock. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do if the person the other side wanted to kill her. She looked at the window then looked back at the door. Perhaps, she should have said nothing.
Fleurette kept her breathing under control. She wanted to avoid panicking even if anxiety was the only emotion she could feel. Fleurette didn't wait for the person on the other side of pound again. Her mouth possessed a mind of its own, deciding to answer the unspoken question.
"It's Margot. Fleurette, if you can say it."
She clutched her rock. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do if the person the other side wanted to kill her. She looked at the window then looked back at the door. Perhaps, she should have said nothing.
The handle turned, but the door was stuck. Someone probably blocked it off, perhaps with furniture. That was her best guess.
Phoebe let go of the handle right as someone spoke.
She quickly thought back of who “Margot” or “Fleurette” was. Of course. She was French, and a dancer, and rather booksmart. She wasn’t someone who she remembered getting into trouble extremely often, from what she recalled.
“Margot?” she asked. “It’s Phoebe Quincey. Head girl.”
She bit her lip again. Phoebe had been working on her voice still, but she noticed that in the stress, it came out soft.
“I’m not planning on anything.”
Phoebe realized a second later. Technically she was planning on finding a place to hide, and looking through her things, and rummaging for things that may be useful. But while she meant that she wasn’t going to “play” the “game” the way they wanted them to, it might have sounded like she didn’t have any plans, period.
Phoebe let go of the handle right as someone spoke.
She quickly thought back of who “Margot” or “Fleurette” was. Of course. She was French, and a dancer, and rather booksmart. She wasn’t someone who she remembered getting into trouble extremely often, from what she recalled.
“Margot?” she asked. “It’s Phoebe Quincey. Head girl.”
She bit her lip again. Phoebe had been working on her voice still, but she noticed that in the stress, it came out soft.
“I’m not planning on anything.”
Phoebe realized a second later. Technically she was planning on finding a place to hide, and looking through her things, and rummaging for things that may be useful. But while she meant that she wasn’t going to “play” the “game” the way they wanted them to, it might have sounded like she didn’t have any plans, period.
CYBERS:
HARERAISER (Winter Castillo)The synthwave bunnygirl programmer roller weeb!
Currently: Confused? Horrified?
SECOND CHANCES
Junko KurosawaThink Johnny Knoxville but a teenage girl.
Currently: Ridng a shopping cart (in-between threads)
Bella Bianchi
Ballet dancer with pressure.
Currently: In the student lounge
(Meanwhile in the past...)
Fleurette's voice was shaking, emitting a low hum. She wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do now.
It was Pheobe. Did Pheobe had any grudges against Fleurette? Was Pheobe the type of girl that would stab you in the back when you wouldn't look? She walked toward the door, her hands wrapped around her stone.
Fleurette decided to continue the conversation. If she was lucky, Pheobe would not have a weapon, or the weapon would be just like Fleurette's. When she reached the door, she moved the shelf just enough to be able to have a little opening.
Her hand froze over the doorknob, then twisted it, and opened about an inch. It would be easier to talk now.
"What's your weapon?"'
It was Pheobe. Did Pheobe had any grudges against Fleurette? Was Pheobe the type of girl that would stab you in the back when you wouldn't look? She walked toward the door, her hands wrapped around her stone.
Fleurette decided to continue the conversation. If she was lucky, Pheobe would not have a weapon, or the weapon would be just like Fleurette's. When she reached the door, she moved the shelf just enough to be able to have a little opening.
Her hand froze over the doorknob, then twisted it, and opened about an inch. It would be easier to talk now.
"What's your weapon?"'
The door clicked and moved by an inch.
Phoebe gulped a little, noticing the movement slightly visible behind the door. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder slightly.
“Uh, I honestly don’t know yet! I was hoping I would be able to find a place to sit down and look through everything properly.”
Maybe she should have looked through before doing anything else? Too late now. A bit more adjustment.
“May I get a moment? Just to quickly look?”
She wondered if it was a good idea to answer honestly.
Phoebe gulped a little, noticing the movement slightly visible behind the door. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder slightly.
“Uh, I honestly don’t know yet! I was hoping I would be able to find a place to sit down and look through everything properly.”
Maybe she should have looked through before doing anything else? Too late now. A bit more adjustment.
“May I get a moment? Just to quickly look?”
She wondered if it was a good idea to answer honestly.
CYBERS:
HARERAISER (Winter Castillo)The synthwave bunnygirl programmer roller weeb!
Currently: Confused? Horrified?
SECOND CHANCES
Junko KurosawaThink Johnny Knoxville but a teenage girl.
Currently: Ridng a shopping cart (in-between threads)
Bella Bianchi
Ballet dancer with pressure.
Currently: In the student lounge
(Meanwhile in the past...)
Fleurette's hand was still on the knob. What would happen next? She felt like closing the door and going back to the bathroom. Stay away from this girl who didn't know what weapon she had. That sounded fake, in Fleurette's mind, the first thing you would do is check what you got in the lottery.
"Check it."
It wasn't an order, more like a tip. Fleurette was curious about Pheobe's weapon, and Pheobe was probably also curious of Fleurette's weapon too. She held the door against her body. If it came to it, she would just the door and hide in the bloody bathtub. She heard somewhere that bullets didn't go through those. She wasn't sure.
"What is it?"
"Check it."
It wasn't an order, more like a tip. Fleurette was curious about Pheobe's weapon, and Pheobe was probably also curious of Fleurette's weapon too. She held the door against her body. If it came to it, she would just the door and hide in the bloody bathtub. She heard somewhere that bullets didn't go through those. She wasn't sure.
"What is it?"
“Right,” Phoebe said, sliding the duffle bag off her shoulder. “Give me a moment.”
The sound of her unzipping filled the air, perhaps audible on the other side. With it followed the noises of Phoebe shuffling the insides of her bag.
At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary, at least from what you’d expect from someone handing out basic tools for survival. She honestly had no idea what the packets were, at first, until she saw the word “CHICKEN” in all caps. Food, then. A map and a compass, presumably for finding her way around. A torch, no idea how long it’d last. A first aid kit.
It took another second until she realized something was off.
There was what looked like a glass Mason jar. It stood out amongst the more normal things. Phoebe squinted for a moment, and gingerly lifted it, reading the label. She couldn’t see inside, as it was more or less covered with an opaque gloss. The label told her it might not be a good idea to open it. The jar vibrated under her fingertips, telling her it wasn’t entirely a lie. Cautiously, she raised the jar to an ear. Buzzing noises.
Phoebe looked back at the door, frowning for a moment. Back to the jar, then to the door again.
“So… this might sound really strange,” she said. “But by the look of things, the Americans gave me a jar of bees.”
She lifted the jar, pointing the label towards the door.
Phoebe thought back to their abduction, the panic, the terror, the blood on the ground. She shuddered at the memory.
And yet, that was the last sentence she expected to say in this situation.
The sound of her unzipping filled the air, perhaps audible on the other side. With it followed the noises of Phoebe shuffling the insides of her bag.
At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary, at least from what you’d expect from someone handing out basic tools for survival. She honestly had no idea what the packets were, at first, until she saw the word “CHICKEN” in all caps. Food, then. A map and a compass, presumably for finding her way around. A torch, no idea how long it’d last. A first aid kit.
It took another second until she realized something was off.
There was what looked like a glass Mason jar. It stood out amongst the more normal things. Phoebe squinted for a moment, and gingerly lifted it, reading the label. She couldn’t see inside, as it was more or less covered with an opaque gloss. The label told her it might not be a good idea to open it. The jar vibrated under her fingertips, telling her it wasn’t entirely a lie. Cautiously, she raised the jar to an ear. Buzzing noises.
Phoebe looked back at the door, frowning for a moment. Back to the jar, then to the door again.
“So… this might sound really strange,” she said. “But by the look of things, the Americans gave me a jar of bees.”
She lifted the jar, pointing the label towards the door.
Phoebe thought back to their abduction, the panic, the terror, the blood on the ground. She shuddered at the memory.
And yet, that was the last sentence she expected to say in this situation.
CYBERS:
HARERAISER (Winter Castillo)The synthwave bunnygirl programmer roller weeb!
Currently: Confused? Horrified?
SECOND CHANCES
Junko KurosawaThink Johnny Knoxville but a teenage girl.
Currently: Ridng a shopping cart (in-between threads)
Bella Bianchi
Ballet dancer with pressure.
Currently: In the student lounge
(Meanwhile in the past...)
Was this a joke? This had to be a joke. She looked at her rock. Maybe not, Americans sounded like they would enjoy practicals jokes. A jar of bees? How did they get it? Someone really got up and caught a bunch of bees and put them in a jar for a..... whatever this was called. What could this be called anyways? Execution of prisonners of war? Yeah. That sounded right, they were being executed. Just not all at once.
"Bees."
Only word she could say. She learned the word when she learned the English alphabet. She found it funny that the letter B and the tiny pollinating bugs sounded the same. That's how she remembered the way to say it. The difference between English-E and French-I were still messing with her, why did they have to be so complicated?
"I got a rock. It said something like 'My name is Private Gravel. Remember; you rock.'," she looked at Pierrette, "I decided her first name would be Pierrette. It means small rock."
She went back to business after revealing her weapon. Would Pheobe-
Pheobee.
Oh gosh, were the weapons put on people on purpose? How much did they know about them? Names were easy, but what about the rest? They probably didn't know her mom was a diplomat. Fleurette couldn't use it against them. She changed the topic, for real this time.
"So. What are you going to do now?"
"Bees."
Only word she could say. She learned the word when she learned the English alphabet. She found it funny that the letter B and the tiny pollinating bugs sounded the same. That's how she remembered the way to say it. The difference between English-E and French-I were still messing with her, why did they have to be so complicated?
"I got a rock. It said something like 'My name is Private Gravel. Remember; you rock.'," she looked at Pierrette, "I decided her first name would be Pierrette. It means small rock."
She went back to business after revealing her weapon. Would Pheobe-
Pheobee.
Oh gosh, were the weapons put on people on purpose? How much did they know about them? Names were easy, but what about the rest? They probably didn't know her mom was a diplomat. Fleurette couldn't use it against them. She changed the topic, for real this time.
"So. What are you going to do now?"
“A rock?”
Phoebe felt the corners of her mouth twitch a bit. Bees. Pet rocks. It sounded like the sort of thing you’d give someone as a joke. In a way, it should have made her laugh a bit. But on the other…
The fact that they were setting them up to die was being treated as something humorous only made things worse.
She let out a token laugh, but only because… well, that was the only response she could think of.
“Um… I was thinking. Now that I’ve looked through my bag, maybe I should look for anything else that isn’t accounted for that I needed. And… look for a shelter, I guess.”
She shuffled some. The jar still hummed and buzzed under her fingertips. She wondered how much effort they took, if they just shoved a queen inside, if the poor things would quickly die if they weren’t released.
“What about you?”
Phoebe felt the corners of her mouth twitch a bit. Bees. Pet rocks. It sounded like the sort of thing you’d give someone as a joke. In a way, it should have made her laugh a bit. But on the other…
The fact that they were setting them up to die was being treated as something humorous only made things worse.
She let out a token laugh, but only because… well, that was the only response she could think of.
“Um… I was thinking. Now that I’ve looked through my bag, maybe I should look for anything else that isn’t accounted for that I needed. And… look for a shelter, I guess.”
She shuffled some. The jar still hummed and buzzed under her fingertips. She wondered how much effort they took, if they just shoved a queen inside, if the poor things would quickly die if they weren’t released.
“What about you?”
CYBERS:
HARERAISER (Winter Castillo)The synthwave bunnygirl programmer roller weeb!
Currently: Confused? Horrified?
SECOND CHANCES
Junko KurosawaThink Johnny Knoxville but a teenage girl.
Currently: Ridng a shopping cart (in-between threads)
Bella Bianchi
Ballet dancer with pressure.
Currently: In the student lounge
(Meanwhile in the past...)
((Godmodding approved by all the parties.))
"Stay here for a while."
Fleurette peeked through the door again. She really had a jar of bees. Interesting, she really had that in her hands. Would that come in handy? She hoped so. However, Fleurette wasn't quite sure she could trust Pheobe just yet. Words were empty until actions filled them, and Fleurette wasn't quite sure of Pheobe's intentions.
"So, we have the same goal. Let's..." She pushed the shelf away, opening the door slowly. She knew what was behind the door, but still feel the itchy need to look and just had to make sure. Pheobe maybe had a friend hiding in a corner, but sadly, there were only the two of them in this empty household. Did the bloody bits left from whatever happened from earlier count? She looked back then at Pheobe.
"Just so you know, I didn't do what happened in the bathtub. It was like that when I arrived, so. Keep that in mind, thanks."
Pheobe acquiesced and she went to check for herself. Other than making the same mistake as Fleurette when she first entered, Pheobe let out a small gasp and closed the door behind her. She turned around and said something about letting the door closed. Fleurette agreed, but she was already stand in the hallway, looking at the family pictures on the wall.
Pheobe went up to her, and asked to complete her sentence. "Let's.... do what?"
Fleurette was staring deeply in the pictures of the children smiling and the parents looking very proud of them. It felt odd. She would probably need to hide them too. Fleurette just couldn't get out of her head that if she had to run away from home, she would at least take some family pictures. Maybe it wasn't the best thing in mind when it came to survival, but she couldn't just let them there. Why did the previous occupants just vanish so quickly, and was the blood in the bathtub theirs? She turned her head toward Pheobe, coming back to reality.
"Let's block off some entrances. Like, put furnitures in front of windows and stuff. So people can't see inside, or come inside for that matter."
Fleurette started to head downstairs while Pheobe looked around puzzled.
"You coming?"
Pheobe soon followed.
((As they were barricading the entrances, they heard voice coming from outside.))
"Stay here for a while."
Fleurette peeked through the door again. She really had a jar of bees. Interesting, she really had that in her hands. Would that come in handy? She hoped so. However, Fleurette wasn't quite sure she could trust Pheobe just yet. Words were empty until actions filled them, and Fleurette wasn't quite sure of Pheobe's intentions.
"So, we have the same goal. Let's..." She pushed the shelf away, opening the door slowly. She knew what was behind the door, but still feel the itchy need to look and just had to make sure. Pheobe maybe had a friend hiding in a corner, but sadly, there were only the two of them in this empty household. Did the bloody bits left from whatever happened from earlier count? She looked back then at Pheobe.
"Just so you know, I didn't do what happened in the bathtub. It was like that when I arrived, so. Keep that in mind, thanks."
Pheobe acquiesced and she went to check for herself. Other than making the same mistake as Fleurette when she first entered, Pheobe let out a small gasp and closed the door behind her. She turned around and said something about letting the door closed. Fleurette agreed, but she was already stand in the hallway, looking at the family pictures on the wall.
Pheobe went up to her, and asked to complete her sentence. "Let's.... do what?"
Fleurette was staring deeply in the pictures of the children smiling and the parents looking very proud of them. It felt odd. She would probably need to hide them too. Fleurette just couldn't get out of her head that if she had to run away from home, she would at least take some family pictures. Maybe it wasn't the best thing in mind when it came to survival, but she couldn't just let them there. Why did the previous occupants just vanish so quickly, and was the blood in the bathtub theirs? She turned her head toward Pheobe, coming back to reality.
"Let's block off some entrances. Like, put furnitures in front of windows and stuff. So people can't see inside, or come inside for that matter."
Fleurette started to head downstairs while Pheobe looked around puzzled.
"You coming?"
Pheobe soon followed.
((As they were barricading the entrances, they heard voice coming from outside.))