((FR03: Keegan Garcia continued from TV3: The Second Announcement))
"Truth."
You Deserved Better Than You Got (Someone's Got To Say It Sometime 'Cause It's True)
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MurderWeasel
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Vasily didn’t really plan on playing a game with Keegan. He didn’t mind playing bodyguard, and he didn’t mind taking a break from murder, but he felt like he could have spent the entire time doing something more productive.
Like murder.
That was a bad one.
He felt bad for Keegan, though. Bad enough to stick with him and play parlor games instead of doing what he probably should be doing.
“Truth… you’re a pussy. Anyways, uh… Fuck, am I allowed to ask ‘fuck, marry, kill’ for truth or dare? Eh, screw it. Fuck, marry, kill, everybody in the Respects. God. The Respects- how did Fisk even come up with this sort of name anyways?”
His hands were still shaking, and he didn’t know if it was his nervousness or the cocaine he took last night, so the gun was placed on the ground right next to the chair he was in. He couldn’t stop thinking about roaming the cruise and shooting people with it. Sometimes, Vasily wondered what Keegan thought of them. If Keegan thought about the same things that Vasily thought about.
They’re on the same team.
If he just took the gun and gave Keegan the chance to get the fuck out of their little improv team, would he take it?
He was almost tempted to ask that as the question.
“Not including Giselle, I guess. Since, she’s um… Y’know,” he said, almost considering doing something tasteless like mimicking slitting his throat with his thumb.
But he didn’t.
Keegan must’ve felt horrible about the whole Ivan thing.
He closed his eye for a bit as he waited for the answer
A few breaths.
And, then, he snapped back to reality.
He knew that Keegan had something on his mind. Keegan was someone who he felt like had a lot on his mind. It wasn’t his fault for Giselle’s death, he wanted to tell him, but from personal experience the more he told someone to stop feeling a certain way the more they felt that. It was Ivan’s fault for Giselle. Nobody had it coming.
Except maybe Seth. Maybe.
He looked at Keegan expectedly, as if prodding him to come up with a distraction from his own mind.
Like murder.
That was a bad one.
He felt bad for Keegan, though. Bad enough to stick with him and play parlor games instead of doing what he probably should be doing.
“Truth… you’re a pussy. Anyways, uh… Fuck, am I allowed to ask ‘fuck, marry, kill’ for truth or dare? Eh, screw it. Fuck, marry, kill, everybody in the Respects. God. The Respects- how did Fisk even come up with this sort of name anyways?”
His hands were still shaking, and he didn’t know if it was his nervousness or the cocaine he took last night, so the gun was placed on the ground right next to the chair he was in. He couldn’t stop thinking about roaming the cruise and shooting people with it. Sometimes, Vasily wondered what Keegan thought of them. If Keegan thought about the same things that Vasily thought about.
They’re on the same team.
If he just took the gun and gave Keegan the chance to get the fuck out of their little improv team, would he take it?
He was almost tempted to ask that as the question.
“Not including Giselle, I guess. Since, she’s um… Y’know,” he said, almost considering doing something tasteless like mimicking slitting his throat with his thumb.
But he didn’t.
Keegan must’ve felt horrible about the whole Ivan thing.
He closed his eye for a bit as he waited for the answer
A few breaths.
And, then, he snapped back to reality.
He knew that Keegan had something on his mind. Keegan was someone who he felt like had a lot on his mind. It wasn’t his fault for Giselle’s death, he wanted to tell him, but from personal experience the more he told someone to stop feeling a certain way the more they felt that. It was Ivan’s fault for Giselle. Nobody had it coming.
Except maybe Seth. Maybe.
He looked at Keegan expectedly, as if prodding him to come up with a distraction from his own mind.
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MurderWeasel
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"Ah," Keegan said, his tone turning wistful and relaxed. He wondered if Vasily could tell how utterly false it was. "Everyone in our group? Well, that means I have to, you know, go with the three who won't hear. This stays between you, me, and America, I guess."
This was like DMing, which was something Keegan didn't do a lot but mostly because he got bored easily and after a couple TPKs it was hard to lure people back to the table. So it went. But yeah, he could put on a voice and wear it for a little, bring that false confidence and artificially erudite, quip-filled style. It didn't feel better, not really, but it felt ever so slightly less intensely terrible.
Of course, there were some complications here. Like, for example, Keegan wasn't out to most people. Did Vasily suspect anyways? Okay, silly question: Vasily wouldn't judge and would act the same whether or not he suspected, because that was just how he was, and also Vasily probably didn't even understand the concept of standard white bread heterosexuality. It was how he'd always been, one of the things that drew Keegan's attention and eye back when he was still thinking about crushing on people and not about death and destruction and the burning agony Verity—Verity, of all people—had inflicted upon him.
It was so silly. Nobody in The Respects would care. These were his friends. Half of them were out. He should just bite the bullet. His family already knew. He was going to die here. Literally nobody would care except maybe weird fans doing pairings online.
"So," he said, "marriage is easy. Like, James just has this housewife air to him, you know? Think about it: if one of us had to pack bag lunches for the rest, who would you trust? Definitely James."
Well, and Giselle, but they weren't going to think about that.
"Now, Fisk, you know... I don't think I'm quite trophy partner material," Keegan continued, "but he brings the party for sure? So, you know..."
He trailed off. Like, he wasn't going to actually say it. Implying and insinuating was really scary as-is, and he was trying not to think about it and somehow he was having more luck not thinking about Giselle. And he was thinking a lot about Giselle.
"Which means, you know, sorry, Bacchia, nothing personal," Keegan concluded. He shrugged and pointlessly poked at his glasses. The pool and sea smell came back for a second. It was a welcome distraction. That was this entire game: a distraction from everything terrible, from the impotence of waiting for their friends to come back and not knowing if they would. For some reason, Keegan and Vasily had the gun. He hadn't been paying good enough attention to realize that and object in the moment, but he really did not like the other three out on their own so loosely defended. Especially not now that he knew they would not be accomplishing the goal of their rescue mission.
Keegan sighed and fiddled with his glasses again.
"Okay, your turn:" he said, "truth or dare?"
This was like DMing, which was something Keegan didn't do a lot but mostly because he got bored easily and after a couple TPKs it was hard to lure people back to the table. So it went. But yeah, he could put on a voice and wear it for a little, bring that false confidence and artificially erudite, quip-filled style. It didn't feel better, not really, but it felt ever so slightly less intensely terrible.
Of course, there were some complications here. Like, for example, Keegan wasn't out to most people. Did Vasily suspect anyways? Okay, silly question: Vasily wouldn't judge and would act the same whether or not he suspected, because that was just how he was, and also Vasily probably didn't even understand the concept of standard white bread heterosexuality. It was how he'd always been, one of the things that drew Keegan's attention and eye back when he was still thinking about crushing on people and not about death and destruction and the burning agony Verity—Verity, of all people—had inflicted upon him.
It was so silly. Nobody in The Respects would care. These were his friends. Half of them were out. He should just bite the bullet. His family already knew. He was going to die here. Literally nobody would care except maybe weird fans doing pairings online.
"So," he said, "marriage is easy. Like, James just has this housewife air to him, you know? Think about it: if one of us had to pack bag lunches for the rest, who would you trust? Definitely James."
Well, and Giselle, but they weren't going to think about that.
"Now, Fisk, you know... I don't think I'm quite trophy partner material," Keegan continued, "but he brings the party for sure? So, you know..."
He trailed off. Like, he wasn't going to actually say it. Implying and insinuating was really scary as-is, and he was trying not to think about it and somehow he was having more luck not thinking about Giselle. And he was thinking a lot about Giselle.
"Which means, you know, sorry, Bacchia, nothing personal," Keegan concluded. He shrugged and pointlessly poked at his glasses. The pool and sea smell came back for a second. It was a welcome distraction. That was this entire game: a distraction from everything terrible, from the impotence of waiting for their friends to come back and not knowing if they would. For some reason, Keegan and Vasily had the gun. He hadn't been paying good enough attention to realize that and object in the moment, but he really did not like the other three out on their own so loosely defended. Especially not now that he knew they would not be accomplishing the goal of their rescue mission.
Keegan sighed and fiddled with his glasses again.
"Okay, your turn:" he said, "truth or dare?"
“Awww you didn’t want to marry me?”
He tried to add that sardonic, mildly sweet tone to it, and it didn’t work, so he just shrugged and laughed. Keegan probably left out his name out of politeness.
He wondered if Keegan knew how much he fake laughed over the past 24 hours.
“Just kidding. You've got nice taste. But, the issue is like- James has the personality of a housewife, sure, but he does he have the skills? No. He would pack you a McDonald's happy meal every day. Bacchia is... well, she's hot, but also if she likes tying people up and holding knives up to their genitals I won't be surprised at all. I mean, I'm willing to try. Just. Not like this and not with her. And, like, Fisk looks like he's kinda uptight and weird but like you can't tell me he isn't the yacht-and-hookers type."
Coke included. Ha. And the yacht was here, too. Now all they needed was a prostitute. He still couldn't believe that cocaine was the least illegal thing he has done recently, except the murder was technically legal. That was a lot more fucked up the more he thought about it, so he just stopped thinking about it.
If he was asked that question, he'd honestly say he would fuck Fisk or Bacchia, marry Keegan, and kill Giselle. Which, while it would have been funny to see her round face go a little red and for her to deliver a verbal blow- maybe physical, honestly- it wasn't funny now. Now when Giselle's dead. That was another thing that he kinda wanted to stop thinking about.
"Uh, I mean, I called you a pussy for truth even though I like to pick it more, so, dare?”
Vasily plucked the bag of bugles out, taking one out and handing it to Keegan.
Part of him wondered if Giselle had ever had bugles before.
It wasn’t safe without a gun out there- it wasn’t even safe with one. Vasily hoped that the rest of the group would come back breathing and alive.
And if they didn’t, at least he would still have their supplies and his assigned teammate.
God, he felt bad for thinking like that. Weighing entire lives like chess pieces or some other shitty overdone metaphor. But he couldn’t stop doing this, couldn’t he? Being nice can get him nowhere. He needed to be like this.
He munched on a chip with his other hand to hide the fact that it was still shaking. Maybe it was just the cold.
Why couldn’t he stop shaking?
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about his morals or whatever?
He thought that he got this whole thing over with when he killed Seth and dragged his friends’ intestines out of his corpse. He thought that he would stop being afraid. Why was he still measuring himself in terms of morality?
He wanted to his mind to just shut the fuck up and let him stop overthinking everything, but thoughts just poured out of his brain cells like somebody grabbed it and squeezed.
"Uh, do you need any more help with the wound, by the way? Painkillers, bandages, etcetera?"
He tried to add that sardonic, mildly sweet tone to it, and it didn’t work, so he just shrugged and laughed. Keegan probably left out his name out of politeness.
He wondered if Keegan knew how much he fake laughed over the past 24 hours.
“Just kidding. You've got nice taste. But, the issue is like- James has the personality of a housewife, sure, but he does he have the skills? No. He would pack you a McDonald's happy meal every day. Bacchia is... well, she's hot, but also if she likes tying people up and holding knives up to their genitals I won't be surprised at all. I mean, I'm willing to try. Just. Not like this and not with her. And, like, Fisk looks like he's kinda uptight and weird but like you can't tell me he isn't the yacht-and-hookers type."
Coke included. Ha. And the yacht was here, too. Now all they needed was a prostitute. He still couldn't believe that cocaine was the least illegal thing he has done recently, except the murder was technically legal. That was a lot more fucked up the more he thought about it, so he just stopped thinking about it.
If he was asked that question, he'd honestly say he would fuck Fisk or Bacchia, marry Keegan, and kill Giselle. Which, while it would have been funny to see her round face go a little red and for her to deliver a verbal blow- maybe physical, honestly- it wasn't funny now. Now when Giselle's dead. That was another thing that he kinda wanted to stop thinking about.
"Uh, I mean, I called you a pussy for truth even though I like to pick it more, so, dare?”
Vasily plucked the bag of bugles out, taking one out and handing it to Keegan.
Part of him wondered if Giselle had ever had bugles before.
It wasn’t safe without a gun out there- it wasn’t even safe with one. Vasily hoped that the rest of the group would come back breathing and alive.
And if they didn’t, at least he would still have their supplies and his assigned teammate.
God, he felt bad for thinking like that. Weighing entire lives like chess pieces or some other shitty overdone metaphor. But he couldn’t stop doing this, couldn’t he? Being nice can get him nowhere. He needed to be like this.
He munched on a chip with his other hand to hide the fact that it was still shaking. Maybe it was just the cold.
Why couldn’t he stop shaking?
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about his morals or whatever?
He thought that he got this whole thing over with when he killed Seth and dragged his friends’ intestines out of his corpse. He thought that he would stop being afraid. Why was he still measuring himself in terms of morality?
He wanted to his mind to just shut the fuck up and let him stop overthinking everything, but thoughts just poured out of his brain cells like somebody grabbed it and squeezed.
"Uh, do you need any more help with the wound, by the way? Painkillers, bandages, etcetera?"
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
"I think I'm good," Keegan said, "but thanks. I'll clean it later I guess."
He plucked the bugle off Vasily's finger and popped it into his mouth and crunched it. It was alright, kind of normal bland snack food. In another circumstance, he would've possibly leaned in close and acted like he was going to eat it right off Vasily's finger, licked his lips and made a whole big show of it, except he never would've actually done it, except this was Truth Or Dare so maybe? Except no.
He felt guilty for being relieved that everything hurting and Giselle being dead stopped him from thinking too much about that. He also felt guilty that he could still find some humor in the image of James in a frilly apron, lovingly shoving Big Macs into a sack. The levity was worth the guilt, though. Anything to kill some time.
"Okay, dare," Keegan said. He brought his fingers to his chin, put on his best thinking emoji face as he pretended to ponder. Truth be told, he'd been kind of sort of just a little hoping for an opportunity to pull this out. He was, ever so slightly, taking advantage.
"Okay," he said again, wrinkling his brow and still holding the pose, "hope you're feeling brave. Because that question has nothing on this, nothing. But, you know, I have your back. I'll help you out."
Finally, Keegan dropped his hand back to his, side, leaned back and stared up at the blue sky, thought about how it wasn't something he thought about much in his old life.
"I dare you to help me talk to Fisk about the masks," Keegan said. "Like, I mean, don't get me wrong, they're a great idea. In theory. But, uh, I've been thinking and..."
Okay this wasn't quite as cheerful and distracting as he'd hoped, but it was the pain before the healing, right? It would, if nothing else, be a huge relief to finally vocalize what had been sitting uncomfortably on his mind for almost a day now.
"Dude," Keegan said, "I think we must look like the fucking Klan."
He picked the pillowcase up, turned it over in his hands, looked at the crude muddy finger-painting on it. But, like, at the end of the day, that only went so far.
"Like, masks are a great idea, but this stuff fogs up my glasses all the time, and... I don't know, like, you know what we should do? We should go raid some closets and become shirt ninjas. I can show you how to do it, if you don't know. Gotta be a bunch of t-shirts around here, and that stuff'll fit way better and, you know, won't look like..."
Okay, this was less dare and more monologue. Time to pull it back in.
"I just think it'll go better if we talk to him together," Keegan concluded, a bit lamely.
He plucked the bugle off Vasily's finger and popped it into his mouth and crunched it. It was alright, kind of normal bland snack food. In another circumstance, he would've possibly leaned in close and acted like he was going to eat it right off Vasily's finger, licked his lips and made a whole big show of it, except he never would've actually done it, except this was Truth Or Dare so maybe? Except no.
He felt guilty for being relieved that everything hurting and Giselle being dead stopped him from thinking too much about that. He also felt guilty that he could still find some humor in the image of James in a frilly apron, lovingly shoving Big Macs into a sack. The levity was worth the guilt, though. Anything to kill some time.
"Okay, dare," Keegan said. He brought his fingers to his chin, put on his best thinking emoji face as he pretended to ponder. Truth be told, he'd been kind of sort of just a little hoping for an opportunity to pull this out. He was, ever so slightly, taking advantage.
"Okay," he said again, wrinkling his brow and still holding the pose, "hope you're feeling brave. Because that question has nothing on this, nothing. But, you know, I have your back. I'll help you out."
Finally, Keegan dropped his hand back to his, side, leaned back and stared up at the blue sky, thought about how it wasn't something he thought about much in his old life.
"I dare you to help me talk to Fisk about the masks," Keegan said. "Like, I mean, don't get me wrong, they're a great idea. In theory. But, uh, I've been thinking and..."
Okay this wasn't quite as cheerful and distracting as he'd hoped, but it was the pain before the healing, right? It would, if nothing else, be a huge relief to finally vocalize what had been sitting uncomfortably on his mind for almost a day now.
"Dude," Keegan said, "I think we must look like the fucking Klan."
He picked the pillowcase up, turned it over in his hands, looked at the crude muddy finger-painting on it. But, like, at the end of the day, that only went so far.
"Like, masks are a great idea, but this stuff fogs up my glasses all the time, and... I don't know, like, you know what we should do? We should go raid some closets and become shirt ninjas. I can show you how to do it, if you don't know. Gotta be a bunch of t-shirts around here, and that stuff'll fit way better and, you know, won't look like..."
Okay, this was less dare and more monologue. Time to pull it back in.
"I just think it'll go better if we talk to him together," Keegan concluded, a bit lamely.
“Bruh.” Vasily responded, genuinely giggling at Keegan’s 
face.
“I’ve fucking talked to him already. Told him that I can’t breathe well or see in there- like, I’ve got one eye and the hole’s blocking it half of the time. But, uh, never thought about us looking like the KKK, to be honest. Now that I look at it… It kinda does? I mean, I’m the white guy here, so I dunno.”
He grabbed another bugle for himself and another for Keegan.
“Like, I have to admit that Fisk’s good at, like, design and stuff, but, yeah, I’ll definitely talk about it together with him. I have to adjust so much- please tell me how to make a shirt ninja. I have a sponsorship Nestle shirt and I want to shred it ASAP.”
Being with Keegan felt different- maybe it’s because he felt genuine. Vasily liked Fisk, or the person he tried his best to be anyways, but there was always this feeling that if you pull off the layers of immaculate suits and grandiose speeches all you’ll get is an awkward teenger.
Keegan was just an awkward teenager not pretending to be more than who he was. Vasily kind of envied that sort of honesty. Kinda like how he envied Giselle and how open she was, talking about-
Nope, nope, not thinking 'bout Giselle! Stop envying Giselle! She’s dead!!! You living brainworm!!!
She’s dead.
That’s a hard pill to swallow.
He glaced up at the sky and saw a cloud that looked like a whale and banished all the Bad Thoughts from his brain.
Anyways…
“Truth or Dare?”
face.“I’ve fucking talked to him already. Told him that I can’t breathe well or see in there- like, I’ve got one eye and the hole’s blocking it half of the time. But, uh, never thought about us looking like the KKK, to be honest. Now that I look at it… It kinda does? I mean, I’m the white guy here, so I dunno.”
He grabbed another bugle for himself and another for Keegan.
“Like, I have to admit that Fisk’s good at, like, design and stuff, but, yeah, I’ll definitely talk about it together with him. I have to adjust so much- please tell me how to make a shirt ninja. I have a sponsorship Nestle shirt and I want to shred it ASAP.”
Being with Keegan felt different- maybe it’s because he felt genuine. Vasily liked Fisk, or the person he tried his best to be anyways, but there was always this feeling that if you pull off the layers of immaculate suits and grandiose speeches all you’ll get is an awkward teenger.
Keegan was just an awkward teenager not pretending to be more than who he was. Vasily kind of envied that sort of honesty. Kinda like how he envied Giselle and how open she was, talking about-
Nope, nope, not thinking 'bout Giselle! Stop envying Giselle! She’s dead!!! You living brainworm!!!
She’s dead.
That’s a hard pill to swallow.
He glaced up at the sky and saw a cloud that looked like a whale and banished all the Bad Thoughts from his brain.
Anyways…
“Truth or Dare?”
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
"Hm. One sec."
Keegan leaned over the side of the chair. Ouch. That whole reaching and stretching thing was going to be a work in progress, or maybe if he was smart about it just a thing he didn't do anymore for a while, or possibly ever, given the situation. That wasn't a particularly comfortable thought, so he tried not to think it anymore—aided by the sting and burn that came with reaching down and hauling his bag closer, a fine distraction.
With a few movements that would've been quick if he'd been up to it, he dragged out his own branded shirt. It was black, with the Nike checkmark on it. Keegan didn't think he'd owned a pair of Nikes in his life. Maybe when he was a kid or something? It wasn't like his parents were that politically dialed-in and worried about foreign slave labor or whatever, as far as he knew. He would've asked them except, well...
Anyways, he flipped the shirt inside-out. There was still a little discolored rough patch on the opposite side of the image, but it was fairly unobtrusive, and this was just a demo besides. Keegan raised the shirt to his head like he was going to put it on, but then pulled on the sides, stretching the head hole into a wider, thinner slit. He positioned it so it framed his glasses, then pulled the loose bunched material of the shirt tail and arms taught. It took a few tries to tie it behind his head—he hadn't done this in a couple years, and raising his arms into the right position was kind of painful (had he ever done this with Verity? Probably. He was super into showing everyone this goofy trick for a while there)—but soon enough he had a relatively stable, snug face covering that, okay, had a few loose bunchy bits and was slightly entwined with his hair but also that didn't fog his damn glasses with every breath and that surely looked a whole lot less suspect.
"Like so," he said, voice muffled but he was sure less than by the pillowcases, then frowned, not like Vasily would see it.
"Do I have the tag sticking up right above my head? If we do this, we gotta cut the tags off or we'll look really stupid."
He tugged the mask off in another could've-been-quick motion, and shook it back into shirt shape with a few flicks of the wrist. Sure enough, there was that tag, right where it would've been centered on his forehead. He thought about how Giselle could've worn her hat over the shirt mask, how silly it would've looked, and then he stopped.
"Oh, and dare," he added. "You don't get all the fun."
Keegan leaned over the side of the chair. Ouch. That whole reaching and stretching thing was going to be a work in progress, or maybe if he was smart about it just a thing he didn't do anymore for a while, or possibly ever, given the situation. That wasn't a particularly comfortable thought, so he tried not to think it anymore—aided by the sting and burn that came with reaching down and hauling his bag closer, a fine distraction.
With a few movements that would've been quick if he'd been up to it, he dragged out his own branded shirt. It was black, with the Nike checkmark on it. Keegan didn't think he'd owned a pair of Nikes in his life. Maybe when he was a kid or something? It wasn't like his parents were that politically dialed-in and worried about foreign slave labor or whatever, as far as he knew. He would've asked them except, well...
Anyways, he flipped the shirt inside-out. There was still a little discolored rough patch on the opposite side of the image, but it was fairly unobtrusive, and this was just a demo besides. Keegan raised the shirt to his head like he was going to put it on, but then pulled on the sides, stretching the head hole into a wider, thinner slit. He positioned it so it framed his glasses, then pulled the loose bunched material of the shirt tail and arms taught. It took a few tries to tie it behind his head—he hadn't done this in a couple years, and raising his arms into the right position was kind of painful (had he ever done this with Verity? Probably. He was super into showing everyone this goofy trick for a while there)—but soon enough he had a relatively stable, snug face covering that, okay, had a few loose bunchy bits and was slightly entwined with his hair but also that didn't fog his damn glasses with every breath and that surely looked a whole lot less suspect.
"Like so," he said, voice muffled but he was sure less than by the pillowcases, then frowned, not like Vasily would see it.
"Do I have the tag sticking up right above my head? If we do this, we gotta cut the tags off or we'll look really stupid."
He tugged the mask off in another could've-been-quick motion, and shook it back into shirt shape with a few flicks of the wrist. Sure enough, there was that tag, right where it would've been centered on his forehead. He thought about how Giselle could've worn her hat over the shirt mask, how silly it would've looked, and then he stopped.
"Oh, and dare," he added. "You don't get all the fun."
Vasily looked intensely at what Keegan was doing.
He still didn’t really know how to do it, but he didn’t want to ask for a second demonstration because poor guy had a gunshot wound, so he just saved that for later.
“Yeah, the tag is… yeah. I mean, it doesn’t look that stupid?”
He munched on his bugle, and then decided to not give Keegan the other chip.
“I dare you to… Well, I mean, alcohol is probably not beneficial to our- especially your situation, so… I dare you to eat all of your mint lifesavers. As fast as you can, all at once, like, without choking on it. Not all at once- like- you know what I fucking mean!”
He leaned back on his chair, crossed his legs, and put a hand over his empty stomach.
“Wait, actually, you can have the rest of my bugles, by the way- I don’t really like chips all that much, and you probably deserve it. Like, for getting shot.”
Vasily grabbed out a box of oyster crackers and some gatorade and ate the former like popcorn, waiting for Keegan's baritone voice to ring out again.
“Do I say ‘like’ way too much…?”
One finger held another. A crack, and a pop, and then a satisfied sigh as he rubbed his knuckle.
He still didn’t really know how to do it, but he didn’t want to ask for a second demonstration because poor guy had a gunshot wound, so he just saved that for later.
“Yeah, the tag is… yeah. I mean, it doesn’t look that stupid?”
He munched on his bugle, and then decided to not give Keegan the other chip.
“I dare you to… Well, I mean, alcohol is probably not beneficial to our- especially your situation, so… I dare you to eat all of your mint lifesavers. As fast as you can, all at once, like, without choking on it. Not all at once- like- you know what I fucking mean!”
He leaned back on his chair, crossed his legs, and put a hand over his empty stomach.
“Wait, actually, you can have the rest of my bugles, by the way- I don’t really like chips all that much, and you probably deserve it. Like, for getting shot.”
Vasily grabbed out a box of oyster crackers and some gatorade and ate the former like popcorn, waiting for Keegan's baritone voice to ring out again.
“Do I say ‘like’ way too much…?”
One finger held another. A crack, and a pop, and then a satisfied sigh as he rubbed his knuckle.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
"I dunno," Keegan said, "I mean, I say it a lot too? And I'm good, chips are, like—see, damn, did it right there?—they're like a special occasion thing, or I mean, not every type of chip, but just the kinda plain ones. I could eat spicy Cheetos all day."
While he was talking, Keegan worked at the roll of lifesavers, pulling the little tab that ran around the whole circumference, then peeling off the outer paper and then the inner foil right after. He broke the little mints apart, applying a little force to separate them in the face of that vague stickiness that set in after a while in warmth and humidity. His hands were trembling just a little. He wondered if Giselle had gotten to have any of hers. He wondered if she liked lifesavers, and then he tried to stop.
At least there was a distraction. Vasily didn't know who he was messing with. People had different talents, various special skills unique to them. Keegan would never be as effortlessly cool as Fisk, or as enchanting and mysterious as Vasily, or as bloodthirsty as Bacchia. But what he had that nobody else did, his big special personal knack, was eating weird shit to disturb the peanut gallery.
So Keegan took the entire handful of lifesavers and shoveled them into his mouth in one go. His cheeks bulged out a little, and then he started to chew, the mints crunching and snapping between his teeth like peppercorns in a grinder. The sharp flavor was strong, all-pervasive, but Keegan drank shots of hot sauce. Mint had nothing on him. The candy melted away even as he chewed, and less than a minute later it was gone.
But, but, that wasn't all. Keegan was no coward, so not five seconds after the candy was finished he pulled out his bottle of classic yellow Gatorade, brought it to his lips, and drained the entire thing in a long, gurgling process, without visibly stopping to breathe. The sensation was sharp, that same sting of water after mint amplified beyond belief. The flavor was indescribable. The pain was just from chugging something and how that stretched his side, but it was almost worth it.
He let the bottle and cap drop to the ground and bounce with a hollow clatter.
"Delicious," he said, wincing only a little.
"Truth or dare?"
While he was talking, Keegan worked at the roll of lifesavers, pulling the little tab that ran around the whole circumference, then peeling off the outer paper and then the inner foil right after. He broke the little mints apart, applying a little force to separate them in the face of that vague stickiness that set in after a while in warmth and humidity. His hands were trembling just a little. He wondered if Giselle had gotten to have any of hers. He wondered if she liked lifesavers, and then he tried to stop.
At least there was a distraction. Vasily didn't know who he was messing with. People had different talents, various special skills unique to them. Keegan would never be as effortlessly cool as Fisk, or as enchanting and mysterious as Vasily, or as bloodthirsty as Bacchia. But what he had that nobody else did, his big special personal knack, was eating weird shit to disturb the peanut gallery.
So Keegan took the entire handful of lifesavers and shoveled them into his mouth in one go. His cheeks bulged out a little, and then he started to chew, the mints crunching and snapping between his teeth like peppercorns in a grinder. The sharp flavor was strong, all-pervasive, but Keegan drank shots of hot sauce. Mint had nothing on him. The candy melted away even as he chewed, and less than a minute later it was gone.
But, but, that wasn't all. Keegan was no coward, so not five seconds after the candy was finished he pulled out his bottle of classic yellow Gatorade, brought it to his lips, and drained the entire thing in a long, gurgling process, without visibly stopping to breathe. The sensation was sharp, that same sting of water after mint amplified beyond belief. The flavor was indescribable. The pain was just from chugging something and how that stretched his side, but it was almost worth it.
He let the bottle and cap drop to the ground and bounce with a hollow clatter.
"Delicious," he said, wincing only a little.
"Truth or dare?"
OK, so, Vasily just got chip-rejected. Rude. Real rude. He just wanted to do a nice thing for Keegan, and he rejected them and said they’re for special occasions, as if they aren’t in the most special of occasions right now. How in the world are chips special?
He sighed with a bit of fake dramatic energy as he wadded up the bugles bag and put them back into his daypack. Whatever. More chips for him. He’d take all the supplies that he could, at this point.
Wait, Giselle’s bag is still with him, right? Did she have it on when she was… when she was grabbed? How much of her food did she even eat, anyways?
Never mind that. Focus on entertaining Keegan. Well, focus on Keegan entertaining him.
And it’s- well, the show he put on is pretty entertaining. Distracting’s a word for it, too. It must have been a whole minute or even more, of just him staring, wide-eyed, at Keegan turning his entire mouth into some kind of disturbing grain grinder. To be honest, he almost looked like he was in pain (and not because of the whole just-got-shot thing) and Vasily almost felt bad.
But then he chugged the entire gatorade in one go and threw the bottle down with a cockiness that he didn’t really expect from Keegan at all.
At least that means he isn’t too messed up? Physically, at least, but c’mon, it’s survival of the fittest, everybody gets mentally fucked up. If anything, mental issues probably help with winning. Like, the good kind of mental issues.
Allright, that sounds absolutely horrible of him. Switch the topic.
“Truth,” Vasily said, half-faking a giggle at what Keegan did.
He sighed with a bit of fake dramatic energy as he wadded up the bugles bag and put them back into his daypack. Whatever. More chips for him. He’d take all the supplies that he could, at this point.
Wait, Giselle’s bag is still with him, right? Did she have it on when she was… when she was grabbed? How much of her food did she even eat, anyways?
Never mind that. Focus on entertaining Keegan. Well, focus on Keegan entertaining him.
And it’s- well, the show he put on is pretty entertaining. Distracting’s a word for it, too. It must have been a whole minute or even more, of just him staring, wide-eyed, at Keegan turning his entire mouth into some kind of disturbing grain grinder. To be honest, he almost looked like he was in pain (and not because of the whole just-got-shot thing) and Vasily almost felt bad.
But then he chugged the entire gatorade in one go and threw the bottle down with a cockiness that he didn’t really expect from Keegan at all.
At least that means he isn’t too messed up? Physically, at least, but c’mon, it’s survival of the fittest, everybody gets mentally fucked up. If anything, mental issues probably help with winning. Like, the good kind of mental issues.
Allright, that sounds absolutely horrible of him. Switch the topic.
“Truth,” Vasily said, half-faking a giggle at what Keegan did.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
"Right, okay," Keegan said. He took big breaths, and each one was still sharp with mint and sickly sweet with Gatorade. The pain from his injury was either subsiding or becoming easier to ignore due to experience. "Gotcha. Just a—let me come up with something."
Truth was, being real, a lot harder for Keegan in this game. It was the option that revealed more about himself if he was careless or drove too hard at what he really wanted ("Could you think I'm cute?" Yeah, how about no never) and also, ironically enough, could far more easily cause harm to others.
He wanted to know what Vasily thought of their chances. He wanted to know what losing an eye felt like. He wanted to know what that whole thing with Calla's body had been about. He wanted to know if it all felt different than Vasily had imagined in his countless hours fantasizing. He wanted to know what it was like killing someone.
He couldn't ask any of it.
The sun was high, the skies mostly cloudless. Keegan leaned back and stared off into the stratosphere.
"You know," he said, reaching over to run a finger along the narwhal horn, "I had a... a friend. And we were talking about narwhals for no reason, this was like two, three years ago, and she was just... just shocked to find out they were real. Her whole life, she thought narwhals were just, you know, like the unicorns of the sea. Because it never comes up, right? Nobody really knows shit about narwhals unless that's their thing."
The horn was really smooth, surprisingly strong. Keegan couldn't smell the sea or the chlorine scents anymore, not over the all-pervasive aftertaste of mint.
"How old were you when you figured out Santa's not real, my dude?"
Truth was, being real, a lot harder for Keegan in this game. It was the option that revealed more about himself if he was careless or drove too hard at what he really wanted ("Could you think I'm cute?" Yeah, how about no never) and also, ironically enough, could far more easily cause harm to others.
He wanted to know what Vasily thought of their chances. He wanted to know what losing an eye felt like. He wanted to know what that whole thing with Calla's body had been about. He wanted to know if it all felt different than Vasily had imagined in his countless hours fantasizing. He wanted to know what it was like killing someone.
He couldn't ask any of it.
The sun was high, the skies mostly cloudless. Keegan leaned back and stared off into the stratosphere.
"You know," he said, reaching over to run a finger along the narwhal horn, "I had a... a friend. And we were talking about narwhals for no reason, this was like two, three years ago, and she was just... just shocked to find out they were real. Her whole life, she thought narwhals were just, you know, like the unicorns of the sea. Because it never comes up, right? Nobody really knows shit about narwhals unless that's their thing."
The horn was really smooth, surprisingly strong. Keegan couldn't smell the sea or the chlorine scents anymore, not over the all-pervasive aftertaste of mint.
"How old were you when you figured out Santa's not real, my dude?"
Vasily almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.
''To be honest, Santa was never a thing in my household. I was the kid telling people that he didn't exist. It... got a few people mad. In third grade I was, like, public enemy #1.''
He crossed his legs and popped a few more oyster crackers in his mouth.
He was almost getting setimental.
Third grade was a good year. The first year he and Lucia met. They watched Magic School bus a lot, and he felt like that sort of spiraled into Lucia's whole film thing today.
If the circumstances were different, would Lucia have watched SOTF as much as she did today?
Did he make her a fan?
Shouls he feel bad about that?
Vasily often kind of regretted the whole thing- Sometimes he felt like Lucia would be better off oblivious, but then he realized- who was he to decide what was good for her?
If she wanted to fet into the rabbit hole with him, so be it. It wasn't like Vasily wouldn't do the same for her.
Vasily shook his head to clear the thoughts out and un-crossed his legs, leaning over to Keegan.
''Your turn''
''To be honest, Santa was never a thing in my household. I was the kid telling people that he didn't exist. It... got a few people mad. In third grade I was, like, public enemy #1.''
He crossed his legs and popped a few more oyster crackers in his mouth.
He was almost getting setimental.
Third grade was a good year. The first year he and Lucia met. They watched Magic School bus a lot, and he felt like that sort of spiraled into Lucia's whole film thing today.
If the circumstances were different, would Lucia have watched SOTF as much as she did today?
Did he make her a fan?
Shouls he feel bad about that?
Vasily often kind of regretted the whole thing- Sometimes he felt like Lucia would be better off oblivious, but then he realized- who was he to decide what was good for her?
If she wanted to fet into the rabbit hole with him, so be it. It wasn't like Vasily wouldn't do the same for her.
Vasily shook his head to clear the thoughts out and un-crossed his legs, leaning over to Keegan.
''Your turn''
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
"Mm," Keegan said, "I get you."
He did, too. Like, a lot of people talked as if when you grew up you became some wholly different person, but in Keegan's experience that was the exception rather than the rule. Vasily was an edgy bastard now, so it only stood to reason he would've been the eight year old equivalent of an edgy bastard. Or maybe Keegan just wasn't old enough to have a good perspective on this.
There were a lot of things like that, little pieces of life he was realizing that he didn't quite understand and probably never would. He probably should've felt sad about it or whatever, but sometimes experience was overrated. Like, he could've lived his whole life without knowing what it was like to get shot, and specifically to get shot by Verity. He had this crazy unique experience, but it was shit. At least he knew.
"Well," he said, "anyways, I can't have you impinging my bravery..."
Keegan had never actually heard anyone say the word "impinging" before, as far as he could remember, just read it in books or an argument online or something. He pronounced it imp-inge-ing, with the middle syllable rhyming with "hinge," and he hoped he got it right and didn't sound stupid, or else that Vasily didn't know the word to begin with. He wasn't even entirely sure if he was using it right.
"...so hit me with your best shot again. Dare."
He did, too. Like, a lot of people talked as if when you grew up you became some wholly different person, but in Keegan's experience that was the exception rather than the rule. Vasily was an edgy bastard now, so it only stood to reason he would've been the eight year old equivalent of an edgy bastard. Or maybe Keegan just wasn't old enough to have a good perspective on this.
There were a lot of things like that, little pieces of life he was realizing that he didn't quite understand and probably never would. He probably should've felt sad about it or whatever, but sometimes experience was overrated. Like, he could've lived his whole life without knowing what it was like to get shot, and specifically to get shot by Verity. He had this crazy unique experience, but it was shit. At least he knew.
"Well," he said, "anyways, I can't have you impinging my bravery..."
Keegan had never actually heard anyone say the word "impinging" before, as far as he could remember, just read it in books or an argument online or something. He pronounced it imp-inge-ing, with the middle syllable rhyming with "hinge," and he hoped he got it right and didn't sound stupid, or else that Vasily didn't know the word to begin with. He wasn't even entirely sure if he was using it right.
"...so hit me with your best shot again. Dare."
“Uh…”
He thought for a bit.
“Can you… like, go to the railings and shout that you want to fuck Fisk?”
Vasily giggled. Consequences be damned. If Keegan dies from an infection, at least Vasily would set him up as a gay icon or whatever.
He stopped giggling.
Oh god, Keegan might die.
Whatever. Don’t dwell on that.
He chewed on an oyster cracker, grinning. “And make sure you, like, get a good look at anybody below, and they get a good look at you. Y’know, just to make sure the thrill was there. Otherwise, what’s the fun?”
He thought for a bit.
“Can you… like, go to the railings and shout that you want to fuck Fisk?”
Vasily giggled. Consequences be damned. If Keegan dies from an infection, at least Vasily would set him up as a gay icon or whatever.
He stopped giggling.
Oh god, Keegan might die.
Whatever. Don’t dwell on that.
He chewed on an oyster cracker, grinning. “And make sure you, like, get a good look at anybody below, and they get a good look at you. Y’know, just to make sure the thrill was there. Otherwise, what’s the fun?”
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Oh goddammit. What had Keegan done to deserve this? Well, except for, okay, picking Fisk back when he took the wimpy path and chose Truth and ended up doing F/M/K, that was kind of his fault. But, like, Vasily still didn't know, did he? Probably not, or he wouldn't be picking this specific dare. This was a simple case of the dominoes falling wrong by pure dumb luck and crushing Keegan.
But, hey, on the bright side: there was a very real, far-from-zero chance this got them both killed in extremely short order. Then Keegan's worries would be over, and not just about whether or not people knew that he actually did think Fisk was pretty darn alright. No more pain from the bullet wound. No more pain from Giselle.
He was trying to be upbeat here, but it was actually mostly just feeling self-consciously morbid and halfway put-on. He'd thought about Giselle again. Giselle had shouted nice and loud, and then she'd died. Goddammit.
Keegan decided to go back to worrying about what people would think of what he said about Fisk.
"Alright, alright," he said, pulling himself up and slowly walking over to the railing. He gave Vasily a big ol' grin, though, the sort of grin that said "Don't worry, I know this is all in good fun," but also the sort of grin that said "I hope you realize just how fucked you are if you say 'Dare' next round."
The railing was cool and smooth under Keegan's hands. His sense of smell was coming back. Down below, off in the not-so-far distance, was that big clipper ship, which he'd been thinking might be cool to check out later. Might have to put a pin in that, though, since there were definitely people there, who were about to become his audience if he yelled loud enough. Keegan made sure not to look hard enough to try to identify them or what they were doing, because no way was he going to lose his nerve and let Vasily beat him. Instead, he closed his eyes.
This stuff, petty self-humiliation to get a laugh and a rise, this was one of Keegan's few comfort zones, even when the manifestation was so uncomfortable. He grabbed that feeling of nervousness and impropriety, and he pulled it into himself, twisted it around and mulled it over and realized he knew exactly how to make it do what he wanted and put it back out tenfold.
Sometimes, if you couldn't back down to avoid admitting something, you could step up and ham it up to the point nobody believed you. Irony was the best way to mask sincerity, and it made people squirm as a bonus.
"Fisk Bateman," Keegan hollered at the top of his lungs, even as it sent yet another shooting pain through his side and he thought again about Giselle and her little announcement, "I yearn for your sensual touch and want nothing more than for you to stir my insides with your pulsating man-meat."
Keegan could swear he could hear his words echoing back, indistinct but all-pervasive. But it didn't matter. He was giggling, plotting revenge next round, felt on top of the world. He opened his eyes and grinned as he looked down again, no longer afraid of what he might see.
He couldn't make out too much detail, but an instant later Keegan realized just a few small parts of what was going down on the other ship.
"Oh shit," he yelled, not half as performative or loud or collected as he'd been before. "Vasily, get over here."
But, hey, on the bright side: there was a very real, far-from-zero chance this got them both killed in extremely short order. Then Keegan's worries would be over, and not just about whether or not people knew that he actually did think Fisk was pretty darn alright. No more pain from the bullet wound. No more pain from Giselle.
He was trying to be upbeat here, but it was actually mostly just feeling self-consciously morbid and halfway put-on. He'd thought about Giselle again. Giselle had shouted nice and loud, and then she'd died. Goddammit.
Keegan decided to go back to worrying about what people would think of what he said about Fisk.
"Alright, alright," he said, pulling himself up and slowly walking over to the railing. He gave Vasily a big ol' grin, though, the sort of grin that said "Don't worry, I know this is all in good fun," but also the sort of grin that said "I hope you realize just how fucked you are if you say 'Dare' next round."
The railing was cool and smooth under Keegan's hands. His sense of smell was coming back. Down below, off in the not-so-far distance, was that big clipper ship, which he'd been thinking might be cool to check out later. Might have to put a pin in that, though, since there were definitely people there, who were about to become his audience if he yelled loud enough. Keegan made sure not to look hard enough to try to identify them or what they were doing, because no way was he going to lose his nerve and let Vasily beat him. Instead, he closed his eyes.
This stuff, petty self-humiliation to get a laugh and a rise, this was one of Keegan's few comfort zones, even when the manifestation was so uncomfortable. He grabbed that feeling of nervousness and impropriety, and he pulled it into himself, twisted it around and mulled it over and realized he knew exactly how to make it do what he wanted and put it back out tenfold.
Sometimes, if you couldn't back down to avoid admitting something, you could step up and ham it up to the point nobody believed you. Irony was the best way to mask sincerity, and it made people squirm as a bonus.
"Fisk Bateman," Keegan hollered at the top of his lungs, even as it sent yet another shooting pain through his side and he thought again about Giselle and her little announcement, "I yearn for your sensual touch and want nothing more than for you to stir my insides with your pulsating man-meat."
Keegan could swear he could hear his words echoing back, indistinct but all-pervasive. But it didn't matter. He was giggling, plotting revenge next round, felt on top of the world. He opened his eyes and grinned as he looked down again, no longer afraid of what he might see.
He couldn't make out too much detail, but an instant later Keegan realized just a few small parts of what was going down on the other ship.
"Oh shit," he yelled, not half as performative or loud or collected as he'd been before. "Vasily, get over here."