((S040 Cecilia Moreno - Start))
"Mamaaaa!"
"Papa... Papaaaa!"
She was there again. In the cell. The air was ripe with the smell of unwashed bodies and every fluid they produced. Someone was crying. Someone was always crying. Sometimes it was her, but not often. The sound went on and on, one voice erupting with fresh sobs well before the last had petered out, creating a perpetual chorus of anguish. They cried out for mothers and fathers who never came.
It was hot. So hot. Sweat was beading all over her. Couldn't see. She was lying down, wrapped in a blanket or something. It felt wrong. The facility only had those crinkly foil things. Someone had said they were space blankets, like astronauts used. But this wasn't one of those. She'd know that feeling anywhere. It was fabric of some kind. It was far too close to her face. It was trapping her, smothering her with its heat. She reached out with both hands and pushed, trying to shove it away from her face. Bright light speared through an opening in the fabric. She shimmed towards it, kicking away the stifling cocoon she'd been trapped in.
"Pwaah..."
It was daylight. A bright, cloudless sky stretched out overhead instead of the facility's corrugated metal roof. She was lying on dry, dusty ground instead of a cold concrete floor. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief for that, at least.
Tangled around her feet was a dark sleeping bag. From this angle it looked like a blob monster ineffectually trying to swallow her from the ankles up. She shook it off, then, with a bit of difficulty, stood. She raised a hand to her brow and took in her surroundings. For half a second, she thought she'd been dumped back into Mexico - the bleak terrain and scrubby vegetation looked eerily similar to some of the areas her family had walked through on their way north. But, no... that wasn't right. There then it all came crashing back. The field trip. Strange criminals who'd shot Ms. Duffy and a fire-headed boy she didn't know, and shouted a bunch of rules at her, things she didn't entirely understand. But she'd gotten the gist just fine - she had to kill all of her classmates if she wanted to stay alive.
(No... couldn't that also be a dream? It couldn't be real, could it?)
But then she felt the weight of the collar around her neck, and knew. All of it was true.
(No... No. No, no, no, no NO! Lord, no!)
She grasped twin handfuls of her hair. It tangled around her fingers, slick with sweat from her time in the sleeping bag. She let out a low wail.
(What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to survive this without even a weapon? I don't even have a gift like the others do!)
She took a few deep breaths, and gently pulled at her hair, trying to tug herself back to reality like she was holding the reins of an obstinate horse. It hurt, just a little. But that helped.
(Come on, Cecilia! You must not panic. Breathe. You have survived many things so far, haven't you? You have walked many miles in the sun, with hardly any food or water. You thought you might die then. But you did not. You have never died yet, and you will not die here. It was not a gift that carried you through the long walk. It was your legs and your muscles that kept going, even when it hurt so bad that you thought you might fall and never get up. It was not a gift that got you through the days and nights in the facility. It was your mind, and your heart, wasn't it? Those days felt like they would go on forever, but they did not. You survived them, and you did not need a gift to do so. Trust in your muscles, trust in your mind. They are all that you need right now.)
Her breaths came slower, her heart rate began to settle. A small bead of sweat ran down her nose, and dripped off of it. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. This was no time to panic. This was a time to run. She would take the bag - it would come in handy. She scooped up the bundle of fabric, gathering it towards herself in big handfuls, and saw for the first time that the number 40 was stenciled onto it. It was only then that she spotted the duffel bag, perched atop a flat rock. Like the sleeping bag, it bore the number 40. Something about that seemed fitting. Cecilia's abuela had loved to tell Bible stories to her and Rafael. Cecilia had seen enough of the world to be confident that God had long since abandoned the place, but she vaguely recalled that there had been some kind of story where Jesus Christ spent forty days and forty nights in the desert. Or was that the ark, with all of the animals? Maybe both. Either way, forty seemed like a pretty blessed number for long, arduous journeys. That was a small comfort.
She grabbed the duffel bag, and looked around. The terrain was rough and hilly. She picked the nearest high point, and started hiking towards it. Once she had a better lay of the land, she'd figure out what to do next.
I'm the Satellite and You're the Sky.
Open!
Moderator: SOTF Supers Staff
The hill had proven to be a lot tougher to navigate than it'd looked. The rock surface was dry and crumbly, and bits of it kept sloughing off when Cecilia tried to put her weight on it. More than once she'd slipped forwards and had to catch herself on her palms - they were scuffed badly now, and the dirt had ground into them, turning her hands a sickly grey. Her knees weren't faring much better - the jeans she was wearing had holes, and offered no protection whatsoever. She eventually crested the hill and sat down for a break, breathing heavily.
She experimentally unzipped the duffel bag. She'd heard sloshing sounds whenever the bag shifted position. That meant there had to be water in there, right? Sure enough, there were six bottles, cool and clear and inviting. The bottles were nestled in a rat's nest of various medical-looking items, which appeared to have spilled from an empty plastic box. Some kind of medical kit, she assumed? It must have burst open at some point during the climb. Aside from the box itself, nothing appeared to have spilled or burst, so that was lucky. Momentarily distracted from her thirst, she picked out a few of the items and examined them. Anti-fungal cream? Her aunt kept a tube of that stuff in the bathroom. Wasn't it usually used for foot warts, or something like that? Why would they give her something like this? Beautiful feet were the least of her worries. There were a few band-aids as well. She plastered one on her left knee, where a nasty scrape had left a few specks of blood oozing out.
Cecilia inexpertly stuffed the rest of loose items back into the box, until it was full. There were still several odds and ends left over, and she had no idea how they'd managed to fit it all in there in the first place. In amongst the leftover bits was something she hadn't been expecting: a map. She pulled it out and examined it. It looked like there was one large facility in the middle, and outside of it was this desert, which the map called "Rough lands." If her experience climbing the hill had been any guide, they had named it pretty accurately.
She took a swig of water, and savored it in her mouth for a little bit before swallowing. She had a distinct, primal urge to use some of it to wash the chalky dirt off of her hands, but that'd be a waste of resources. It didn't look like there was much chance that she'd be getting more water any time soon, so she'd have to make these bottles last. And that meant having dirty hands for the foreseeable future.
The big question now was what to do next. The building was an obvious gathering point - which also made it the most dangerous place to be. The other students would all be heading that way, meeting up with their friends to form groups and clusters. That wasn't an option for Cecilia. She barely knew any of their names, and she doubted that more than a handful of them knew hers. She wouldn't rely on any of them under normal circumstances, and this? This was a life or death situation. Nobody was worth trusting.
So, she'd stay put for now. The roughlands were dangerous in their own way, but Cecilia knew from experience that she could stay out here for days and survive it reasonably well if she found shade and a safe place to sleep. She'd sit here a little while longer, and then she'd go do a little more exploring and find a defensible position. But for right now, she'd lay down and think. The animal-faced people had said that they wanted everyone to go out and kill each other. Sooner or later, that was going to be her reality. And the sooner she prepared herself for that, the better.
She experimentally unzipped the duffel bag. She'd heard sloshing sounds whenever the bag shifted position. That meant there had to be water in there, right? Sure enough, there were six bottles, cool and clear and inviting. The bottles were nestled in a rat's nest of various medical-looking items, which appeared to have spilled from an empty plastic box. Some kind of medical kit, she assumed? It must have burst open at some point during the climb. Aside from the box itself, nothing appeared to have spilled or burst, so that was lucky. Momentarily distracted from her thirst, she picked out a few of the items and examined them. Anti-fungal cream? Her aunt kept a tube of that stuff in the bathroom. Wasn't it usually used for foot warts, or something like that? Why would they give her something like this? Beautiful feet were the least of her worries. There were a few band-aids as well. She plastered one on her left knee, where a nasty scrape had left a few specks of blood oozing out.
Cecilia inexpertly stuffed the rest of loose items back into the box, until it was full. There were still several odds and ends left over, and she had no idea how they'd managed to fit it all in there in the first place. In amongst the leftover bits was something she hadn't been expecting: a map. She pulled it out and examined it. It looked like there was one large facility in the middle, and outside of it was this desert, which the map called "Rough lands." If her experience climbing the hill had been any guide, they had named it pretty accurately.
She took a swig of water, and savored it in her mouth for a little bit before swallowing. She had a distinct, primal urge to use some of it to wash the chalky dirt off of her hands, but that'd be a waste of resources. It didn't look like there was much chance that she'd be getting more water any time soon, so she'd have to make these bottles last. And that meant having dirty hands for the foreseeable future.
The big question now was what to do next. The building was an obvious gathering point - which also made it the most dangerous place to be. The other students would all be heading that way, meeting up with their friends to form groups and clusters. That wasn't an option for Cecilia. She barely knew any of their names, and she doubted that more than a handful of them knew hers. She wouldn't rely on any of them under normal circumstances, and this? This was a life or death situation. Nobody was worth trusting.
So, she'd stay put for now. The roughlands were dangerous in their own way, but Cecilia knew from experience that she could stay out here for days and survive it reasonably well if she found shade and a safe place to sleep. She'd sit here a little while longer, and then she'd go do a little more exploring and find a defensible position. But for right now, she'd lay down and think. The animal-faced people had said that they wanted everyone to go out and kill each other. Sooner or later, that was going to be her reality. And the sooner she prepared herself for that, the better.
A soft and crunchy thud could be heard somewhere behind a rock close to Cecilia.
The rhythm picked up slowly, softer thumping to the left, to the right, and to the left and to the right, on the same spot. Until it came to a stop.
((Toma Jeung - START))
The rhythm picked up slowly, softer thumping to the left, to the right, and to the left and to the right, on the same spot. Until it came to a stop.
((Toma Jeung - START))
Cecilia sat bolt upright at the first crunch. Footsteps? It sounded like it. She reached into her open bag for one of the items she hadn't been able to fit into the box - a small pair of medical scissors. She scrambled upright and thrust them out in front of her, blades closed, in the direction of the rock from whence the sound was coming. Whatever was making the thudding sounds sounded big - much too big to be anything but another person.
Her mind thrummed with possibilities. She didn't know many of other students' gifts. Were the sounds really coming from behind the rock, or was an invisible student creeping nearer? Or, worse, what if whoever it was was capable of lifting a rock like that and throwing it at her? In that case, the scissors would be a joke.
She backed away from the rock, careful not to get too close to the edge of the hilltop - one false footstep could set the ground crumbling beneath her, and send her tumbling down the slope. The injuries from something like that would not be minor.
"¡DETENTE!" she snapped, trying to sound as intimidating and authoritative as possible. She pointed her makeshift weapon at the boulder, bracing herself for whatever came next. "¡No te acerques más!"
Her mind thrummed with possibilities. She didn't know many of other students' gifts. Were the sounds really coming from behind the rock, or was an invisible student creeping nearer? Or, worse, what if whoever it was was capable of lifting a rock like that and throwing it at her? In that case, the scissors would be a joke.
She backed away from the rock, careful not to get too close to the edge of the hilltop - one false footstep could set the ground crumbling beneath her, and send her tumbling down the slope. The injuries from something like that would not be minor.
"¡DETENTE!" she snapped, trying to sound as intimidating and authoritative as possible. She pointed her makeshift weapon at the boulder, bracing herself for whatever came next. "¡No te acerques más!"
S033 – Andrew Martin continued from would
The headaches had started up a little while ago. The uncomfortable bundle in the back of his mind had spread its roots out, branching out to carve paths of pain through his head; it throbbed along with his heartbeat, each time sending a wave of discomfort down the branches. Eventually they would spread until the inside of his head was nothing but pain, he knew that from experience, though before it got to that point would come the nose bleeds and the other stuff. Not that he ever let it get that bad anymore.
The steady progression of it gave him an odd sense of the passage of time. This always happened at roughly the same rate and after so many years of it Andrew could use his worsening headache to kind of tell how long it had been since he had begun suppressing his power, which was right around the time he first bumped into Mattie.
He looked over his shoulder and saw the boy in question still following him; Cyrus was back there too and though Andrew wasn’t particularly happy to still be in his company, he wanted to confront the boy about it even less. How he ended up at the front of his group he didn’t know, but at some point Andrew had pulled ahead with his longer legs and he had just begun to take the lead from there. Well, kind of. Leading implied that any of them knew where they were going, but he was just following the path of least resistance as the flat desert changed into rocky, uneven land and the others were doing the same.
No destination in mind, no goal in sight. Just walking until something or someone made him stop. Maybe they shou-
“Did anyone else hear that?” Andrew stopped at the base of a long and low slope. He turned to face the others. “I think I heard someone.”
The headaches had started up a little while ago. The uncomfortable bundle in the back of his mind had spread its roots out, branching out to carve paths of pain through his head; it throbbed along with his heartbeat, each time sending a wave of discomfort down the branches. Eventually they would spread until the inside of his head was nothing but pain, he knew that from experience, though before it got to that point would come the nose bleeds and the other stuff. Not that he ever let it get that bad anymore.
The steady progression of it gave him an odd sense of the passage of time. This always happened at roughly the same rate and after so many years of it Andrew could use his worsening headache to kind of tell how long it had been since he had begun suppressing his power, which was right around the time he first bumped into Mattie.
He looked over his shoulder and saw the boy in question still following him; Cyrus was back there too and though Andrew wasn’t particularly happy to still be in his company, he wanted to confront the boy about it even less. How he ended up at the front of his group he didn’t know, but at some point Andrew had pulled ahead with his longer legs and he had just begun to take the lead from there. Well, kind of. Leading implied that any of them knew where they were going, but he was just following the path of least resistance as the flat desert changed into rocky, uneven land and the others were doing the same.
No destination in mind, no goal in sight. Just walking until something or someone made him stop. Maybe they shou-
“Did anyone else hear that?” Andrew stopped at the base of a long and low slope. He turned to face the others. “I think I heard someone.”
The immediate area around Toma was adorned with black scraps of fabric that once resembled a sleeping bag; part of it at least. Half of it was still intact right next to him looking more like a trash bag that was about to be thrown out. He saw no use for it after he had woken up trapped inside it and gasping for air. Now it wouldn’t be able to harm him anymore, easy.
Same went for his jacket, hoodie, and shirt, except for keeping them whole. They were scattered over his bag, leaving Toma shirtless and feeling better emotionally and physically. He kept his sweatpants (two empty protein bar wrappers sticking out of one pocket), shoes, and cap on. The slight breeze was more than welcome and if the sun wanted to fight him, he was likely going to be the first one to throw a punch.
His feline tail, the source of most of the thumping noise, went from waving to doing some harsh flicks for a moment after he had taken just a few steps to the side before he suddenly heard a loud voice.
“What?”
Detention? Circus? Mess? Toma couldn’t understand what the person was saying but he had a feeling the words were directed at him. He grabbed his own tail from the side since it didn’t stop moving and peeked his head around the corner of the boulder.
“Hm. Yeah! Well, you’re not wrong about that!” Surely she’d find some sense in a generic sentence. Toma’s eyes looked sleepy and the slight grin he greeted her with disappeared within a second. The scissors pointing right at him didn’t look welcoming.
“Oh, okay… Do you want to give them to me?”
Same went for his jacket, hoodie, and shirt, except for keeping them whole. They were scattered over his bag, leaving Toma shirtless and feeling better emotionally and physically. He kept his sweatpants (two empty protein bar wrappers sticking out of one pocket), shoes, and cap on. The slight breeze was more than welcome and if the sun wanted to fight him, he was likely going to be the first one to throw a punch.
His feline tail, the source of most of the thumping noise, went from waving to doing some harsh flicks for a moment after he had taken just a few steps to the side before he suddenly heard a loud voice.
“What?”
Detention? Circus? Mess? Toma couldn’t understand what the person was saying but he had a feeling the words were directed at him. He grabbed his own tail from the side since it didn’t stop moving and peeked his head around the corner of the boulder.
“Hm. Yeah! Well, you’re not wrong about that!” Surely she’d find some sense in a generic sentence. Toma’s eyes looked sleepy and the slight grin he greeted her with disappeared within a second. The scissors pointing right at him didn’t look welcoming.
“Oh, okay… Do you want to give them to me?”
((Mattie Wilkinson continues from would))
The whole point was to get away, really. That was the only reason why they'd ended up here.
He had an idea what, or who, had started the whole swarm there. There was a girl, in the grade below him, whose gift was bugs, who smelled of bugs when you passed her in the hallways. But she'd always been harmless. A tarantula in her hair, a few ants following occasionally, and that was it. Just kept to herself, otherwise.
He'd thought on it for a bit during their long escape, and, like, what really screwed with him about it, he guessed, beyond just the primal, instinctive urge to not be engulfed and consumed alive by a swarm of insects, was that someone in their school was capable of such awesome power. Like, he knew that some people had been bestowed with powerful, powerful gifts post-Emergence, and he saw marks of that all over. People who had to wear masks, gloves, take pills just so they didn't hurt everyone in their paths. True crime podcasts, news articles talking about literal closed-room murders, hypothermia victims in the middle of the Mojave desert in the heat of summer. But it wasn't a reality he had to face on the regular. His dad was a human fox, his mom could extend and retract her nails like a cat, and that was it.
And, those stories about otherworldly deaths, they were scary, and they were kinda cool, as shitty as it was to think it, but above all, they were just stories to him. He knew people here had gifts that could be just as powerful, just as nasty, but that was just potential. Even before the Emergence, people were plenty capable of killing each other, yet no one went around the streets fearful of being stabbed or shot the next corner they turned around, right?
It was just, when he really thought about it, the fact that some of the people in his class were capable of so, so much, and, if no one came to rescue them, then they'd be left at each other's mercies.
People scared Mattie. Even on normal days people scared him.
There was shouting at the top of a nearby hill. Hard to make out the tenor of the voices, whether it was excitement or anger or fear, just that they were human and they were here.
People scared him, but, there was some childish part of him that maybe hoped that, if they were in a big group, they'd be better prepared for, sheltered from the next swarm, or the next threat, whoever, whatever that was. The same impulse as someone feeling the first drops of rain, running towards the nearest cover, if that made sense.
He wasn't sure. So, he turned to Cyrus, Andrew.
"You think we should check it out or?"
The whole point was to get away, really. That was the only reason why they'd ended up here.
He had an idea what, or who, had started the whole swarm there. There was a girl, in the grade below him, whose gift was bugs, who smelled of bugs when you passed her in the hallways. But she'd always been harmless. A tarantula in her hair, a few ants following occasionally, and that was it. Just kept to herself, otherwise.
He'd thought on it for a bit during their long escape, and, like, what really screwed with him about it, he guessed, beyond just the primal, instinctive urge to not be engulfed and consumed alive by a swarm of insects, was that someone in their school was capable of such awesome power. Like, he knew that some people had been bestowed with powerful, powerful gifts post-Emergence, and he saw marks of that all over. People who had to wear masks, gloves, take pills just so they didn't hurt everyone in their paths. True crime podcasts, news articles talking about literal closed-room murders, hypothermia victims in the middle of the Mojave desert in the heat of summer. But it wasn't a reality he had to face on the regular. His dad was a human fox, his mom could extend and retract her nails like a cat, and that was it.
And, those stories about otherworldly deaths, they were scary, and they were kinda cool, as shitty as it was to think it, but above all, they were just stories to him. He knew people here had gifts that could be just as powerful, just as nasty, but that was just potential. Even before the Emergence, people were plenty capable of killing each other, yet no one went around the streets fearful of being stabbed or shot the next corner they turned around, right?
It was just, when he really thought about it, the fact that some of the people in his class were capable of so, so much, and, if no one came to rescue them, then they'd be left at each other's mercies.
People scared Mattie. Even on normal days people scared him.
There was shouting at the top of a nearby hill. Hard to make out the tenor of the voices, whether it was excitement or anger or fear, just that they were human and they were here.
People scared him, but, there was some childish part of him that maybe hoped that, if they were in a big group, they'd be better prepared for, sheltered from the next swarm, or the next threat, whoever, whatever that was. The same impulse as someone feeling the first drops of rain, running towards the nearest cover, if that made sense.
He wasn't sure. So, he turned to Cyrus, Andrew.
"You think we should check it out or?"
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
((Cyrus continued from would.))
Should we check it out? Is it worth it? I mean, so far nobody has been armed. But who's to say nobody is armed? What if this guy is some executioner? It's a thought that makes Cyrus slightly scared for his life, but then he thinks. Perhaps he can get with this armed man or woman.
Protect them, or perhaps convince them to give him the weapon and then...well.
"Sure! Yeah, let's check it out. Maybe we can all..band together! Try to get the fuck outta dodge."
Should we check it out? Is it worth it? I mean, so far nobody has been armed. But who's to say nobody is armed? What if this guy is some executioner? It's a thought that makes Cyrus slightly scared for his life, but then he thinks. Perhaps he can get with this armed man or woman.
Protect them, or perhaps convince them to give him the weapon and then...well.
"Sure! Yeah, let's check it out. Maybe we can all..band together! Try to get the fuck outta dodge."
Cecilia's hand trembled as the boy from school spoke to her, and she reflexively tightened her grip on the scissors. There weren't many students in her class that she'd recognize on sight, but it was impossible not to recognize El Tigre.
"Tiger Tiger... burning bright,
In the forest of the night;
What immoral hand or eye,
Could frame thee fearful symmetry?"
Cecilia finished reading out the poem, and hesitantly put down the printout.
""¡Muy bien, Cici!" Tía Paulina said, giving her an encouraging smile. "(Your reading in English is getting much better! You got most of it! But it says 'immortal,' with a T, see?")
"(The words are so similar. What is the difference?)"
"('Immoral' means bad or wicked. 'Immortal' means to live forever. In this poem, Señor Blake is referring to God.)"
"¿Que?"
"(You see, later in the poem, he asks if the same God could make both a lamb and a tiger. He wants to why God would put good and terrible things in the same world.)"
"(Why was he so afraid of the tiger?)"
"(Ah, my dear. You have seen tigers in the zoo. But in Blake's time, tigers lived in the wild, deep in the jungle. They would hide in the shadows, and leap on people to devour them. A tiger isn't so terrible in the zoo. But if you saw a tiger in the wild, you would surely fear for your life.)"
Tía Paulina had been very, very right about that. Of all the students Cecilia could have run into, the boy she called El Tigre was probably the one she was most afraid to tangle with. She'd seen him lifting weights sometimes when she worked out after school. He was nearly a foot taller than her, and must've outweighed her by forty pounds. His frame was packed with muscles, and he knew how to use them. Being here alone with him, in some ways, felt even worse than being left alone with a real tiger. Real tigers would leave you alone if they weren't hungry. But El Tigre had incentive to kill her, and between his muscles and his fangs he was more than capable of getting the job done.
So then... why was he asking for her scissors? Nothing he was saying made any sense at all - the words were ones she knew, but strung together like this they were gibberish. What did he mean, she isn't wrong? And then he'd bared his fangs at her in a weird sort of smile, and asked if she wanted to give him the scissors. What did he mean by that? Was he asking her to surrender? Did he want her unarmed so he could move in for the kill?
The desert sun gleamed off of the scissors as they quivered in her hand. "I... I..." she stammered, her voice faltering into silence. When she was stressed, the words always fled her mind like a flock of little birds alighting from a bush. She gritted her teeth. The scissor points danced a bit, but Cecilia managed to keep them aimed directly at El Tigre.
"I... do not... give to you!"
"Tiger Tiger... burning bright,
In the forest of the night;
What immoral hand or eye,
Could frame thee fearful symmetry?"
Cecilia finished reading out the poem, and hesitantly put down the printout.
""¡Muy bien, Cici!" Tía Paulina said, giving her an encouraging smile. "(Your reading in English is getting much better! You got most of it! But it says 'immortal,' with a T, see?")
"(The words are so similar. What is the difference?)"
"('Immoral' means bad or wicked. 'Immortal' means to live forever. In this poem, Señor Blake is referring to God.)"
"¿Que?"
"(You see, later in the poem, he asks if the same God could make both a lamb and a tiger. He wants to why God would put good and terrible things in the same world.)"
"(Why was he so afraid of the tiger?)"
"(Ah, my dear. You have seen tigers in the zoo. But in Blake's time, tigers lived in the wild, deep in the jungle. They would hide in the shadows, and leap on people to devour them. A tiger isn't so terrible in the zoo. But if you saw a tiger in the wild, you would surely fear for your life.)"
Tía Paulina had been very, very right about that. Of all the students Cecilia could have run into, the boy she called El Tigre was probably the one she was most afraid to tangle with. She'd seen him lifting weights sometimes when she worked out after school. He was nearly a foot taller than her, and must've outweighed her by forty pounds. His frame was packed with muscles, and he knew how to use them. Being here alone with him, in some ways, felt even worse than being left alone with a real tiger. Real tigers would leave you alone if they weren't hungry. But El Tigre had incentive to kill her, and between his muscles and his fangs he was more than capable of getting the job done.
So then... why was he asking for her scissors? Nothing he was saying made any sense at all - the words were ones she knew, but strung together like this they were gibberish. What did he mean, she isn't wrong? And then he'd bared his fangs at her in a weird sort of smile, and asked if she wanted to give him the scissors. What did he mean by that? Was he asking her to surrender? Did he want her unarmed so he could move in for the kill?
The desert sun gleamed off of the scissors as they quivered in her hand. "I... I..." she stammered, her voice faltering into silence. When she was stressed, the words always fled her mind like a flock of little birds alighting from a bush. She gritted her teeth. The scissor points danced a bit, but Cecilia managed to keep them aimed directly at El Tigre.
"I... do not... give to you!"
Toma’s nails dug into the fur of his own tail before he let go of it to let it flick around some more. The tremble of Cecilia’s hand, her distressed and loud tone; he wasn’t blind or deaf or immune to it. Now he wished it was different, but this was the situation they were in.
Forcing his mouth into a thin line, he took more steps to the side to show all of himself and not only his head that had peeked out before. His shoulders showed slight signs of a beginning of a sunburn, but he didn’t pay it any mind. It didn’t matter.
“Yo.....” He put his hands on his hips swiftly with a certain strength to it. “Alright! I respect it. Since they’re yours and all.”
Yes, he had a plan. Yes, he didn’t know what he was doing.
“Uh, but actually, I think I kinda want them now for real!”
Staying where he was, he stretched his arm out towards the girl.
Forcing his mouth into a thin line, he took more steps to the side to show all of himself and not only his head that had peeked out before. His shoulders showed slight signs of a beginning of a sunburn, but he didn’t pay it any mind. It didn’t matter.
“Yo.....” He put his hands on his hips swiftly with a certain strength to it. “Alright! I respect it. Since they’re yours and all.”
Yes, he had a plan. Yes, he didn’t know what he was doing.
“Uh, but actually, I think I kinda want them now for real!”
Staying where he was, he stretched his arm out towards the girl.
Should they go check it out? It felt like it shouldn’t be a hard question to answer, but it was. Andrew turned away from the others to look back up the slope, standing awkwardly with one foot on the incline and the other on flat ground like he was about to start climbing; he could still hear the voices coming from the other side of the hill, too indistinct to make out what they were saying but clear enough to tell that whoever it was making all that noise wasn’t happy.
“I… don’t think we should.” He stepped away from the slope and began to walk back to Mattie and Cyrus. “I don’t think we should. I know there’s, like, safety in numbers, but that’s only assuming they’re friendly right? They don’t sound friendly.” The more people they met the more chance they had of running into someone dangerous, someone taking the whole ‘death game’ idea seriously. Maybe these people could help them, maybe they would try and kill them; why run the risk?
“I don’t know. I just don’t think we should take any risks.”
“I… don’t think we should.” He stepped away from the slope and began to walk back to Mattie and Cyrus. “I don’t think we should. I know there’s, like, safety in numbers, but that’s only assuming they’re friendly right? They don’t sound friendly.” The more people they met the more chance they had of running into someone dangerous, someone taking the whole ‘death game’ idea seriously. Maybe these people could help them, maybe they would try and kill them; why run the risk?
“I don’t know. I just don’t think we should take any risks.”
"I... I know we shouldn't, but..."
But, he was hoping you and Cyrus would come up with the same answer, and he could just agree with one of you guys.
Mattie had been hoping not to be making any major decisions for them. It's why he ran away in the first place.
Like, he didn't want to take risks, he didn't want to be around people because people were scary, they were risky, but.
There was this feeling creeping in of, like, being eight years old, stood paralyzed, ear to the door, muffled shouting leaking in from the living room. And he had to do something. He really needed to do something. He had to do something but he was scared. He was scared bad things might happen if he went out. But he had to do something. If he didn't do something right now, they'd never stop, if he did something, they'd never stop, he'd ruin everything, and things would just get worse and worse no matter what he did, and he didn't know what to do, and he had to do something or else they'd never stop and everything would be ruined and—
He'd be ten years older, only one parent left at home with him.
He thought back to that scene a lot. Rewound himself over and over and over and over.
Sometimes he'd even be able to get them to stop.
He wished he was in one of those timelines.
Just, he lived with the regret of not doing anything, carried it with him all the damn time.
So what if he lived with the regret of doing something he shouldn't have?
Like, they'd just woken up, and maybe the bug lady was freaking out, but it wasn't like they would kill each other. But, there was just this voice in his head, whispering what if, what if, what if, and if something did happen, it would never let him go for the rest of his life.
He started taking a few steps up the hill, stretching his neck a bit.
"I just wanna check it out before we... yeah."
He could always run away if he needed to.
But, he was hoping you and Cyrus would come up with the same answer, and he could just agree with one of you guys.
Mattie had been hoping not to be making any major decisions for them. It's why he ran away in the first place.
Like, he didn't want to take risks, he didn't want to be around people because people were scary, they were risky, but.
There was this feeling creeping in of, like, being eight years old, stood paralyzed, ear to the door, muffled shouting leaking in from the living room. And he had to do something. He really needed to do something. He had to do something but he was scared. He was scared bad things might happen if he went out. But he had to do something. If he didn't do something right now, they'd never stop, if he did something, they'd never stop, he'd ruin everything, and things would just get worse and worse no matter what he did, and he didn't know what to do, and he had to do something or else they'd never stop and everything would be ruined and—
He'd be ten years older, only one parent left at home with him.
He thought back to that scene a lot. Rewound himself over and over and over and over.
Sometimes he'd even be able to get them to stop.
He wished he was in one of those timelines.
Just, he lived with the regret of not doing anything, carried it with him all the damn time.
So what if he lived with the regret of doing something he shouldn't have?
Like, they'd just woken up, and maybe the bug lady was freaking out, but it wasn't like they would kill each other. But, there was just this voice in his head, whispering what if, what if, what if, and if something did happen, it would never let him go for the rest of his life.
He started taking a few steps up the hill, stretching his neck a bit.
"I just wanna check it out before we... yeah."
He could always run away if he needed to.
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
There was one thing Cyrus knew more, and it was when to run. He wouldn't know that Mattie was, also, thinking about running in the back of his mind or rather, his ability to.
But Cyrus looked at this group. What're they fighting over, scissors?
Fucking scissors, for Chrissake.
There was a point at which Cyrus stared forward, kind of like Patrick Bateman in every single scene in American Psycho. Blank. Unfeeling. Nothing behind the eyes. Without expression.
Except this time there was an expression. Disappointment. Cyrus picked the wrong group the go with. How could he actually use and protect himself, if this group only had some dusty old pair of scissors? A rock on the ground would be more useful to him.
They were fighting over scissors! Fuck!
And, thus, Cyrus would find an opportunity where nobody would see him.
((And, before anyone realized, he was basically walking back the way they came.))
But Cyrus looked at this group. What're they fighting over, scissors?
Fucking scissors, for Chrissake.
There was a point at which Cyrus stared forward, kind of like Patrick Bateman in every single scene in American Psycho. Blank. Unfeeling. Nothing behind the eyes. Without expression.
Except this time there was an expression. Disappointment. Cyrus picked the wrong group the go with. How could he actually use and protect himself, if this group only had some dusty old pair of scissors? A rock on the ground would be more useful to him.
They were fighting over scissors! Fuck!
And, thus, Cyrus would find an opportunity where nobody would see him.
((And, before anyone realized, he was basically walking back the way they came.))
El Tigre's hand reached out for her scissors. The movement was confident, unafraid. He showed no hesitation, no fear of her. As if it didn't matter what she'd do in response, because he would get the scissors from her no matter what. Well, he was wrong about that.
She jabbed the scissors towards his outstretched hand. "¡Dejalo!"
In response to the challenge, he feinted forward. She fell for it, taking a half-step in retreat. El Tigre capitalized on the mistake, and lunged forward, bulling into her with his full weight. Sturdy as she might have been, Cecilia was no match for him. He hit her like a freight train. There was an impact and another impact and the air was knocked out of her lungs and all she could see was the sky. She was gasping, choking as she inhaled some of the dust that she'd kicked up from her fall.
The scissors were still in her hand. She'd been holding them like a fighter's knife, tight between her thumb and the knuckle of her first finger, but the fall had loosened her grip just a bit. The scissor grips settled into her palm. She clenched her fingers tightly, and the tip slid between her fingers, effectively creating a fist with a metal spike sticking out. She struck out blindly, and reality asserted itself with a slight squeak of distressed metal as the scissors jabbed into a bony area of his shoulder. She heard El Tigre cry out in pain, and then his fingers locked around her wrist and slammed her hand against the ground, hard. The force of the impact jarred her fingers loose. Small rocks tore into her knuckles. Pain flared through every finger and up her arm as the scissors went cartwheeling away.
"Gaaah!"
El Tigre clamped down on her other hand, pinning her. His torso and chin blotted out the sky, his fangs bared. Any second now, those fangs would tear into her face, into her throat, and leave her choking to death in her own blood. She didn't want to die. Not like that. Terror drained the strength from her limbs, and she couldn't even find the strength to try and kick him off.
She managed to whimper out a single word.
"Please..."
She waited to die. Waited for her windpipe to be crushed, for sharp fangs to rip and tear and shred her throat to a bloody mess. Eternity passed while she trembled. A helpless tear leaked from her eye. But yet... El Tigre did not move. He was hesitating - mulling it over, maybe?
Her limbs were pinned. Her muscles were useless. She had nothing left. Nothing but her voice. She had to say something, anything! There had to be some way to convince him not to kill her! A thousand pleas flooded her mind, English and Spanish words blending together in a raging torrent of desperation. What would he listen to? If he didn't want to kill her, then what did he want? What did he want!? What could she possibly offer him?
She could only think of one thing, in that moment. It wasn't a plea. It wasn't an appeal.
"Home!" she blurted, her throat bobbing nervously. The words came slow, but then they grew loud and desperate. "I... I get you home!"
No, it wasn't a plea, or an appeal. It was just a lie.
She jabbed the scissors towards his outstretched hand. "¡Dejalo!"
In response to the challenge, he feinted forward. She fell for it, taking a half-step in retreat. El Tigre capitalized on the mistake, and lunged forward, bulling into her with his full weight. Sturdy as she might have been, Cecilia was no match for him. He hit her like a freight train. There was an impact and another impact and the air was knocked out of her lungs and all she could see was the sky. She was gasping, choking as she inhaled some of the dust that she'd kicked up from her fall.
The scissors were still in her hand. She'd been holding them like a fighter's knife, tight between her thumb and the knuckle of her first finger, but the fall had loosened her grip just a bit. The scissor grips settled into her palm. She clenched her fingers tightly, and the tip slid between her fingers, effectively creating a fist with a metal spike sticking out. She struck out blindly, and reality asserted itself with a slight squeak of distressed metal as the scissors jabbed into a bony area of his shoulder. She heard El Tigre cry out in pain, and then his fingers locked around her wrist and slammed her hand against the ground, hard. The force of the impact jarred her fingers loose. Small rocks tore into her knuckles. Pain flared through every finger and up her arm as the scissors went cartwheeling away.
"Gaaah!"
El Tigre clamped down on her other hand, pinning her. His torso and chin blotted out the sky, his fangs bared. Any second now, those fangs would tear into her face, into her throat, and leave her choking to death in her own blood. She didn't want to die. Not like that. Terror drained the strength from her limbs, and she couldn't even find the strength to try and kick him off.
She managed to whimper out a single word.
"Please..."
She waited to die. Waited for her windpipe to be crushed, for sharp fangs to rip and tear and shred her throat to a bloody mess. Eternity passed while she trembled. A helpless tear leaked from her eye. But yet... El Tigre did not move. He was hesitating - mulling it over, maybe?
Her limbs were pinned. Her muscles were useless. She had nothing left. Nothing but her voice. She had to say something, anything! There had to be some way to convince him not to kill her! A thousand pleas flooded her mind, English and Spanish words blending together in a raging torrent of desperation. What would he listen to? If he didn't want to kill her, then what did he want? What did he want!? What could she possibly offer him?
She could only think of one thing, in that moment. It wasn't a plea. It wasn't an appeal.
"Home!" she blurted, her throat bobbing nervously. The words came slow, but then they grew loud and desperate. "I... I get you home!"
No, it wasn't a plea, or an appeal. It was just a lie.
Instead of a proper response, Thoma’s dry throat refused to get out any proper sounds, his voice stumbling over a harsher puff of air. It seemed that even in the most barren desert one would still find no peace, after all. Where was the oasis?
Blood dripped down from his bare shoulder, dirtying part of the girl’s sweater. Between the pain that he felt inside and outside, his sandy socks, the distractions around them, and his cap that was more or less hanging onto only one of his feline ears, he needed a moment to process the further… process. What Cecilia had said was obviously of interest to him. He was panting some more, the tip of his tongue hovering over one of his fangs mindlessly. Considering his gift, they weren’t as big as an actual tiger’s, but bigger and sharper than average.
“—Home??”
Toma didn’t realize how hard he was gripping her wrists while he raised his eyebrow. The scissors were out of her reach now and that’s all he had wanted; eliminate the dangerous weapon. Anything could be one if the wielder was stubborn enough.
He groaned and finally touched his aching shoulder with one hand while remaining on top of Cecilia. His eyes wandered between the small wound, her face, then the ground.
“Honestly,” he swallowed, “I didn’t understand everything you said before but I wouldn’t mind going home because I wanna eat the steak I bought the other day, so...”
“that sounds good. You didn’t have to provoke me to tell me though! So you’re saying we can just walk away from here?”
Blood dripped down from his bare shoulder, dirtying part of the girl’s sweater. Between the pain that he felt inside and outside, his sandy socks, the distractions around them, and his cap that was more or less hanging onto only one of his feline ears, he needed a moment to process the further… process. What Cecilia had said was obviously of interest to him. He was panting some more, the tip of his tongue hovering over one of his fangs mindlessly. Considering his gift, they weren’t as big as an actual tiger’s, but bigger and sharper than average.
“—Home??”
Toma didn’t realize how hard he was gripping her wrists while he raised his eyebrow. The scissors were out of her reach now and that’s all he had wanted; eliminate the dangerous weapon. Anything could be one if the wielder was stubborn enough.
He groaned and finally touched his aching shoulder with one hand while remaining on top of Cecilia. His eyes wandered between the small wound, her face, then the ground.
“Honestly,” he swallowed, “I didn’t understand everything you said before but I wouldn’t mind going home because I wanna eat the steak I bought the other day, so...”
“that sounds good. You didn’t have to provoke me to tell me though! So you’re saying we can just walk away from here?”