((Vahka Basayev continued from Tales To Tell))
It didn't take Vahka long before he was almost ready to walk out again. An empty building was fine, and so was running into someone he could count on, or someone he didn't have any issue fucking with if the opportunity presented itself. He didn't find either, though. Instead, he found Marcus.
Marcus occupied some weird in-between space in his head. He definitely wasn't an asset. The guy was sunny and chipper and athletic but also sort of fragile, in a way he couldn't quite pin down. In a real fight, he'd probably panic. It stood to reason that he'd be a real easy target. On the other hand, Vahka considered him a friend. Not a close friend, but they'd started drawing together. They'd swapped art and ideas, critiqued each other, supported each other, and just generally had a real good time. He didn't want to hurt him unless he had to.
The right decision seemed to be to walk away again, but he couldn't. Seeing Marcus there in the cafe, alone, not even aware enough to notice Vahka come in behind him, gave Vahka a quick glance into his future. Somebody'd find him and take him down, hard.
He pitied him, really. Maybe he could throw the guy a bone. If they got lucky, they'd even be on the same team.
"Hey there, Marcus."
He moved towards the table where he was seated slowly. Spooking him wouldn't help him out. It was just a friendly chat.
Good Morning, Goodbye, Good Luck.
Private
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Latin For Dragula
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((Marcus Redder continued from Never Stop))
At first, Marcus didn’t know what’d driven him to the Aqua Museum. But when he’d had time to reflect upon his situation, he knew exactly why.
When he’d left the Nature Path he’d had no set direction, aimlessly wandering around the resort until he’d reached the entranceway of the museum. He’d stood for awhile at the entrance, taking in the structure that looked fairly dull in comparison to its surroundings, before beginning to move on in search of somewhere else to rest and compose himself. But something within him prevented Marcus from leaving the site, rooting his sneakers to the concrete path. It looked like it’d easily attract the sort of people he was looking for, its plain exterior making it the perfect hiding place. While Marcus wanted somewhere to take a moment to eat and formulate a plan of sorts, there was something else he’d felt an ever increasing need for; company. Marcus was used to periods of isolation, having spend many a weekend locked up in his room studying or completing assignments, but in a place as potentially dangerous as this, he was beginning to feel more than a little lonely and unprotected. He hadn’t seen a trace of anybody since Taylor, and if there was a chance his friends - or anybody, for that matter - might be inside, then he wanted to take it.
He’d found it surprisingly unoccupied when he’d pushed through the wide double-doors doors that led way to the fish tanks, and the silence of an area that would usually be filled with tourists and the like proved to be more than a little unsettling. He’d considered leaving once again, to find a place that didn’t make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but by that point he’d already reached the café adjacent to the tanks, and the fatigue he’d been fighting off for the past few hours had decided to make itself known.
So he’d stayed.
He was currently seated beside one of the tables scattered throughout the café area, leaning back in one of one of the matching hardback chairs. His bag sat atop the table, its contents spilling out onto the gleaming polished surface. He’d finally given into curiosity and boredom, sifting through each of the items he’d been provided with before depositing them back, having decided the majority of them weren’t necessary - save for the packet of Skittles he’d been given, a handful of which he was currently picking at.
Marcus glanced around him once more, before popping a cherry-flavoured skittle into his mouth and biting down on it, savouring the crunch between his teeth. He’d considered saving them for a little bit later, such as for a celebration when he reunited with one of his friends, but he was in need of the energy. Soon, though, any internal debate he’d been having over eating them proved a moot point when the sound of nearby footfalls reached his ears, before craning his head to see the new arrival - who’d already elusively moved to into his view.
Vahka Basayev, one of the people he wanted to see more than anybody else. Someone he knew he could ally with, someone he knew he could trust. Sure, Taylor had been a bit of a dud, but that was okay. It’d be naïve of him to think that everybody he came across would be willing to buddy up with him and go gallivanting across the resort, as much as he wished it could happen. But Vahka was different. They’d been friends back at Whittree, fellow artists. If there was one solitary person in this place that he could trust, then it had to be Vahka.
“Hey Vahka!” He exclaimed, immediately perking up. “I’m glad to see you here - I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find any of my friends. D’you want some Skittles?”
At first, Marcus didn’t know what’d driven him to the Aqua Museum. But when he’d had time to reflect upon his situation, he knew exactly why.
When he’d left the Nature Path he’d had no set direction, aimlessly wandering around the resort until he’d reached the entranceway of the museum. He’d stood for awhile at the entrance, taking in the structure that looked fairly dull in comparison to its surroundings, before beginning to move on in search of somewhere else to rest and compose himself. But something within him prevented Marcus from leaving the site, rooting his sneakers to the concrete path. It looked like it’d easily attract the sort of people he was looking for, its plain exterior making it the perfect hiding place. While Marcus wanted somewhere to take a moment to eat and formulate a plan of sorts, there was something else he’d felt an ever increasing need for; company. Marcus was used to periods of isolation, having spend many a weekend locked up in his room studying or completing assignments, but in a place as potentially dangerous as this, he was beginning to feel more than a little lonely and unprotected. He hadn’t seen a trace of anybody since Taylor, and if there was a chance his friends - or anybody, for that matter - might be inside, then he wanted to take it.
He’d found it surprisingly unoccupied when he’d pushed through the wide double-doors doors that led way to the fish tanks, and the silence of an area that would usually be filled with tourists and the like proved to be more than a little unsettling. He’d considered leaving once again, to find a place that didn’t make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but by that point he’d already reached the café adjacent to the tanks, and the fatigue he’d been fighting off for the past few hours had decided to make itself known.
So he’d stayed.
He was currently seated beside one of the tables scattered throughout the café area, leaning back in one of one of the matching hardback chairs. His bag sat atop the table, its contents spilling out onto the gleaming polished surface. He’d finally given into curiosity and boredom, sifting through each of the items he’d been provided with before depositing them back, having decided the majority of them weren’t necessary - save for the packet of Skittles he’d been given, a handful of which he was currently picking at.
Marcus glanced around him once more, before popping a cherry-flavoured skittle into his mouth and biting down on it, savouring the crunch between his teeth. He’d considered saving them for a little bit later, such as for a celebration when he reunited with one of his friends, but he was in need of the energy. Soon, though, any internal debate he’d been having over eating them proved a moot point when the sound of nearby footfalls reached his ears, before craning his head to see the new arrival - who’d already elusively moved to into his view.
Vahka Basayev, one of the people he wanted to see more than anybody else. Someone he knew he could ally with, someone he knew he could trust. Sure, Taylor had been a bit of a dud, but that was okay. It’d be naïve of him to think that everybody he came across would be willing to buddy up with him and go gallivanting across the resort, as much as he wished it could happen. But Vahka was different. They’d been friends back at Whittree, fellow artists. If there was one solitary person in this place that he could trust, then it had to be Vahka.
“Hey Vahka!” He exclaimed, immediately perking up. “I’m glad to see you here - I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find any of my friends. D’you want some Skittles?”
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Latin For Dragula
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Vahka chuckled as he realized what the other boy was eating. "Shit. Haven't been here more than a couple hours and you're already bustin' into the candy. Seems like you're havin' a better time than me, buddy."
He walked over and stared down at Marcus. "Whatcha been up to, short-stack? You stayin' outta trouble?"
Nice and easy, with just a touch of bravado. A good lull, and a nice chance to be a little more honest. Idly, he kept an eye out for Marcus's bandanna. No sense in bringing it up while they were catching up, but it'd be good to see.
He walked over and stared down at Marcus. "Whatcha been up to, short-stack? You stayin' outta trouble?"
Nice and easy, with just a touch of bravado. A good lull, and a nice chance to be a little more honest. Idly, he kept an eye out for Marcus's bandanna. No sense in bringing it up while they were catching up, but it'd be good to see.
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SansaSaver
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Marcus laughed, a wide beam stretching across his face as Vahka approached. He didn’t think he work well with sad people - never knowing the right things to say or do - so he was glad that his friend hadn’t lost his sense of humour, even in the situation they were in. He glanced down at the ever-dwindling mound of candy in his hand as Vahka referenced it, scrunching up his face as he popped another pebble into his mouth.
“I thought I needed the energy, y’know?” He said, chewing pensively as he rolled another piece between his fingers. “I’ve kinda been running a lot since this thing started, so I thought I ought to recuperate and stuff!”
Marcus idly swung his legs from the edge of his seat, gently swaying from side to side, with a warm smile still firmly placed amongst his features. Even after a few seconds of speaking he felt remarkably calm - though he suspected part of that was due to his thoughts on the continued goodwill of his classmates being justified. None of them really would kill or do anything bad, and that wasn’t just his own constant stream of optimism speaking, that was the truth. It had to be, because the alternative was too awful to consider.
“I’ve not been up to much,” he continued, replying to Vahka’s inquiry as to what he’d been doing. “I met a guy from the other school, Taylor, though we didn’t talk for long. Other than that I’ve mostly been running, trying to clear my head.”
A few loose strands of hair floated into his vision as he spoke and Marcus motioned to flick them away, the tassels of his bandanna brushing against his face as he did so. He’d neglected to gel it the morning he’d been taken, something he was now coming to regret. It didn’t really matter, though - he could always fix it later, and right now he had Vahka to focus on.
“So, what’s been happening with you?”
“I thought I needed the energy, y’know?” He said, chewing pensively as he rolled another piece between his fingers. “I’ve kinda been running a lot since this thing started, so I thought I ought to recuperate and stuff!”
Marcus idly swung his legs from the edge of his seat, gently swaying from side to side, with a warm smile still firmly placed amongst his features. Even after a few seconds of speaking he felt remarkably calm - though he suspected part of that was due to his thoughts on the continued goodwill of his classmates being justified. None of them really would kill or do anything bad, and that wasn’t just his own constant stream of optimism speaking, that was the truth. It had to be, because the alternative was too awful to consider.
“I’ve not been up to much,” he continued, replying to Vahka’s inquiry as to what he’d been doing. “I met a guy from the other school, Taylor, though we didn’t talk for long. Other than that I’ve mostly been running, trying to clear my head.”
A few loose strands of hair floated into his vision as he spoke and Marcus motioned to flick them away, the tassels of his bandanna brushing against his face as he did so. He’d neglected to gel it the morning he’d been taken, something he was now coming to regret. It didn’t really matter, though - he could always fix it later, and right now he had Vahka to focus on.
“So, what’s been happening with you?”
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Latin For Dragula
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For a moment Vahka was concerned someone had been following Marcus when he mentioned running, both because of the danger it brought for him, and the thought of his diminutive writing buddy racing around for his life out in this deserted resort. It sounded like he was just running for the hell of it, though. That drew a short sigh of mixed relief and exasperation. "Marcus, I get it, you're used to bein' active as hell, but you gotta be careful around here. Some bastard cornered me in the hotel earlier and tried to gun me down before I scared 'im off. Gotta stay low to avoid that, ya hear?"
As Marcus's hand came up, he found what he was looking for. The color looked familiar, though it wasn't his. Maybe Eden's? Nah. Coulda been that guy in the sand's, or...
His mouth went dry. Suddenly, things weren't so friendly.
"Say, that thing around yer wrist...it yours, or did you nick it off somebody?"
As Marcus's hand came up, he found what he was looking for. The color looked familiar, though it wasn't his. Maybe Eden's? Nah. Coulda been that guy in the sand's, or...
His mouth went dry. Suddenly, things weren't so friendly.
"Say, that thing around yer wrist...it yours, or did you nick it off somebody?"
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Marcus nodded as he processed Vahka’s words, turning them over in his head. His friend was right - he had been exerting himself a lot, and he didn’t want to run into exhaustion too soon. Once they got moving again he promised himself he wouldn’t go bounding off to their destination - instead he’d take it slow. He had no real need to rush, really. They’d reunite with all of their other friends pretty quickly, Marcus suspected. If he’d found Vahka so early then surely the same would happen with everybody else, right?
“I’ll try to, I really will,” Marcus said, placing his remaining Skittles onto the tabletop. He felt awfully silly turning them over in his hands and letting them distract him, especially when he was talking to one of his best friends. He returned his hands to his lap, clasping them together as he considered what Vahka said next. Someone had been shooting at him? That didn’t sound right, didn’t sound close to what he thought would happen. He guessed some people might’ve freaked out near the start - that was fairly probable, and not much to be considered about. Everyone would calm down once they realised that everything would work out fine, and that there was no need to turn on each other.
Until then, though, Marcus did what little he could to comfort him - shifting his chair from where it was positioned and moving it closer to Vahka. He would’ve offered him one of his trademark hugs, but suspected that maybe his friend might still be a bit too jumpy for physical contact, something he could understand.
“I felt a little silly sitting so far away,” he explained, bouncing lightly on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Nope, this is what they gave me,” he replied after Vahka asked where he’d gotten his bandanna, twisting the length of fabric around his wrist. “Apparently I’m a bear!” He made a mock claw with his fingers and jokingly waved it at Vahka with an accompanying growl, laughing all the while. Marcus brushed his hands against his jeans and moved to sit down, before pausing as the darkened tone of Vahka’s words made itself known. Marcus let the lightest of frowns pass over his features, his eyes widened in faint concern. He hoped he hadn’t done anything to upset Vahka; his mind raced with what seemed to be a myriad of possibilities, but he couldn’t latch on to a single one. But Vahka was his friend; he was sure he could easily repair any unintentional damage he may have caused.
“Is there something wrong?”
“I’ll try to, I really will,” Marcus said, placing his remaining Skittles onto the tabletop. He felt awfully silly turning them over in his hands and letting them distract him, especially when he was talking to one of his best friends. He returned his hands to his lap, clasping them together as he considered what Vahka said next. Someone had been shooting at him? That didn’t sound right, didn’t sound close to what he thought would happen. He guessed some people might’ve freaked out near the start - that was fairly probable, and not much to be considered about. Everyone would calm down once they realised that everything would work out fine, and that there was no need to turn on each other.
Until then, though, Marcus did what little he could to comfort him - shifting his chair from where it was positioned and moving it closer to Vahka. He would’ve offered him one of his trademark hugs, but suspected that maybe his friend might still be a bit too jumpy for physical contact, something he could understand.
“I felt a little silly sitting so far away,” he explained, bouncing lightly on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Nope, this is what they gave me,” he replied after Vahka asked where he’d gotten his bandanna, twisting the length of fabric around his wrist. “Apparently I’m a bear!” He made a mock claw with his fingers and jokingly waved it at Vahka with an accompanying growl, laughing all the while. Marcus brushed his hands against his jeans and moved to sit down, before pausing as the darkened tone of Vahka’s words made itself known. Marcus let the lightest of frowns pass over his features, his eyes widened in faint concern. He hoped he hadn’t done anything to upset Vahka; his mind raced with what seemed to be a myriad of possibilities, but he couldn’t latch on to a single one. But Vahka was his friend; he was sure he could easily repair any unintentional damage he may have caused.
“Is there something wrong?”
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Latin For Dragula
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He was one of Birdie's. There was no way around it. They had the same bandanna and everything. He let out another, notably sadder sigh.
"That's a damn shame, Marcus."
Before the other boy could respond, he swung his fist up into his gut as hard as he could.
"That's a damn shame, Marcus."
Before the other boy could respond, he swung his fist up into his gut as hard as he could.
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Marcus fell to the ground with a violent bang, Vahka’s punch sending him toppling backwards into one of the other tables that littered the area, his head contacting loudly and painfully with the linoleum floor. He struggled to regain his bearings through the hair that fell limply in his face and the sheer shock that blasted through his system, fingers and feet slipping as they struggled in vain to gain a grip with which to support him. Thoughts haphazardly raced through his mind as he struggled to process what’d happened. Vahka had punched him. Why had he done that? Marcus trusted him. They were supposed to be friends.
He choked violently, struggling to breathe properly as he tried to reintroduce air into his lungs and roll onto his back, face the attacker he’d once thought himself so close to. Through his desperate gasps and the throbs of pain that continued to burst from his abdomen, Marcus was able to choke out a singular “Why?” before his body was seized with yet another spasm and accompanying groan of pain, as though so
He choked violently, struggling to breathe properly as he tried to reintroduce air into his lungs and roll onto his back, face the attacker he’d once thought himself so close to. Through his desperate gasps and the throbs of pain that continued to burst from his abdomen, Marcus was able to choke out a singular “Why?” before his body was seized with yet another spasm and accompanying groan of pain, as though so
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Latin For Dragula
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Quick, clean, memorable. That was the goal.
Vahka wandered over to Marcus's choking, spasming body with lazy purpose. He kept his steps casual but directed, measuring his movements to look as relaxed as possible while remaining focused on the beating at hand. Having to do this to Marcus stung, but he needed a messenger, and he needed supplies. If he survived long enough, Marcus would find Birdie. If he was scared by what Vahka had almost done to him in the Hotel, he'll be terrified of what he does to his team.
Why? He answered the question with an elbow drop into Marcus's already abused stomach. The point of his arm ground into his diaphragm before he rolled off and planted his foot against the whimpering boy's chest. Explanation came in the form of a low rumble.
"Marcus? Look up here, buddy. We need to have a little chat."
His boot pressed down as the rest of his body leaned in with just enough pressure to make Marcus uncomfortable. Left to his own devices he might pass out, and Vahka didn't want that. Not until they were done.
"Now I've got nothin' against you, Marcus. I actually like ya. What I don't like is the color of that bandanna. So here's how this plays: If you stay down like a good lad, I'll just be takin' your weapon, half your food, and whatever I think I'll need from your medkit."
The pressure increased just slightly to accentuate his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Try n' stop me and I take it all, and I'm breakin' somethin' for the trouble. We clear?"
Had to be this way. At least he was giving him a way out. If he was as smart as Vahka thought, he'd take it.
Later on, he'd look back and almost laugh at the absurdity of a kick to the nuts getting a bigger reaction from him than a gunshot wound. Maybe it was the lack of preparation, or adrenaline, but when Marcus's foot came up between his legs, he stumbled back reeling onto his knees, clutching his crotch and hissing through a bit lip in pain.
Later, it'd be funny. Right now he was just fucking pissed.
Vahka wandered over to Marcus's choking, spasming body with lazy purpose. He kept his steps casual but directed, measuring his movements to look as relaxed as possible while remaining focused on the beating at hand. Having to do this to Marcus stung, but he needed a messenger, and he needed supplies. If he survived long enough, Marcus would find Birdie. If he was scared by what Vahka had almost done to him in the Hotel, he'll be terrified of what he does to his team.
Why? He answered the question with an elbow drop into Marcus's already abused stomach. The point of his arm ground into his diaphragm before he rolled off and planted his foot against the whimpering boy's chest. Explanation came in the form of a low rumble.
"Marcus? Look up here, buddy. We need to have a little chat."
His boot pressed down as the rest of his body leaned in with just enough pressure to make Marcus uncomfortable. Left to his own devices he might pass out, and Vahka didn't want that. Not until they were done.
"Now I've got nothin' against you, Marcus. I actually like ya. What I don't like is the color of that bandanna. So here's how this plays: If you stay down like a good lad, I'll just be takin' your weapon, half your food, and whatever I think I'll need from your medkit."
The pressure increased just slightly to accentuate his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Try n' stop me and I take it all, and I'm breakin' somethin' for the trouble. We clear?"
Had to be this way. At least he was giving him a way out. If he was as smart as Vahka thought, he'd take it.
Later on, he'd look back and almost laugh at the absurdity of a kick to the nuts getting a bigger reaction from him than a gunshot wound. Maybe it was the lack of preparation, or adrenaline, but when Marcus's foot came up between his legs, he stumbled back reeling onto his knees, clutching his crotch and hissing through a bit lip in pain.
Later, it'd be funny. Right now he was just fucking pissed.
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The pressure on Marcus’s stomach was mercifully alleviated, his opponent’s gargantuan form lying a feet feet away from him. He couldn’t remember exactly how it’d happened, only knowing that one second he’d been listening to Vahka’s justifications - giving the mere colour of Marcus’s bandanna as reason for his attack - and the next he’d been lashing out, realising the emotions that’d been swirling within him. Confusion, fear, anger, all of it propelled his foot forwards, empowering his desperate kick at Vahka’s groin.
It’d been a mistake; he knew that as soon as Vahka was off him and clutching at his pants, knew that it’d been on impulse, knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt him. Vahka was a friend, and he could never do something like that to a friend, not on purpose. He couldn’t, could he?
He gingerly returned to his feet, balance off-centre and every inch of him throbbing with pain. Panic coursed through his system and his stomach rocked with queasiness as he took proper view of what he’d done to Vahka. He looked so fragile sitting there, and in that moment Marcus lost any of the anger or fear he’d felt only seconds before, those emotions replaced with one thing; pity. In spite of what Vahka had done, for reasons so petty Marcus could scarcely believe them, he couldn’t just leave his friend there. That would be a monstrous thing to do, and Marcus refused to believe he could sink to such a level.
Even so, each of his steps was thick with trepidation as he shifted towards his friend, fearful that any move out of line would only earn him further wrath. Needles of pain in his calves made themselves known as he began to kneel beside Vahka, and the tears that danced on his vision threatened to fall as he locked eyes with his friend. Marcus regretted the decision immediately, the emotions - the same emotions that’d rushed through himself seconds before - that he thought he’d see in the icy blue eyes far removed from the solitary feeling that was etched over his entire face.
They hated.
Marcus turned on his heel as quickly as he could, each movement clumsy and slow with the aching that persisted as much as he tried to drive it from his focus. He had to get away, had to have some time to think and try and figure out what to do next, had to try and explain to Vahka why he’d done that, try and deny what’d happened. But it was useless. As he stumbled around a corner and into the museum section, its walls flanked with aquariums and the like, Marcus began to feel his legs give out beneath him, succumbing to a concoction of fatigue and agony. His head again made violent contact with the floor, and he felt the breath knocked from his lungs. He didn’t make any attempts to flee, his body unwilling to move at all in spite of the familiar sound of Vahka’s approach.
The tears began to flow freely now and he made no attempts to stop them, his body wracked with sobs and desperate attempts to regain oxygen. Even so, he was still able to manage a few words, though they were scarcely audible above his ragged breath and the drumming of his heartbeat.
“I thought we were friends.”
He hadn’t meant it.
It’d been a mistake; he knew that as soon as Vahka was off him and clutching at his pants, knew that it’d been on impulse, knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt him. Vahka was a friend, and he could never do something like that to a friend, not on purpose. He couldn’t, could he?
He gingerly returned to his feet, balance off-centre and every inch of him throbbing with pain. Panic coursed through his system and his stomach rocked with queasiness as he took proper view of what he’d done to Vahka. He looked so fragile sitting there, and in that moment Marcus lost any of the anger or fear he’d felt only seconds before, those emotions replaced with one thing; pity. In spite of what Vahka had done, for reasons so petty Marcus could scarcely believe them, he couldn’t just leave his friend there. That would be a monstrous thing to do, and Marcus refused to believe he could sink to such a level.
Even so, each of his steps was thick with trepidation as he shifted towards his friend, fearful that any move out of line would only earn him further wrath. Needles of pain in his calves made themselves known as he began to kneel beside Vahka, and the tears that danced on his vision threatened to fall as he locked eyes with his friend. Marcus regretted the decision immediately, the emotions - the same emotions that’d rushed through himself seconds before - that he thought he’d see in the icy blue eyes far removed from the solitary feeling that was etched over his entire face.
They hated.
Marcus turned on his heel as quickly as he could, each movement clumsy and slow with the aching that persisted as much as he tried to drive it from his focus. He had to get away, had to have some time to think and try and figure out what to do next, had to try and explain to Vahka why he’d done that, try and deny what’d happened. But it was useless. As he stumbled around a corner and into the museum section, its walls flanked with aquariums and the like, Marcus began to feel his legs give out beneath him, succumbing to a concoction of fatigue and agony. His head again made violent contact with the floor, and he felt the breath knocked from his lungs. He didn’t make any attempts to flee, his body unwilling to move at all in spite of the familiar sound of Vahka’s approach.
The tears began to flow freely now and he made no attempts to stop them, his body wracked with sobs and desperate attempts to regain oxygen. Even so, he was still able to manage a few words, though they were scarcely audible above his ragged breath and the drumming of his heartbeat.
“I thought we were friends.”
He hadn’t meant it.
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Latin For Dragula
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Quick.
That flew out the window as soon as the kick extended their timeline. Now, his approach was slow. Methodical. Inevitable. Marcus was in no state to get very far. This was going to last.
Clean.
He'd given him the option for clean. He'd blitzed through and laid things out as clearly as possible. Every movement had been chosen to make it clear to Marcus what the right choice was. Yet he'd gone and decided to fight back anyway, so clean wasn't on the table anymore.
Memorable, though?
Marcus was going to remember this. He'd make damn sure of that.
At first, there was no response to his pleas of friendship. Vahka scooped him up by his collar and stared unblinkingly into his tear-filled eyes. He shook in the grasp of his comparatively massive hand, but he didn't resist anymore. The movement seemed to come solely from involuntary fear. Vahka held him there for a couple beats to let that fear grow, then whispered softly.
"You don't listen so good, do ya Marcus? Lemme help you out."
Muscles flexed tight as his arm reared back, then flew forward, releasing his death-grip to let Marcus fly towards the nearest of the three vestigial aquariums. The small boy collided against the glass with a sharp snap, forcing small cracks to blossom along its front. He collapsed with his arms out in front of him, but didn't move. It seemed he barely had the energy to even whimper with pain from the assault.
As his arms flopped down limply, Vahka spied the offending bandanna. He'd made Marcus a promise. Here was a golden opportunity to make good on it. Within moments, he was towering over his heap of a friend with his thick boot raised over his hand.
"Now listen real careful, 'cuz I'm not gonna say this again..."
Pause.
"Stay. Fucking. Low!"
Each growl was punctuated with a heavy stomp onto Marcus's exposed hand, each drawing a new, pitiful mixture of a scream and a whine as the bones in his hand fractured from Vahka's determined weight. To make sure the point was absolutely clear, he ground his heel into the obliterated extremity, squeezing whatever fight Marcus had left in him out.
There was the enforcement. Now the lesson. He leaned in and snarled right next to the fetal boy's ear.
"Didn't have t' be this way. I gave you an easy way out. You started shit you couldn't finish, though, even when I told ya exactly what I'd do. You believe me now?"
His breath was ragged as he pulled himself up. There was still a a sharp ache from Marcus's kick, and it flared up with every step he took. He could work through the pain though. The scene wasn't complete.
"Anybody else woulda killed you. Hell, I'd probably be doin' ya a favor putting ya down now and savin' you from what's comin', because honestly? You ain't cut out for it. You're right, though. We're friends. That's why you get to keep breathin'."
He didn't even look back as he fired his final threat. There was no need to elaborate on the consequences.
"Don't make me regret that."
Back in the cafe he found Marcus's bag. From inside he took the all of the food, the medkit, and the bear trap he assumed was his assigned weapon. He also took his spare batteries, and the ones out of his flashlight. Left inside was a single bottle of powerade, the map and compass, and all of Marcus's spare clothes, including some kind of flimsy chef get-up. The only use he had for any of that was using one of the shirt's to wipe Marcus's blood off of his boot.
He could have taken it all, even if he was just going dump it later for being useless. That didn't fit his purpose, though. Instead, he slapped on the slightest slit of a smile, and whistled his way out of the museum. An old song Ronnie had loved to party to had wormed its way into his skull.
It's easy for me, I've got no shame, I'm in it for the money and fame...
The folks at home could have fun with that one.
((Vahka Basayev continued in Somewhere Between Motivated and Cold))
That flew out the window as soon as the kick extended their timeline. Now, his approach was slow. Methodical. Inevitable. Marcus was in no state to get very far. This was going to last.
Clean.
He'd given him the option for clean. He'd blitzed through and laid things out as clearly as possible. Every movement had been chosen to make it clear to Marcus what the right choice was. Yet he'd gone and decided to fight back anyway, so clean wasn't on the table anymore.
Memorable, though?
Marcus was going to remember this. He'd make damn sure of that.
At first, there was no response to his pleas of friendship. Vahka scooped him up by his collar and stared unblinkingly into his tear-filled eyes. He shook in the grasp of his comparatively massive hand, but he didn't resist anymore. The movement seemed to come solely from involuntary fear. Vahka held him there for a couple beats to let that fear grow, then whispered softly.
"You don't listen so good, do ya Marcus? Lemme help you out."
Muscles flexed tight as his arm reared back, then flew forward, releasing his death-grip to let Marcus fly towards the nearest of the three vestigial aquariums. The small boy collided against the glass with a sharp snap, forcing small cracks to blossom along its front. He collapsed with his arms out in front of him, but didn't move. It seemed he barely had the energy to even whimper with pain from the assault.
As his arms flopped down limply, Vahka spied the offending bandanna. He'd made Marcus a promise. Here was a golden opportunity to make good on it. Within moments, he was towering over his heap of a friend with his thick boot raised over his hand.
"Now listen real careful, 'cuz I'm not gonna say this again..."
Pause.
"Stay. Fucking. Low!"
Each growl was punctuated with a heavy stomp onto Marcus's exposed hand, each drawing a new, pitiful mixture of a scream and a whine as the bones in his hand fractured from Vahka's determined weight. To make sure the point was absolutely clear, he ground his heel into the obliterated extremity, squeezing whatever fight Marcus had left in him out.
There was the enforcement. Now the lesson. He leaned in and snarled right next to the fetal boy's ear.
"Didn't have t' be this way. I gave you an easy way out. You started shit you couldn't finish, though, even when I told ya exactly what I'd do. You believe me now?"
His breath was ragged as he pulled himself up. There was still a a sharp ache from Marcus's kick, and it flared up with every step he took. He could work through the pain though. The scene wasn't complete.
"Anybody else woulda killed you. Hell, I'd probably be doin' ya a favor putting ya down now and savin' you from what's comin', because honestly? You ain't cut out for it. You're right, though. We're friends. That's why you get to keep breathin'."
He didn't even look back as he fired his final threat. There was no need to elaborate on the consequences.
"Don't make me regret that."
Back in the cafe he found Marcus's bag. From inside he took the all of the food, the medkit, and the bear trap he assumed was his assigned weapon. He also took his spare batteries, and the ones out of his flashlight. Left inside was a single bottle of powerade, the map and compass, and all of Marcus's spare clothes, including some kind of flimsy chef get-up. The only use he had for any of that was using one of the shirt's to wipe Marcus's blood off of his boot.
He could have taken it all, even if he was just going dump it later for being useless. That didn't fit his purpose, though. Instead, he slapped on the slightest slit of a smile, and whistled his way out of the museum. An old song Ronnie had loved to party to had wormed its way into his skull.
It's easy for me, I've got no shame, I'm in it for the money and fame...
The folks at home could have fun with that one.
((Vahka Basayev continued in Somewhere Between Motivated and Cold))
-
SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
Any lingering traces of shock had long since fled Marcus’s system, leaving nothing to numb the pain as the heel of Vahka’s boot slammed repeatedly into his hand, each time leaving a clearly audible crunch in its wake, distinct even beyond his desperate screams and the ringing in his ears. He just wanted it to stop, wanted it to be over. He didn’t care what he had to do, just so long as the unrelenting agony that tore through him could be over, if even for a mere second. Even through the pain and screams and tears, Vahka’s words made themselves known to him, imprinting themselves into his fractured mindset. He was doing this because they were friends, not in spite of it. This was mercy. Vahka could be doing much, much worse to him, yet he wasn’t, and he’d spoken as though he ought to be grateful.
It was hard for Marcus to be grateful when the main thought that stuck in his mind was ‘kill me.’
Vahka shifted away from him, the stomping of his heel suddenly coming to a stop as he began to flee from the area. Marcus instinctively curled into a ball as soon as Vahka began his retreat, mangled hand dragging limply behind him through the pool of water that’d accumulated on the floor and each and every movement making his entire body feel as though it were screaming to the heavens. He forced his eyes tightly shut, fearful that Vahka would return and somehow worsen the damage he’d already inflicted. He might as well have stayed, truthfully, might as well have continued on his path; for even without his repeated strikes against him, Marcus’s hand felt like it was aflame, like someone had gleefully embedded nails into every bit of flesh, like any myriad of possible similes that could only begin to describe what it was like. He forced himself to look, agonisingly turning his head in its direction, and the very sight made him retch without even factoring in the pain. The fingers were bent and broken, the nails he’d once worked so hard to maintain chipped and bloody and - in many cases - missing altogether, cuticles torn to pieces beneath Vahka’s weight. A sickening mixture of yellows and purples was already spreading across his hand, and when the tail of his bandanna brushed lightly against the newfound bruising it sent a sharp scream from the depths of his throat.
He forced himself to look away after that, but couldn’t bring himself to move, not yet.
Vahka’s words cycled through his head, relaying themselves like some insane mantra. They were still friends, in spite of what Vahka had done to him, he’d said so himself. Marcus tried to put himself in Vahka’s shoes, tried to understand the other boy’s reasoning and why he’d done what he did, but couldn’t do it, no matter how hard he tried. It was impossible to think properly, to grab ahold of any of the whirlwind of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. It was impossible to do anything, not through the unending pain.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that for much longer. It took only a few seconds more for darkness to creep into the edges of his vision, lingering there as a small part of him tried to protest, before mercifully swallowing him up.
Marcus awoke awhile later - a few minutes, maybe an hour; he couldn’t tell and didn’t care - still lying in a pool of water that’d left his t-shirt drenched and waterlogged, every inch of him still shrieking with the hurt that’d been only further exacerbated by time. He laid on the floor for some time, hand blackened and chest aching, everything that’d happened stamped well into his consciousness despite his refusal to acknowledge it, listening to the constant drip-drip of the leaking aquarium behind him. It was almost peaceful; at utter odds with the short-lived chaos that’d transpired there.
Eventually he found the strength to force himself up, the terror that’d rampaged through him returning in full force as he felt a shiver make its way down his spine. Though it was only when he was precariously standing and ready to bolt away from whatever threat it was that he realised it was only a light breeze passing through an open window. Normally he would’ve chided himself for being so skittish, but for now he let it go, instead focusing his attention on making his way towards what little of his belongings Vahka had left him. His left hand hovered in the air, shaking violently and throbbing with an uneven ache as though it’d been caught tightly in a vice. He had to fight the urge to baby it, not wanting to touch the delicate bruise against anything at all - lest it cause him to scream once more.
He managed to stumble towards the upturned table where Vahka had tossed the remaining supplies, and had to fight the urge to collapse right there and then. The first-aid kit was gone, along with his weapon and everything else - the few items remaining being a solitary bottle of Powerade, his map and its accompanying compass, and his provided clothing. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, not even for someone as bright-sided as he was, but it was something. With everything else gone, it was all he had with which to survive and defend himself, as useless as each item seemed. He hurriedly gathered it in a messy bundle, tucking it under his good arm whilst the other continued to hover in the air, heart rate beginning to increase and panic beginning to course through his system once more before dissipating just as quickly.
He had to leave.
Now, before Vahka came back to finish what he’d started.
And so he did.
But this time, he didn’t run.
This time, Marcus walked calmly and slowly towards the exit, leaving the building as if nothing had happened.
((Marcus Redder continued in Shaken, Not Stirred))
It was hard for Marcus to be grateful when the main thought that stuck in his mind was ‘kill me.’
Vahka shifted away from him, the stomping of his heel suddenly coming to a stop as he began to flee from the area. Marcus instinctively curled into a ball as soon as Vahka began his retreat, mangled hand dragging limply behind him through the pool of water that’d accumulated on the floor and each and every movement making his entire body feel as though it were screaming to the heavens. He forced his eyes tightly shut, fearful that Vahka would return and somehow worsen the damage he’d already inflicted. He might as well have stayed, truthfully, might as well have continued on his path; for even without his repeated strikes against him, Marcus’s hand felt like it was aflame, like someone had gleefully embedded nails into every bit of flesh, like any myriad of possible similes that could only begin to describe what it was like. He forced himself to look, agonisingly turning his head in its direction, and the very sight made him retch without even factoring in the pain. The fingers were bent and broken, the nails he’d once worked so hard to maintain chipped and bloody and - in many cases - missing altogether, cuticles torn to pieces beneath Vahka’s weight. A sickening mixture of yellows and purples was already spreading across his hand, and when the tail of his bandanna brushed lightly against the newfound bruising it sent a sharp scream from the depths of his throat.
He forced himself to look away after that, but couldn’t bring himself to move, not yet.
Vahka’s words cycled through his head, relaying themselves like some insane mantra. They were still friends, in spite of what Vahka had done to him, he’d said so himself. Marcus tried to put himself in Vahka’s shoes, tried to understand the other boy’s reasoning and why he’d done what he did, but couldn’t do it, no matter how hard he tried. It was impossible to think properly, to grab ahold of any of the whirlwind of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. It was impossible to do anything, not through the unending pain.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that for much longer. It took only a few seconds more for darkness to creep into the edges of his vision, lingering there as a small part of him tried to protest, before mercifully swallowing him up.
Marcus awoke awhile later - a few minutes, maybe an hour; he couldn’t tell and didn’t care - still lying in a pool of water that’d left his t-shirt drenched and waterlogged, every inch of him still shrieking with the hurt that’d been only further exacerbated by time. He laid on the floor for some time, hand blackened and chest aching, everything that’d happened stamped well into his consciousness despite his refusal to acknowledge it, listening to the constant drip-drip of the leaking aquarium behind him. It was almost peaceful; at utter odds with the short-lived chaos that’d transpired there.
Eventually he found the strength to force himself up, the terror that’d rampaged through him returning in full force as he felt a shiver make its way down his spine. Though it was only when he was precariously standing and ready to bolt away from whatever threat it was that he realised it was only a light breeze passing through an open window. Normally he would’ve chided himself for being so skittish, but for now he let it go, instead focusing his attention on making his way towards what little of his belongings Vahka had left him. His left hand hovered in the air, shaking violently and throbbing with an uneven ache as though it’d been caught tightly in a vice. He had to fight the urge to baby it, not wanting to touch the delicate bruise against anything at all - lest it cause him to scream once more.
He managed to stumble towards the upturned table where Vahka had tossed the remaining supplies, and had to fight the urge to collapse right there and then. The first-aid kit was gone, along with his weapon and everything else - the few items remaining being a solitary bottle of Powerade, his map and its accompanying compass, and his provided clothing. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, not even for someone as bright-sided as he was, but it was something. With everything else gone, it was all he had with which to survive and defend himself, as useless as each item seemed. He hurriedly gathered it in a messy bundle, tucking it under his good arm whilst the other continued to hover in the air, heart rate beginning to increase and panic beginning to course through his system once more before dissipating just as quickly.
He had to leave.
Now, before Vahka came back to finish what he’d started.
And so he did.
But this time, he didn’t run.
This time, Marcus walked calmly and slowly towards the exit, leaving the building as if nothing had happened.
((Marcus Redder continued in Shaken, Not Stirred))