It was almost funny.
Ivy had taken her shirt off on the first day in front of a bunch of people she barely knew. She'd gotten entirely naked on the third night, more than naked, in front of Ace and in front of the cameras, the world. She'd lifted her shirt to show Garren her bruises just the day before and she honestly hadn't cared at all at the time. But it was here, now, that the prospect of undressing felt the most inherently wrong. Maybe because the situation was so desperate. Maybe just because of how inherently pathetic it felt, not being able to even undress herself without help. She knew before she tried her limbs didn't have the strength.
Maybe just because it was Myles.
But he was right. She had to concentrate to even notice with the depth of pain she felt elsewhere, but there were pinpoint pricks of pain across her back from where she'd fallen in broken glass. That bullet scrape in her shoulder, too, near-forgotten after everything else had happened. It all needed disinfecting, bandaging, help. She couldn't be too proud for this. Myles understood, she knew, from how he could barely look at her. She was looking at the floor when she nodded.
As she lifted her arms, helping as much as she could, she thought of her mother on her worst days. Barely conscious, maids wrangling her out of her nightgown. She tried not to think about it.
Never Learn Not To Love
private, cw: eye trauma
All he could do was move to where he thought he was blocking the camera's view of her the best and not make eye contact. There was no zipper or anything, so he was going to have to pull it over her head. Cutting it off was an option too, he guessed, but that just seemed... even more wrong than this already was. The word was "barbaric", maybe.
Myles took the hem of the dress in his hands and as carefully as possible, peeled the fabric up and away from Ivy's skin. He took extra time to make sure that it slid over her head without disturbing the bandages, doing his best to block out the faint, pained noises that she made whenever she had to move. She probably wasn't even aware she was doing it, or what it almost sounded like.
"Can you... turn so I can get your back," he murmured, already reaching to sweep her hair over her shoulders so that it wouldn't get in the way. He wanted to touch her bare skin as little as possible, look as little as possible. His mouth still tasted like bile and chalky nutrient bar. The smell of his vomit a couple feet away was all he could really be aware of; the coppery tang of blood was so constant that it had become background noise.
Myles took the hem of the dress in his hands and as carefully as possible, peeled the fabric up and away from Ivy's skin. He took extra time to make sure that it slid over her head without disturbing the bandages, doing his best to block out the faint, pained noises that she made whenever she had to move. She probably wasn't even aware she was doing it, or what it almost sounded like.
"Can you... turn so I can get your back," he murmured, already reaching to sweep her hair over her shoulders so that it wouldn't get in the way. He wanted to touch her bare skin as little as possible, look as little as possible. His mouth still tasted like bile and chalky nutrient bar. The smell of his vomit a couple feet away was all he could really be aware of; the coppery tang of blood was so constant that it had become background noise.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Okay. He was okay. He was… Yeah. He was okay now. Okay.
He thought.
And not being sure whether he was fine or not wasn’t a great place to be in, that much was true. But thinking that he was okay was a step-up from most certainly not being okay, and, well. Out of all the people who weren’t doing okay in this house, he was probably the least not-okay. And if he wasn’t pulling his weight here… what the hell even was the point of him within the group?
Garren took a few more deep breaths. He slapped his cheeks, getting himself mentally prepared to head back inside. He could do this. He’d seen everything there was to see. The worst part was over, now. Mentally, he was… if not fully ready, at least steeled to witness the carnage once more.
Physically… his leg still felt like someone had grabbed a huge chunk of it and ripped it away. The stream of blood had stemmed somewhat, the lowermost slash was the only one that still seemed insistent on pumping out all of his fucking blood, but his leg was still a mess, and that was still three open wounds that sorely needed mending.
He put his foot forwards, leaning as much weight onto it as he dared. He could still walk just fine. That meant it was still lower priority than Ivy.
He stepped back over the threshold, taking a moment to take another breath, and to let his eyes adjust back to the relative shade of the house. The first thing he saw, something that made his heart jolt, and his breath catch in his throat, and his mind to start whiting out and screaming again, was another body, not moving, certainly not breathing. He’d missed it the first time. It wasn’t hard to realise why. He’d barely seen the room at all.
He took a tentative, shaky step towards the body. Then he stopped. And thought. And put two and two together. Because Ivy’s injuries didn’t just happen out of the blue. And unless she’d fallen in a particularly nasty way through the roof of the goddamn building, someone else had done this to her. This body, in this room, it was… well, the smell of blood was still the most prominent thing. It was new.
It wasn’t hard to figure out that they had made Ivy like this. So, y’know, they get fucked for all Garren cared.
He felt slightly bolder, slightly more ready, as he made his way into the other room, his fear and horror at the sight of the body now replaced by disdain and anger towards it, but as soon as he stepped inside, he had to press his palm to the doorframe to steady himself once again. Not least because Ivy had her tits out again; hell, she was almost entirely naked this time.
Shockingly enough, though, his body really wasn’t feeling it this time around. Strange, that, how the lashings of blood and gore, and Ivy’s wounds, and the heavy sensation of panicked desperation in the air didn’t do it for him. He looked away, at a corner of the room. It was impossible to look at Ivy like this. For so many reasons.
“There’s, uh… Everything going okay in here?”
Dumb question, one to add to the mounting pile of them. If Myles needed any help or anything done, he would no doubt let it be very well known. Garren just… hoped he knew that if there was any urgent task, he’d be ready to do it in a heartbeat.
“There’s ano- there’s a body, in the other room. That’s it. No… no-one else.”
He thought.
And not being sure whether he was fine or not wasn’t a great place to be in, that much was true. But thinking that he was okay was a step-up from most certainly not being okay, and, well. Out of all the people who weren’t doing okay in this house, he was probably the least not-okay. And if he wasn’t pulling his weight here… what the hell even was the point of him within the group?
Garren took a few more deep breaths. He slapped his cheeks, getting himself mentally prepared to head back inside. He could do this. He’d seen everything there was to see. The worst part was over, now. Mentally, he was… if not fully ready, at least steeled to witness the carnage once more.
Physically… his leg still felt like someone had grabbed a huge chunk of it and ripped it away. The stream of blood had stemmed somewhat, the lowermost slash was the only one that still seemed insistent on pumping out all of his fucking blood, but his leg was still a mess, and that was still three open wounds that sorely needed mending.
He put his foot forwards, leaning as much weight onto it as he dared. He could still walk just fine. That meant it was still lower priority than Ivy.
He stepped back over the threshold, taking a moment to take another breath, and to let his eyes adjust back to the relative shade of the house. The first thing he saw, something that made his heart jolt, and his breath catch in his throat, and his mind to start whiting out and screaming again, was another body, not moving, certainly not breathing. He’d missed it the first time. It wasn’t hard to realise why. He’d barely seen the room at all.
He took a tentative, shaky step towards the body. Then he stopped. And thought. And put two and two together. Because Ivy’s injuries didn’t just happen out of the blue. And unless she’d fallen in a particularly nasty way through the roof of the goddamn building, someone else had done this to her. This body, in this room, it was… well, the smell of blood was still the most prominent thing. It was new.
It wasn’t hard to figure out that they had made Ivy like this. So, y’know, they get fucked for all Garren cared.
He felt slightly bolder, slightly more ready, as he made his way into the other room, his fear and horror at the sight of the body now replaced by disdain and anger towards it, but as soon as he stepped inside, he had to press his palm to the doorframe to steady himself once again. Not least because Ivy had her tits out again; hell, she was almost entirely naked this time.
Shockingly enough, though, his body really wasn’t feeling it this time around. Strange, that, how the lashings of blood and gore, and Ivy’s wounds, and the heavy sensation of panicked desperation in the air didn’t do it for him. He looked away, at a corner of the room. It was impossible to look at Ivy like this. For so many reasons.
“There’s, uh… Everything going okay in here?”
Dumb question, one to add to the mounting pile of them. If Myles needed any help or anything done, he would no doubt let it be very well known. Garren just… hoped he knew that if there was any urgent task, he’d be ready to do it in a heartbeat.
“There’s ano- there’s a body, in the other room. That’s it. No… no-one else.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Ivy laughed.
It wasn't much of a laugh. It was quiet, and it was short, and a bubble of blood formed between her lips and burst as she did it. But it was a laugh, still. Through the pain and the fear and the shame. Hysteria, maybe, or maybe it was just the absurdity of it. The inevitability that Garren would choose the most uncomfortable moment to reassert himself. The words everything going okay in here in a moment where nothing felt like it could or would be ever again.
She might have thought of a suitably biting reply if she had the energy. Maybe. But it was hard to fault him for anything when he hadn't turned tail and fled at the first sight of her. She nodded slightly before realizing Myles had moved to block the line of sight between them. She wanted to say something, but she didn't think her voice was strong enough to carry. It didn't really matter. She didn't have much to say. She turned instead, silently, almost silently, pained noises escaping from between sealed lips.
The body in the other room. Tirzah's. She wondered if Garren knew her, if he cared. Myles wouldn't. Myles understood. She knew.
It wasn't much of a laugh. It was quiet, and it was short, and a bubble of blood formed between her lips and burst as she did it. But it was a laugh, still. Through the pain and the fear and the shame. Hysteria, maybe, or maybe it was just the absurdity of it. The inevitability that Garren would choose the most uncomfortable moment to reassert himself. The words everything going okay in here in a moment where nothing felt like it could or would be ever again.
She might have thought of a suitably biting reply if she had the energy. Maybe. But it was hard to fault him for anything when he hadn't turned tail and fled at the first sight of her. She nodded slightly before realizing Myles had moved to block the line of sight between them. She wanted to say something, but she didn't think her voice was strong enough to carry. It didn't really matter. She didn't have much to say. She turned instead, silently, almost silently, pained noises escaping from between sealed lips.
The body in the other room. Tirzah's. She wondered if Garren knew her, if he cared. Myles wouldn't. Myles understood. She knew.
Good, Myles almost said, even as he moved himself between Ivy and Garren, something subconscious deciding that it would be worse for him to see her like this than whatever stranger watched through the camera.
Good, that there was a body in the other room. He didn't know or care if it was the person who had done this, or another victim of the person who had. Good, because they were dead and Ivy wasn't.
"Throw 'em outside," he muttered. He imagined that Garren probably would have rather helped with patching Ivy up, and maybe under different circumstances Myles would have let him take over. Not now though, not like this. There was already a gross kind of intimacy in Myles touching Ivy's bare back, picking out slivers of glass and cleaning her wounds. He wasn't going to subject her to anyone else doing it.
Good, that there was a body in the other room. He didn't know or care if it was the person who had done this, or another victim of the person who had. Good, because they were dead and Ivy wasn't.
"Throw 'em outside," he muttered. He imagined that Garren probably would have rather helped with patching Ivy up, and maybe under different circumstances Myles would have let him take over. Not now though, not like this. There was already a gross kind of intimacy in Myles touching Ivy's bare back, picking out slivers of glass and cleaning her wounds. He wasn't going to subject her to anyone else doing it.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
One at a time. One shard of glass, one swipe with an antiseptic wipe, one bandage. Each one stood out for a fraction of a second among the background radiation of pain; she pressed her forehead into the wall and muffled whimpers into her hand. This was nothing. By comparison this was less than nothing. One at a time, each one like a paper cut or a stubbed toe, but they kept coming. One at a time. Over and over and over. Myles's hands on her bare back, covered in her blood. She heard footsteps but saw nothing. Minutes stretched into hours. She cried.
"I'm sorry," Ivy whispered, but she didn't know why.
Over and over and over.
"I'm sorry," Ivy whispered, but she didn't know why.
Over and over and over.
Garren nodded, not that Myles could even see him anymore, with the other boy’s back turned, positioned in between him and Ivy to block her from view. He knew it wasn’t for his own sake, and that Myles was providing the same function as a bloody pastel operating theatre curtain, but still. Garren appreciated it.
He slipped back out, into the first room, taking another huge, steadying breath before approaching the body. He crouched down, winced, stood back up again, shook his head and smacked his cheeks, before finally getting back down to ground level again. He tried to slip his arms underneath the body, to scoop it up and carry it bridal style outside (yikes, that sounded fucking weird when talking about a corpse), but he’d never been gifted with Herculean strength, or even Wyatt Carter strength, or any strength at all, really, and several days of malnutrition hadn’t helped that one goddamn bit. He tried, he really did, to lift the body up, but his legs started shaking immediately, and he felt like his knees were on the verge of snapping like dry twigs underneath him.
He resorted to dragging it instead. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. Hopefully nobody watching would judge him. Didn’t matter that they were dead and wouldn’t be able to feel their body scrape over floorboards and dirt. It still felt… wrong, disrespectful, any other synonyms you could come up with.
Garren thought, as he carted the body along with him, back outside once more. It wasn’t as though he had much else to do.
What did he know about Tirzah Foss?
Not very much, all things considered. He knew her in much the same way an astronomer knew Jupiter; from far far away, way beneath her, no contact between the two other than ‘yeah, they exist’. And hell, he couldn’t even be sure Tirzah even did know he existed. She was - had been, he guessed - pretty and effortlessly popular, swanning around the sort of people Garren had wasted all of his energy and time on jealously hating. She had friends, and she had connections, and she had smarts, and even her scant athleticism was more than Garren could ever probably muster up with a year of training.
And now she was very very dead, and he was not.
‘Survival of the Fittest’ really wasn’t an accurate name for this whole thing, when you took a second to think about it. You could be as smart or as charismatic or as strong or as resourceful or wonderful at every fucking thing you put your mind to, but if you ran into one tiny bit of bad luck, some dipshit with a gun and a nervous disposition, and that was it. Strike one, you’re out, finishing 67th rather than 1st.
Garren wasn’t the fittest. He wasn’t much of anything, really, aside from an asshole with shit taste in anime. And yet he was still standing. Still breathing. Still in contention for that lauded title of ‘last one left alive’.
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
He was tempted just to leave Tirzah’s body in a heap out in front of the house, little more than she really deserved for what she’d done to Ivy. But he stopped. And he thought some more. And he thought about how she had once been a girl who liked parties and photography, and he carried on moving her body, round the side of the house, out of the main thoroughfare in front of the building. And as he moved, he thought about how Nia had once been a quiet, mute girl who read and kept to herself, and how Justin had once been a nice dude who played guitar and liked country music, and how Quinn had… Quinn had been betrayed and fucked over and stepped on, even before she had been placed out here.
He thought, as he walked back inside the house, that he understood why Aoi had tried talking to a known killer, now.
“It’s done,” Garren called out to Myles, standing in the middle of the first room. “You, uh… You need me to do anything to help, in there, or?”
He slipped back out, into the first room, taking another huge, steadying breath before approaching the body. He crouched down, winced, stood back up again, shook his head and smacked his cheeks, before finally getting back down to ground level again. He tried to slip his arms underneath the body, to scoop it up and carry it bridal style outside (yikes, that sounded fucking weird when talking about a corpse), but he’d never been gifted with Herculean strength, or even Wyatt Carter strength, or any strength at all, really, and several days of malnutrition hadn’t helped that one goddamn bit. He tried, he really did, to lift the body up, but his legs started shaking immediately, and he felt like his knees were on the verge of snapping like dry twigs underneath him.
He resorted to dragging it instead. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. Hopefully nobody watching would judge him. Didn’t matter that they were dead and wouldn’t be able to feel their body scrape over floorboards and dirt. It still felt… wrong, disrespectful, any other synonyms you could come up with.
Garren thought, as he carted the body along with him, back outside once more. It wasn’t as though he had much else to do.
What did he know about Tirzah Foss?
Not very much, all things considered. He knew her in much the same way an astronomer knew Jupiter; from far far away, way beneath her, no contact between the two other than ‘yeah, they exist’. And hell, he couldn’t even be sure Tirzah even did know he existed. She was - had been, he guessed - pretty and effortlessly popular, swanning around the sort of people Garren had wasted all of his energy and time on jealously hating. She had friends, and she had connections, and she had smarts, and even her scant athleticism was more than Garren could ever probably muster up with a year of training.
And now she was very very dead, and he was not.
‘Survival of the Fittest’ really wasn’t an accurate name for this whole thing, when you took a second to think about it. You could be as smart or as charismatic or as strong or as resourceful or wonderful at every fucking thing you put your mind to, but if you ran into one tiny bit of bad luck, some dipshit with a gun and a nervous disposition, and that was it. Strike one, you’re out, finishing 67th rather than 1st.
Garren wasn’t the fittest. He wasn’t much of anything, really, aside from an asshole with shit taste in anime. And yet he was still standing. Still breathing. Still in contention for that lauded title of ‘last one left alive’.
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
He was tempted just to leave Tirzah’s body in a heap out in front of the house, little more than she really deserved for what she’d done to Ivy. But he stopped. And he thought some more. And he thought about how she had once been a girl who liked parties and photography, and he carried on moving her body, round the side of the house, out of the main thoroughfare in front of the building. And as he moved, he thought about how Nia had once been a quiet, mute girl who read and kept to herself, and how Justin had once been a nice dude who played guitar and liked country music, and how Quinn had… Quinn had been betrayed and fucked over and stepped on, even before she had been placed out here.
He thought, as he walked back inside the house, that he understood why Aoi had tried talking to a known killer, now.
“It’s done,” Garren called out to Myles, standing in the middle of the first room. “You, uh… You need me to do anything to help, in there, or?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Myles saw out of the corner of his eye as Garren dragged the body out. He recognized the outfit, and the hair, because that's all there was to recognize. He turned away.
"I think we're done," he said quietly, unsure if it was more to himself or to Ivy. Her hands were still bloodied, but that was all of the worst stuff taken care of.
He took a deep breath when Garren came back and once again offered help. He shouldn't be annoyed about it; a few days ago, he'd been practically begging for an ally who actually made themselves useful.
"Where's the bags? We need new clothes." He said 'we', but it was really just Ivy. Myles was covered in her blood now, but he hadn't packed an extra change of clothes in his personal bag. All of that was in his suitcase, along with his souvenirs, and everything else that had made this a normal trip.
"Also, make sure there's no glass in the bed." If there was something they could use as a broom to get all of this mess out of the way on the floor, that would be good too, but Myles wasn't going to leave Ivy on the floor anyway. Garren could take the couch tonight, he guessed. This house had been nicer than the one they spent last night in, before the explosion of violence that had taken place.
"I think we're done," he said quietly, unsure if it was more to himself or to Ivy. Her hands were still bloodied, but that was all of the worst stuff taken care of.
He took a deep breath when Garren came back and once again offered help. He shouldn't be annoyed about it; a few days ago, he'd been practically begging for an ally who actually made themselves useful.
"Where's the bags? We need new clothes." He said 'we', but it was really just Ivy. Myles was covered in her blood now, but he hadn't packed an extra change of clothes in his personal bag. All of that was in his suitcase, along with his souvenirs, and everything else that had made this a normal trip.
"Also, make sure there's no glass in the bed." If there was something they could use as a broom to get all of this mess out of the way on the floor, that would be good too, but Myles wasn't going to leave Ivy on the floor anyway. Garren could take the couch tonight, he guessed. This house had been nicer than the one they spent last night in, before the explosion of violence that had taken place.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Over and over and finally over.
New clothes felt like a joke, unnecessary, almost; Ivy was a mummy made of bandage and gauze. She felt the fabric stick to her skin in a hundred places when she shifted; the thick bandages wrapped around her arm were already dark with blood. They'd need changing, probably, later, but she couldn't imagine it would matter all that much. Nothing was clean and none of them knew what they were doing. There were a million horrible infections that could crawl into any of her wounds and the only cure the island offered was finding a better way to die and she couldn't, wouldn't think about that. Not thinking was easy. All she had to do was let the pain consume her, and then there would be nothing else.
But she couldn't do that. Myles was there, with a simple shift dress she'd worn as pajamas; she shuffled into it with some difficulty and his help. He said something and she nodded; she stood, somehow, almost, supported by shoulders on both sides. Step by step. Her legs couldn't quite support her, not right now, but they were moving. Her vision was hazy and fragmented, more in blobs of color than shapes, but she could still see. A thousand different little agonies begged for her attention, but she could still feel them. She wasn't sure if the noise in her ears was breathing or crying. But either way, she was.
The bed was empty, the room was empty, but for the sparkling shards of glass that littered the floor, reflecting pink hair and pink dress and blood and bandage from every direction. Tirzah was gone. Tirzah had been gone for a long time, now, or at least it felt that way.
Myles had saved her so many times already. It didn't feel fair.
Falling into bed, in the only way she was allowed, she finally gave into the dark.
>> Ivy Langley, Myles Roux, and Garren Mortimer continued in who is the lamb and who is the knife?
New clothes felt like a joke, unnecessary, almost; Ivy was a mummy made of bandage and gauze. She felt the fabric stick to her skin in a hundred places when she shifted; the thick bandages wrapped around her arm were already dark with blood. They'd need changing, probably, later, but she couldn't imagine it would matter all that much. Nothing was clean and none of them knew what they were doing. There were a million horrible infections that could crawl into any of her wounds and the only cure the island offered was finding a better way to die and she couldn't, wouldn't think about that. Not thinking was easy. All she had to do was let the pain consume her, and then there would be nothing else.
But she couldn't do that. Myles was there, with a simple shift dress she'd worn as pajamas; she shuffled into it with some difficulty and his help. He said something and she nodded; she stood, somehow, almost, supported by shoulders on both sides. Step by step. Her legs couldn't quite support her, not right now, but they were moving. Her vision was hazy and fragmented, more in blobs of color than shapes, but she could still see. A thousand different little agonies begged for her attention, but she could still feel them. She wasn't sure if the noise in her ears was breathing or crying. But either way, she was.
The bed was empty, the room was empty, but for the sparkling shards of glass that littered the floor, reflecting pink hair and pink dress and blood and bandage from every direction. Tirzah was gone. Tirzah had been gone for a long time, now, or at least it felt that way.
Myles had saved her so many times already. It didn't feel fair.
Falling into bed, in the only way she was allowed, she finally gave into the dark.
>> Ivy Langley, Myles Roux, and Garren Mortimer continued in who is the lamb and who is the knife?
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
