who is the lamb and who is the knife?

[Buko]

His limbs felt cracked and splintered, his lips were crusted shut, his squinting eyes stung him…

And still he moved forward. Because, moving forward on its own--counted as a victory. He had to take those when he could.

By fate or purpose or some twisted mixture of the two, he trudged along. Not in pursuit of anything or anyone, but paranoid and frantic all the same. He had lost a lot of blood--so he thought. He had been more than lucky--so he definitely knew. Luckier than most, relatively speaking.

And yet, at the same time, in spite of that luck-- he was among the unluckiest group of eighteen-year-old kids on the planet. Win some, lose some.

It was easy to do anything in victory, it was only in defeat that you truly revealed yourself.

Wise words given to him by an unwise man, a lifetime ago.

[ Ace Beats Continued From: you're nobody till somebody kills you ]

He had done his best to clean his “wound”—a left ear that had always been too big but now had been reduced to a bloody and twisted nub of burnt cartilage. He had cleaned it as best as he could with what he had in his pack. He had wrapped it with a big thing of gauze on the ear and then bandages around his whole head. A headband as good as any. He shed his cotton-tank, coated in blood and sweat.

No shirt, dirty shoes, and lackluster medical service…

But two big guns, one in the duffel and one in his arms.

Fat good they had done.

The SPAS-12 remained the weapon of choice, but the BR-18 was in his duffel bag, loaded and ready to be pulled out. Spray and pray. Point and shoot. He couldn’t hesitate, not anymore. Shoot first--ask questions later, think never. He could only keep following 2/3 for so long. He felt a pounding in his head, he felt the tightness of his bandages holding that gauze coated in antiseptic in place.


The night air cooled his sweat coated body, bugs bit his back and arms…

He lowered his hat, brim so low he could barely see over the blue horizon…

He choked down another ibuprofen with a sip of water...

And he looked for shelter.

A familiar, weaving, zig zagging path through buildings and alleys. He had chased Justin through the other village with a similar frantic and directionless methodology. It was hard for people to figure out your next move if you yourself didn’t even know it.

Lies and Bullshit You Tell Yourself for 1200 Alex.

He searched for shelter and respite and there was plenty of it…he still kept walking. He would know when he should stop.

He stopped when he found a body.

As unrecognizable as she was to his eyes, his core seemed to recognize her immediately. A unique skill he had just developed over a week of practice—puttin’ names to dead bodies.

“Told you to stay outta trouble T…,” he said uneasily, “But you ain’t ever listen to nobody, did you?”

He looked at her and felt a pang of mixed emotion and the guilt of a duty rejected. Tirzah had been a lost soul--he had known that when he had spoken to her last. Probably a bit before. A lost soul just doing her best. It wasn’t Tirzah’s fault that doing her best meant being her worst. She couldn’t help herself—he had related to that. Almost admired the way she dealt with it.

He felt sorry for her. He felt sad about her death. He felt guilty that he hadn’t stepped up and stopped her himself. For Wyatt. For Toby. For Tirzah herself. He should’ve shot her the moment he realized she couldn’t be saved. Not that it mattered. Tirzah didn’t trust anybody but Tirzah, not really.

He couldn’t save her--she hadn’t wanted to be saved.

And who is you to save her? Even if she had wanted that shit?

He missed his friend, but he had missed her for a week now.

Seeing that ghost who called herself Tirzah a few days ago had only done so much…

And seeing this body so very, very little.

He felt sick when confronted again with that coldness in his heart.

He didn’t like how easy that sickness could be swallowed now.

The way she was propped up and lying there—it reminded him of Aliya. Who he had just left up against a building in some mimicry and mockery of dignity. Was Tirzah moved? And whoever did it—were they still around? Curiosity beat out caution and a desire for answers seemed to be the only catharsis worth grabbing. He went to the house, around the side and out to the front and he found the door. He gripped the shotgun, his hands trembling—but at this point the trembling had become a familiar friend. It was a comfort, in a way.

He closed his eyes…

Shoot first, ask questions later…think never.

He knocked on the door instead.

1 for 3 wasn’t the worst thing.

[Pippi]

((Garren Mortimer continued from Never Learn Not To Love))

Garren was near dead to the world.

He’d still had tasks to finish, even after he’d moved Tirzah out of the way. Their bags had still been lying in the dirt out front, so he’d ran back outside to scoop them up; not just because Ivyles needed a change of clothes (join the fucking club), but because it looked like they’d be spending the night here, and Garren really didn’t want Parker 2.0 to happen. Then, as Myles had helped Ivy into her new set of clothing, he’d checked the bed thoroughly, wrapping the sheet around his hand and brushing it over the mattress to check for glass.

He’d wanted to do something about the floor as well, kick the larger fragments under the bed at least, but as soon as the bed was clear, Ivy had collapsed into it, and… he hadn’t felt like he belonged in the same room after that, y’know? Felt like he was intruding. He certainly wasn’t a malevolent force, but he wasn’t part of the healing process between her and Myles and rest.

He had kicked the glass aside around the bed and on the way back to the other room, though. He’d trudged across to the sofa nestled against one wall, and collapsed onto it. His eyes had felt heavy immediately. He’d stifled a yawn, as his leg pulsed under the makeshift slipshod bandages. He’d shifted a little to get more comfortable.

And now here he was, sprawled across the sofa in an ungainly heap, gently snoring, moments away from being rudely awakened. He breathed slow and steady. Rest had finally come and settled around him.

It was about to scatter again in 3…

2…

1.

Knock-knock.

Garren’s eyes snapped open, the sharp rapping cutting through the silence of the small house. He rolled over, body still feeling groggy, and with a sharp intake of breath, tumbled the remaining couple of feet to the floor.

“Fuck…”

He’d landed on his side at least. Best place for him to fall, he reckoned; it meant he’d missed smacking his head or wounded leg onto the ground. He pressed his hands into the floor, pushing himself up and onto his feet.

It was a fucking unpleasant wake-up call, but whatever kept him alert, he supposed.

The sound had been unmistakeable, a deliberate knock on wood, rather than something falling in the night. There was somebody on the other side of the door who wanted in. It was tempting, very tempting, just to stay quiet, but a minute’s thought put paid to that idea. The door wasn’t locked. If they wanted to get in, then there wasn’t much Garren and his puny strength could do to stop them.

And if their intentions had been on the murkier end of the scale, they wouldn’t have knocked in the first place.

“Who, uh… who is it?”

[Buko]

A voice spoke to him, a dudes voice, though unfamiliar on sound alone and from behind the door. He didn't know really what to say or how to respond, his own paranoia painting pictures and causing his mind to play tricks on him. He had enough self awareness and self doubt to carry a healthy amount of skepticism of his own actions and feelings. His finger found the trigger of the SPAS-12 regardless and he braced himself as he pointed it at the door. Just in case. The ringing in his missing ear came back and rocked him like a hurricane.

"It's Ace," he said loudly but tried his best for it not to seem like, threatening...he was a tall, strong, well armed murderer, so y'know, easier said than done, "I'm just lookin' for a place to stay the night, ain't tryin' to start nuthin'."

He paused.

"Saw Tirzah back there too..."

He swallowed.

"Y'know what happened with that?"

[Pippi]

Ace, huh? That was another person who existed solely on the periphery of Garren’s life. In general, if you were gonna be throwing shots left right and center at anyone who came into view, it was best to have your back turned to the sports fields. They’d come into contact during class a few times, and Ace’s tendency to spout absolutely everything about absolutely nothing had been prime material to jab fun at. But so had anything that came out of Wyatt’s mouth during English class, and Garren had left that well alone too. His persona had been of an irreverent jackass, not a suicidal moron.

That was all in the past now, anyhow. What mattered was the now, the Ace in the present, the Ace standing right outside their little shelter and who wanted a place to bunker down for the night.

Ace, who had so very recently been on the announcements.

Yeah. Like that counted so heavily against you anymore.

Garren knew as well as anybody just how little of a story the announcements actually told, that killing one person barely meant anything when everybody was running around with lethal force in close proximity. Ace’s name had stuck in Garren’s memory, being the guy who’d killed Parker and all. He knew what Parker’s gameplan had been. Murder by proxy, theft, skulduggery and backstabbing. It had worked, with people too desperate and lightly armed to put up much of a struggle.

But maybe he’d run into someone with more firepower, more alertness, and less willingness to lose anything belonging to him.

He didn’t know all the facts, or even 1/6th of the facts, but the point was, he couldn’t rely on a single kill anymore to tell him not to trust Ace.

Of course, Ace had seen a body, one that hadn’t popped up on the announcements yet, and didn’t have the luxury of knowing who was inside the house. Which meant he was likely gonna be seriously on edge, not knowing whether he was about to come face to face with an Erika or a Justin or a Blaise.

Which put Garren right into the thick of it, once a-fucking-gain.

Shit.

He cursed under his breath, looking around the room, torn between staying here and going to grab Myles and Ivy to see what they thought. He nixed that idea pretty quick, though; he felt like if he tried to wake either of them up after a fucking ball-ache of a day, he’d end up with one of those shards of glass through his neck, and really, that was fair. He scowled, and kicked up a cloud of dust, and finally, after a period of silence, walked over to the door.

“I’m opening up, all right?” Garren said, hand on the doorknob, pointedly leaving Ace’s question hanging for the moment. “I’m not gonna try anything funny, so, like, please don’t punch me, I’ve probably got a glass jaw or some shit.”

Garren slowly opened the door, and instantly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the giant fuck-off shotgun nestled in Ace’s hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude…”

It took him a second for his heart and brain to return back to Earth, a couple seconds longer for him to realise that he hadn’t been blown to smitheroons already. No point in hesitating to pull the trigger if you were planning on doing so. Garren’s hand, pale white, pressed into the doorframe, as he breathed heavily, sweat already clinging to his forehead. He exhaled, exasperated and closed his eyes.

“Gonna fuckin’ die of a heart attack before anything else kills me.”

[Buko]

It was the same realization that he had when he pointed that gun at Justin earlier in the day: guns were scary as shit. And they were scary because they were powerful as fuck.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to break down how they made Ace feel: scary as fuck, powerful as shit. The power came in moments though and simply in spontaneous displays of strength. Aceito didn’t have the stomach to be scary for very long, not really. He flinched at his own callousness and was quick to correct whatever cruelty was his first instinct. It had been over a week, eight days. Much had changed. He no longer cried when he saw a body or when a friend died or when he went to sleep to stomach rumbles or when his throat burned and tightened in thirst.

But, in spite of everything that had changed, some things had remained the same. Ace felt he had remained the same, at his core. Garren didn’t look like he had changed much either. Garren Mortimer still remained a mouthy loser.

And, truth be told, Ace didn’t mind that.

Ace was friends with Wyatt—had been friends with Wyatt. Mouthiness was an okay character trait. It was predictable. Comfortable in it's commonality. Sticks and stones and all that bullshit. Back at home, Garren had the unfortunate draw to have been made both opinionated and obnoxious. Ace could relate, he had been born obnoxious—but he wasn’t so opinionated. He at least had the courtesy to pick one. It wasn't like Garren was a threat to Ace or even existed much in his world anyway. Garren was so much of a bitch that he spent his time challenging girls to fights and arguments. He didn't really start shit with dudes. Whatever that said about his character.

It didn’t really matter though, right? Not here, not now. Whatever obnoxious opinionated MRA incel bullshit Garren had decided to derail third period with was a lifetime in the past. It didn’t matter. Not here, not now.

“Yeah, sorry and shit,” he said quickly, lowering the gun and then walking in the door, past Garren, uneasily, “I, like, didn’t know, if, y’know, you’d be like,” he sputtered, “I just didn’t know.”

He looked around the darkness of the house, his eyes not fully adjusted to the blackness—they hadn’t been adjusted outside either. Adjusted was overrated, anyway. As evident by people like Garren and Ace being among the last half of their class standing.

“Just you here?”

[backslash]

((Myles Roux continued from Never Learn Not To Love))

Once again, Myles hadn't slept well. This time it wasn't the weight on his conscience, or whatever it was that weighed on him, but physical discomfort that had kept him awake. He and Ivy had taken the bed and let Garren have the couch; it was far, far from the first time they'd shared a bed, but Myles was hyper-aware of how off everything was now.

He'd stripped out of his shirt and tucked it in the bag with his jacket; if he'd had any other options, he would have thrown it away. It was about as ruined as Ivy's dress now, all of her blood caked over the tiny stain that Declyn had left. He'd kept his jeans on, even if they were equally ruined, because the thought of sleeping nearly naked next to Ivy, all wrapped up like a mummy, made his stomach turn.

So Myles was, as always, sweaty and uncomfortable, and now his spatial awareness was ever focused on the foot of space he was trying to maintain between them even as he tossed and turned and kicked the bedsheets away, because if he rolled into Ivy's space he'd wake her up, or jostle her and hurt her more. She needed rest. He needed rest, but he couldn't get it like this, but he couldn't leave her in here alone.

All of this was to say that Myles was feeling pretty freaking cranky already as he drifted in and out of consciousness, and that was before yet another uninvited guest showed up. The knock woke him a little bit, but Garren's voice, familiar now, didn't set off any alarm bells in Myles's head. It wasn't until he registered the answering voice that he really woke with a start.

He reflexively reached over the side of the bed for a lamp, but of course there wasn't one. Instead, the only thing Myles could do was blink against the inky blackness and wait for his eyes to adjust a little bit. Turning carefully onto his side, he tried to judge from the Ivy's silhouette whether she was still asleep or not. He thought she was.

Myles took another moment to rack his brains and remember which of her shoulders was the uninjured one, and then he slowly reached over and shook that one, trying to listen to what was happening in the other room.

"Hey," he whispered. "Wake up. Someone's here."

[Fenris]

>> Ivy Langley continued from Never Learn Not To Love

To say Ivy had slept would be charitable. She had been unconscious, yes, for most of the however-many-hours had past since Garren had dropped her into bed, only occasionally opening her eye to take in the state of the light in the room and mumble a few forced words of reassurance to an ever-present Myles. But sleep was supposed to be restful. Healing, even, if in a minor way. And every time she came to consciousness again she just felt more and more tired, every searing pain in her body only fading with her familiarity with it, her mind plagued with dreams of chasing something through a forest she feared she'd never find. Maybe it was just that she had woken up a hundred times with no memory of it, every time she'd moved a fraction of an inch, one wound or another rubbing against the bedspread. Maybe it was just impossible to rest in her position, at least not without drugs she had no way of getting.

But Myles was still there, every time she looked. He smiled at her, or tried to. Nothing had been okay for a long time and it was even less okay now. But they could keep trying.

It had been sunset, the last time she remembered being awake, taking in the orange light; it was near enough to pitch-black now. She shuddered instinctively at Myles's touch, that movement in itself enough to cause pain. She took a deep breath and swallowed it.

Someone's here. Panic rose in Ivy but only for half a moment. Myles didn't sound panicked, after all, and she wouldn't expect him to underreact if he thought they were in danger. So—what? Was it someone they knew, or just someone harmless? How much had he heard? Ivy tried to listen herself but the throbbing ache in her head distracted her from hearing anything distinct. Two voices, one Garren's, one—familiar? She thought familiar. She couldn't tell.

Slowly, too slowly, she dragged herself up to sitting. She instinctively moved to touch her face and felt bandages; new ones, presumably, considering these weren't yet damp with sweat or soaked in blood. She could vaguely see Myles's silhouette beside her but nothing else.

She swallowed before opening her mouth to speak, her voice creaky and quiet.

"No shooting." An observation, not an admonishment, though if Myles took it as the latter she wouldn't mind. A gunfight in the dark sounded ill-advised.

"Garren doesn't... have a lot of friends," understatement of the century, "could be anyone, I guess."

She was already swaying, her body begging to settle back into bed. But her paranoia was piqued, even if Myles's wasn't. Considering Garren wasn't armed she couldn't imagine anyone who both was and wanted to hurt people at random wouldn't have attacked him by now, but the possibility was still there. That they were waiting for an opening, waiting for more information, waiting for something. Anything.

She had learned the hard way how well it paid to be cautious.

"Grab a gun," she whispered. "I'll listen."

With more than a little difficulty, she slipped out of bed.

[Pippi]

Garren shook his head, moving to one side to let Ace pass by. His hand rested on the edge of the door, and he started to close it before thinking better of it. He could only just see Ace thanks to the natural light filtering in from the open door, and the moment that door closed, it’d be near-black as pitch inside. He trusted… wanted to trust Ace, he’d let him inside the house and all, but it was still best to keep your wits about you, especially around a loaded weapon. Kinda hard to keep your wits when you couldn’t fucking see ‘em.

He figured Ace would get it. He’d said - or, well, tried to say - as much.

“Hey, nah, I’m not, like… blaming you or anything,” Garren said, moving away from the house’s entrance, a few steps behind Ace. “I get it. Just, like, it’s the second time in two days I’ve had a gun pointed at me. Doesn’t, uh, doesn’t get any easier, just for the fuckin’ record.”

He gave a quiet, bitter laugh. He was in the middle of the room now, arms folded, one finger nervously tapping against his side. He paused before he answered Ace’s question.

“There’s, um. There’s a couple other guys here, but, ah…”

Should he tell Ace who else was with him? He had no idea what Ace’s relation was to Myles or Ivy. Or to Declyn. Or, fuck, to Tirzah for that matter, considering he’d stumbled upon her body. He had no clue what Ace’s reaction would be when he found out who Garren was sharing a house with, but the possibility that it was Bad and Explosive and Deadly was certainly a possibility. He didn’t want another Emmett on his hands. Or in general, dude was intolerable at the best of times. Hey-o. Gottem. And whatever.

“They… they need rest, okay?”

Maybe he could stall this out. Maybe the other two would hear the commotion and then he’d find out for definite how much everybody in this shitty little shack liked each other. If not, then… fuck it. He’d keep on painting himself into this corner until there was no space left but for his feet. Then he’d think on ‘em. Wasn’t really like any of them were doing anything other than flying blind anyway.

“Tirzah’s… Tirzah’s handiwork got her… them… fuck it, got her real good, there was blood all over the room, still is, and glass and shit, and we didn’t know if she was gonna make it when we found her… so…”

If anyone had told him two weeks ago he’d be this emotionally invested in Ivy Langley’s wellbeing, he’d have called you the dipshit to end all dipshits.

“You can stay. Just, don’t disturb her. Please.”

[Buko]

“Told ya,” he said trying his best to play cool and not really believing his own attempt, “I ain’t really here to start nuthin’. That’s not what I’m ‘bout. Swear to God.”

He wasn’t here to finish shit either but there was no need to let Garren in on that. So…Tirzah’s murderer was here? And Tirzah had done a number on them before getting a couple trillion done on her? It figured, right? Tirzah gave as good as she got and she had given quite a lot over the course of a week. She had been overdue. Someone was bound to collect.

It shoulda been him, he thought. He should’ve done it as soon as he realized he couldn’t’ve saved her. Whoever Tirzah hurt…she had hurt because Ace had let her walk away. Let her go on her merry way after murdering two of his friends. Because of a bottle of water and a hug. That’s how easily Ace was bought and convinced of goodness. How could he survive out here? How had he survived? He was just as easily manipulated by himself as he was anybody else.

Nobody had to lead him on, he always got there all on his own.

He didn’t tell Garren any of this, about him having encountered Tirzah, about how he had wanted to kill Tirzah, how when push came to shove--he couldn’t kill her. And what else didn't he say? Why else did he feel guilty? Because he had come up short against Quinn, because he had come up short against Justin (twice)— because he had killed an innocent kid trying to get to Blaise. Parker Green. He had killed Parker without even knowing his name. That's the kind of person Ace was. That was the way Beats was built.

He had regurgitated all that shit onto Hel and Aliya (RIP) the day before. There was nothing left in his stomach to puke onto Garren.

He tried his best to take a look at the scene ahead of him, the darkness of the house such that only the shadows of the immediate were apparent to him. He was looking for a place to put down his stuff, not too far from where he could quickly grab it again, but, y’know, at least freeing his shoulder from the lash of the bag strap.

“I’ll prolly ride in the mornin’, soon as some daylight creeps up,” he said with an uneasiness, he moved forward with a reckless pace, unable to see much in front of him but pantomiming comfort and confidence, “I’m not lookin’ for nuthin’ long term or to really cramp anyone’s style—neither have really had good results for me so fa—SHIT! OW!”

He had run into the corner of a table or something and it jabbed him powerfully in the stomach. He shoulda had the sense to stop when Garren had. Sense was always one of those things he just lacked and could barely fake, Killa-Killa Island or no.

“I fuckin’, shit, I can’t see for shit! Fuck, just, gimme a sec--I need some light,” he sputtered and muttered, “So, I, can like, y’know, get my fuckin’ shit together.”

So much for being relieved of the shoulder strap. The strap of the SPAS-12 dangled from one side as his arms went to another, unzipping his bag and fishing around within it before finally blindly grasping on the flashlight.

He took it out, he zipped the bag up again…

And Ace Beats said: Let there be light!

“Sorry,” he finally said, turning towards Garren and pointing the dim flashlight at him, “I’ll try to keep it fuckin’ down and not wake your people up.”

[Fenris]

Ivy stood.

She could stand, under her own power, it was nice to know. It wouldn't help her if they actually had cause to run, but she had hazy memories of being half-dragged, half-carried to bed, her feet unable to support her. This was an improvement. She was getting better, even if she still felt her head spin as she moved. Even if every inch of her screamed in protest with the slightest motion. Better had to be relative. She'd take what she could get.

One foot in front of the other, she walked, leaning against the wall and letting it guide her to the door separating the rooms. Bare feet on wood, hopeful that Garren had succeeded in sweeping the glass under the bed; he evidently had, though she still shivered as her toes pressed into streaks of coagulated blood. Her own, more than likely. Cold and sticky. Her stomach turned but she didn't think too hard about it. One foot in front of the other. Her footsteps were quiet despite everything.

The voice, muffled by the wall and by its' owner's attempts to stay quiet. She listened closely, anyway, catching words, bits and pieces, she knew the voice but she didn't know. She glanced back at Myles, pointlessly; she could barely even make out his outline. Back at the door, listening. If she needed him he'd be right behind her.

If—

the door was open, and she didn't remember opening it, but there they were. In a moment she hadn't processed, she'd heard a yell, seen a light, heard a voice, his voice, clear as day. She did know.

"Ace?"

She stumbled forward.

[backslash]

Grab a gun, Ivy instructed him, and he didn't think twice before listening. They were on the same page again, Myles sliding out of the bed from one side and Ivy from the other. It was a task trying to stay quiet while he opened his bag and searched out the gun, but this time the metal was cool in his palm. His heart was already pounding, but he didn't hesitate to pick it up this time.

Myles jumped when there was a thump and a shout from the room, but it didn't sound like a murder just yet. He kind of hoped that whoever it was didn't decide to kill Garren right away; they needed an extra pair of hands right now. It was too dark for him to see, but he knew that guns had to have a safety, right, and if he could just feel around on it for a moment then-

Then he heard the door open, and he knew before he'd even turned that they were no long in sync.

"Ivy-!" Myles hissed after her, but his voice was lost under hers.

[Buko]

“Ivy…?”

He turned to her voice, familiar and small, and his flashlight illuminated her petite form. She was wearing what looked like a nightgown (she never seemed to run out of clothes did she?) and her face wore the trauma of the last few days just as his had. Bandages. Covering an eye. Covering her arms. She looked like a mummy in a Bring It On Halloween special--Ace blamed that on his prior images of Ivy. That mattered about as much as his prior images of Garren. No matter what jokes he told himself in his subconscious, this shit was no laughing matter.

What the fuck had happened? A stupid question. He knew the answer already. Garren had told him.

With the light on her, he saw how frail and fragile she was. His bag was off his body with a quick roll of his shoulder and it landed on the floor with a thud. The shotgun banged against his side and stung his hip to match the sting to his stomach from earlier. Her legs were shaking--she was about to fall. An old habit, forged over days and in the fires of fear, forced his movement.

On this island, during this game, Ace hadn’t accomplished a lot and he had failed at more. He hadn’t avenged Wyatt. He hadn’t avenged Toby. He hadn’t avenged Dante. He had let Meilin die in front of him. Jackson was gunned down with Ace’s gun and Ace had done nothing but stare. Parker had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then he got gunned down--but you knew that. The repetition was more for himself than anything else.

His journey so far had been peppered with nothing but failure—the only successes had come in those first three days. Taking care of Ivy. All going back to that first night when they had been drugged by Lori. He knew he had been drugged. He knew those feelings were manufactured and bullshit. He knew those feelings betrayed his values and Meilin’s legacy and common sense. He knew Ivy was bad news—a manipulator, a murderer.

And still, he felt obligated to protect her. Still, he found himself drawn to her. He was that desperate for a victory. Sense was always one of those things he could never fake.

He was at her side, grabbing her as she collapsed and leaning her body into his. Ivy on one side, shotgun on the other: what a fuckin' picture. It felt weird to have Ivy in his arms again, but it wasn't like that. It was more human-crutch than hug or anything crazy. He didn't believe his own lies--his body had moved before his mind could tell him no. That was the problem with Ivy, he knew that. He didn't think when he was around her. He never thought when he was around her.

“Shit…,” he said mostly to himself, but also to Garren, “You weren’t fuckin’ lyin’ dude—she’s fuckin’ fucked up, damn. Tirzah, what the shit...?”

He gulped.

“Y’good Ives? You okay?"

A stupid question. He knew the answer already.

[Pippi]

Well so fucking much for not disturbing her.

He stood to one side as Ace awkwardly embraced Ivy; even through his squinting and blinking as he adjusted to the torchlight, he could tell it wasn’t a hug that was comfortable for either of them. Kinda hard, y’know, with a shotgun in one hand, and a girl who’d been dragged through a brick wall backwards in the other.

His leg kinda stung, the sudden movement of him leaping out of the way of Ace as he’d rushed over had put pressure on the wounds, the dull pulse of pain shooting through his thigh once again. Something in his gut kinda stung too. He’d been left alone, and he’d had to make the decision as to what to do with Ace, and y’know, he’d thought he’d done a damn alright job, being as careful as possible, making sure that he prevented anything bad from happening to Ivy again.

And then she’d rolled on out of bed and right into the middle of everything, and it turned out he needn’t have fucking bothered.

Still though. He couldn’t be too upset. Awkward though the hug might have been, it was pretty damn clear Ace and Ivy cared for each other. Thank God. It was what they all needed. A quieter night, after… whatever the fuck kinda bullshit the past couple days had been. He let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, feeling some of the tension ease out of his body.

“You’re, um… You’re walking again, huh?” Garren mumbled. “That’s… that’s good, that’s really good…”

He chewed the inside of his lip, then took another step back into the shadows, looking away from the others.

[backslash]

Moving again made Myles aware of how sore he was. Everything ached from his mad dash across the village earlier that day, or yesterday, or whenever it was now. Crouching to dig through his bag had made his legs tremble the way they did after a particularly trying day in PE. Maybe he could pretend his hands were shaking for the same reason.

He'd left his shoes right by the bed so that he could easily slip in and out of them - he wasn't about to walk around in his bare feet with all the glass they might have missed on the floor, even if it would have been quieter.

It was fine, though. The voices and movement covered his own sounds as he crept around the bed and to the door. He couldn't see much still, with the beam of the flashlight pointing away from him, but he could make out Ace's figure. Ivy had identified him, and Myles only had it in him to be annoyed that Ace had decided to show up now, when they didn't need him. Now, he was just an interloper, a nuisance making Ivy get up when she needed rest.

Ace had caught Ivy when she stumbled, turning so that he wasn't facing right into the doorway as Myles slipped through. Myles didn't even like Ace holding her, not like this now, but if he'd gone and dropped her on the floor then Myles would have to do more than what he was about to.

"Hey," he said softly as he emerged, pressing the barrel of the handgun right into Ace's back.

[Buko]

What the fu—

Yeah, she was good alright. A-Okay. Perfectly dandy, no doubt. Ace felt a chill of fear go down his spine. He had been gotten caught off guard again. With his back exposed. Just like he had been with Tirzah, just how he had been that first time with Justin and that time with Quinn…whatever. There was no need for yet another example. Getting caught with his pants down was a habit at this point and it was definitely a bad one.

The gun placed to the bare back. Cold metal and pitch darkness. This could be it. Bang! Boom! Ace Beats, dead protectin’ a girl who didn’t even care about him and who didn’t need protection. Out like a simp because he couldn't help but walk into a lion's den in the dark. He had seen Tirzah's body. He hadn't ran away--he instead had moved closer. Curiosity masquerading as courage.

It was strange—he had frozen up so many times when face to face with conflict…but there was always a false bravado to everything he did. When Blaise fired back at him, Ace ran towards and through, not away. When Justin shot at him, he shot back. When Wyatt had stormed in on him and Ivy, butt ass naked and minutes after he had been deflowered, he responded with an arrogant and false machismo. Ready to go out swinging both ways.

It was bullshit, he knew it.

But for Ace, it had always been fake it till you make it. This was no different. Just a game by any other name.

“Hey,” he said trying his best to be cool, his right leg was shaking though and whatever courage was in his voice was betrayed by the tremble in his body—Ivy would be able to tell, Myles would probably be able to tell too, smell it in the air, Beats was shaking like a leaf, “You better think carefully ‘bout what you fuckin’ doin Myles. You shoot me once you best be ready to shoot me twice.”

He recognized Myles, not by familiarity in face unseen, but instead in core and voice. He felt his very essence. His soul in the gun. Myles was the type who’s reputation was personified by a knife to the back—what difference was a pistol? Who else would pull one on him in defense of Ivy? Ace was sweating, but it was dark. He was scared, but he couldn’t let anyone see that.

One hand on Ivy, one hand on the shotgun, legs trembling, heart racing…

“I ain’t Declyn,” he spat, “I will fuck your ass up."

He swallowed, he blinked, he tried his damndest to stop his right leg from shaking.

"So back the fuck up."