"Dot's got it in one, Wayne. Which is good, 'cause I haven't really thought that far ahead, to be honest!" Asha shrugged. "I figure we all got people we wanna see and maybe cling to for a while, but we can't really do much about that except wander around and hope for the best."
If nothing else, she hoped to at least be able to see her fellow ballerinas one last time and joke about kicking the absolute shit out of some terrorists as some sorta badass ballet death squad. "So in the meantime, we just gotta act like decent fuckin' human beings, y'know? People are gonna be hurting bad, and the least we can do for them is stay for a while and lend an ear. Use our last days to spread as many good vibes as we can."
Asha was relieved that, in the end, she and Dorothy were basically just disagreeing over semantics. One of them had taken the road that smelled like lilacs, the other rafflesia, but they both lead to the same verdant meadow that offered a lovely view of the giant, blinking eye in the sky that'd signal the end of all things. So long as they all agreed that helping people was cool and good, they'd be fine. Asha'd rather get something done than waste time trying to convince people that 'we're all gonna die but that's alright,' after all.
"It's not gonna be easy, and I figure shit'll go south eventually, but I can jump off that flaming bridge once we get to it. I know this is what I want to spend my last days doing," Asha said. She casually stuck a hand in her pocket, fingers brushing against the taser to reassure herself it was still there. Asha still hadn't told anyone, not even Dorothy, what her weapon was.
Oh, imminent death or no, Asha would still be loath to see anyone in excruciating agony. The taser seemed the best and most non-lethal way to protect Asha and the people around her from pain, but would revealing its presence make them feel any better? She feared that if either of her companions found out, it'd immediately put a wedge between them; the armed against the the distrustful unarmed. Asha was terrified of having her friends be terrified of her; so in her pocket the taser stayed.
Time steals us all away one day, does it not?
It robs us of the things we want to hold onto the most. (Open)
"Fair enough," Wayne said, forcing a casual shrug and a hint of a smile, and looked up at the sky again. "Let me know when we're heading out."
Let them think he was composed, indifferent, accepting.
Better than to show how he really felt, how every word they said was another stab at his heart.
They could talk about acting like decent human beings - decent fuckin' human beings - but he wasn't one. No, that was a good choice of words. Acting. Acting like a decent human being. That was what he was doing right now, acting, keeping up this casual conversation even though his supplies were ill-gotten and everything he said was a lie.
Perhaps they were all lying, keeping their true natures hidden and waiting to strike, but he didn't think so. He was more than willing to give them the benefit of the doubt after they had so easily described their desire to do good.
Asha and Dorothy didn't need to act. They were. No matter how different their philosophies were, at heart they were the same.
That just left him the third wheel again, alone again, the monster lurking in the dark.
Let them think he was composed, indifferent, accepting.
Better than to show how he really felt, how every word they said was another stab at his heart.
They could talk about acting like decent human beings - decent fuckin' human beings - but he wasn't one. No, that was a good choice of words. Acting. Acting like a decent human being. That was what he was doing right now, acting, keeping up this casual conversation even though his supplies were ill-gotten and everything he said was a lie.
Perhaps they were all lying, keeping their true natures hidden and waiting to strike, but he didn't think so. He was more than willing to give them the benefit of the doubt after they had so easily described their desire to do good.
Asha and Dorothy didn't need to act. They were. No matter how different their philosophies were, at heart they were the same.
That just left him the third wheel again, alone again, the monster lurking in the dark.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Iceblock. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Dot felt like this was going nowhere. It wasn't a bad thing though, she'd loved to stay there all day. She felt like a statue, there to be seen, unmoving. She thought about it, along with researching for newly made billionaires in the beginning of the century, she could maybe review the footage of this program or whatever they called it.
She could become an artist, using this experience positively and making an impact. She had to get out of there first, though. Better to start thinking about the present and not the blurry future. However, knowing she could possibly grow out of this experience made her feel somewhat happy along with the serenity.
It sure was a horrible tragedy, but in Dorothy's mind, it was just another day, but with more weapons and less wifi. A smile drew itself on her face, cutting her mouth in half as she blankly stared at the fence. But suddenly, her smile disappeared from a passing thought. Her empty gaze shifted from the fence and the ocean to her companions.
"You think... You think someone's dead already?"
She could become an artist, using this experience positively and making an impact. She had to get out of there first, though. Better to start thinking about the present and not the blurry future. However, knowing she could possibly grow out of this experience made her feel somewhat happy along with the serenity.
It sure was a horrible tragedy, but in Dorothy's mind, it was just another day, but with more weapons and less wifi. A smile drew itself on her face, cutting her mouth in half as she blankly stared at the fence. But suddenly, her smile disappeared from a passing thought. Her empty gaze shifted from the fence and the ocean to her companions.
"You think... You think someone's dead already?"
Asha absently nodded at Wayne, still contemplating the problem of the taser. If they wanted to actually practice all the love and death she was preaching, it'd be best to leave soon; but she found herself strangely reluctant to be the one to take the first step, for once. It felt as if they'd taken two wrong turns towards a right, found a small pocket of the island that was untouched by time. They were alone, they were safe, they could stand against the wind and hear the ocean waves it blew below.
This pretense died as Dorothy spoke, reaffirming that even while time passed them by, it could still be claiming the ones they loved.
"I'd like to think not, but... dunno. Depends how much faith you got in our classmates, I guess," Asha said, running names and faces through her mind. She couldn't imagine any of her friends killing, or even the relative strangers she sometimes spoke to in the halls. But that was the purpose of the game, wasn't it? Showing how anyone could be reduced to a twisted husk of themselves, driven by nothing by hate and momentum, taking and taking from others just to breathe a few more pained breaths.
If the terrorists were trying to make a point about humanity, they were going about it the entirely wrong way. If you took a hammer to enough of a man's bones, he would eventually break, nothing but a crying and writhing mass of blood and flesh. Did that mean he was weak, could've survived if he'd only been a bit stronger? No. It was the same with the oh-so-fragile human psyche. No one who deserved a heart could look at kids who had been put through every kind of hell imaginable and truly blame them for whatever they had done. You couldn't just write it off as the murderous terrorists being murderous, crazy terrorists either. You didn't survive being the world's most wanted criminals for over a decade without being frighteningly sane.
No, they knew exactly what they were doing. This had to be someone's idea of entertainment, and in a way, Asha could understand that. Humans were an infinitely deep and interesting species, after all. It was fascinating to think about what makes an individual work, try to understand their hopes, their tics, their perspective on life. What they feared. Figure out what buttons to push to make them decide to bathe themselves in blood or jump off a cliff. Repeat for hundreds of other unfortunate subjects. You'd never run out of material.
That was exactly why Asha liked horror. How her comic, The Wonderful Death of Us All! had started. She had come up with a cast of characters, thought about their thoughts and tried to make them come alive inside her head, poured her heart into them. Invented an endless line of horrors and torments to parade them through. Had a blast deciding who'd die first, who'd snap under the pressure, who'd live to the end this time. Bring them all back to life for the next arc. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Kept it fun by keeping everyone cute and smiling, by prettying up and abstracting any gore.
Oh, Asha knew she wasn't the same as the people who watched SOTF. She knew there was a line. The death she created had been constrained to pixels on her screen, wrought by nothing but her stylus and tablet. She knew that horror was only wonderful when everyone was in on the joke. No one deserved to live their lives in fear. No one deserved to suffer.
Still, though. Their pastimes were all coming from the same place, the same desire to watch people unravel before their eyes.
God, she wanted to puke.
"...Let's not waste our time trying to guess. Please. It won't help anyone." Asha hoped she didn't sound as disgusted as she felt. She forced a smile, knowing it wouldn't fool anyone. "So! Got anywhere in mind for us to go next?"
This pretense died as Dorothy spoke, reaffirming that even while time passed them by, it could still be claiming the ones they loved.
"I'd like to think not, but... dunno. Depends how much faith you got in our classmates, I guess," Asha said, running names and faces through her mind. She couldn't imagine any of her friends killing, or even the relative strangers she sometimes spoke to in the halls. But that was the purpose of the game, wasn't it? Showing how anyone could be reduced to a twisted husk of themselves, driven by nothing by hate and momentum, taking and taking from others just to breathe a few more pained breaths.
If the terrorists were trying to make a point about humanity, they were going about it the entirely wrong way. If you took a hammer to enough of a man's bones, he would eventually break, nothing but a crying and writhing mass of blood and flesh. Did that mean he was weak, could've survived if he'd only been a bit stronger? No. It was the same with the oh-so-fragile human psyche. No one who deserved a heart could look at kids who had been put through every kind of hell imaginable and truly blame them for whatever they had done. You couldn't just write it off as the murderous terrorists being murderous, crazy terrorists either. You didn't survive being the world's most wanted criminals for over a decade without being frighteningly sane.
No, they knew exactly what they were doing. This had to be someone's idea of entertainment, and in a way, Asha could understand that. Humans were an infinitely deep and interesting species, after all. It was fascinating to think about what makes an individual work, try to understand their hopes, their tics, their perspective on life. What they feared. Figure out what buttons to push to make them decide to bathe themselves in blood or jump off a cliff. Repeat for hundreds of other unfortunate subjects. You'd never run out of material.
That was exactly why Asha liked horror. How her comic, The Wonderful Death of Us All! had started. She had come up with a cast of characters, thought about their thoughts and tried to make them come alive inside her head, poured her heart into them. Invented an endless line of horrors and torments to parade them through. Had a blast deciding who'd die first, who'd snap under the pressure, who'd live to the end this time. Bring them all back to life for the next arc. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Kept it fun by keeping everyone cute and smiling, by prettying up and abstracting any gore.
Oh, Asha knew she wasn't the same as the people who watched SOTF. She knew there was a line. The death she created had been constrained to pixels on her screen, wrought by nothing but her stylus and tablet. She knew that horror was only wonderful when everyone was in on the joke. No one deserved to live their lives in fear. No one deserved to suffer.
Still, though. Their pastimes were all coming from the same place, the same desire to watch people unravel before their eyes.
God, she wanted to puke.
"...Let's not waste our time trying to guess. Please. It won't help anyone." Asha hoped she didn't sound as disgusted as she felt. She forced a smile, knowing it wouldn't fool anyone. "So! Got anywhere in mind for us to go next?"
Wayne kept looking at the sky this time. There was nothing interesting there, but at least not looking at the others meant that he didn't have to fully engage with them mentally, either.
He didn't understand why Dorothy had brought people dying up again. If she really wanted to insist that they weren't going to die, if death was something she refused to accept until it came, why face it head on again?
He didn't know the answer to her question, either. But he hated that he almost wished - or did wish - that the answer was yes. That someone was dead. Murdered.
It provided him with an easy reassurance. The reassurance: at least. At least he'd only robbed someone. At least there was no blood on his hands. At least he was only lying through his teeth so that they wouldn't look at him like he deserved to be looked at.
At least he wasn't as bad as that hypothetical murderer. As if any amount could be justified at all, as if someone worthless could be made into someone of worth by putting them into a cesspool of more worthless people.
Even if he hadn't murdered anyone, he had willingly shortened their lifespan. Perhaps they would die at the point where it didn't matter, somewhere early on, so that they never needed those supplies in the first place. But even if there was no difference in the end, that didn't mean that it was okay.
He was running loops in his mind again. All this thinking about what he'd done. Again, and again, and again, and he never got anywhere and never figured out anything of value. Just slightly different iterations of the same guilt, patch notes on a bug that just wouldn't be fixed. He shoved the thoughts away. They'd come back soon enough.
"Is there anywhere we don't want to go?" Wayne finally offered in return. "I'd probably try to avoid the asylum. Too closed in. I don't really care otherwise."
He didn't understand why Dorothy had brought people dying up again. If she really wanted to insist that they weren't going to die, if death was something she refused to accept until it came, why face it head on again?
He didn't know the answer to her question, either. But he hated that he almost wished - or did wish - that the answer was yes. That someone was dead. Murdered.
It provided him with an easy reassurance. The reassurance: at least. At least he'd only robbed someone. At least there was no blood on his hands. At least he was only lying through his teeth so that they wouldn't look at him like he deserved to be looked at.
At least he wasn't as bad as that hypothetical murderer. As if any amount could be justified at all, as if someone worthless could be made into someone of worth by putting them into a cesspool of more worthless people.
Even if he hadn't murdered anyone, he had willingly shortened their lifespan. Perhaps they would die at the point where it didn't matter, somewhere early on, so that they never needed those supplies in the first place. But even if there was no difference in the end, that didn't mean that it was okay.
He was running loops in his mind again. All this thinking about what he'd done. Again, and again, and again, and he never got anywhere and never figured out anything of value. Just slightly different iterations of the same guilt, patch notes on a bug that just wouldn't be fixed. He shoved the thoughts away. They'd come back soon enough.
"Is there anywhere we don't want to go?" Wayne finally offered in return. "I'd probably try to avoid the asylum. Too closed in. I don't really care otherwise."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Iceblock. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Dot sighed.
All the places on the island were places she didn't want to go. All of them were scary, unknown, dark, weird, nasty, dangerous, but the spot she was in right now. She didn't know the how the island looked, and she didn't wanted to learn about it. She knew she couldn't just ignore it and go blind into this experience but her stubborness got the better of her and she didn't pull out her map. She saw a glimpse of it though, the ocean and a bit of a staff block. She kinda wanted to go there. There should be beds and maybe running water, or she didn't read it well and it was just a block made of staves or something like that.
She wanted to stay silent. She wanted to say nothing that could sound sad like how she wanted to stay there and do nothing. Dorothy thought that was sad because that'd implied she would just die there, just stay there like a tree against the elements, getting rained on and maybe even hacked down at one point. Being a tree, despite the whole photosynthesis and living-for-a-long-time part, sounded rough. The whole depending on the right condition was annoying and the fact you could get eaten as a seed by something like a bird or rotten from the inside because of a parasite, but when you're set, you stay there. You don't move, you just look at the world grow.
There were trees that were older than her parents, grand-parents, great-grand-parents and so on, and she wanted to see them. Maybe there were some on this island? Really big trees like the height of a house and thick and all of that, were would they be though? This island had somekind of a depot, a staff block, and an asylum, if she understood Wayne right.
Wait, asylum. Maybe this was a loonie island? What could be on this kind of island? Still against the idea of looking at her map, she stood up. She wished she had read more about those kind of islands. She could have learned about their position and know what was on that island. In the end, she used her parents' collection of movies as a reference.
If it was like Alcatraz, there must have been a lighthouse. A lighthouse sounded like a nice place with the words ''light'' and ''house'' together. If they were lucky, they could even find out who took care of it before the island was abandonned. Unless the island was never abandonned and the residents just all died before they could leave and the terrorists just removed the corpses. The thought of burly men carrying body bags, knowing that her fate could literally be in their hand sent chills down her back.
However, she didn't know there actually was no lighthouse before she opened her mouth,
''We could like... go to the lighthouse or something? I don't know. For places, I don't want to go, well, I think that place where we were just earlier is my answer because of that guy.''
All the places on the island were places she didn't want to go. All of them were scary, unknown, dark, weird, nasty, dangerous, but the spot she was in right now. She didn't know the how the island looked, and she didn't wanted to learn about it. She knew she couldn't just ignore it and go blind into this experience but her stubborness got the better of her and she didn't pull out her map. She saw a glimpse of it though, the ocean and a bit of a staff block. She kinda wanted to go there. There should be beds and maybe running water, or she didn't read it well and it was just a block made of staves or something like that.
She wanted to stay silent. She wanted to say nothing that could sound sad like how she wanted to stay there and do nothing. Dorothy thought that was sad because that'd implied she would just die there, just stay there like a tree against the elements, getting rained on and maybe even hacked down at one point. Being a tree, despite the whole photosynthesis and living-for-a-long-time part, sounded rough. The whole depending on the right condition was annoying and the fact you could get eaten as a seed by something like a bird or rotten from the inside because of a parasite, but when you're set, you stay there. You don't move, you just look at the world grow.
There were trees that were older than her parents, grand-parents, great-grand-parents and so on, and she wanted to see them. Maybe there were some on this island? Really big trees like the height of a house and thick and all of that, were would they be though? This island had somekind of a depot, a staff block, and an asylum, if she understood Wayne right.
Wait, asylum. Maybe this was a loonie island? What could be on this kind of island? Still against the idea of looking at her map, she stood up. She wished she had read more about those kind of islands. She could have learned about their position and know what was on that island. In the end, she used her parents' collection of movies as a reference.
If it was like Alcatraz, there must have been a lighthouse. A lighthouse sounded like a nice place with the words ''light'' and ''house'' together. If they were lucky, they could even find out who took care of it before the island was abandonned. Unless the island was never abandonned and the residents just all died before they could leave and the terrorists just removed the corpses. The thought of burly men carrying body bags, knowing that her fate could literally be in their hand sent chills down her back.
However, she didn't know there actually was no lighthouse before she opened her mouth,
''We could like... go to the lighthouse or something? I don't know. For places, I don't want to go, well, I think that place where we were just earlier is my answer because of that guy.''
So. Not the asylum. Asha was a bit disappointed by that, but she understood. Not the way they'd came, either. Simple enough. She didn't want to leave, but staying meant doing nothing but think, and Asha'd had quite enough of wretched introspection for the time being. Much as she absently wished that someone would come along and hug her and put her thoughts at ease, that very wish was why she had to become that person for everyone else. Hiding herself away would only be selfish.
"Dunno if there's a lighthouse here, but I'm sure we can find a dark tower of some sort," Asha said, springing away from the fence. She glanced back at Dorothy and Wayne, flashed a grin, quickly enough that she didn't have to think much about it, and started walking. "Let's went."
((Asha Sur's running from the White Noise.))
"Dunno if there's a lighthouse here, but I'm sure we can find a dark tower of some sort," Asha said, springing away from the fence. She glanced back at Dorothy and Wayne, flashed a grin, quickly enough that she didn't have to think much about it, and started walking. "Let's went."
((Asha Sur's running from the White Noise.))
"Who, Alex?"
Wayne was going to say more, but the thought of Alex's two swords returned again, stopped the words and pushed them right back down and left him with only hypocritical judgments. Thief. Murderer. Lucky scavenger who had picked up something discarded and cast aside. Dorothy was right. He didn't want to see Alex again.
He didn't really want to see anyone else he knew again. But if he was going to keep pretending, if he was going to stay with these two, that was what lay ahead of him. It was easier to follow than lead. Easier to walk than think.
He took one last look upwards, judging the position of the sun in the sky, then shrugged his pack back onto his shoulder and began walking.
((Wayne Cox continued in 白色雑音))
Wayne was going to say more, but the thought of Alex's two swords returned again, stopped the words and pushed them right back down and left him with only hypocritical judgments. Thief. Murderer. Lucky scavenger who had picked up something discarded and cast aside. Dorothy was right. He didn't want to see Alex again.
He didn't really want to see anyone else he knew again. But if he was going to keep pretending, if he was going to stay with these two, that was what lay ahead of him. It was easier to follow than lead. Easier to walk than think.
He took one last look upwards, judging the position of the sun in the sky, then shrugged his pack back onto his shoulder and began walking.
((Wayne Cox continued in 白色雑音))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Iceblock. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Dorothy got up, and she looked behind her shoulder. She absorb the view one last time. She wanted to go for a swim, maybe she could do that later? She had to find some kind of swimsuit and towels. Maybe even a working shower to get the salt off her until rescue would come.
She turned back, seeing her friends walking faster and faster away from her. She had to catch up, it would suck to be left there without people to turn to. She didn't want to be alone. She gazed at them, daydreaming for a second or two, then opened her mouth,
''I'm coming!''
With that, she ran toward them with a smile on and a bag on her shoulders.
((Dot went somewhere else))
She turned back, seeing her friends walking faster and faster away from her. She had to catch up, it would suck to be left there without people to turn to. She didn't want to be alone. She gazed at them, daydreaming for a second or two, then opened her mouth,
''I'm coming!''
With that, she ran toward them with a smile on and a bag on her shoulders.
((Dot went somewhere else))