((So they had waited.))
And waited.
And waited, for what must have been hours. Alexander could vaguely tell that it was brighter outside than it had been at the time of the announcement when Jeremiah had first run off, at least.
Alexander was sitting at the same bench where he had been taken hostage the previous day. He was still groggy (when was the last morning he'd had without a cup of coffee?) and was half-tempted to lay down on the rough wood instead of sitting up all nice and proper, hands folded in his lap; but it seemed inappropriate to do so.
Whenever Nia's pacing footsteps weren't wearing a hole in the floor, the sound of her pencil scratching against paper filled the tense air. He couldn't even hazard a guess what she was writing, and again, it seemed improper to ask. She didn't seem the type to idly doodle, but maybe she just needed a distraction from whatever thoughts were running through her head, lord knew Alexander could use one. Maybe she was making plans, maybe she was writing a lengthy letter for Jeremiah to read when he finally came back. If he came back.
It would've been worrisome if the boy had been gone for a mere ten minutes or so - but hours? He had left his belongings behind, which meant it was unlikely he'd chosen to abandon them (even discounting his obvious emotional ties to Nia) but, well. Intentions didn't mean much on the island.
He had spent the silent waiting time fluctuating between worrying about Jeremiah (more for Nia's sake than for the boy himself, to be honest) and feeling despondent about Beryl. Worry, despondence, worry, despondence - he was currently uncomfortably settled on 'worry'.
It was all becoming just a little too much to bear. "Maybe we should..." he started, then trailed off, lost for words for once in his life. Should what? Give up? Of course not. Set off into the world searching for a trace of Jeremiah? What if he came back when they were away, finding an empty Commissary? The cycle would simply start anew.
"Maybe you should head out for a few minutes and see if you can find any clues. I could stay behind in case he comes back. We could hide our bags - I'm sure there's crates in the storeroom they'd fit inside. That way if someone... unfriendly visits, they wouldn't have anything to gain from hurting me." A bit too self-sacrificial for his liking, but it was better than just sitting.
At the End of Days, at the End of Time
Day 2 - Private
>> Apollonia "Nia" Karahalios continued from Rigor Samsa
It was too long, she knew, but she couldn't say.
The hours passed uneventfully, for the most part; there were noises in the distance that she would have to be fatally naive to not believe to be a potentially deadly conflict, but she did not dwell on them except for to test the windows in the cafeteria, finding them all to be as rusted shut as the one in the kitchen, conveniently for them. Still only one entrance they needed to worry about, though Nia did feel compelled to lead Alexander away from the windows in considering the possibility of a bullet, stray or targetted, crashing through one. The door couldn't be barricaded, obviously, as Jeremiah could and would return at any time and might have immediate need of shelter when he did. She did move some silverware and pots from the kitchen in front of the door in a small, odd-looking mound; not enough to block the door from opening in any meaningful way, but enough to make an obnoxious and hopefully distracting noise that would alert her and Alexander if they dozed off and hopefully distract any non-Jeremiah entrant for long enough to forestall any planned attacks.
It wasn't much. She was sacrificing safety for convenience, for comfort, for Jeremiah in ways she could not reasonably square with logic. Logically speaking, they should leave, the sooner the better. The commissary was an obvious starting point for anyone low on resources, the misguided searching for food and the more level-headed for tools or parts. It had made a convenient shelter for the night but would not do as a long-term base of operations unless they committed to defending it day and night and were willing to kill all intruders, which Nia would rather not do, at least not so early. Bullets were limited, and announcements were damning. Best to lay low until that was no longer an option.
The hours passed, evidenced by the shift of light and shadows over time, and the building itself, if not the outside, was silent but for her constant pacing footsteps and the scratching of her marker. She had scavenged more paper from the warehouse to free herself to write plans, diagrams, ideas, but after a couple of basic pages of notes her mental well ran dry. There was more, she knew, so much more to consider, but she was running on so little, and so much of her mind was occupied by one thing. Two, perhaps, but one she needed to concentrate on and one she wished to allow pass from her mind as quickly and quietly as possible
So when Alexander asked if she might go looking for Jeremiah, there was a part of her that wanted to agree immediately. The stagnation was driving her mad. But rationality prevailed as she regarded him, frowning, wondering what brought this on. Of course he might simply be bored, which would be more than reasonable; time spent idle was unbearably dull, and Alexander didn't even have the minimal pleasure of a pen and paper to occupy him. He could be worried; not that she imagined he had much love lost for Jeremiah, all things considered, but he was still an ally and something happening to him would bode poorly for their futures. More sentimentally he might be worried on Nia's behalf, though that seemed too irrational to give much thought.
Did he want to get rid of her? It seemed like an unwise decision, considering his relative helplessness. She supposed if she left he could take Jeremiah's belongings and run, but she didn't think an extra inventory not including a weapon would outweigh the advantages of their alliance. He could barricade himself in the commissary alone, but doing so would be shortsighted for reasons Nia had already thought through, and had Alexander been that stupid she wouldn't have chosen to stay with him in the first place. He couldn't go out by himself to look, obviously, and leaving Nia alone was a much more dangerous proposition for him than the reverse, as he had less of a guarantee that she'd choose to wait for him.
... He was right, she supposed. It had been too long. The village was only so large. He was fine, of course, she had no doubt at all about that; her doubt was in whether his anger had taken him past the village borders. But she would look, and she would come back, and if she couldn't find him they would discuss what that meant when that river was crossed.
"I--GO--SOON," she signed reflexively before realizing her mistake. Her frown deepened, but she took his hand regardless.
"G-O-S-O-O-N-Y-O-U-H-I-D-E-S-A-F-E."
Nia paused. Alexander seemed... empty, in a manner difficult to describe, drained of something more than energy. He had been thinking about it, the elephant in the room; she doubted he'd thought of much else since the morning. She didn't want to think about it too closely. Beryl was vital in an unusual way; even in her constant slumbers Nia's memories of her were incompatible with the stillness of death. But magical thinking was incongruent with reality. Beryl was as human as any of them, and now she was not. And that would continue to push like a thumbtack against the back of her brain for the rest of her life, but Alexander knew her better, and Alexander would be hurting more.
This was not her strong suit. It would be better not to care, and perhaps she wouldn't have if it were some other friend of his who died. But she felt an echo of his feelings. That was enough.
"A-R-E-Y-O-U-O-K-A-Y-?"
It was too long, she knew, but she couldn't say.
The hours passed uneventfully, for the most part; there were noises in the distance that she would have to be fatally naive to not believe to be a potentially deadly conflict, but she did not dwell on them except for to test the windows in the cafeteria, finding them all to be as rusted shut as the one in the kitchen, conveniently for them. Still only one entrance they needed to worry about, though Nia did feel compelled to lead Alexander away from the windows in considering the possibility of a bullet, stray or targetted, crashing through one. The door couldn't be barricaded, obviously, as Jeremiah could and would return at any time and might have immediate need of shelter when he did. She did move some silverware and pots from the kitchen in front of the door in a small, odd-looking mound; not enough to block the door from opening in any meaningful way, but enough to make an obnoxious and hopefully distracting noise that would alert her and Alexander if they dozed off and hopefully distract any non-Jeremiah entrant for long enough to forestall any planned attacks.
It wasn't much. She was sacrificing safety for convenience, for comfort, for Jeremiah in ways she could not reasonably square with logic. Logically speaking, they should leave, the sooner the better. The commissary was an obvious starting point for anyone low on resources, the misguided searching for food and the more level-headed for tools or parts. It had made a convenient shelter for the night but would not do as a long-term base of operations unless they committed to defending it day and night and were willing to kill all intruders, which Nia would rather not do, at least not so early. Bullets were limited, and announcements were damning. Best to lay low until that was no longer an option.
The hours passed, evidenced by the shift of light and shadows over time, and the building itself, if not the outside, was silent but for her constant pacing footsteps and the scratching of her marker. She had scavenged more paper from the warehouse to free herself to write plans, diagrams, ideas, but after a couple of basic pages of notes her mental well ran dry. There was more, she knew, so much more to consider, but she was running on so little, and so much of her mind was occupied by one thing. Two, perhaps, but one she needed to concentrate on and one she wished to allow pass from her mind as quickly and quietly as possible
So when Alexander asked if she might go looking for Jeremiah, there was a part of her that wanted to agree immediately. The stagnation was driving her mad. But rationality prevailed as she regarded him, frowning, wondering what brought this on. Of course he might simply be bored, which would be more than reasonable; time spent idle was unbearably dull, and Alexander didn't even have the minimal pleasure of a pen and paper to occupy him. He could be worried; not that she imagined he had much love lost for Jeremiah, all things considered, but he was still an ally and something happening to him would bode poorly for their futures. More sentimentally he might be worried on Nia's behalf, though that seemed too irrational to give much thought.
Did he want to get rid of her? It seemed like an unwise decision, considering his relative helplessness. She supposed if she left he could take Jeremiah's belongings and run, but she didn't think an extra inventory not including a weapon would outweigh the advantages of their alliance. He could barricade himself in the commissary alone, but doing so would be shortsighted for reasons Nia had already thought through, and had Alexander been that stupid she wouldn't have chosen to stay with him in the first place. He couldn't go out by himself to look, obviously, and leaving Nia alone was a much more dangerous proposition for him than the reverse, as he had less of a guarantee that she'd choose to wait for him.
... He was right, she supposed. It had been too long. The village was only so large. He was fine, of course, she had no doubt at all about that; her doubt was in whether his anger had taken him past the village borders. But she would look, and she would come back, and if she couldn't find him they would discuss what that meant when that river was crossed.
"I--GO--SOON," she signed reflexively before realizing her mistake. Her frown deepened, but she took his hand regardless.
"G-O-S-O-O-N-Y-O-U-H-I-D-E-S-A-F-E."
Nia paused. Alexander seemed... empty, in a manner difficult to describe, drained of something more than energy. He had been thinking about it, the elephant in the room; she doubted he'd thought of much else since the morning. She didn't want to think about it too closely. Beryl was vital in an unusual way; even in her constant slumbers Nia's memories of her were incompatible with the stillness of death. But magical thinking was incongruent with reality. Beryl was as human as any of them, and now she was not. And that would continue to push like a thumbtack against the back of her brain for the rest of her life, but Alexander knew her better, and Alexander would be hurting more.
This was not her strong suit. It would be better not to care, and perhaps she wouldn't have if it were some other friend of his who died. But she felt an echo of his feelings. That was enough.
"A-R-E-Y-O-U-O-K-A-Y-?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
((Nick Ogilvie continued from ][))
Nick arrived back at the village. It took a few hours. They had avoided any interactions with others - walking off beaten paths, consciously avoiding any sounds that might portend unwanted interaction, avoiding any of their peers. He wanted to avoid the vexing moral questions that came with interacting with anyone. Wanted to avoid giving his temper chances to flare up, or falling under the spell of some manipulative trickster. No. He couldn't be dealing with that. Michael was all the social interaction he needed, for a few hours at least. Nick had not sworn himself to a hermit's life for his final days, but he wanted some kind of...grounding, a veneer of predictability, to those social interactions that he did face. That was part of why he'd headed here. There was a chance of closure, a chance of testing out his excuses and his justifications on those who, if he failed, would at least not hesitate to kill him swiftly.
Finding the commissary was not hard.
It was an eye-catching building, after all, decorated with vibrant murals and picturesque scenes that were something of a stark stylistic contrast to the cookie-cutter shacks that otherwise made up the village. He glanced over his shoulder at Michael, who had accepted the trajectory Nick had picked out for them, not objecting to the sudden precision and relatively brusque pace with which Nick had headed towards it.
Nick wasn't sure what he hoped to see on Michael's features, much less what he expected to see. Some kind of reaction to the mural, perhaps? A smarter and more creative person than Nick would surely have something to say about its intriguing aesthetic, the stories it told, the earlier lives that it hinted at. Maybe an inquisitive look? Why had Nick set course for this place, what story was there behind it? All good questions. The possibility that Michael might think that Nick had set eyes on the commissary in search of supplies hadn't even occurred to Nick, except at the very back of his mind.
He owed Michael a brief explanation. Michael could fill in the details over time. Those details were not flattering to Nick, after all.
"I came here first thing. No supplies that I could spot but...I had to leave at the time. A bit of a row. Want to clear the air." There was some truth to that. If this situation ended amicably, ended with mutual understanding and respect, Nick would be fine with that. It was just...he doubted that would be what happened. But yet, he carried on going forward anyway.
Because if it ended with him dead or his anger being vindicated or...whatever, some kind of catharsis, okay. Fine. Good. He just needed closure. And he didn't know where else to go or what else to follow. If Michael had his own goals, Nick hoped that he would have raised them by now.
"Follow behind me." If it was a trap, it was only fair Nick endured the brunt of it.
He pushed the door open, steadily. Called out. "Hello?" A cacophonous clang of metal greeted him. "Ah, fuck." It wasn't a barricade. It was an audible warning. Which, he imagined, would be useful for a boy who couldn't see and a girl who couldn't shout. He'd come here to meet up with them again. Instantly regretted it.
Nick arrived back at the village. It took a few hours. They had avoided any interactions with others - walking off beaten paths, consciously avoiding any sounds that might portend unwanted interaction, avoiding any of their peers. He wanted to avoid the vexing moral questions that came with interacting with anyone. Wanted to avoid giving his temper chances to flare up, or falling under the spell of some manipulative trickster. No. He couldn't be dealing with that. Michael was all the social interaction he needed, for a few hours at least. Nick had not sworn himself to a hermit's life for his final days, but he wanted some kind of...grounding, a veneer of predictability, to those social interactions that he did face. That was part of why he'd headed here. There was a chance of closure, a chance of testing out his excuses and his justifications on those who, if he failed, would at least not hesitate to kill him swiftly.
Finding the commissary was not hard.
It was an eye-catching building, after all, decorated with vibrant murals and picturesque scenes that were something of a stark stylistic contrast to the cookie-cutter shacks that otherwise made up the village. He glanced over his shoulder at Michael, who had accepted the trajectory Nick had picked out for them, not objecting to the sudden precision and relatively brusque pace with which Nick had headed towards it.
Nick wasn't sure what he hoped to see on Michael's features, much less what he expected to see. Some kind of reaction to the mural, perhaps? A smarter and more creative person than Nick would surely have something to say about its intriguing aesthetic, the stories it told, the earlier lives that it hinted at. Maybe an inquisitive look? Why had Nick set course for this place, what story was there behind it? All good questions. The possibility that Michael might think that Nick had set eyes on the commissary in search of supplies hadn't even occurred to Nick, except at the very back of his mind.
He owed Michael a brief explanation. Michael could fill in the details over time. Those details were not flattering to Nick, after all.
"I came here first thing. No supplies that I could spot but...I had to leave at the time. A bit of a row. Want to clear the air." There was some truth to that. If this situation ended amicably, ended with mutual understanding and respect, Nick would be fine with that. It was just...he doubted that would be what happened. But yet, he carried on going forward anyway.
Because if it ended with him dead or his anger being vindicated or...whatever, some kind of catharsis, okay. Fine. Good. He just needed closure. And he didn't know where else to go or what else to follow. If Michael had his own goals, Nick hoped that he would have raised them by now.
"Follow behind me." If it was a trap, it was only fair Nick endured the brunt of it.
He pushed the door open, steadily. Called out. "Hello?" A cacophonous clang of metal greeted him. "Ah, fuck." It wasn't a barricade. It was an audible warning. Which, he imagined, would be useful for a boy who couldn't see and a girl who couldn't shout. He'd come here to meet up with them again. Instantly regretted it.
((Michael continued from ][))
More than once during the trip here, Michael felt like his heart was about to explode.
..it didn't explode! It didn't explode once!
The trip had been morose. At the least, Nick had been morose. Michael had been.. there? He'd been present! He'd taken his hoodie off so he wouldn't melt. He'd occupied himself by playing the song Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games repeatedly in his own head. The beat of the song was in-sync with his heartbeat.
He was appropriating Beryl! He was.. Berychael. At least for the next few hours.
He'd be back to himself once the dexedrine spansule wore off, probably. Two extra pills made one hell of a difference.
Michael had also seen a monkey during the trip over, and that was pretty neat.
Now Michael saw a monkey painted on the side of a big building! That was probably the place Nick was headed to. He couldn't really think of any way to describe the building's exterior except.. gaudy? Flamboyant, maybe?
Nick explained his motivations for coming here. "Damn son, aight." Michael responded. He didn't really have much more to say (well not exactly.. he also thought that Nick's use of the word 'row' made him look even more Scottish than he usually did). He was just kind of along for the ride. He wasn't capable of much else right now. He had taken too many pills to be capable of anything else.
Nick was like 'follow me' and Michael followed him as he was requested to do. Nick opened the door of the building and triggered a makeshift alarm thing. Rookie move. Michael was like.. strung the fuck out, so he was pretty fucking hypercompetent right now and he was pretty sure he would've caught the noise trap if he was the one opening the door.
Hypercompetent.. he liked that word.
He flicked the safety on his gun off and clicked the hammer down.
Michael was in the zone.
He caught a glimpse of someone through the doorway. Not Nick (duh!); someone further into the building.
..Nia! Nia was smart! Nia was his friend, kind of! Nia was cool!
He slipped in through the doorway, behind Nick's back and out of the path of the door. He limply held the gun, pointing it to the ground (and angling it away from his feet; he didn't want to shoot himself). Now that he was inside, he could see someone other than Nia. It was the non-Clay blind kid..
..Alexander..
..who was in a band..
..a band with -
No.
No No No No No
no no no no no no no no no no no no
Michael was very thoroughly out of the zone now.
Everyone here must've been absolutely destroyed and
And Nick was the person credited with her death and
And Nick said he'd been in a fight here and
Oh no
Oh no.
Michael started saying the first word that came to his mind.
"Bery-"
He was cut off by an explosion. Well.. not an explosion. Maybe two explosions? Two almost-but-not-quite-simultaneous explosions.
One less explosive explosion. A thumpy explosion. Explosive in terms of energy dispersal but not much else. Nick had suddenly jumped from the edge of Michael's vision into the peripheral foreground of Michael's vision and actually it wasn't just Nick there was something else and the sudden movement caused Michael to reflexively contract his fingers in such a way that caused him to fire his gun.
That was the second explosion! The explosion more literal. The big bang. A single bullet fired into the floor. Michael soundlessly fwumped back against the wall and to the ground. His wrist sort of hurt, but that was all. Unless he had somehow managed to shoot himself in the wrist, he was physically okay.
..Oh, actually his brain hurt too! And his ears!
All Michael could do was keep a hold on the gun and slowly try to writhe himself away from whatever the fuck was going on.
He hoped he hadn't just pulled a Darlene.
The only reason that thought didn't absolutely destroy him was because he was already out of his mind.
More than once during the trip here, Michael felt like his heart was about to explode.
..it didn't explode! It didn't explode once!
The trip had been morose. At the least, Nick had been morose. Michael had been.. there? He'd been present! He'd taken his hoodie off so he wouldn't melt. He'd occupied himself by playing the song Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games repeatedly in his own head. The beat of the song was in-sync with his heartbeat.
He was appropriating Beryl! He was.. Berychael. At least for the next few hours.
He'd be back to himself once the dexedrine spansule wore off, probably. Two extra pills made one hell of a difference.
Michael had also seen a monkey during the trip over, and that was pretty neat.
Now Michael saw a monkey painted on the side of a big building! That was probably the place Nick was headed to. He couldn't really think of any way to describe the building's exterior except.. gaudy? Flamboyant, maybe?
Nick explained his motivations for coming here. "Damn son, aight." Michael responded. He didn't really have much more to say (well not exactly.. he also thought that Nick's use of the word 'row' made him look even more Scottish than he usually did). He was just kind of along for the ride. He wasn't capable of much else right now. He had taken too many pills to be capable of anything else.
Nick was like 'follow me' and Michael followed him as he was requested to do. Nick opened the door of the building and triggered a makeshift alarm thing. Rookie move. Michael was like.. strung the fuck out, so he was pretty fucking hypercompetent right now and he was pretty sure he would've caught the noise trap if he was the one opening the door.
Hypercompetent.. he liked that word.
He flicked the safety on his gun off and clicked the hammer down.
Michael was in the zone.
He caught a glimpse of someone through the doorway. Not Nick (duh!); someone further into the building.
..Nia! Nia was smart! Nia was his friend, kind of! Nia was cool!
He slipped in through the doorway, behind Nick's back and out of the path of the door. He limply held the gun, pointing it to the ground (and angling it away from his feet; he didn't want to shoot himself). Now that he was inside, he could see someone other than Nia. It was the non-Clay blind kid..
..Alexander..
..who was in a band..
..a band with -
No.
No No No No No
no no no no no no no no no no no no
Michael was very thoroughly out of the zone now.
Everyone here must've been absolutely destroyed and
And Nick was the person credited with her death and
And Nick said he'd been in a fight here and
Oh no
Oh no.
Michael started saying the first word that came to his mind.
"Bery-"
He was cut off by an explosion. Well.. not an explosion. Maybe two explosions? Two almost-but-not-quite-simultaneous explosions.
One less explosive explosion. A thumpy explosion. Explosive in terms of energy dispersal but not much else. Nick had suddenly jumped from the edge of Michael's vision into the peripheral foreground of Michael's vision and actually it wasn't just Nick there was something else and the sudden movement caused Michael to reflexively contract his fingers in such a way that caused him to fire his gun.
That was the second explosion! The explosion more literal. The big bang. A single bullet fired into the floor. Michael soundlessly fwumped back against the wall and to the ground. His wrist sort of hurt, but that was all. Unless he had somehow managed to shoot himself in the wrist, he was physically okay.
..Oh, actually his brain hurt too! And his ears!
All Michael could do was keep a hold on the gun and slowly try to writhe himself away from whatever the fuck was going on.
He hoped he hadn't just pulled a Darlene.
The only reason that thought didn't absolutely destroy him was because he was already out of his mind.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
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((Jeremiah Anderson Continued From Rigor Samsa
Walked awhile. Didn't run after the first bit. Walked. Lotta hidey holes t' shake down. Ambushes. Anything t' get his hands 'round Nick's neck 'til it wrung dry. Never caught sight of him. Figured eventually the anger'd burn off. Maybe looked like it did t' a bird's eye. Stopped shakin', gruntin', all that ruckus. Steps got methodical like. Shoulders relaxed. The bonfire he'd bust out with smoldered on embers, you could figure that somethin' easy. Be wrong, but you could figure it. Funny thing, too. Right most of the time. Only time he could remember here lately were it hadn't worked like that was 'cuz of him too. Then, though, the embers were there. Coulda gone out if Nick hadn't kicked 'em up. This was different. Fire never died. Just focused closer and closer 'til the bonfire turned t' the spike of a blowtorch. Focused t' absolutely destroy one thing at a time.
Circled back after awhile. Weren't givin' up, just figured Nia might know better where t' find the bastard. She'd want it. Not as bad as he did, Nia didn't cotton to feelin'. She'd want it though. They'd find him together. 'less he had the gall t' come knockin' back at the door they near tossed him out ass over head 'fore he killed their best friend. Couldn't imagine that. Didn't have t'; was right there. Somebody with him. Jeremiah didn't care.
The only sounds before he crashed into Nick was his pounding footsteps. Weren't screamin' when he left and he weren't now. Saved it all for when he smashed him into the floor, tumblin' and pullin' until they were face to face on the ground, big grey hands splayed over Nick's fat head. "Never enough." He squeezed. "Hurt her over." Tighter. " 'n over." Tighter. " 'n over." Lips curled, near spat in his face. "Still loved you. Couldn't quit." Leaned in close, breath hot in his face. "Prolly 'til you killed her."
Skin 'round Jeremiah's eyes was puffy. Wet. Tears came and went. Only change was where they fell. Maybe the last thing Nick'd feel 'fore he bashed his head t' paste.
Walked awhile. Didn't run after the first bit. Walked. Lotta hidey holes t' shake down. Ambushes. Anything t' get his hands 'round Nick's neck 'til it wrung dry. Never caught sight of him. Figured eventually the anger'd burn off. Maybe looked like it did t' a bird's eye. Stopped shakin', gruntin', all that ruckus. Steps got methodical like. Shoulders relaxed. The bonfire he'd bust out with smoldered on embers, you could figure that somethin' easy. Be wrong, but you could figure it. Funny thing, too. Right most of the time. Only time he could remember here lately were it hadn't worked like that was 'cuz of him too. Then, though, the embers were there. Coulda gone out if Nick hadn't kicked 'em up. This was different. Fire never died. Just focused closer and closer 'til the bonfire turned t' the spike of a blowtorch. Focused t' absolutely destroy one thing at a time.
Circled back after awhile. Weren't givin' up, just figured Nia might know better where t' find the bastard. She'd want it. Not as bad as he did, Nia didn't cotton to feelin'. She'd want it though. They'd find him together. 'less he had the gall t' come knockin' back at the door they near tossed him out ass over head 'fore he killed their best friend. Couldn't imagine that. Didn't have t'; was right there. Somebody with him. Jeremiah didn't care.
The only sounds before he crashed into Nick was his pounding footsteps. Weren't screamin' when he left and he weren't now. Saved it all for when he smashed him into the floor, tumblin' and pullin' until they were face to face on the ground, big grey hands splayed over Nick's fat head. "Never enough." He squeezed. "Hurt her over." Tighter. " 'n over." Tighter. " 'n over." Lips curled, near spat in his face. "Still loved you. Couldn't quit." Leaned in close, breath hot in his face. "Prolly 'til you killed her."
Skin 'round Jeremiah's eyes was puffy. Wet. Tears came and went. Only change was where they fell. Maybe the last thing Nick'd feel 'fore he bashed his head t' paste.
The anxious gnawing in Nia's stomach would prove to mark her final moments of peace.
The warning system she had rigged proved quite good at its job, the cacophony drawing her attention far better than the creak of the door alone would have, and her kneejerk emotional reaction was relief. Unreasonable, unwarranted, but nonetheless—she could only imagine Jeremiah coming through that door, because that was all she wanted. Magical thinking again. The world was not kind, it did not respond to her desires. Instead, the height of irony—the object of Jeremiah's tantrum, the very person who metaphorically dragged him out the front door and into the unknown beyond, had returned.
Inexplicable. She recalled thinking him suicidal, for a moment, and perhaps she was righter than she knew. Did he expect forgiveness? Did he wish to draw blood from a stone? Anxiety replaced by relief washed away by fear dosed with anger. She pushed Alexander back with one hand, not hard enough to knock him down, and stepped in front of him, something in the back of her mind reminding her how she'd thought he'd make a good sponge for bullets in a situation not unlike this one, but—
too fast—
There was no time, was that Michael? She knew Michael, he was a friend after a fashion, never learned sign language but she forgave him because he had too much to say to ignore—
Beryl?
and Jeremiah was there, then, crashed into the room as though he had no weight and there was an explosion that could have been anything anywhere else but here it could only be the gun in Michael's hands and she scrambled, nothing hurt, she spared half a second to glance at Alexander and saw no blood and heard no screaming but she scrambled for her gun on the table beside her and reflexively pulled the trigger before she'd even pointed it and there was a harmless click and nothing more
They were on the floor. Jeremiah, and Nick, grappling, this was the revenge Jeremiah wanted and it was maybe the revenge Nia wanted too, if she allowed herself to consider things in such an irrational manner, but she had her gun and she should shoot Nick now but she couldn't, this could all still go so wrong but Jeremiah covered his opponent's body, the difference between shooting Nick in the head and Jeremiah in the hands was centimeters and removing Jeremiah's hands was death, it would be to anyone but especially him—
She leveled the gun at Michael, clicked the safety off. He looked dazed— sleep deprivation? Shock? It could be anything. She ought to shoot him, for coming here, for putting them in danger, for traveling with Nick after what he'd done, wasn't he friends with Beryl? Her memory was limited, but she was sure. Something was wrong but there were too many moving parts, gears whirring uselessly, the pieces refused to be put together, static threatened to take over her thoughts, suffocating them with white noise.
"Put the gun down," she did not say, because she could not. "GUN--DOWN," she did not sign, because he wouldn't understand. "STOP," she desperately wanted to sign, but Jeremiah would not take his eyes off his prey, so she would not take her eyes off of
Michael.
The warning system she had rigged proved quite good at its job, the cacophony drawing her attention far better than the creak of the door alone would have, and her kneejerk emotional reaction was relief. Unreasonable, unwarranted, but nonetheless—she could only imagine Jeremiah coming through that door, because that was all she wanted. Magical thinking again. The world was not kind, it did not respond to her desires. Instead, the height of irony—the object of Jeremiah's tantrum, the very person who metaphorically dragged him out the front door and into the unknown beyond, had returned.
Inexplicable. She recalled thinking him suicidal, for a moment, and perhaps she was righter than she knew. Did he expect forgiveness? Did he wish to draw blood from a stone? Anxiety replaced by relief washed away by fear dosed with anger. She pushed Alexander back with one hand, not hard enough to knock him down, and stepped in front of him, something in the back of her mind reminding her how she'd thought he'd make a good sponge for bullets in a situation not unlike this one, but—
too fast—
There was no time, was that Michael? She knew Michael, he was a friend after a fashion, never learned sign language but she forgave him because he had too much to say to ignore—
Beryl?
and Jeremiah was there, then, crashed into the room as though he had no weight and there was an explosion that could have been anything anywhere else but here it could only be the gun in Michael's hands and she scrambled, nothing hurt, she spared half a second to glance at Alexander and saw no blood and heard no screaming but she scrambled for her gun on the table beside her and reflexively pulled the trigger before she'd even pointed it and there was a harmless click and nothing more
They were on the floor. Jeremiah, and Nick, grappling, this was the revenge Jeremiah wanted and it was maybe the revenge Nia wanted too, if she allowed herself to consider things in such an irrational manner, but she had her gun and she should shoot Nick now but she couldn't, this could all still go so wrong but Jeremiah covered his opponent's body, the difference between shooting Nick in the head and Jeremiah in the hands was centimeters and removing Jeremiah's hands was death, it would be to anyone but especially him—
She leveled the gun at Michael, clicked the safety off. He looked dazed— sleep deprivation? Shock? It could be anything. She ought to shoot him, for coming here, for putting them in danger, for traveling with Nick after what he'd done, wasn't he friends with Beryl? Her memory was limited, but she was sure. Something was wrong but there were too many moving parts, gears whirring uselessly, the pieces refused to be put together, static threatened to take over her thoughts, suffocating them with white noise.
"Put the gun down," she did not say, because she could not. "GUN--DOWN," she did not sign, because he wouldn't understand. "STOP," she desperately wanted to sign, but Jeremiah would not take his eyes off his prey, so she would not take her eyes off of
Michael.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Nia agreed to the plan, and Alexander acknowledged her with a solemn nod. She was smart, she had a gun - she was certainly more "fit" than the majority of their classmates. He was still all-too-aware of the possibility that she may never return. If something had happened to Jeremiah, would Nia ultimately share his fate by following his footsteps?
There were countless dangers on the island, and those who were listed in the announcements were less of a concern than the unknowns - the brand-new killers who would only be recognized the next day, perhaps too late; or those who carried violence in their hearts and simply hadn't had the chance to let it out.
A small, clinical part of him - one that had awoken the previous night, that was seriously contemplating the benefits of 'survival at any cost' as a philosophy - wondered why he even cared. One of his best friends was dead, and he would be processing that grief for the rest of his life. Marceline and Roxanne would surely follow Beryl into the grave sooner or later, only amplifying his pain; and that was even assuming he outlived them - none of his bandmates were winner material. Would it even register on an emotional level if something happened to this stranger he had only known for a day? How could he be in any more pain than he already was?
Ah, of course. Their continued alliance was far more beneficial to him than the supplies he'd gain if his companions perished or were otherwise waylaid. It was obvious, really, barely worth calling a cold tactician's answer. This was good. This was logical.
Pathetically, any pretense that Alexander wasn't simply attached to Nia was shattered by her second question. Whenever she had initiated conversation in the past, it had always been for logistical reasons - he'd always been the one dragging her into what ordinary conversation their limited communication could allow. He'd never expected her to be genuinely concerned about his feelings, and he was touched, even if he was at a loss for how to respond. He was 'okay' on neither a micro or macro level, but he could still function-
Oh, there it was. He could still recover, still drag this back to a rational interpretation. She was just worried he'd drag her down if he continued moping, Alexander lied to himself. Before he could reassure her that he could easily regain his composure once it was necessary, everything happened at once.
Their warning barricades clattered to the ground - Nick's unmistakable voice added to the cacophony - a knot in his stomach, formed from tension and hatred - hatred, how novel, Alexander never imagined he could feel so viscerally opposed to another human's continued existence - a shove, he took the hint and backed away from the door as quickly as he could - another voice? - a gunshot, prompting a "Jesus, what?" - who shot? at who? would he even be able to hear if Nia had been hit? - a furious scream, the sounds of a struggle - Jeremiah was back, Jeremiah was ranting at Nick, and ludicrously Alexander almost wanted to cheer him on, because whatever he was doing the bastard deserved it-
Too much, too fast. Alexander stood out of the way and said nothing, shaking hands tightly clenching his cane.
There were countless dangers on the island, and those who were listed in the announcements were less of a concern than the unknowns - the brand-new killers who would only be recognized the next day, perhaps too late; or those who carried violence in their hearts and simply hadn't had the chance to let it out.
A small, clinical part of him - one that had awoken the previous night, that was seriously contemplating the benefits of 'survival at any cost' as a philosophy - wondered why he even cared. One of his best friends was dead, and he would be processing that grief for the rest of his life. Marceline and Roxanne would surely follow Beryl into the grave sooner or later, only amplifying his pain; and that was even assuming he outlived them - none of his bandmates were winner material. Would it even register on an emotional level if something happened to this stranger he had only known for a day? How could he be in any more pain than he already was?
Ah, of course. Their continued alliance was far more beneficial to him than the supplies he'd gain if his companions perished or were otherwise waylaid. It was obvious, really, barely worth calling a cold tactician's answer. This was good. This was logical.
Pathetically, any pretense that Alexander wasn't simply attached to Nia was shattered by her second question. Whenever she had initiated conversation in the past, it had always been for logistical reasons - he'd always been the one dragging her into what ordinary conversation their limited communication could allow. He'd never expected her to be genuinely concerned about his feelings, and he was touched, even if he was at a loss for how to respond. He was 'okay' on neither a micro or macro level, but he could still function-
Oh, there it was. He could still recover, still drag this back to a rational interpretation. She was just worried he'd drag her down if he continued moping, Alexander lied to himself. Before he could reassure her that he could easily regain his composure once it was necessary, everything happened at once.
Their warning barricades clattered to the ground - Nick's unmistakable voice added to the cacophony - a knot in his stomach, formed from tension and hatred - hatred, how novel, Alexander never imagined he could feel so viscerally opposed to another human's continued existence - a shove, he took the hint and backed away from the door as quickly as he could - another voice? - a gunshot, prompting a "Jesus, what?" - who shot? at who? would he even be able to hear if Nia had been hit? - a furious scream, the sounds of a struggle - Jeremiah was back, Jeremiah was ranting at Nick, and ludicrously Alexander almost wanted to cheer him on, because whatever he was doing the bastard deserved it-
Too much, too fast. Alexander stood out of the way and said nothing, shaking hands tightly clenching his cane.
what
what the fuck
he was
who
what the fuck
Michael's brain was in a hard reboot.
Deep down, thinking like Beryl was a conscious choice for him. He hadn't yet remembered how to make conscious choices.
He was on the ground. He had a gun in his hand. He saw
Nia.
Nia was really smart and cool and
Nia couldn't talk and
Nia was pointing a
no no no
Nia was pointing a gun at him.
wh
what
wait why
what
the gunshot?
no no no
Michael's voice was thin, panicky. He didn't drop the gun. He didn't know how.
"- Beryl no Beryl no Nia wait Nia oh my God I don't --"
Beryl was dead.
Michael would keep having that realization over and over and
and over and every time it would hurt him as much as it did when he
when he saw the blue blanket with
nononono
with the two giant blood stains on it and
it hurt
and Beryl's feet sticking out from under it
there had been so much blood
the trail through the woods
Beryl had no blood left
Michael had seen all of her blood and
and he hadn't even known it was hers and
and he kept imagining her body out at sea
she'd been out there for half a day
seagulls had probably picked her eyelids away
if she still had eyes they were probably completely dried out now
he had blocked it out for the whole trip over here but it was a conscious choice and
he couldn't
it was
it was happening again
"-- Nia - Beryl - Darlene - Darlene shot her. Darlene shot her and Nick - Nick was mercy. Nick was mercy. Buried her at sea. I - we buried her at sea - she was my first - my first corpse that I've ever seen in my life and -"
The person on top of Nick that was
where was Alexander
Alexander was still over there
who was that on Nick
that was Jeremiah
colloidal silver
sign language
Beryl
michael always thought it was cool how beryl knew sign language
beryl knew everything
Jeremiah was Beryl's friend
everyone was Beryl's friend
and everyone was
it was his fault it was Michael's fault he let her die he could've stopped what happened and
and he let Benny die too
justin was probably freaking the fuck out
Michael let Benny die just so he could go off and let Beryl die
Michael killed Benny
Michael killed Beryl
he killed Beryl
his sweetest kill
it hurt it hurt it hurt
nonononononono
it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt
He stared into Nia's eyes. His face contorted.
"- it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Nia, it just hurts so fucking much and --"
Still loved you, Jeremiah said.
Couldn't quit, Jeremiah said.
Prolly 'til you killed her, Jeremiah said to Nick.
...
...
...Still loved you, Jeremiah said to Nick.
no no no no no that wasn't
that couldn't
she was
how
what was the rebound then
what did Jeremiah mean when he
when he said
he said Still loved you
what did Jeremiah know that Michael didn't know
he couldn't
it wasn't
beryl still loved nick
she couldn't
he was going to set Nick's beard on fire he hated him so much and
it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it just hurt so fucking much and it would never stop hurting and
Michael physically felt something pop deep inside his chest. His face was blank now. His voice was deliberate. The amphetamines. He was channeling his entire mind into being able to put these next sentences together. Nia probably thought he was crazy. He didn't care anymore. He stared through her eyes.
"-- Listen, Nia, if you're going to shoot me, just... just shoot me in the gut. Make it slow. Let me bleed out, really slow. Try to bury me at sea once it's over."
He kept staring through her. Nobody except her existed. Nothing else existed.
what the fuck
he was
who
what the fuck
Michael's brain was in a hard reboot.
Deep down, thinking like Beryl was a conscious choice for him. He hadn't yet remembered how to make conscious choices.
He was on the ground. He had a gun in his hand. He saw
Nia.
Nia was really smart and cool and
Nia couldn't talk and
Nia was pointing a
no no no
Nia was pointing a gun at him.
wh
what
wait why
what
the gunshot?
no no no
Michael's voice was thin, panicky. He didn't drop the gun. He didn't know how.
"- Beryl no Beryl no Nia wait Nia oh my God I don't --"
Beryl was dead.
Michael would keep having that realization over and over and
and over and every time it would hurt him as much as it did when he
when he saw the blue blanket with
nononono
with the two giant blood stains on it and
it hurt
and Beryl's feet sticking out from under it
there had been so much blood
the trail through the woods
Beryl had no blood left
Michael had seen all of her blood and
and he hadn't even known it was hers and
and he kept imagining her body out at sea
she'd been out there for half a day
seagulls had probably picked her eyelids away
if she still had eyes they were probably completely dried out now
he had blocked it out for the whole trip over here but it was a conscious choice and
he couldn't
it was
it was happening again
"-- Nia - Beryl - Darlene - Darlene shot her. Darlene shot her and Nick - Nick was mercy. Nick was mercy. Buried her at sea. I - we buried her at sea - she was my first - my first corpse that I've ever seen in my life and -"
The person on top of Nick that was
where was Alexander
Alexander was still over there
who was that on Nick
that was Jeremiah
colloidal silver
sign language
Beryl
michael always thought it was cool how beryl knew sign language
beryl knew everything
Jeremiah was Beryl's friend
everyone was Beryl's friend
and everyone was
it was his fault it was Michael's fault he let her die he could've stopped what happened and
and he let Benny die too
justin was probably freaking the fuck out
Michael let Benny die just so he could go off and let Beryl die
Michael killed Benny
Michael killed Beryl
he killed Beryl
his sweetest kill
it hurt it hurt it hurt
nonononononono
it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt
He stared into Nia's eyes. His face contorted.
"- it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Nia, it just hurts so fucking much and --"
Still loved you, Jeremiah said.
Couldn't quit, Jeremiah said.
Prolly 'til you killed her, Jeremiah said to Nick.
...
...
...Still loved you, Jeremiah said to Nick.
no no no no no that wasn't
that couldn't
she was
how
what was the rebound then
what did Jeremiah mean when he
when he said
he said Still loved you
what did Jeremiah know that Michael didn't know
he couldn't
it wasn't
beryl still loved nick
she couldn't
he was going to set Nick's beard on fire he hated him so much and
it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it just hurt so fucking much and it would never stop hurting and
Michael physically felt something pop deep inside his chest. His face was blank now. His voice was deliberate. The amphetamines. He was channeling his entire mind into being able to put these next sentences together. Nia probably thought he was crazy. He didn't care anymore. He stared through her eyes.
"-- Listen, Nia, if you're going to shoot me, just... just shoot me in the gut. Make it slow. Let me bleed out, really slow. Try to bury me at sea once it's over."
He kept staring through her. Nobody except her existed. Nothing else existed.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
-
General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
There was a gunshot.
There was talking.
There was shouting.
It didn't matter. Could have been part of the pots and pans all cluttering and clanging for all Nick cared. It was background noise. It didn't matter. A warning that chaos was imminent, that a confrontation was inevitable, an alarm that continued playing long after the event it foretold went underway. The discordant cacophony, the grating noises, it all might have stopped, it all might have continued. Nick didn't notice. Didn't care to notice. It was all ambient noise now, relegated to the background, something that could continue or escalate or cease and Nick wouldn't give a fuck.
What mattered right now was Jeremiah. Jeremiah was on top of Nick. Nia and Alex, they didn't matter. Michael, for the moment, didn't matter. All the other names - there were other people that he was friends with who'd died, who'd killed, Nick should have probably paused to mourn and contemplate and reckon with that - they didn't even merit a mention.
This was about him and Jeremiah.
And Jeremiah was the embodiment, the personification, of everything that Nick had to fight against. People who thought they knew what had happened. People so arrogant to tell Nick what he himself was thinking, what his own senses had told him. People who thought they could preach to Nick about loving Beryl, caring about Beryl, hurting Beryl. Jeremiah didn't know shit.
His big grey hands were all over Nick's face. Jeremiah had a lot of stupid features. His hands were the most obnoxious features. Every other second, Nick got a glimpse of Jeremiah's face through his elongated and lanky fingers, and Jeremiah had the guts to be upset about this, to be crying about this. He was spitting on Beryl's memory. Being this violent, being this quick to judge, being this quick to anger.
Nick wanted to make his case. But he only had so much energy. Only a little window of opportunity to do what needed to be done.
So instead of trying to talk, he delivered a swift punch to Jeremiah's gut instead. Used the chance to roll on top of him. Started punching.
There was talking.
There was shouting.
It didn't matter. Could have been part of the pots and pans all cluttering and clanging for all Nick cared. It was background noise. It didn't matter. A warning that chaos was imminent, that a confrontation was inevitable, an alarm that continued playing long after the event it foretold went underway. The discordant cacophony, the grating noises, it all might have stopped, it all might have continued. Nick didn't notice. Didn't care to notice. It was all ambient noise now, relegated to the background, something that could continue or escalate or cease and Nick wouldn't give a fuck.
What mattered right now was Jeremiah. Jeremiah was on top of Nick. Nia and Alex, they didn't matter. Michael, for the moment, didn't matter. All the other names - there were other people that he was friends with who'd died, who'd killed, Nick should have probably paused to mourn and contemplate and reckon with that - they didn't even merit a mention.
This was about him and Jeremiah.
And Jeremiah was the embodiment, the personification, of everything that Nick had to fight against. People who thought they knew what had happened. People so arrogant to tell Nick what he himself was thinking, what his own senses had told him. People who thought they could preach to Nick about loving Beryl, caring about Beryl, hurting Beryl. Jeremiah didn't know shit.
His big grey hands were all over Nick's face. Jeremiah had a lot of stupid features. His hands were the most obnoxious features. Every other second, Nick got a glimpse of Jeremiah's face through his elongated and lanky fingers, and Jeremiah had the guts to be upset about this, to be crying about this. He was spitting on Beryl's memory. Being this violent, being this quick to judge, being this quick to anger.
Nick wanted to make his case. But he only had so much energy. Only a little window of opportunity to do what needed to be done.
So instead of trying to talk, he delivered a swift punch to Jeremiah's gut instead. Used the chance to roll on top of him. Started punching.
-
Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
- Contact:
Thinkin' a little clearer he woulda went for the eyes first. Get his thumbs right down in there and make 'em pop like his skull against the concrete after a four, five swings. Real leverage, real distractin' too. Shame he didn't think of it 'til one of Nick's fists snatched the breathe out from his stomach. Couldn't see or hear clear. Wound up on his back, weren't long 'fore weight collapsed on top of him. Barely got his arms up 'fore the first punch came. More. Too many. Arms ached. Caught the side of his head.
Remembered Nia. Her gun, barrel trailin' through the air and centering at Nick's chest. Beat down exposed him. Could imagine a bullet goin' through his chest if Jeremiah just kept him here.
Nick rose off him, tried to shift up for a better angle. Jeremiah's knee jerked up. If Nick made a sound when it crushed his balls he couldn't hear it over the ringin'. Imaginin' it, though. That'd do. Shoved him off. Caught his breath and Nick stumblin' off the ground at the same time when he sat up. Stood himself right between Nick and Nia. Loved her, jus' not enough t' let her take this from him.
Locked eyes. Pantin' almost synced 'tween the two of them. Ground weren't gonna work, tried t' pull him down when he was lookin' in the hotel room. Jaw still ached.
Mm.
Ground weren't gonna work.
Jeremiah charged straight at him, brought his shoulders down. Drove up into his chest, hauled him 'cross the room until they both crashed into the wall.
Remembered Nia. Her gun, barrel trailin' through the air and centering at Nick's chest. Beat down exposed him. Could imagine a bullet goin' through his chest if Jeremiah just kept him here.
Nick rose off him, tried to shift up for a better angle. Jeremiah's knee jerked up. If Nick made a sound when it crushed his balls he couldn't hear it over the ringin'. Imaginin' it, though. That'd do. Shoved him off. Caught his breath and Nick stumblin' off the ground at the same time when he sat up. Stood himself right between Nick and Nia. Loved her, jus' not enough t' let her take this from him.
Locked eyes. Pantin' almost synced 'tween the two of them. Ground weren't gonna work, tried t' pull him down when he was lookin' in the hotel room. Jaw still ached.
Mm.
Ground weren't gonna work.
Jeremiah charged straight at him, brought his shoulders down. Drove up into his chest, hauled him 'cross the room until they both crashed into the wall.
-
General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
What Nick wanted to say was something to reclaim the moral high ground. He always had that with Jeremiah. Always. It was a rare position - so rare that it was often dizzying to find himself in it - but he made sure to relish it while he could. He wanted to say something to expose Jeremiah, forcefully, to the stark truth that Nick, even if he hadn't been in the right, wasn't in the wrong in the way Jeremiah was now attacking him for.
Wanted to show the world that he was trying. Sometimes Nick didn't try. Sometimes he didn't even think to try. His brain just...didn't click that that was an option, that he could stop digging and just explain himself. But he wanted to try now. He had come here with the intention of at least trying.
But instead, when Jeremiah's knee slammed against his groin, the tone for this encounter was set in stone, any chance of a more conciliatory tenor lost. Nick felt pain. Physical pain, deep searing acute physical pain that didn't feel that bad in the first second but soon rolled up to his gut and attacked him with an agonising spasm. It was like the knee had connected with him again, in the stomach.
But acute pain, he could deal with. Distracted him from the aches around the rest of his body, temporarily cleared his mind, replaced all those complex and pensive emotions with simplistic pain and anger. He shot up to his feet.
"Cunt!" He'd yelled that at some point. That's what he'd said in the end. Not something to reclaim the high ground. No, he'd forgotten all about that futile effort. Had just yelled something that felt good. Wasn't sure when, though. Just knew it wasn't immediate. He'd yelled it with the intensity and ferocity of a spontaneous yelp of pain and fury, but had waited a few seconds between the contact and the actual exclamation.
Jeremiah had stood up at the same time, their minds temporarily acting as one, and Nick steeled himself for what was to come. Nick was big. He was brawny and bulky and muscular and he was proud of it. But Jeremiah was bigger. Lanky, slender, like a damn twig, but his height alone gave him a lot of oomph to everything he did. Jeremiah charged - that's right, let him be the aggressor, just like he was back in DC - and slammed him against a wall. "Fuck!" Nick yelled out, again as if it was a grunt of pain, again clearly intended as a noun to describe Jeremiah, but again a few seconds too late to really be instant.
Jeremiah's technique had been sloppy. Nick's limbs were unimpeded. A few blows and kicks were sent out. He wasn't sure when, where or if they landed. All he knew was that he almost lost his balance one time. At one point his wrist bent back at a sore angle. The details evaded recollection - and what he could remember, he couldn't describe.
It was a stalemate.
Nick threw his head forward. Right onto Jeremiah's nose.
When Nick pulled his head back after the headbutt, he saw red and grey rush towards him too, returning the gesture.
Wanted to show the world that he was trying. Sometimes Nick didn't try. Sometimes he didn't even think to try. His brain just...didn't click that that was an option, that he could stop digging and just explain himself. But he wanted to try now. He had come here with the intention of at least trying.
But instead, when Jeremiah's knee slammed against his groin, the tone for this encounter was set in stone, any chance of a more conciliatory tenor lost. Nick felt pain. Physical pain, deep searing acute physical pain that didn't feel that bad in the first second but soon rolled up to his gut and attacked him with an agonising spasm. It was like the knee had connected with him again, in the stomach.
But acute pain, he could deal with. Distracted him from the aches around the rest of his body, temporarily cleared his mind, replaced all those complex and pensive emotions with simplistic pain and anger. He shot up to his feet.
"Cunt!" He'd yelled that at some point. That's what he'd said in the end. Not something to reclaim the high ground. No, he'd forgotten all about that futile effort. Had just yelled something that felt good. Wasn't sure when, though. Just knew it wasn't immediate. He'd yelled it with the intensity and ferocity of a spontaneous yelp of pain and fury, but had waited a few seconds between the contact and the actual exclamation.
Jeremiah had stood up at the same time, their minds temporarily acting as one, and Nick steeled himself for what was to come. Nick was big. He was brawny and bulky and muscular and he was proud of it. But Jeremiah was bigger. Lanky, slender, like a damn twig, but his height alone gave him a lot of oomph to everything he did. Jeremiah charged - that's right, let him be the aggressor, just like he was back in DC - and slammed him against a wall. "Fuck!" Nick yelled out, again as if it was a grunt of pain, again clearly intended as a noun to describe Jeremiah, but again a few seconds too late to really be instant.
Jeremiah's technique had been sloppy. Nick's limbs were unimpeded. A few blows and kicks were sent out. He wasn't sure when, where or if they landed. All he knew was that he almost lost his balance one time. At one point his wrist bent back at a sore angle. The details evaded recollection - and what he could remember, he couldn't describe.
It was a stalemate.
Nick threw his head forward. Right onto Jeremiah's nose.
When Nick pulled his head back after the headbutt, he saw red and grey rush towards him too, returning the gesture.
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
- Contact:
No plan. Just holdin' him against the wall, lookin' for opportunity. Down in his bones Jeremiah knew this weren't a fight he was gonna walk away from. Too many hits. Feet stompin' on his own, gougin' his knees, sweepin' t' bring him down, wild offense wherever Nick could throw it in. If Jeremiah could feel any of it more than a dull throb mighta dropped. Weren't built for it like Nick was,simple fact. Any time he coulda let go, shouted for Nia. Spared himself.
Nick's fist buried in his stomach again.
Jeremiah held on.
Nick's other hand came up, clocked him across the chin. Somethin' came loose.
Jeremiah spat it in his face. Held on.
Nick's head came at him with his mouth still hangin' open. The crunch of his nose rang 'cross the room 'fore blood poured into his mouth. Choked. Blinded.
Jeremiah let go.
Threw his whole body into two hits. His head smashin' Nick's, Nick's head smashin' the wall.
Opportunity.
Dazed. Groped. Felt somethin' wet, maybe Nick's blood, maybe his. Nick's face all the same. Grabbed it tight as he could.
Pull.
Slam.
Pull.
Slam.
Pull.
Slam.
One gonna give. Arm. Wall. Head.
Which.
Nick's fist buried in his stomach again.
Jeremiah held on.
Nick's other hand came up, clocked him across the chin. Somethin' came loose.
Jeremiah spat it in his face. Held on.
Nick's head came at him with his mouth still hangin' open. The crunch of his nose rang 'cross the room 'fore blood poured into his mouth. Choked. Blinded.
Jeremiah let go.
Threw his whole body into two hits. His head smashin' Nick's, Nick's head smashin' the wall.
Opportunity.
Dazed. Groped. Felt somethin' wet, maybe Nick's blood, maybe his. Nick's face all the same. Grabbed it tight as he could.
Pull.
Slam.
Pull.
Slam.
Pull.
Slam.
One gonna give. Arm. Wall. Head.
Which.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
The first slam barely fazed Nick.
It was just another blow. Just another cheap tactic from the gangly ashen-faced arsehole he was currently entangled with. His head was already hurting all over. One more slam wouldn't hurt.
The second slam made him growl.
It was enough for him to, if not recognise a pattern, then at least spot that the lines of the battle had shifted. He tried pushing back against Jeremiah's hand, teeth impotently gnashing to try and catch a slither of palm skin and bite down on it. If he succeeded, Nick didn't know. There was already so much blood everywhere that it was hard to tell what was attached and what wasn't.
On the...fourth hit, that's when he began to feel it.
Began to get dizzy. Began to lose focus. Began to feel that there was something liquid on the wall that he was being slammed against. Something trickling. Something that was coming out of his skull.
His fists needed direction. They were flailing around until now, but not causing any pause to the flow.
He shook his body, knowing it wouldn't stop Jeremiah, but it might disrupt the flow. Buy him a second.
And then his left fist flew at where he thought Jeremiah's face was. Then his right fist.
Left fist hit metal, right fist hit flesh.
It was just another blow. Just another cheap tactic from the gangly ashen-faced arsehole he was currently entangled with. His head was already hurting all over. One more slam wouldn't hurt.
The second slam made him growl.
It was enough for him to, if not recognise a pattern, then at least spot that the lines of the battle had shifted. He tried pushing back against Jeremiah's hand, teeth impotently gnashing to try and catch a slither of palm skin and bite down on it. If he succeeded, Nick didn't know. There was already so much blood everywhere that it was hard to tell what was attached and what wasn't.
On the...fourth hit, that's when he began to feel it.
Began to get dizzy. Began to lose focus. Began to feel that there was something liquid on the wall that he was being slammed against. Something trickling. Something that was coming out of his skull.
His fists needed direction. They were flailing around until now, but not causing any pause to the flow.
He shook his body, knowing it wouldn't stop Jeremiah, but it might disrupt the flow. Buy him a second.
And then his left fist flew at where he thought Jeremiah's face was. Then his right fist.
Left fist hit metal, right fist hit flesh.
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
- Contact:
Got soft. His grip. Arm. Nick's struggles. His head. Only thing that stayed solid was the wall. Held up where Jeremiah couldn't. Grateful. Not long now. When Nick stopped movin', he could drop. Sleep. Maybe never wake up. Wouldn't hate that.
Never thought much 'bout death. Weren't a choice. Did what he was expected t' do, kept his head down. Sometimes folks liked what he did. Most folks didn't care. Preferred it that way. Nothin' he'd done was worth noticin'. Wanted peace, not praise.
Thought 'bout that a lot since wakin' up here. Unfair. First thing he'd thought, unfair t' be here, unfair t' watch good folk die, unfair that people who took and took and took got every chance in the world 'cuz they weren't never gonna be satisfied. Thought a lot more than usual. Been nothin' but piss n' vinegar itchin' t' boil over since, just waitin' for somethin' t' destroy. Made his talk t' Nia 'bout chances off lookin' back. Figured one of 'em might make it home, still might be right. Wrong 'bout his chance, though. Weren't like her, didn't have anything t' go back t', just never got the hang of it. Goin' back meant more of the same. Weren't gonna be Regina's problem no more so she'd quit him. No counselors tellin' him to pick up his act. Buryin' the only other people he ever loved. Just a matter a' time 'til he gave up tryin'. Picked up a bottle. Waited.
Mm. No chance at home. Weren't like her. Shoulda known that.
Weren't like Alex either, though. He had a chance, chance he maybe shoulda took 'fore now. It'd been clawin' at him for a long time now. Couldn't make anythin' of him, but he could sure destroy somebody else. Some folk the world weren't never gonna miss. Folks like Nick. If he hadn't fucked it up and held back on the only thing in his life that had ever felt right all the way down t' his bones, if he'd snapped Nick's neck right then and there in the hotel...hell. Imagination could run. Murder investigation might be enough t' stop the trip home. Keep everybody behind. Delay could make folks jumpy. Call off the whole kidnapping. Everybody goes on, 'cept him and Nick.
Stupid thought. Prolly all go home just the same and end up here, 'cept him and Nick. Might be enough though. If he'd done it, Beryl would still be alive.
Might be enough, but makin' him pay 'fore he hurt anyone else would have to be. Jeremiah could die with that.
Strange where his mind drifted, windin' up for that last crack. Thought 'bout Ma. Seein' her again, what she'd make of it all. Been so long he couldn't think of her as a person no more, memories were too thin. Had t' wonder, though. If there was anybody who could understand puttin' yourself through unnecessary pain, makin' stupid fuckin' decisions, just full on throwin' your life away 'cuz a' somebody you loved, no difference if they loved you? Mm. Still had the stronger claim there by a mile, gave her that. Might understand what they shared, though. Givin' up his life could make up for snatchin' somebody else's.
Liked that thought.
Nick was shakin' but he weren't fightin'. Might as well have given up. Mm. Weren't no more skin off Jeremiah than what he'd already bit off if Nick died screamin'. Pulled him forward the last time.
Never saw the swing comin'. Metal dug into his throat. Choked. Nick's left fist dragged the collar up almost t' his chin. Let the rest wide open for his right t' swing in.
Jeremiah let go. Stumbled. Tried to call out, but the one time he needed his voice it'd up and left.
Collapsed back, just like his throat had under Nick's knuckles.
Hardly noticed the achin' in his head after he hit the ground. The blood pourin' from his nose down his throat, that got his attention. Coughed, but it weren't enough. Dragged his fingers over his throat outta instinct he didn't understand, one second they were on the floor and the next they were clutched around his neck. Couldn't breathe. Blood kept pourin'. Drownin', chokin', didn't matter which. Fucked it up. Knew he fucked it up, 'cuz Nick was still standin'. Too far gone t' tell if the spasmin' in his chest was from his air cut off, or if he was cryin' again. Couldn't imagine any body else could tell through all the blood, and the sound. Sound weren't anything but wet gurglin' retches that sent more red spray up to dribble down the sides of his face. Fucked it up. Nothin' left. Eyelids drifted. All the sudden Nia was kneeling over him. Last thing he was gonna see.
Eyes shot open again.
Last thing he was gonna see. Last time she was gonna see him. Last memory they'd ever have, and it looked like this. Couldn't bear it. Tried t' scream. Tell her not t' watch, weren't strong enough t' stop but he couldn't let her watch. There weren't no air left in him. Head was too heavy t' lift. So was anything but his fingers, all the movement he had t' spare.
"GO."
Weren't enough t' say everything he wanted t' her, but she had t' see. One sign, as many times as she needed 'fore she got it. "GO--GO--GO."
Nia couldn't see his fingers raised just above the ground.
"GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO"
Lost. Count. Consciousness. Hope.
Fingers limp.
Eyes shut.
Never thought much 'bout death. Weren't a choice. Did what he was expected t' do, kept his head down. Sometimes folks liked what he did. Most folks didn't care. Preferred it that way. Nothin' he'd done was worth noticin'. Wanted peace, not praise.
Thought 'bout that a lot since wakin' up here. Unfair. First thing he'd thought, unfair t' be here, unfair t' watch good folk die, unfair that people who took and took and took got every chance in the world 'cuz they weren't never gonna be satisfied. Thought a lot more than usual. Been nothin' but piss n' vinegar itchin' t' boil over since, just waitin' for somethin' t' destroy. Made his talk t' Nia 'bout chances off lookin' back. Figured one of 'em might make it home, still might be right. Wrong 'bout his chance, though. Weren't like her, didn't have anything t' go back t', just never got the hang of it. Goin' back meant more of the same. Weren't gonna be Regina's problem no more so she'd quit him. No counselors tellin' him to pick up his act. Buryin' the only other people he ever loved. Just a matter a' time 'til he gave up tryin'. Picked up a bottle. Waited.
Mm. No chance at home. Weren't like her. Shoulda known that.
Weren't like Alex either, though. He had a chance, chance he maybe shoulda took 'fore now. It'd been clawin' at him for a long time now. Couldn't make anythin' of him, but he could sure destroy somebody else. Some folk the world weren't never gonna miss. Folks like Nick. If he hadn't fucked it up and held back on the only thing in his life that had ever felt right all the way down t' his bones, if he'd snapped Nick's neck right then and there in the hotel...hell. Imagination could run. Murder investigation might be enough t' stop the trip home. Keep everybody behind. Delay could make folks jumpy. Call off the whole kidnapping. Everybody goes on, 'cept him and Nick.
Stupid thought. Prolly all go home just the same and end up here, 'cept him and Nick. Might be enough though. If he'd done it, Beryl would still be alive.
Might be enough, but makin' him pay 'fore he hurt anyone else would have to be. Jeremiah could die with that.
Strange where his mind drifted, windin' up for that last crack. Thought 'bout Ma. Seein' her again, what she'd make of it all. Been so long he couldn't think of her as a person no more, memories were too thin. Had t' wonder, though. If there was anybody who could understand puttin' yourself through unnecessary pain, makin' stupid fuckin' decisions, just full on throwin' your life away 'cuz a' somebody you loved, no difference if they loved you? Mm. Still had the stronger claim there by a mile, gave her that. Might understand what they shared, though. Givin' up his life could make up for snatchin' somebody else's.
Liked that thought.
Nick was shakin' but he weren't fightin'. Might as well have given up. Mm. Weren't no more skin off Jeremiah than what he'd already bit off if Nick died screamin'. Pulled him forward the last time.
Never saw the swing comin'. Metal dug into his throat. Choked. Nick's left fist dragged the collar up almost t' his chin. Let the rest wide open for his right t' swing in.
Jeremiah let go. Stumbled. Tried to call out, but the one time he needed his voice it'd up and left.
Collapsed back, just like his throat had under Nick's knuckles.
Hardly noticed the achin' in his head after he hit the ground. The blood pourin' from his nose down his throat, that got his attention. Coughed, but it weren't enough. Dragged his fingers over his throat outta instinct he didn't understand, one second they were on the floor and the next they were clutched around his neck. Couldn't breathe. Blood kept pourin'. Drownin', chokin', didn't matter which. Fucked it up. Knew he fucked it up, 'cuz Nick was still standin'. Too far gone t' tell if the spasmin' in his chest was from his air cut off, or if he was cryin' again. Couldn't imagine any body else could tell through all the blood, and the sound. Sound weren't anything but wet gurglin' retches that sent more red spray up to dribble down the sides of his face. Fucked it up. Nothin' left. Eyelids drifted. All the sudden Nia was kneeling over him. Last thing he was gonna see.
Eyes shot open again.
Last thing he was gonna see. Last time she was gonna see him. Last memory they'd ever have, and it looked like this. Couldn't bear it. Tried t' scream. Tell her not t' watch, weren't strong enough t' stop but he couldn't let her watch. There weren't no air left in him. Head was too heavy t' lift. So was anything but his fingers, all the movement he had t' spare.
"GO."
Weren't enough t' say everything he wanted t' her, but she had t' see. One sign, as many times as she needed 'fore she got it. "GO--GO--GO."
Nia couldn't see his fingers raised just above the ground.
"GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO"
Lost. Count. Consciousness. Hope.
Fingers limp.
Eyes shut.
It was so loud
Nia did not take the gun off of Michael. She did take her eyes off him, over and over, she did not want to see but she could not look away, could not stop looking for her opportunity, her chance, one she was never given. She knew Jeremiah, she knew Jeremiah better than anyone ever would, she knew it would be trivial for him to push Nick away and call her name and she'd sink as many bullets as she had to into him until he stopped moving but he covered him with his body, instead, he was stubborn, he needed to tear Nick apart with his own hands or his revenge wouldn't be enough and her stomach churned but she didn't have the option of refusal.
Michael was speaking.
She heard him. Words meant to mean things. They meant nothing, sounds, vibrations theoretically pertinent. The concept of childhood amnesia stated that adults remembered almost nothing before the age of 5, but she remembered the voice she lost long before that, it had been so loud between her ears, echoing in her throat, she wondered how Michael stood it, how anyone did. Words, vibrations, blows, vibrations, all the same. It all hurt, physically, despite not touching her, a pounding forming in her head and a vice grip wrapped around her stomach and chest.
She glanced—
couldn't look, there was so much blood, she'd seen blood in photos, injuries, she had wanted to be a doctor, she had seen gruesome things and not blinked, she thought herself prepared. She thought, naively, it was an advantage for her, inherently, when she'd woken up, that she could behold a corpse without blinking, but reality was heavier, thicker, stinking of copper and bile, she thought she might vomit if her insides weren't wound so tight
Michael was speaking.
She heard him. Words meant to mean things. They meant nothing, sounds, vibrations—
His eyes were hollow, the way Alexander's were. Why was he here? She didn't understand. He'd said something, about someone named Darlene, about Nick, about Beryl, but it jumbled together uselessly, syllables, the human mouth could produce 500 sounds, she could do nothing but wait.
She glanced again—
The gun clattered uselessly to the floor. She heard it, echoing metal on wood before she realized she'd done it, stupid, irrational, dangerous, it could have easily gone off but it hadn't and she didn't spare it a second thought as she stumbled mindlessly to Jeremiah's side.
Nick was still there. Like a ghost. Still standing. No space left to spend on him, not in this moment.
"BLU-J," she signed frantically as she knelt next to him and his arms didn't move. His arms didn't move. Was he paralyzed? Or just weak, possibly. There was a lot of blood. Pouring out his mouth, he couldn't breathe, she knew immediately and didn't want to know
There was nothing she could do.
Nothing anyone could do, most likely, perhaps in a hospital, perhaps in the real world, the concept of childhood amnesia stated that adults remembered almost nothing before the age of 5 but she remembered the feeling of choking, her throat closing, the sharp stab of a scalpel she should have been asleep for, and she understood.
but still
"HELP"
Irrational, pointless.
"HELP--PLEASE"
Her eyes were wild. Nick wouldn't care, Michael wouldn't understand, Alexander wouldn't see, her words fell into empty space. Jeremiah's eyes were closed. There was nothing they could do, if they knew. She was wrong, after all. She wasn't ready.
"HELP--HELP--PLEASE--HELP--PLEASE"
Ragged breathing in her throat. She looked at him again and he was
She shook his shoulder, weakly.
"BLU-J"
"BLU-J"
[B073] JEREMIAH ANDERSON: DECEASED
"BLU-J--PLEASE"
Nia did not take the gun off of Michael. She did take her eyes off him, over and over, she did not want to see but she could not look away, could not stop looking for her opportunity, her chance, one she was never given. She knew Jeremiah, she knew Jeremiah better than anyone ever would, she knew it would be trivial for him to push Nick away and call her name and she'd sink as many bullets as she had to into him until he stopped moving but he covered him with his body, instead, he was stubborn, he needed to tear Nick apart with his own hands or his revenge wouldn't be enough and her stomach churned but she didn't have the option of refusal.
Michael was speaking.
She heard him. Words meant to mean things. They meant nothing, sounds, vibrations theoretically pertinent. The concept of childhood amnesia stated that adults remembered almost nothing before the age of 5, but she remembered the voice she lost long before that, it had been so loud between her ears, echoing in her throat, she wondered how Michael stood it, how anyone did. Words, vibrations, blows, vibrations, all the same. It all hurt, physically, despite not touching her, a pounding forming in her head and a vice grip wrapped around her stomach and chest.
She glanced—
couldn't look, there was so much blood, she'd seen blood in photos, injuries, she had wanted to be a doctor, she had seen gruesome things and not blinked, she thought herself prepared. She thought, naively, it was an advantage for her, inherently, when she'd woken up, that she could behold a corpse without blinking, but reality was heavier, thicker, stinking of copper and bile, she thought she might vomit if her insides weren't wound so tight
Michael was speaking.
She heard him. Words meant to mean things. They meant nothing, sounds, vibrations—
His eyes were hollow, the way Alexander's were. Why was he here? She didn't understand. He'd said something, about someone named Darlene, about Nick, about Beryl, but it jumbled together uselessly, syllables, the human mouth could produce 500 sounds, she could do nothing but wait.
She glanced again—
The gun clattered uselessly to the floor. She heard it, echoing metal on wood before she realized she'd done it, stupid, irrational, dangerous, it could have easily gone off but it hadn't and she didn't spare it a second thought as she stumbled mindlessly to Jeremiah's side.
Nick was still there. Like a ghost. Still standing. No space left to spend on him, not in this moment.
"BLU-J," she signed frantically as she knelt next to him and his arms didn't move. His arms didn't move. Was he paralyzed? Or just weak, possibly. There was a lot of blood. Pouring out his mouth, he couldn't breathe, she knew immediately and didn't want to know
There was nothing she could do.
Nothing anyone could do, most likely, perhaps in a hospital, perhaps in the real world, the concept of childhood amnesia stated that adults remembered almost nothing before the age of 5 but she remembered the feeling of choking, her throat closing, the sharp stab of a scalpel she should have been asleep for, and she understood.
but still
"HELP"
Irrational, pointless.
"HELP--PLEASE"
Her eyes were wild. Nick wouldn't care, Michael wouldn't understand, Alexander wouldn't see, her words fell into empty space. Jeremiah's eyes were closed. There was nothing they could do, if they knew. She was wrong, after all. She wasn't ready.
"HELP--HELP--PLEASE--HELP--PLEASE"
Ragged breathing in her throat. She looked at him again and he was
She shook his shoulder, weakly.
"BLU-J"
"BLU-J"
[B073] JEREMIAH ANDERSON: DECEASED
"BLU-J--PLEASE"