(Mizore Soryu continued from instinct*algorithm)
The rec center had a gym, an auditorium, a set of changing room/bathrooms, and Mizore Soryu was painting in the last of the three.
There were reasons. First, was snobbery. Underfunded artists painted in auditoriums, and occasionally in gyms. Mizore was not an underfunded artist, and she certainly wouldn't start acting like one
Secondly, with the high-up windows, in the pale moonlight, the ladies changing room, as rickety as it was, was...pretty. Mizore didn't know why. It was the same industrial features she'd seen everywhere, pipes on the ceiling, aquamarine lockers, rubber mats tacked to the floor, dry now, and slab-wooden benches. But in the pale, wavering moonlight, it looked vinous. She felt strangely under water, the shining black and aquamarine and polished wood glinting like coral. The air was slow in here, and the building, to her tired eyes, undulated.
She started to draw.
Out of her spray can came vines, in blood red, morphing, more rigid, into coral reefs, anemones, lanternfish and fey in the forests, little lost girls and boys in skeleton leaves, and poisoned cakes and wolf eyes gleaming. The forest and the coral bled, and there was violence here, in the trees and the reefs, in this spraypaint Neverland, hidden, throbbing, outside of every safe mushroom-chimneyed tree home, little boys culled and used as cannon fodder, and a war of savage children that had at once nothing and everything to do with the island. It was the land of the lost, the forgotten, the children slipped kidnapped stolen by fairies....
Thoughts came drowsily, uneasy.
I am no longer a child.
Sweetheart, are you fetishizing the island?
It's not like I have a choice.
And I will make art. S' what I do. Don't make me think about this right now.
And weighing on her thoughts, a shudder at the kill she was sure she had missed.
I don't think I'm good at violence.
The room was pulsing around her. She was exhausted. She covered her eyes, opened them back up. Still pulsing. The room was eerie.
There is no way I'm scaring myself with one of my own paintings.
But the changing room was long and dark, and from her vantage point, in the middle, she could see no end to the supernatural swirls and arabesques.
Need to drink more water. I'm going nuts.
She took a swig from her water bottle.
Then, because she was still uneasy, she drew a ritual circle around herself. In the middle of the floor. It was a project done with heavy eyes, fluttering open and closed I need to sleep laced with symbols of protection from every culture she could remember, bears the guardians of souls, rattlesnakes and the eye of Horus, dragons, butterflies, the wishbone and the spiral. The symbols lay scattered around her like so many broken toys, pagan and uneven. She fell asleep in the middle of them, then, her sloppy ritual circle curled around her.
When she woke, it was in a cold sweat, startled.
Someone had just banged open the door.
The Moon is Laughing at You
5:06 - DAY 3 - THE REC CENTER (Open, PM First)
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storyspoiler†
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Sunnybunny
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It was more than she'd ever imagine it would be.
"Hey, Adam, over hereeeee!", she waved and grinned. It had been so long. But here she was, and there they were, and the old gang was getting back together again.
At the happiest place on earth, of course.
Samya had made a deal with her family. She graduated top ten percent, she went to DisneyWorld with her old buddies from back home. Well, she had. So she was in the land of dreams, to see her boys.
Adam was the defacto leader of the group, Tall, muscular, and tough, he took care of buddies when they were younger. Generally with his words, but they had gotten into a few scrapes before.
"Sam?"
"No, it's . . ."
Samya . . .
The castle had to have been the most beautiful lie thing she'd even seen.
Remember who you are, Samya.
"Hey dude, you see this too?"
He nodded.
A beautiful golden lion. With a . . . was that a machine gun in his mouth? She stared, transfixed, as he laid it at her feet. He looked up at her and smiled.
You are not useless, you are not inferior. Do not forget.
The two teens watched as it walked off.
"So . . . who's up for Space Mountian?"
She needed to be here. At least a little longer.
"Hey, Adam, over hereeeee!", she waved and grinned. It had been so long. But here she was, and there they were, and the old gang was getting back together again.
At the happiest place on earth, of course.
Samya had made a deal with her family. She graduated top ten percent, she went to DisneyWorld with her old buddies from back home. Well, she had. So she was in the land of dreams, to see her boys.
Adam was the defacto leader of the group, Tall, muscular, and tough, he took care of buddies when they were younger. Generally with his words, but they had gotten into a few scrapes before.
"Sam?"
"No, it's . . ."
Samya . . .
The castle had to have been the most beautiful lie thing she'd even seen.
Remember who you are, Samya.
"Hey dude, you see this too?"
He nodded.
A beautiful golden lion. With a . . . was that a machine gun in his mouth? She stared, transfixed, as he laid it at her feet. He looked up at her and smiled.
You are not useless, you are not inferior. Do not forget.
The two teens watched as it walked off.
"So . . . who's up for Space Mountian?"
She needed to be here. At least a little longer.
VII
G071 - Sakurako Adina Jackson - i'll be ready every day / for as long as i can say / here I am in the future with my friends
VIII
Dancing Shoes
Bare Knuckles
Wild Horses
G071 - Sakurako Adina Jackson - i'll be ready every day / for as long as i can say / here I am in the future with my friends
VIII
Dancing Shoes
Bare Knuckles
Wild Horses
(Might as well say this now - there are three different scenes here. One between Pigeon and Lllama, one involving me and Story and the last between the rest. The first is closed, the second semi-open, the third definitely open. Maybe we should make a marker, like 1, 2, 3 to distinguish the scenes? I think that would be for the best. I can see a good amount of people getting confused.)
Zach didn't know what time it was. The clock in his head said 5:30. Zach didn't switch it back for Daylight Savings time so that was just an estimate. And he always had such a great command over time too. Always went to bed at 2 AM sharp during the weekdays. School nights y'know? Now Zach was in a position where he didn't know shit. Not even the time. Hell, maybe he never had a grasp over anything.
Zach grumbled. He was thinking about metaphysical shit again. He promptly placed the cigarette back in his mouth and let the door close. He turned back and went up the way he came. He walked out of the auditorium.
The hallway that separated the main hall, the gym and the auditorium was long and creaky. Zach conquered it a loud step at a time. Zach found himself walking past the main hall and down to the gym. Out of curiosity? Did he have a purpose there? Neither. Zach did what he wanted. He stopped. There were two doors on the opposite side of the gymnasium. He turned his head to the closest door.
A crusty, chipped sign proclaiming "LADIES CHANGING ROOM" in rusted letters greeted him. Zach stared.
They always told you never to go in there Zach.
It was juvenile. It was stupid. The only difference in the female's bathroom would be the urinals. That would be pretty disappointing.
... Hey. That ain't true. When you were a kid you walked into the women's room by accident. They had a comfy couch in there.
...
... Comfy couch Zach.
"Fuck," Zach muttered, cig still trapped between chapped lips. "Fuck fuck fuck, alright, jesus, I'm going I'm going."
Zach didn't just bang the door open. He kicked it open. Dropkicked it with every ounce of power he had. Made that door his bitch. Yeah. Take that door. Eat it. Who's the man? Zach Jamis is the man.
Zach didn't expect to see a girl on the floor. Fuck he didn't expect anyone to be anyone in the girl's bathroom. He expected his one crime to go completely unnoticed. The girl was laying on her side, facing the door. Her eyes were wide open. Zach gulped. Regret? Hardly. Embarrassment? You bet your ass.
"Uhm..."
Zach was stuck. What was he supposed to say? "Oh why hello there? How are you doing ma'am? I just thought of walking into the ladies room on this exquisite night." Zach didn't even know what the fuck exquisite meant. Was Zach becoming a monocle-wearing pussy? Zach shook that line of thought away.
The girl looked very strange to say the least. The very dim light that came from the hallway lit up the room just enough for him to see. The girl's large cartoon eyes glowed. Zach pictured the words "demon child" in his head. Eyes like candles and shit, from a horror movie. Creeped him out. He didn't turn away though. No such thing as spooks. This was a kid, just like him. One that was wearing contacts. Yeah, that was normal. She was wearing this long-ass coat and she was laying in the middle of this circle. There were little inscriptions but the chick was covering most of them. All he could see was this big dark circle. Black...
Wait a second. Black circle... Black bloc... Holy shit. He knew this chick. Zach had done some protests with his friends. They got dressed up in all black and went out. They broke alot of shit. It was fun, better than most hippie protests he ever went to. Been years since he thought about it. There was this one girl though... shit, was that her? The contacts gave it away.
Bright green eyes. He saw her in the hallway all the time. Big, emerald eyes. Every time he looked at her, he remembered black bloc. He would smile faintly.
Zach sneered. "You. I remember you."
This chick's name was something weird. Abstract. Asian. Miho? Fuck, no, it was longer than that. Zach fumed. They never spoke but she was the only friggin chick with them. The only one who didn't go around breaking windows. She was conservative. He clenched his cigarette, took it out and beared his fangs.
"I know you. I know you from somewhere. You... Fuck."
Longcoat, that nose, green eyes. Strange. Zach's memory wasn't that bad. This wasn't a goddamn riddle, it shouldn't be this hard to recall her name. He turned away. He noticed the wall. Lines ran everywhere. Zach studied it for a minute...
...
All Zach saw was a bunch of fairy shit. Zach never had an eye for art. Who gave a shit if Lisa was smiling or what The Night Watch was searching for. Dalí, Picasso and van Gogh. All these names Zach remembered. He remembered because they were weird names. Accomplishments? He didn't care. They were names...
That was it. He just remembered her name. He turned back to the girl on the floor, disregarding any indication that she could have been sleeping.
"Mizore," he painfully answered a question only he asked. "Your name is Mizore. I didn't even know you went on this trip."
Zach didn't know what time it was. The clock in his head said 5:30. Zach didn't switch it back for Daylight Savings time so that was just an estimate. And he always had such a great command over time too. Always went to bed at 2 AM sharp during the weekdays. School nights y'know? Now Zach was in a position where he didn't know shit. Not even the time. Hell, maybe he never had a grasp over anything.
Zach grumbled. He was thinking about metaphysical shit again. He promptly placed the cigarette back in his mouth and let the door close. He turned back and went up the way he came. He walked out of the auditorium.
The hallway that separated the main hall, the gym and the auditorium was long and creaky. Zach conquered it a loud step at a time. Zach found himself walking past the main hall and down to the gym. Out of curiosity? Did he have a purpose there? Neither. Zach did what he wanted. He stopped. There were two doors on the opposite side of the gymnasium. He turned his head to the closest door.
A crusty, chipped sign proclaiming "LADIES CHANGING ROOM" in rusted letters greeted him. Zach stared.
They always told you never to go in there Zach.
It was juvenile. It was stupid. The only difference in the female's bathroom would be the urinals. That would be pretty disappointing.
... Hey. That ain't true. When you were a kid you walked into the women's room by accident. They had a comfy couch in there.
...
... Comfy couch Zach.
"Fuck," Zach muttered, cig still trapped between chapped lips. "Fuck fuck fuck, alright, jesus, I'm going I'm going."
Zach didn't just bang the door open. He kicked it open. Dropkicked it with every ounce of power he had. Made that door his bitch. Yeah. Take that door. Eat it. Who's the man? Zach Jamis is the man.
Zach didn't expect to see a girl on the floor. Fuck he didn't expect anyone to be anyone in the girl's bathroom. He expected his one crime to go completely unnoticed. The girl was laying on her side, facing the door. Her eyes were wide open. Zach gulped. Regret? Hardly. Embarrassment? You bet your ass.
"Uhm..."
Zach was stuck. What was he supposed to say? "Oh why hello there? How are you doing ma'am? I just thought of walking into the ladies room on this exquisite night." Zach didn't even know what the fuck exquisite meant. Was Zach becoming a monocle-wearing pussy? Zach shook that line of thought away.
The girl looked very strange to say the least. The very dim light that came from the hallway lit up the room just enough for him to see. The girl's large cartoon eyes glowed. Zach pictured the words "demon child" in his head. Eyes like candles and shit, from a horror movie. Creeped him out. He didn't turn away though. No such thing as spooks. This was a kid, just like him. One that was wearing contacts. Yeah, that was normal. She was wearing this long-ass coat and she was laying in the middle of this circle. There were little inscriptions but the chick was covering most of them. All he could see was this big dark circle. Black...
Wait a second. Black circle... Black bloc... Holy shit. He knew this chick. Zach had done some protests with his friends. They got dressed up in all black and went out. They broke alot of shit. It was fun, better than most hippie protests he ever went to. Been years since he thought about it. There was this one girl though... shit, was that her? The contacts gave it away.
Bright green eyes. He saw her in the hallway all the time. Big, emerald eyes. Every time he looked at her, he remembered black bloc. He would smile faintly.
Zach sneered. "You. I remember you."
This chick's name was something weird. Abstract. Asian. Miho? Fuck, no, it was longer than that. Zach fumed. They never spoke but she was the only friggin chick with them. The only one who didn't go around breaking windows. She was conservative. He clenched his cigarette, took it out and beared his fangs.
"I know you. I know you from somewhere. You... Fuck."
Longcoat, that nose, green eyes. Strange. Zach's memory wasn't that bad. This wasn't a goddamn riddle, it shouldn't be this hard to recall her name. He turned away. He noticed the wall. Lines ran everywhere. Zach studied it for a minute...
...
All Zach saw was a bunch of fairy shit. Zach never had an eye for art. Who gave a shit if Lisa was smiling or what The Night Watch was searching for. Dalí, Picasso and van Gogh. All these names Zach remembered. He remembered because they were weird names. Accomplishments? He didn't care. They were names...
That was it. He just remembered her name. He turned back to the girl on the floor, disregarding any indication that she could have been sleeping.
"Mizore," he painfully answered a question only he asked. "Your name is Mizore. I didn't even know you went on this trip."
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
"Uhm."
Mizore scrambled up, eyes wide. Man in the doorway. Jackknife boots. Cigarette in his teeth. Shadowed face. Voice in a sneer. "You. I remember you."
Mizore did not remember the boy. So that's one for two.
Wait, boy? Why was a boy in the women's room?
He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and bared his teeth. Mizore bared her teeth back. If she were in a ritual circle, she might as well look like a demon.
"I know you. I know you from somewhere. You... fuck."
And the boy twisted, and his face was in the light, and suddenly Mizore remembered him. Zach Jamis. From outside school. From a Black Bloc protest she had been to, long ago. He had enjoyed breaking things. She had lazily intended to talk to him after the fact. She never had.
Better late than never.
"Mizore," he painfully answered the question."Your name is Mizore. I didn't even know you went on this trip."
Mizore stood up. "I did." She dusted her shirt off, mechanically, unnecessarily. "Your name's Zach, right?"
"Yeah." He shifted his weight.
She went into her usual monologue, albeit snippier; he had woken her, and she was working to quash startlement and anger. "Not playing. Weapon's a spray can. Intend to be a pacifist for the rest of my shortening life. If you want to rob me, I'll give you my food. If you plan to kill me, I'd request that you wait a little longer. It's not like I can fight you either way. If you need to find me when the final four comes around, I'll be somewhere with hard surfaces. Doing art."
She looked around her, for a second. To the forest in spray paint, black in this light. And back to the boy, stubbed cigarette, teeth still bared, arms muscled under a black tank top.
Interesting specimen.
"Also," She finished, "why are you in the ladies room?"
Mizore scrambled up, eyes wide. Man in the doorway. Jackknife boots. Cigarette in his teeth. Shadowed face. Voice in a sneer. "You. I remember you."
Mizore did not remember the boy. So that's one for two.
Wait, boy? Why was a boy in the women's room?
He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and bared his teeth. Mizore bared her teeth back. If she were in a ritual circle, she might as well look like a demon.
"I know you. I know you from somewhere. You... fuck."
And the boy twisted, and his face was in the light, and suddenly Mizore remembered him. Zach Jamis. From outside school. From a Black Bloc protest she had been to, long ago. He had enjoyed breaking things. She had lazily intended to talk to him after the fact. She never had.
Better late than never.
"Mizore," he painfully answered the question."Your name is Mizore. I didn't even know you went on this trip."
Mizore stood up. "I did." She dusted her shirt off, mechanically, unnecessarily. "Your name's Zach, right?"
"Yeah." He shifted his weight.
She went into her usual monologue, albeit snippier; he had woken her, and she was working to quash startlement and anger. "Not playing. Weapon's a spray can. Intend to be a pacifist for the rest of my shortening life. If you want to rob me, I'll give you my food. If you plan to kill me, I'd request that you wait a little longer. It's not like I can fight you either way. If you need to find me when the final four comes around, I'll be somewhere with hard surfaces. Doing art."
She looked around her, for a second. To the forest in spray paint, black in this light. And back to the boy, stubbed cigarette, teeth still bared, arms muscled under a black tank top.
Interesting specimen.
"Also," She finished, "why are you in the ladies room?"
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Zach didn't give a shit if she was dangerous or not. Zach was damn sure he could protect himself. Even without the jackknife boots (holy shit he almost forgot about those puppies) Zach could knock a bad guy so hard their freckles would fall out. Yet this girl seemed rather concerned about whether he was going to kill her. Fair enough. Zach wasn't exactly a cuddly teddy bear.
"Ain't planning on killing anyone," is what he would have said if she didn't continue. Yet she kept talking.
"Also," She finished, "why are you in the ladies room?"
Zach rolled his shoulders. He wasn't into explaining himself. Zach had done alot of stupid shit. Mostly it was done in a smug "fuck rules" way, the kind of stuff he was into. It was his little way of rebelling without taking a nightstick to the face. He wasn't used to getting caught. He usually never got caught. So here he was, his hand in the cookie jar (except with more toilets), and this chick was asking him why he did it.
Why? Good question.
"Iunknow," he muttered.
She didn't like that answer apparently. She continued. "Did you have a reason to come in?"
"Didn't need a reason."
"So you just decided to come into the ladies room? No rhyme or reason?"
"Yeah," Zach glared. "I'm not so cool with plannin' shit out. You got a problem with that?"
Mizore did have a problem, but she kept her complaints to herself. She just stared at him with her lips pursed. Just the way Zach liked it. The last thing Zach wanted was a headache.
He didn't like the way she was looking at him though.
Yeah yeah sure. You're right. I shouldn't have come in here. Now stop squinting your creepy-ass eyes like that. You're creeping me out. Stop it.
Zach felt awkward. He probably needed to take a hit, but it was as if he'd completely forgotten about the cigarette. Shit, what was he supposed to do? Turn around and pretend nothing had happened? He struggled to keep his head above the water. This silence was drowning him. Drowning them in... silence...
"Why the hell are you sleeping on the floor anyway?" Zach asked. "There are couches out in the front. Better than sleeping alone in this hole."
Wow Zach. That almost sounded like an act of genuine kindness. Can't have that. Gotta cover your ass Zach. Come on, think of something.
"Uhh, 'less that's what you want."
God damn it Zach. Better hope she doesn't think you're getting all mushy. Pussy.
"Ain't planning on killing anyone," is what he would have said if she didn't continue. Yet she kept talking.
"Also," She finished, "why are you in the ladies room?"
Zach rolled his shoulders. He wasn't into explaining himself. Zach had done alot of stupid shit. Mostly it was done in a smug "fuck rules" way, the kind of stuff he was into. It was his little way of rebelling without taking a nightstick to the face. He wasn't used to getting caught. He usually never got caught. So here he was, his hand in the cookie jar (except with more toilets), and this chick was asking him why he did it.
Why? Good question.
"Iunknow," he muttered.
She didn't like that answer apparently. She continued. "Did you have a reason to come in?"
"Didn't need a reason."
"So you just decided to come into the ladies room? No rhyme or reason?"
"Yeah," Zach glared. "I'm not so cool with plannin' shit out. You got a problem with that?"
Mizore did have a problem, but she kept her complaints to herself. She just stared at him with her lips pursed. Just the way Zach liked it. The last thing Zach wanted was a headache.
He didn't like the way she was looking at him though.
Yeah yeah sure. You're right. I shouldn't have come in here. Now stop squinting your creepy-ass eyes like that. You're creeping me out. Stop it.
Zach felt awkward. He probably needed to take a hit, but it was as if he'd completely forgotten about the cigarette. Shit, what was he supposed to do? Turn around and pretend nothing had happened? He struggled to keep his head above the water. This silence was drowning him. Drowning them in... silence...
"Why the hell are you sleeping on the floor anyway?" Zach asked. "There are couches out in the front. Better than sleeping alone in this hole."
Wow Zach. That almost sounded like an act of genuine kindness. Can't have that. Gotta cover your ass Zach. Come on, think of something.
"Uhh, 'less that's what you want."
God damn it Zach. Better hope she doesn't think you're getting all mushy. Pussy.
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storyspoiler†
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Zach looked sulky and vaguely rebellious.
"Iunknow," he muttered.
Mizore rubbed her forehead. Confused. Repeated basically the same question. "Did you have a reason to come in?"
"Didn't need a reason."
This person was a headache. He was looking at her fairy forests and coral reefs skeptically. She was feeling touchy. Also slightly ridiculous. She probably had paint in her hair.
No defense like a good offense. Make him feel more absurd than she could possibly feel.
"So you just decided to come into the ladies room? No rhyme or reason?"
"Yeah," Zach glared. She was getting to him. Victory is mine. "I'm not so cool with plannin' shit out. You got a problem with that?"
Mizore let her face settle in an annoyed expression. Her eyes felt rubbery. He had woken her up. Moreover, her protection circle was uneven. Could she fix it?
Awkward silence. She wasn't going to break it.
"Why the hell are you sleeping on the floor anyway?" Zach asked. "There are couches out in the front. Better than sleeping alone in this hole."
It could be fixed, if she used partial outlines to thicken some things. Strategically.
"Uhh, 'less that's what you want."
Mizore knelt down. Grim, satisfied smile. Pulled a nearly-reconstituted wax pencil from her bag. "I came in here to draw." She started drawing. Maybe that will show him a thing or two. "I'm a graffiti artist in real life. The lockers seemed to take spray paint well." Tongue between her teeth. Thickening the rattler's tale. Looked back up at the boy, then down again. "This island is going to be covered with corpses in a few days, so I figure. It's not going to be a pretty place. So I want to leave something pretty here."
Bit her tongue a little harder when she said that. Tried not to think about the last time she was in a house here. "Just think of it as my little ideological fuck-you to Danya." She looked up, smiled dryly at the boy. She'd never put it so bluntly before. "And if I'm designing my own memorial, it's going to be something rich and strange."
Heh. Now you probably think I'm insane.
"Iunknow," he muttered.
Mizore rubbed her forehead. Confused. Repeated basically the same question. "Did you have a reason to come in?"
"Didn't need a reason."
This person was a headache. He was looking at her fairy forests and coral reefs skeptically. She was feeling touchy. Also slightly ridiculous. She probably had paint in her hair.
No defense like a good offense. Make him feel more absurd than she could possibly feel.
"So you just decided to come into the ladies room? No rhyme or reason?"
"Yeah," Zach glared. She was getting to him. Victory is mine. "I'm not so cool with plannin' shit out. You got a problem with that?"
Mizore let her face settle in an annoyed expression. Her eyes felt rubbery. He had woken her up. Moreover, her protection circle was uneven. Could she fix it?
Awkward silence. She wasn't going to break it.
"Why the hell are you sleeping on the floor anyway?" Zach asked. "There are couches out in the front. Better than sleeping alone in this hole."
It could be fixed, if she used partial outlines to thicken some things. Strategically.
"Uhh, 'less that's what you want."
Mizore knelt down. Grim, satisfied smile. Pulled a nearly-reconstituted wax pencil from her bag. "I came in here to draw." She started drawing. Maybe that will show him a thing or two. "I'm a graffiti artist in real life. The lockers seemed to take spray paint well." Tongue between her teeth. Thickening the rattler's tale. Looked back up at the boy, then down again. "This island is going to be covered with corpses in a few days, so I figure. It's not going to be a pretty place. So I want to leave something pretty here."
Bit her tongue a little harder when she said that. Tried not to think about the last time she was in a house here. "Just think of it as my little ideological fuck-you to Danya." She looked up, smiled dryly at the boy. She'd never put it so bluntly before. "And if I'm designing my own memorial, it's going to be something rich and strange."
Heh. Now you probably think I'm insane.
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ET.Requiem†
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As she sat on the sofa and thought, the fatigue of travelling around and worrying all day finally caught up to Ash. Her leaden eyelids unwillngly closed, followed shortly afterwards by her mind.
Nobody home.
She was back in her house, sitting alone at her desk with a glass of water in her hand and a pen in the other. The report was due in two days, and she had barely started. 3 lines. A sip of water. 3 lines. A sip of water. 3-
The doorbell rang. Ash paused, set her pen and glass down, and left her room. Who was it? The door opened, and little Tabitha came in.
"Where's mom?"
"Still at work."
That was all that she said to her sister. The door closed, and Ash went back to her room.
Continue with the report.
3 lines. A sip of water. 3 lines. A sip of wa-
"Asssh! Did you eat my ice cream?"
"No. Ask mom."
3 lines. A sip of wa-
The doorbell rung again. Ash set her glass and pen down, left her room, and opened the door. Her mother entered.
"Hey, sweetie. How was your day?"
"The same as usual."
"Oh, that's no good. You should go out and have more fun with your friends."
"They're not my friends. I don't like the other people in my school." Her mom smiled at this.
"If that's the case, why don't you kill them?" Shock registered on Ash's face. What was going-
Her eyes snapped open. She was back in the rec room, slumped back in the sofa that she had been sleeping in. She looked down at her hands. Nothing in them. She felt her lips. They were slightly dry.
"Just a nightmare." She said quietly to herself. "Not real. It's not real at all."
Nobody home.
She was back in her house, sitting alone at her desk with a glass of water in her hand and a pen in the other. The report was due in two days, and she had barely started. 3 lines. A sip of water. 3 lines. A sip of water. 3-
The doorbell rang. Ash paused, set her pen and glass down, and left her room. Who was it? The door opened, and little Tabitha came in.
"Where's mom?"
"Still at work."
That was all that she said to her sister. The door closed, and Ash went back to her room.
Continue with the report.
3 lines. A sip of water. 3 lines. A sip of wa-
"Asssh! Did you eat my ice cream?"
"No. Ask mom."
3 lines. A sip of wa-
The doorbell rung again. Ash set her glass and pen down, left her room, and opened the door. Her mother entered.
"Hey, sweetie. How was your day?"
"The same as usual."
"Oh, that's no good. You should go out and have more fun with your friends."
"They're not my friends. I don't like the other people in my school." Her mom smiled at this.
"If that's the case, why don't you kill them?" Shock registered on Ash's face. What was going-
Her eyes snapped open. She was back in the rec room, slumped back in the sofa that she had been sleeping in. She looked down at her hands. Nothing in them. She felt her lips. They were slightly dry.
"Just a nightmare." She said quietly to herself. "Not real. It's not real at all."
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No answer. Everybody was already courting the land of dreams. Cassidy felt her eyelids lower and decided to sit in an unoccupied corner. Maria and Duncan probably got separated from everybody else. Nothing she could do about it in this state. Besides, she had Duncan's guitar. He'd want to trade Maria back for it.
Time to sleep now. Her body slumped onto the ground, her face resting off-center on the hard, wooden floor. Her javelin clattered out of her hand and rolled a foot away from her. For the moment, she was gone.
She went back to Bayview, back to a simpler time when all she or anyone else had to worry about was passing her tests or beating the five-star score in Hangar 18. A time when the world was cel-shaded technicolor, a lush and vibrant cacophony of reds, blues, and yellows clashing together until you could hardly tell where the one object ended and the next began.
A time when she thundered across the indy scene with the rest of Blank Nation always stealing the show with her elaborate and wicked bass solos that rocked so hard that each note produced a stroke of paint on a masterpiece, like that thing from Futurama. A time when every guy wanted her and every girl wanted to be her, when she was tall and busty. A time when Zach was with Maria and she was with Winston and they would be together forever and it would only make their band stronger, the best there ever was and the best there ever would be.
A time that had never been until just then, in Cassie's wildest fantasies.
Time to sleep now. Her body slumped onto the ground, her face resting off-center on the hard, wooden floor. Her javelin clattered out of her hand and rolled a foot away from her. For the moment, she was gone.
She went back to Bayview, back to a simpler time when all she or anyone else had to worry about was passing her tests or beating the five-star score in Hangar 18. A time when the world was cel-shaded technicolor, a lush and vibrant cacophony of reds, blues, and yellows clashing together until you could hardly tell where the one object ended and the next began.
A time when she thundered across the indy scene with the rest of Blank Nation always stealing the show with her elaborate and wicked bass solos that rocked so hard that each note produced a stroke of paint on a masterpiece, like that thing from Futurama. A time when every guy wanted her and every girl wanted to be her, when she was tall and busty. A time when Zach was with Maria and she was with Winston and they would be together forever and it would only make their band stronger, the best there ever was and the best there ever would be.
A time that had never been until just then, in Cassie's wildest fantasies.
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Pigeon Army†
- Posts: 232
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:17 am
((Any GM-ing pre-approved))
In his time, Dustin had learned that asking never hurt anyone. Nine times out of ten, you'd be more likely to regret not asking than asking - even if asking gave you a stinging red mark on your cheek and a G&T in your face. That said, Dustin hadn't been expecting to make any headway (heh) with Maria. She seemed shaken and altogether not in the mood, like she needed to take her mind off everything that had happened, which wouldn't happen by talking.
She also seemed taken aback by the proposition, which certainly didn't up his confidence any.
And she had laughed. There was that too. That was never a good sign. Especially when it lasted for a couple of minutes.
Then she gave her answer...
"...yeah, okay."
It was Dustin's turn to be taken aback. He stared at her, shaking his head and blinking in surprise. It wasn't that he wasn't keen, he was, he hadn't had sex in several days, but...
This is not the time Dustin get over there and bang her
Dustin dutifully obliged the voice in his brain. He slid over to Maria and began going through the motions. His belt. Her jeans. Kiss on the neck. Keep doing that. His shirt. Her mesh shirt. His boxers. Her panties. Straddle. All in all, it was an affair devoid of emotion - Dustin was doing a public good (heh), not trying to get into the pants of emotionally insecure woman he'd met at a bar or trying to close a deal with a girl he'd been dating. There was no need for the pretense. All there was need for was the routine, the fucking, the enjoyment. Tonight was a leisure activity, at best.
Or, at least, it should've been.
"What the...?"
Dustin knew something was off.
Very off.
He was usually...more erect than this.
"Oh, come on..."
This never happened. This never happens.
Dustin had never, ever had to face this kind of situation before. He was a natural, this was just one of the things that came easily (hehOH GOD STOP IT YOU'VE GOT MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT RIGHT NOW) to him. He continued the foreplay, more aggressively - it would come in time, he just had to wait. Yeah, it would happen. It was just the pressures of the island. The dead and all that. It was hard to get your head in the game with all that shit around him.
Pausing his lips' assault on Maria's chest, he looked up at her. "It won't be long..."
*****
"This never happens to me, I swear."
Dustin stood behind the counter, pulling on his jeans. A sullen look was carved into his face. It really did never happen to him, though Dustin wasn't sure how much Maria would believe that. He wracked his brain for the reason - the island? The cameras? The girl?
None of those made sense. He'd had sex in tighter spots (hehWHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU DUSTIN), he'd had it with cameras focused on him, he'd had it, shamefully enough, with uglier chicks. The combination? Perhaps, but still...
All Dustin knew was that this could never get out, but knowing the cameras, and knowing that sadistic son-of-a-bitch manning them, it probably already had.
"Let's get out of here."
In his time, Dustin had learned that asking never hurt anyone. Nine times out of ten, you'd be more likely to regret not asking than asking - even if asking gave you a stinging red mark on your cheek and a G&T in your face. That said, Dustin hadn't been expecting to make any headway (heh) with Maria. She seemed shaken and altogether not in the mood, like she needed to take her mind off everything that had happened, which wouldn't happen by talking.
She also seemed taken aback by the proposition, which certainly didn't up his confidence any.
And she had laughed. There was that too. That was never a good sign. Especially when it lasted for a couple of minutes.
Then she gave her answer...
"...yeah, okay."
It was Dustin's turn to be taken aback. He stared at her, shaking his head and blinking in surprise. It wasn't that he wasn't keen, he was, he hadn't had sex in several days, but...
This is not the time Dustin get over there and bang her
Dustin dutifully obliged the voice in his brain. He slid over to Maria and began going through the motions. His belt. Her jeans. Kiss on the neck. Keep doing that. His shirt. Her mesh shirt. His boxers. Her panties. Straddle. All in all, it was an affair devoid of emotion - Dustin was doing a public good (heh), not trying to get into the pants of emotionally insecure woman he'd met at a bar or trying to close a deal with a girl he'd been dating. There was no need for the pretense. All there was need for was the routine, the fucking, the enjoyment. Tonight was a leisure activity, at best.
Or, at least, it should've been.
"What the...?"
Dustin knew something was off.
Very off.
He was usually...more erect than this.
"Oh, come on..."
This never happened. This never happens.
Dustin had never, ever had to face this kind of situation before. He was a natural, this was just one of the things that came easily (hehOH GOD STOP IT YOU'VE GOT MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT RIGHT NOW) to him. He continued the foreplay, more aggressively - it would come in time, he just had to wait. Yeah, it would happen. It was just the pressures of the island. The dead and all that. It was hard to get your head in the game with all that shit around him.
Pausing his lips' assault on Maria's chest, he looked up at her. "It won't be long..."
*****
"This never happens to me, I swear."
Dustin stood behind the counter, pulling on his jeans. A sullen look was carved into his face. It really did never happen to him, though Dustin wasn't sure how much Maria would believe that. He wracked his brain for the reason - the island? The cameras? The girl?
None of those made sense. He'd had sex in tighter spots (hehWHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU DUSTIN), he'd had it with cameras focused on him, he'd had it, shamefully enough, with uglier chicks. The combination? Perhaps, but still...
All Dustin knew was that this could never get out, but knowing the cameras, and knowing that sadistic son-of-a-bitch manning them, it probably already had.
"Let's get out of here."
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Simon was pushed out of his thoughts by another voice. It was one of the other boys, the only other one left in the rec center at this point. He wasn't someone Simon had really talked to, and he didn't seem to know him.
Isn't that weird? I don't know anything at all about this guy-well, aside from that he plays video games-,but I'm trusting him with my life here. He could kill me and run, escape to some other part of the island. There are no consequences here. You do what you want to do, what's in your own best interest, don't you? It wasn't the way he wanted to live, especially not with his family watching him. But...Simon could understand how this place made people insane. He certainly didn't like it, but he understood it.
And, since this kid wasn't currently killing Simon, they were pretty damn good allies.
"Uh, hi. I'm Simon Fletcher."
He leaned back a bit and looked around. Most everyone else was gone or asleep. It would probably be a good idea for Simon to stay up as long as he could. He was beginning to feel a little tired, but sheer panic and nerves were keeping him going. Who knew, maybe a conversation was a good excuse to pry himself away from all the death and blood and stay awake.
"Are you okay?" That question had come out wrong. Of course Chris wasn't 'okay'. Nobody here was.
"I mean, did you get injured at some point?" If he did, Simon figured he might be able to take a look at it. He knew some things about bandages and infections. Infections were bad, and this kind of situation was bound to bring out of few of them. Think about it. If a kid falls and rips up their leg, chances are they'd bandage it quickly without even touching the wound at all.
But, about a second after saying it, Simon realized that the first thing he ever said to this kid involved asking him if he was injured, even though there were no visible wounds.
Simon's face went a little red. On the island, it seemed that he was even worse at talking to people than before. "Um, sorry about that. You don't have to answer; that's not a normal question."
Suddenly, Ash woke up. It seemed she had been having some sort of nightmare. Simon turned to her and tried to smile, even though it probably looked wrong. He was red and nervous, dirty and smudged.
"It was fake. We're all here together." His smile turned into a grimace. "It's not the best situation, of course, but we're alive and a team. That's something." Simon cleaned his glasses on his shirt.
It was something, right?
Isn't that weird? I don't know anything at all about this guy-well, aside from that he plays video games-,but I'm trusting him with my life here. He could kill me and run, escape to some other part of the island. There are no consequences here. You do what you want to do, what's in your own best interest, don't you? It wasn't the way he wanted to live, especially not with his family watching him. But...Simon could understand how this place made people insane. He certainly didn't like it, but he understood it.
And, since this kid wasn't currently killing Simon, they were pretty damn good allies.
"Uh, hi. I'm Simon Fletcher."
He leaned back a bit and looked around. Most everyone else was gone or asleep. It would probably be a good idea for Simon to stay up as long as he could. He was beginning to feel a little tired, but sheer panic and nerves were keeping him going. Who knew, maybe a conversation was a good excuse to pry himself away from all the death and blood and stay awake.
"Are you okay?" That question had come out wrong. Of course Chris wasn't 'okay'. Nobody here was.
"I mean, did you get injured at some point?" If he did, Simon figured he might be able to take a look at it. He knew some things about bandages and infections. Infections were bad, and this kind of situation was bound to bring out of few of them. Think about it. If a kid falls and rips up their leg, chances are they'd bandage it quickly without even touching the wound at all.
But, about a second after saying it, Simon realized that the first thing he ever said to this kid involved asking him if he was injured, even though there were no visible wounds.
Simon's face went a little red. On the island, it seemed that he was even worse at talking to people than before. "Um, sorry about that. You don't have to answer; that's not a normal question."
Suddenly, Ash woke up. It seemed she had been having some sort of nightmare. Simon turned to her and tried to smile, even though it probably looked wrong. He was red and nervous, dirty and smudged.
"It was fake. We're all here together." His smile turned into a grimace. "It's not the best situation, of course, but we're alive and a team. That's something." Simon cleaned his glasses on his shirt.
It was something, right?
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Super Llama†
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
Maria found herself just going along with Dustin, her mind off in the distance for the moment as she tried to justify to herself what she was doing. Tried to justify it to the voices that told her that this was wrong, it was highly inappropriate, and what would her friends think and on and on. Well, fuck it. What if they DID find out somehow? Come morning, they'd all be finding out something even WORSE.
She wanted an escape, to not have to think about the kill, and what her friends would think, and that even then it ultimately didn't matter, because over the next few days they'd all likely be dead, along with her, and the guy with his hand currently between her legs. And then that fat bastard would come on the loudspeaker, and he'd mock them all, try to strip away any sense of post-mortem dignity. She wanted an escape not even her dreams would let her have anymore, and Dustin offered her a solution, and she didn't care if she was weak for accepting it.
Maria tried to shove those thoughts out of her mind and enjoy the moment, her breath quickening as the foreplay continued...and continued...
and continued...
Seriously, what was taking so long? Granted, she didn't much much experience with this kind of thing, but it didn't normally take this long, did it? Dustin tried to assure her that it wouldn't be long, but as it just kept going it was becoming fairly obvious that nothing was going to happen. Well, that was a disappointment. She went through that big internal monologue battle for ultimately nothing.
Though now that she thought about it, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.
What the hell was the thinking? Maria started remembering back to when Zach had dumped her, and she invited Duncan over to her house. God, was that her new method of dealing with horrible events in her life? Just throw herself at the nearest guy? She could've so easily ruined that friendship if he hadn't stopped her.
Duncan...
She was such a mess without him around. She was never that good with dealing with these kind of situations. Whether it was getting dumped by her boyfriend to appease a scout for a record company or getting kidnapped and dumped onto Island Thunderdome and setting somebody on fire. Duncan was always the more levelheaded one of the two. He'd know what to do in a situation like this. And it sure as hell wouldn't be taking off her pants for the class manwhore.
Speaking of, Dustin tried the classic 'I swear this has never happened to me before' line, but at this point Maria didn't really care as she pulled her clothes back on. In fact, she actually felt kind of grateful. If it wasn't for his performance issue she would've ended up doing something she'd regret later.
"It's okay." Maria said, putting her fishnet shirt back on before stepping out the door. Somewhere out there was Cass. And she couldn't waste anymore time fucking around (literally) if she wanted to find her before the morning announcements.
She wanted an escape, to not have to think about the kill, and what her friends would think, and that even then it ultimately didn't matter, because over the next few days they'd all likely be dead, along with her, and the guy with his hand currently between her legs. And then that fat bastard would come on the loudspeaker, and he'd mock them all, try to strip away any sense of post-mortem dignity. She wanted an escape not even her dreams would let her have anymore, and Dustin offered her a solution, and she didn't care if she was weak for accepting it.
Maria tried to shove those thoughts out of her mind and enjoy the moment, her breath quickening as the foreplay continued...and continued...
and continued...
Seriously, what was taking so long? Granted, she didn't much much experience with this kind of thing, but it didn't normally take this long, did it? Dustin tried to assure her that it wouldn't be long, but as it just kept going it was becoming fairly obvious that nothing was going to happen. Well, that was a disappointment. She went through that big internal monologue battle for ultimately nothing.
Though now that she thought about it, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.
What the hell was the thinking? Maria started remembering back to when Zach had dumped her, and she invited Duncan over to her house. God, was that her new method of dealing with horrible events in her life? Just throw herself at the nearest guy? She could've so easily ruined that friendship if he hadn't stopped her.
Duncan...
She was such a mess without him around. She was never that good with dealing with these kind of situations. Whether it was getting dumped by her boyfriend to appease a scout for a record company or getting kidnapped and dumped onto Island Thunderdome and setting somebody on fire. Duncan was always the more levelheaded one of the two. He'd know what to do in a situation like this. And it sure as hell wouldn't be taking off her pants for the class manwhore.
Speaking of, Dustin tried the classic 'I swear this has never happened to me before' line, but at this point Maria didn't really care as she pulled her clothes back on. In fact, she actually felt kind of grateful. If it wasn't for his performance issue she would've ended up doing something she'd regret later.
"It's okay." Maria said, putting her fishnet shirt back on before stepping out the door. Somewhere out there was Cass. And she couldn't waste anymore time fucking around (literally) if she wanted to find her before the morning announcements.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Super Llama.
Mizore's face made alot of looks. It was like she changed expressions twenty times in the past minute. Plenty of those Zach didn't like. He didn't like this one. The silly one, with her tongue between her teeth. He squinted his eyes. She told Zach shit he already knew, shit he was already coping with. Shit that was over and done with. "This island is going to be covered with corpses in a few days..." Oh thanks Sherlock. He needed some freak in a longcoat to get some chalk and draw out that equation for him. Lots of corpses. Give him a fuckin' break.
"It's not going to be a pretty place," she continued. "So I want to leave something pretty here."
"Very inspirational." Zach said. "I don't know 'bout you but drawin' always makes me forget about my impending demise."
Zach had no idea what he just said. Big words? Fuck, why not just put on a top hat and wear a monocle.
Zach didn't think there was anything insane about her idea. He was all about ideological fuck yous. It was about the only thing that got him up in the morning. Graffiti though, shit, was that just a nuisance or was there some sort of philosophical behind it? Zach never really understood. He was more of a direct kind of guy, and putting as much effort as Mizore did into drawing, well it felt like a waste. The girl smiled dryly, and Zach could do nothing but give a grim little smile in response.
"So. Let me figure you out..."
Zach stared at her for a moment. He snapped his fingers.
"You're one of those pompous art kids. The kind of person who likes to think their shit means more than just paint on a canvas. You wasted your life making art, getting all giddy whenever you finished a piece because you think that'll get people to respect you. And now, when you're close to dying, you don't know what else to do. You've got nothing else but your talents. You can't fight. You can't hide in the background. So you decide to draw, because you think people might catch your wit and think "Oh, she's smart." And then bam, Mizore, the next great artist that gets discovered after they've croaked. Am I right? Did I hit it on the bullseye?"
He chuckled, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
"Sorry to break this to you. No matter how many masterpieces you make or how beautiful they are, it won't make a damn bit of difference."
Zach paused for a minute. He backtracked. "I get what you mean. You wanna make this island a beautiful place. It's what you know. You want people to remember you, not for what you do here but as a person. More power to you. I just can't identify with you. It's not jthe corpses that disturbs me, personally. They make me sick just thinking about them, just how many kids are going to die. I'm an uncaring anarchist but I have a heart. I'm human. What bothers me though is that here, in this bathroom on this shit rock, we're just gears in the machine. You get what I mean right?"
He hoped she did. Zach didn't want to lose her in his philosophical shit. He could get pretty deep.
"You say that what you're doing is an ideological fuck you, but I think it's just adding wood to the fire. We're all going to die, on television, for millions of bloodthirsty people. The only way you're going to get anything across is if they decide to be able to push enough merch. That's all we'll amount to. Merchandise. Like Mickey fuckin' Mouse and Ronald McDonald."
Zach smirked. "Imagine. There'll be a huge fuckin' line of cheap shit with all of our mugs on them. They'll set them out on racks and shelves, from JCPenney to Uncle Tom's Farmer's Market. The kids'll go out and buy for five times what they're really worth cuz they think it's cool. They think they'll be cool if they join in on the fun. Make believe that dead kids are cool shit."
"Just think Mizore." He motioned to the drawing on the wall. "Your works of art are gonna be sold in every fuckin' Hot Topic on the planet. Emo kids will be having emotional hardons for you. An' y'know what's the worst part? They won't remember you as Mizore the rebel. They're going to remember you as Mizore, the artist who spent her whole time drawin' shit on lockers and floors. And you bet who's not going to give a rat's ass about how we feel about it? Fatass Malone, sitting there watching us five hundred miles away. You, me, we're all part of the new promotional campaign for kids killing kids. Death has become the new N'sync and you and me are the Justin and Lance. And he's as happy as pie. Might as well get used to it."
Zach stared back at the wall. Inhale. Exhale.
"You got talent though. Can't lie. If I were into artsy-fartsy bullshit, I'd be going gaga."
"It's not going to be a pretty place," she continued. "So I want to leave something pretty here."
"Very inspirational." Zach said. "I don't know 'bout you but drawin' always makes me forget about my impending demise."
Zach had no idea what he just said. Big words? Fuck, why not just put on a top hat and wear a monocle.
Zach didn't think there was anything insane about her idea. He was all about ideological fuck yous. It was about the only thing that got him up in the morning. Graffiti though, shit, was that just a nuisance or was there some sort of philosophical behind it? Zach never really understood. He was more of a direct kind of guy, and putting as much effort as Mizore did into drawing, well it felt like a waste. The girl smiled dryly, and Zach could do nothing but give a grim little smile in response.
"So. Let me figure you out..."
Zach stared at her for a moment. He snapped his fingers.
"You're one of those pompous art kids. The kind of person who likes to think their shit means more than just paint on a canvas. You wasted your life making art, getting all giddy whenever you finished a piece because you think that'll get people to respect you. And now, when you're close to dying, you don't know what else to do. You've got nothing else but your talents. You can't fight. You can't hide in the background. So you decide to draw, because you think people might catch your wit and think "Oh, she's smart." And then bam, Mizore, the next great artist that gets discovered after they've croaked. Am I right? Did I hit it on the bullseye?"
He chuckled, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
"Sorry to break this to you. No matter how many masterpieces you make or how beautiful they are, it won't make a damn bit of difference."
Zach paused for a minute. He backtracked. "I get what you mean. You wanna make this island a beautiful place. It's what you know. You want people to remember you, not for what you do here but as a person. More power to you. I just can't identify with you. It's not jthe corpses that disturbs me, personally. They make me sick just thinking about them, just how many kids are going to die. I'm an uncaring anarchist but I have a heart. I'm human. What bothers me though is that here, in this bathroom on this shit rock, we're just gears in the machine. You get what I mean right?"
He hoped she did. Zach didn't want to lose her in his philosophical shit. He could get pretty deep.
"You say that what you're doing is an ideological fuck you, but I think it's just adding wood to the fire. We're all going to die, on television, for millions of bloodthirsty people. The only way you're going to get anything across is if they decide to be able to push enough merch. That's all we'll amount to. Merchandise. Like Mickey fuckin' Mouse and Ronald McDonald."
Zach smirked. "Imagine. There'll be a huge fuckin' line of cheap shit with all of our mugs on them. They'll set them out on racks and shelves, from JCPenney to Uncle Tom's Farmer's Market. The kids'll go out and buy for five times what they're really worth cuz they think it's cool. They think they'll be cool if they join in on the fun. Make believe that dead kids are cool shit."
"Just think Mizore." He motioned to the drawing on the wall. "Your works of art are gonna be sold in every fuckin' Hot Topic on the planet. Emo kids will be having emotional hardons for you. An' y'know what's the worst part? They won't remember you as Mizore the rebel. They're going to remember you as Mizore, the artist who spent her whole time drawin' shit on lockers and floors. And you bet who's not going to give a rat's ass about how we feel about it? Fatass Malone, sitting there watching us five hundred miles away. You, me, we're all part of the new promotional campaign for kids killing kids. Death has become the new N'sync and you and me are the Justin and Lance. And he's as happy as pie. Might as well get used to it."
Zach stared back at the wall. Inhale. Exhale.
"You got talent though. Can't lie. If I were into artsy-fartsy bullshit, I'd be going gaga."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
"You, me, we're all part of the new promotional campaign for kids killing kids. Death has become the new N'sync and you and me are the Justin and Lance."
Can you really say that with a straight face?
He went on, and Mizore gulped. Because he, superficially at least, was right. Maybe he was right. And maybe Mizore was a dumbass for even trying.
Shake your head.
No, he was wrong on one count at least. And Mizore thought he was an asshole, and needed time to chew on the rest of what he said.
You wasted your life making art, getting all giddy whenever you finished a piece because you think that'll get people to respect you.
"I've already got people to respect me. I'm famous." Take that, anarchist-boy. "Enough, at least, to artsy people in Saint Paul. I don't think I need to be discovered more." The 'Radio Asuka' signature glimmered blackly on a nearby locker. Mizore waved at it.
"As for the rest..."
As for the rest...
Bite your lip. Close your eyes. "When they found the archeological remains of early humans, the first humans, the Neanderthals, before the cave-paintings and the arrow-heads, we honored the dead. It was the first recognizably human thing we did. This show..." Open your eyes. "...Danya, I think, wants to turn us into animals. Show us what we could be. Eat with our hands. Kill with what we have. Survive with everything we've got. In the end we are...we erase ourselves. We make ourselves monsters because we're scared."
And her eyes snapped up and met Zach's. And she was angry, not at herself, not at Jamis, but at (idealistic Mizore!]) the world.
"So. Ideological fuck-you. These are my memorials. I'm a fucking human. We are fucking humans. And if this is the only way I can honor an island full of corpses, with my crappy graffiti paintings, then so be it."
And fuck you, Zach Jamis, telling me what I make is worthless. Fuck you to hell.
Okay, maybe a little angry at Zach Jamis.
Mizore was squeezing her pencil now. Zach looked like he didn't know what to say. Good on me. And in the beat, Mizore could rap out her coda, to scratch at his argument a bit:
"And if some kids want to buy my t-shirt to wear with Che Guevara, and misunderstand me as bad as they misunderstand Che, so be it. I'm not responsible for their stupidity. If I were to stop painting because I was afraid some dumbass might be stupid about it or paste it on a mug and turn a profit, why, then, I would have stopped painting as soon as I got famous. But I'm not stupid enough to make personal control over my paintings more important then my goddamn paintings themselves. That's the sort of thing stupid people do."
Boom. End. Ta-da. A little childish. But Radio Asuka had had better days.
Can you really say that with a straight face?
He went on, and Mizore gulped. Because he, superficially at least, was right. Maybe he was right. And maybe Mizore was a dumbass for even trying.
Shake your head.
No, he was wrong on one count at least. And Mizore thought he was an asshole, and needed time to chew on the rest of what he said.
You wasted your life making art, getting all giddy whenever you finished a piece because you think that'll get people to respect you.
"I've already got people to respect me. I'm famous." Take that, anarchist-boy. "Enough, at least, to artsy people in Saint Paul. I don't think I need to be discovered more." The 'Radio Asuka' signature glimmered blackly on a nearby locker. Mizore waved at it.
"As for the rest..."
As for the rest...
Bite your lip. Close your eyes. "When they found the archeological remains of early humans, the first humans, the Neanderthals, before the cave-paintings and the arrow-heads, we honored the dead. It was the first recognizably human thing we did. This show..." Open your eyes. "...Danya, I think, wants to turn us into animals. Show us what we could be. Eat with our hands. Kill with what we have. Survive with everything we've got. In the end we are...we erase ourselves. We make ourselves monsters because we're scared."
And her eyes snapped up and met Zach's. And she was angry, not at herself, not at Jamis, but at (idealistic Mizore!]) the world.
"So. Ideological fuck-you. These are my memorials. I'm a fucking human. We are fucking humans. And if this is the only way I can honor an island full of corpses, with my crappy graffiti paintings, then so be it."
And fuck you, Zach Jamis, telling me what I make is worthless. Fuck you to hell.
Okay, maybe a little angry at Zach Jamis.
Mizore was squeezing her pencil now. Zach looked like he didn't know what to say. Good on me. And in the beat, Mizore could rap out her coda, to scratch at his argument a bit:
"And if some kids want to buy my t-shirt to wear with Che Guevara, and misunderstand me as bad as they misunderstand Che, so be it. I'm not responsible for their stupidity. If I were to stop painting because I was afraid some dumbass might be stupid about it or paste it on a mug and turn a profit, why, then, I would have stopped painting as soon as I got famous. But I'm not stupid enough to make personal control over my paintings more important then my goddamn paintings themselves. That's the sort of thing stupid people do."
Boom. End. Ta-da. A little childish. But Radio Asuka had had better days.
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Zach Jamis said everything with a straight face. It did not matter how absurd. He said what he wanted to say, no giggling. Fuck giggling. You've got to be direct. So once he was done his shit, she started talking. First thing that came out of her mouth rubbed him the wrong way.
"I've already got people to respect me. I'm famous."
Was Zach really surprised by that? No, he wasn't. Not one bit. Zach expected every pompous art kid to think they're famous. "Oh look at me! Love me! Look at how hard I worked on this shitty abstract drawing! I used fingerpaint! Aren't I edgy?! Please LOVE ME!" It was all one big desperate cry for attention and it left a nasty taste in his mouth. Tasted like... dust.
Mizore motioned to a emblem. Zach stared at it for a minute. He had seen it before. That symbol. He knew that symbol. That was it though. He was aware of it's existence. Must have been famous if Zach remembered it. He didn't pay it any mind.
When he turned back, he realized Mizore had stopped talking altogether. He raised an eyebrow. Was that all? She stopped suddenly. She wasn't going to retaliate?
Oh she did retaliate. She gave him alot of food for thought. Like being alone in a room with a big fucking mind buffet. Mizore didn't stop talking. She just kept going on and on. Zach wanted to interrupt her, tell her to shut up like he normally did but he couldn't. She wouldn't stop. She kept running her mouth, and when she finally did stop Zach didn't say anything.
And for the longest time, Zach stayed silent. He didn't have a quip to throw back at Mizore.
Then he took the cigarette out of his mouth.
"You've got a point there."
Silence again. The silence was crushing him like a boulder. In all honesty, she sounded like she had just come from The Debate team and felt like she didn't debate enough. Her argument was flimsy. Yet Zach actually took it into account.
Then he spoke up again.
"Hey." Zach Jamis hesitated. "I'm... not the most modest person around. I have got shit on my mind, you should know that. Everyone should know that. I ain't used to talking to people at length like this. Hell I'm used to just ignoring people outright and pretending that they don't exist. I don't like to hang around with kids who've got egos, not that I'm saying you've got one. Just saying that most of the art kids, well, a few of them are fucking ego centrals. I know, like, a few kids So, uhh..."
Zach broke away. Why the hell was he doing this again? He was turning into a pussy, a goddamn pussy but... shit. Zach couldn't help it. This silence was giving him the shakes and the wall that always encased him was starting to crumble. Mizore had literally spat at him with the english metaphorical equivalent of tobacco. Angry dripped out of her like a broken fire hydrant and normally Zach wouldn't have gave her a second's thought, just turned his head and ignored her but... It was a shock, definitely, but for the first time in years he felt a LITTLE regretful for something he said. Call the national news. Zach Jamis was apologizing. CALL THE MAN POLICE, ZACH HAS LOST HIS DICK.
"Yeah, and like, y'know, I was fucking mad, not, like, at you and shit. You were going on about art and shit and I jumped to a conclusion that wasn't true. So yeah, shit, I'm not great with words and I got a little friggin mad and I took it out on you so yeah sorry about that..."
"I've already got people to respect me. I'm famous."
Was Zach really surprised by that? No, he wasn't. Not one bit. Zach expected every pompous art kid to think they're famous. "Oh look at me! Love me! Look at how hard I worked on this shitty abstract drawing! I used fingerpaint! Aren't I edgy?! Please LOVE ME!" It was all one big desperate cry for attention and it left a nasty taste in his mouth. Tasted like... dust.
Mizore motioned to a emblem. Zach stared at it for a minute. He had seen it before. That symbol. He knew that symbol. That was it though. He was aware of it's existence. Must have been famous if Zach remembered it. He didn't pay it any mind.
When he turned back, he realized Mizore had stopped talking altogether. He raised an eyebrow. Was that all? She stopped suddenly. She wasn't going to retaliate?
Oh she did retaliate. She gave him alot of food for thought. Like being alone in a room with a big fucking mind buffet. Mizore didn't stop talking. She just kept going on and on. Zach wanted to interrupt her, tell her to shut up like he normally did but he couldn't. She wouldn't stop. She kept running her mouth, and when she finally did stop Zach didn't say anything.
And for the longest time, Zach stayed silent. He didn't have a quip to throw back at Mizore.
Then he took the cigarette out of his mouth.
"You've got a point there."
Silence again. The silence was crushing him like a boulder. In all honesty, she sounded like she had just come from The Debate team and felt like she didn't debate enough. Her argument was flimsy. Yet Zach actually took it into account.
Then he spoke up again.
"Hey." Zach Jamis hesitated. "I'm... not the most modest person around. I have got shit on my mind, you should know that. Everyone should know that. I ain't used to talking to people at length like this. Hell I'm used to just ignoring people outright and pretending that they don't exist. I don't like to hang around with kids who've got egos, not that I'm saying you've got one. Just saying that most of the art kids, well, a few of them are fucking ego centrals. I know, like, a few kids So, uhh..."
Zach broke away. Why the hell was he doing this again? He was turning into a pussy, a goddamn pussy but... shit. Zach couldn't help it. This silence was giving him the shakes and the wall that always encased him was starting to crumble. Mizore had literally spat at him with the english metaphorical equivalent of tobacco. Angry dripped out of her like a broken fire hydrant and normally Zach wouldn't have gave her a second's thought, just turned his head and ignored her but... It was a shock, definitely, but for the first time in years he felt a LITTLE regretful for something he said. Call the national news. Zach Jamis was apologizing. CALL THE MAN POLICE, ZACH HAS LOST HIS DICK.
"Yeah, and like, y'know, I was fucking mad, not, like, at you and shit. You were going on about art and shit and I jumped to a conclusion that wasn't true. So yeah, shit, I'm not great with words and I got a little friggin mad and I took it out on you so yeah sorry about that..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
-
Super Llama†
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
(Breaking post order and joining the Cass and Co. post order to advance the thread into day 3, since it's mid-monthly roll time already)
Maria found it rather chilly out, hugging her arms to herself as a gust of wind blew against her bare skin. She really missed that shirt. It was a nice shirt, especially now that she didn't have it. Making her way down the road, she composed the speech in her head that she'd give to Cass when she found her.
Uh, hey Cass. Do you know somebody named Francine Moreau?
...hey Cass, you know if I did anything that would be considered horrible and unspeakable, I didn't really mean to do it, right?
Hey Cass, you like barbecue, right?
Maria came really close to performing the union of face with palm with that last one. She was never good at coming up with speeches. She remembered the last time she had to write one for a group class presentation, and when one of the group members asked to see her draft of the speech he asked why she just started typing the lyrics to the Modern Major General song about a paragraph in.
Maria let out a sigh. There was no way she could prepare for this in advance. She was just going to have to find Cass, and then just tell her how it is, as best she could.
"Hey...isn't that the place?" Maria said as her attention was drawn to a nearby building. Granted, the building didn't have the words "REC CENTER" drawn in big angry red letters on the front or something equally obvious, but it seemed like the right place. Stepping towards the building, she did her best to keep stealthy, peeking in through the front door. Sure enough, there were people inside, some of them sitting and talking, some of them sleeping, and one of them, lying on the floor...
"Cass!" Maria blurted out like the ninja, stepping through the door and plodding over in plain sight like an unseen shadow. She looked down at her, kneeling down and getting ready to shake her awake, when she saw how peaceful she looked, and just couldn't bring herself to do it. It seemed like she was having a good dream, and Maria didn't want to ruin that; especially not here.
Looking over at the others still awake, Maria put a finger to her lips in the universal symbol of "Please be quiet, my friend is sleeping and I would very much like not to wake her this very moment" and sat down beside Cass, reaching out and brushing a hand through her hair gently.
She could wait a bit longer, she supposed.
...
SCKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETCH
Maria winced as the grating sound of the PA system resounded. Ugh, she really wished they didn't have to start off the announcements with such an obnoxious sound.
...
The announcement.
NO
NONONONO
Panic began to well up inside her. She was too late. She wanted to have a nice, long talk, let her put what happened out there herself, on her own terms, before that fat bastard came out with his stupid jokes and put his own spin on it. And now there was no way that was gonna happen. And not just that. Duncan would know. Max would know. The whole goddamn island would know.
"First to die, right after our announcement, in fact, was Dawne Jiang."
Maria began to tremble, staring straight ahead. She couldn't even look Cass in the eye, as tears of panic and frustration welled up. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat and refused to come out. She had to say it. She had to say SOMETHING, but she couldn't even find the courage to make those words come out.
"Kill number five was none other than Eva Lancaster"
Maria began to pale. Every name read off the list brought him closer to her name. Goddammit, she had the say something. She had to say it, before he did. JUST SAY IT!
"Cass, I..."
"Well, the spurned Frankie Watson thought he'd give that a shot"
"When I was out in the woods, I..."
"Take a bow, Eve Walker-Luther, for your starring role in Sarah's creative masterpiece."
"There was this big fight, and I..."
She looked at Cass.
"I..."
"Speaking of the highlight reel, MARIA GRAHAM showed some real flair in taking out Francine Moreau."
"I KILLED SOMEBODY!"
That familiar weight came back. This was supposed to make her feel relieved that she could finally get this off her chest. But now everyone was all wrong, she felt even worse than before. She swore she could feel every eye in the room watching her, judging her. Did they hate her? Were they afraid of her? Were they just disgusted? Hell, none of that even mattered at this instant. The fears of panic and frustration began to fall down her cheeks as she looked at Cass, almost pleadingly, and realized at that moment that now, more than ever before...
She wanted to die.
Maria found it rather chilly out, hugging her arms to herself as a gust of wind blew against her bare skin. She really missed that shirt. It was a nice shirt, especially now that she didn't have it. Making her way down the road, she composed the speech in her head that she'd give to Cass when she found her.
Uh, hey Cass. Do you know somebody named Francine Moreau?
...hey Cass, you know if I did anything that would be considered horrible and unspeakable, I didn't really mean to do it, right?
Hey Cass, you like barbecue, right?
Maria came really close to performing the union of face with palm with that last one. She was never good at coming up with speeches. She remembered the last time she had to write one for a group class presentation, and when one of the group members asked to see her draft of the speech he asked why she just started typing the lyrics to the Modern Major General song about a paragraph in.
Maria let out a sigh. There was no way she could prepare for this in advance. She was just going to have to find Cass, and then just tell her how it is, as best she could.
"Hey...isn't that the place?" Maria said as her attention was drawn to a nearby building. Granted, the building didn't have the words "REC CENTER" drawn in big angry red letters on the front or something equally obvious, but it seemed like the right place. Stepping towards the building, she did her best to keep stealthy, peeking in through the front door. Sure enough, there were people inside, some of them sitting and talking, some of them sleeping, and one of them, lying on the floor...
"Cass!" Maria blurted out like the ninja, stepping through the door and plodding over in plain sight like an unseen shadow. She looked down at her, kneeling down and getting ready to shake her awake, when she saw how peaceful she looked, and just couldn't bring herself to do it. It seemed like she was having a good dream, and Maria didn't want to ruin that; especially not here.
Looking over at the others still awake, Maria put a finger to her lips in the universal symbol of "Please be quiet, my friend is sleeping and I would very much like not to wake her this very moment" and sat down beside Cass, reaching out and brushing a hand through her hair gently.
She could wait a bit longer, she supposed.
...
SCKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETCH
Maria winced as the grating sound of the PA system resounded. Ugh, she really wished they didn't have to start off the announcements with such an obnoxious sound.
...
The announcement.
NO
NONONONO
Panic began to well up inside her. She was too late. She wanted to have a nice, long talk, let her put what happened out there herself, on her own terms, before that fat bastard came out with his stupid jokes and put his own spin on it. And now there was no way that was gonna happen. And not just that. Duncan would know. Max would know. The whole goddamn island would know.
"First to die, right after our announcement, in fact, was Dawne Jiang."
Maria began to tremble, staring straight ahead. She couldn't even look Cass in the eye, as tears of panic and frustration welled up. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat and refused to come out. She had to say it. She had to say SOMETHING, but she couldn't even find the courage to make those words come out.
"Kill number five was none other than Eva Lancaster"
Maria began to pale. Every name read off the list brought him closer to her name. Goddammit, she had the say something. She had to say it, before he did. JUST SAY IT!
"Cass, I..."
"Well, the spurned Frankie Watson thought he'd give that a shot"
"When I was out in the woods, I..."
"Take a bow, Eve Walker-Luther, for your starring role in Sarah's creative masterpiece."
"There was this big fight, and I..."
She looked at Cass.
"I..."
"Speaking of the highlight reel, MARIA GRAHAM showed some real flair in taking out Francine Moreau."
"I KILLED SOMEBODY!"
That familiar weight came back. This was supposed to make her feel relieved that she could finally get this off her chest. But now everyone was all wrong, she felt even worse than before. She swore she could feel every eye in the room watching her, judging her. Did they hate her? Were they afraid of her? Were they just disgusted? Hell, none of that even mattered at this instant. The fears of panic and frustration began to fall down her cheeks as she looked at Cass, almost pleadingly, and realized at that moment that now, more than ever before...
She wanted to die.
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