This... This was what Ridley had been looking for all his life. The years of simply walking around town in search of something that he knew he would never find, all of it came sweeping back to him, and he knew that it all was just years of worthless longing. For what, he never figured out until the moment he cracked skulls with Brook.
Making. Them. All. Pay.
There was evil in the world Ridley had only seen glimpses of throughout his life in the form of jocks, bullies, smart-asses, losers, and dropouts who all saw fit to make Ridley's life a living hell for no reason. If a normal kid like Brook was capable of such brutality and insanity, then he couldn't imagine what those degenerates had the capacity to do on the island. First, he would start with Brook, then he would go after everyone playing the game and massacre them all like a big ball of death rolling across the island.
No...
Ridley smiled as he awaited Brook's answer.
All I want is this feeling.
The adrenaline, the mud on his shoes, the strain in his legs, the pain in his fists, the dried blood on his face, the twitching of his muscles as they fought against the urge to pulverize Brook into paste, the rough lining of his throat that got worse with every breath-- THIS. To kill them all like THIS would--
"I do now."
Ridley felt something hard-- possibly made of metal-- touch against his chest.
"... You..." How could I be so stupid?
The music stopped.
He didn't hear anything, and only felt himself pushed back suddenly as a searing pain permeated throughout his body like electricity, only to be followed by numbness-- every limb tingled with the same feeling as when his feet go to sleep. An oddly nostalgic feeling that brought him right back home, sitting on the floor in front of the TV.
Brook-- was he screaming?-- grew taller and taller until Ridley realized that it was he who was falling, though his hand remained latched onto Brook's collar. His head reeled back, and his eyes fell upon the clearing from before. Clear as day, Raine rested near one of the many trees.
Did I... really just...? Tears filled his eyes and washed the droplets of blood out. If he could have, he would have brought his head back up to face Brook. To say... something. He didn't know what it would have been, exactly, but...
"Just... wake... up..."
Ridley's glasses slid off of his face and hit the ground as he followed suit. His hand released Brook's collar as he fell.
"please..."
[[B096 - Ridley Landon, Deceased]]
Bloodgarden
An endless dedication... (CONTENT WARNING)
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KingKamor†
- Posts: 212
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This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler KingKamor. 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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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Brook clawed at his own shirt, panting, dropping his gun to the ground for a second. Fuck the gun, he didn't need it right now. All of this had become too much. It was all so close, so very close, the blood and the gore and the viscera that covered his body. The cloth draped over his body was begging to be torn to shreds, but he had to wait.
Just a second longer.
His throat would scream itself hoarse for all the time it took for Ridley's body to finally collapse. Only when the corpse crumpled to the ground in a most unceremonious manner could Brook free himself from his soaked shirt. The shirt had been a part of his wardrobe for so long that he ordinarly wouldn't consider parting with it, were it not for the fact that the shirt were no longer his. No, he had lost so much ownership of that shirt, to where much of its mass now belonged to other people. For its treachery, Brook's fingers worked at the weakened fabric in the front of the shirt where his exploits through the woods had opened up a hole or two. With this weakness fully exposed, he ripped away at the shirt and pulled it away from him until a single shredded wad of cloth fell to the ground.
Panting in relief from the liberation of his body from the bloodstained article, Brook stared down to witness what he had just done. Two people dead... Raine and Ridley, in love to the end. He shouldn't be bothered by this... it wasn't like he was looking at THEM any more, just material components; they were nothing but husks, shells which only served as a part of what made somebody... well, somebody. That, and there was their blood. Much of that was pitifully wasted, spilled along the ground, but at least all of that wasn't on him. It wasn't like all the blood that had soaked into his shirt, even reaching his torso. He could wash it off later, there was bound to be a bit of water near the garden.
Brook pocketed the trashy-looking gun that had finally seen some use on his behalf, reaching to grab at Raine's arms. He would not give her the same grace as Tiffany by carrying her fully. He would not willingly bathe in her blood, he would not tolerate it. It wasn't much of a distance to drag the dead weight anyway, so not much time was lost. He had considered dragging Ridley first, but something inside him felt wrong just before he did so.
He was dreading the prospect of just touching him. The girl was just prey, a victim who had pushed Leila out of justice's way, and therefore took her place. Ridley was... something else. Something made him different from the others. When Brook looked into those eyes, he saw something. Even laying Raine on the ground, off to the side of Tiffany (leaving some planted flowers between the two... Tiffany was the centerpiece and focus of the garden, after all), he couldn't pinpoint just what it was he saw. Whatever it was, though, he didn't like it.
As he began to drag Ridley to the work of art next, Brook's subconcious had begun to dwell on where his thoughts would not dare, bloodstained as they may be. Perhaps what he saw in Ridley was a bit of himself... somebody who had lost everything by witnessing the love of their life, shot to death in an event that never had to happen. That was what scared Brook so deeply. Even with all that meaning, all the strength given to Ridley, he had still become nothing.
The scene was complete, at least for now. Brook sat next to Tiffany, staring over her form, and waited for sunrise. He never remembered closing his eyes.
[A new day....]
Just a second longer.
His throat would scream itself hoarse for all the time it took for Ridley's body to finally collapse. Only when the corpse crumpled to the ground in a most unceremonious manner could Brook free himself from his soaked shirt. The shirt had been a part of his wardrobe for so long that he ordinarly wouldn't consider parting with it, were it not for the fact that the shirt were no longer his. No, he had lost so much ownership of that shirt, to where much of its mass now belonged to other people. For its treachery, Brook's fingers worked at the weakened fabric in the front of the shirt where his exploits through the woods had opened up a hole or two. With this weakness fully exposed, he ripped away at the shirt and pulled it away from him until a single shredded wad of cloth fell to the ground.
Panting in relief from the liberation of his body from the bloodstained article, Brook stared down to witness what he had just done. Two people dead... Raine and Ridley, in love to the end. He shouldn't be bothered by this... it wasn't like he was looking at THEM any more, just material components; they were nothing but husks, shells which only served as a part of what made somebody... well, somebody. That, and there was their blood. Much of that was pitifully wasted, spilled along the ground, but at least all of that wasn't on him. It wasn't like all the blood that had soaked into his shirt, even reaching his torso. He could wash it off later, there was bound to be a bit of water near the garden.
Brook pocketed the trashy-looking gun that had finally seen some use on his behalf, reaching to grab at Raine's arms. He would not give her the same grace as Tiffany by carrying her fully. He would not willingly bathe in her blood, he would not tolerate it. It wasn't much of a distance to drag the dead weight anyway, so not much time was lost. He had considered dragging Ridley first, but something inside him felt wrong just before he did so.
He was dreading the prospect of just touching him. The girl was just prey, a victim who had pushed Leila out of justice's way, and therefore took her place. Ridley was... something else. Something made him different from the others. When Brook looked into those eyes, he saw something. Even laying Raine on the ground, off to the side of Tiffany (leaving some planted flowers between the two... Tiffany was the centerpiece and focus of the garden, after all), he couldn't pinpoint just what it was he saw. Whatever it was, though, he didn't like it.
As he began to drag Ridley to the work of art next, Brook's subconcious had begun to dwell on where his thoughts would not dare, bloodstained as they may be. Perhaps what he saw in Ridley was a bit of himself... somebody who had lost everything by witnessing the love of their life, shot to death in an event that never had to happen. That was what scared Brook so deeply. Even with all that meaning, all the strength given to Ridley, he had still become nothing.
The scene was complete, at least for now. Brook sat next to Tiffany, staring over her form, and waited for sunrise. He never remembered closing his eyes.
[A new day....]
((Colin Falcone continued from All's Fair.))
((Set somewhere between dusk day 5 and dawn day 6.))
It was dark. Hours since he had left the relative comfort and illusion of a population long past. Hours since he had watched Jacob's final moments. He had looked so peaceful in his death. It was quick, and hopefully for his late friend, painless.
It had also been hours since he had seen Tim. Quickly spinning on his heel and darting back from whence he had came, everyone in the Town Square had departed. Bounce, Vic, Alice, and Tim were all nowhere to be seen. He had called out; nay, screamed Tim's name. He had hoped beyond all hope he was still in earshot. It couldn't have been that long since he had moved, could it?
Despair. Unfathomable despair. When one found a final source of strength in a purely hopeless situation, it was amazing how Dependant they became on it. Whether or not Tim had helped Colin in any tangible way, he was still needed beyond anything that Colin could possibly comprehend up to that moment. He had never in his live valued anyone or anything so dearly. Now, knowing Tim was somewhere on this island of killers alone made him cringe and writhe in mental, emotional agony. His friend, his truest friend, someone with whom he shared a bond incomprehensible to those viewing in their posh living rooms, the safety and comfort of their own homes, would ever understand.
And to them, this was just a game. Fiction. Drama. It was enough to make him sick.
If he could feel anything, anything at all through the tears. The sadness. The depression.
But no one had come, when he called in the Town Square. And after what had felt like hours, he finally wandered away. Resolved that the last he would see of his friend would be that incident. Screaming. Anger. Paranoia. Hatred. All these negative emotions that would mar their final memories of the other.
Colin wasn't a religious boy. But if there was ever a time to become one, it was now. The comfort that the thought of a God and a Heaven brought was beyond relief. It was a guarantee that he and Tim would see each other again. He wanted beyond anything in the world to believe that when his time inevitably came, that he would see everyone again.
Such a tragedy for a mother to survive her son.
Wandering. Pointless, and aimless. His feet carried him where his feet willed. He was a tumbleweed, no purpose or direction left to his life. Oh, but if only he had his phone, finding Tim would just be that much easier. But... But it wasn't meant to be. Cruel fate obviously wanted him off to his own devices, a scared, lonely, lost little lamb. And that he had become. Without Tim, all direction was gone. His mind, his thoughts began to repeat themselves. He had trouble remembering his own mind's wanderings from one moment to the next, let alone those of his feet.
Pain was his motive. Survive till that next announcement. Pray that Tim's name was not there. Hope. What a ray of hope it would be. Tim would still be alive, and he could find him. He somewhere remembered hearing that people were most likely to die within the first few hours of getting lost. He didn't remember where. He didn't even know if he had just made that up. A rationalization? A defense mechanism for an ailing mind, trying to give itself hope? Convincing himself that if Tim survived until sunrise, that he would be alive forever and ever, just waiting for Colin?
Everything that the poor boy's mind could conceive of going wrong had just gone wrong.
He wasn't paying attention. Not thinking straight. His feet were heavy on the ground, earth crunching and snapping, his footsteps sounding like that of a drunken moose.
Not that difficult for someone to hear him coming a mile away.
When had he wandered into the woods? It was dark too. He didn't remember that happening. His mind, a flashback. Tim wasn't there when he was talking. Was Tim a figment of his imagination? Did he really ever meet up with Tim? Jacob was real. Watched him die, something that horrible had to be real. His mind was going. He could feel it. He wasn't sane, there was no way. Weren't there stories of people hallucinating that their long dead friends were still with them? Never realizing it? A way to cope. Coping was what everyone was doing.
His eyes darted from tree to tree. Everything looked the same. He was a drunken man, drunk on fear, drunk on despair. Wandering and stumbling his way towards sweet release.
Noise. A clearing up ahead.
Not thinking clearly. He went right for it. Ignore the danger. Ignore the background, the island, the setting. Safety. Another person.
Life...
((Set somewhere between dusk day 5 and dawn day 6.))
It was dark. Hours since he had left the relative comfort and illusion of a population long past. Hours since he had watched Jacob's final moments. He had looked so peaceful in his death. It was quick, and hopefully for his late friend, painless.
It had also been hours since he had seen Tim. Quickly spinning on his heel and darting back from whence he had came, everyone in the Town Square had departed. Bounce, Vic, Alice, and Tim were all nowhere to be seen. He had called out; nay, screamed Tim's name. He had hoped beyond all hope he was still in earshot. It couldn't have been that long since he had moved, could it?
Despair. Unfathomable despair. When one found a final source of strength in a purely hopeless situation, it was amazing how Dependant they became on it. Whether or not Tim had helped Colin in any tangible way, he was still needed beyond anything that Colin could possibly comprehend up to that moment. He had never in his live valued anyone or anything so dearly. Now, knowing Tim was somewhere on this island of killers alone made him cringe and writhe in mental, emotional agony. His friend, his truest friend, someone with whom he shared a bond incomprehensible to those viewing in their posh living rooms, the safety and comfort of their own homes, would ever understand.
And to them, this was just a game. Fiction. Drama. It was enough to make him sick.
If he could feel anything, anything at all through the tears. The sadness. The depression.
But no one had come, when he called in the Town Square. And after what had felt like hours, he finally wandered away. Resolved that the last he would see of his friend would be that incident. Screaming. Anger. Paranoia. Hatred. All these negative emotions that would mar their final memories of the other.
Colin wasn't a religious boy. But if there was ever a time to become one, it was now. The comfort that the thought of a God and a Heaven brought was beyond relief. It was a guarantee that he and Tim would see each other again. He wanted beyond anything in the world to believe that when his time inevitably came, that he would see everyone again.
Such a tragedy for a mother to survive her son.
Wandering. Pointless, and aimless. His feet carried him where his feet willed. He was a tumbleweed, no purpose or direction left to his life. Oh, but if only he had his phone, finding Tim would just be that much easier. But... But it wasn't meant to be. Cruel fate obviously wanted him off to his own devices, a scared, lonely, lost little lamb. And that he had become. Without Tim, all direction was gone. His mind, his thoughts began to repeat themselves. He had trouble remembering his own mind's wanderings from one moment to the next, let alone those of his feet.
Pain was his motive. Survive till that next announcement. Pray that Tim's name was not there. Hope. What a ray of hope it would be. Tim would still be alive, and he could find him. He somewhere remembered hearing that people were most likely to die within the first few hours of getting lost. He didn't remember where. He didn't even know if he had just made that up. A rationalization? A defense mechanism for an ailing mind, trying to give itself hope? Convincing himself that if Tim survived until sunrise, that he would be alive forever and ever, just waiting for Colin?
Everything that the poor boy's mind could conceive of going wrong had just gone wrong.
He wasn't paying attention. Not thinking straight. His feet were heavy on the ground, earth crunching and snapping, his footsteps sounding like that of a drunken moose.
Not that difficult for someone to hear him coming a mile away.
When had he wandered into the woods? It was dark too. He didn't remember that happening. His mind, a flashback. Tim wasn't there when he was talking. Was Tim a figment of his imagination? Did he really ever meet up with Tim? Jacob was real. Watched him die, something that horrible had to be real. His mind was going. He could feel it. He wasn't sane, there was no way. Weren't there stories of people hallucinating that their long dead friends were still with them? Never realizing it? A way to cope. Coping was what everyone was doing.
His eyes darted from tree to tree. Everything looked the same. He was a drunken man, drunk on fear, drunk on despair. Wandering and stumbling his way towards sweet release.
Noise. A clearing up ahead.
Not thinking clearly. He went right for it. Ignore the danger. Ignore the background, the island, the setting. Safety. Another person.
Life...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Brook opened his eyes, and Tiffany was there. She was still there, even if she would never smile for anybody but him ever again. Never would she dance, or play or laugh or cry, or respond awkwardly to his drunken advances. At least she was still there, resting on the ground and ready to spend another day with him.
You were always that kind of girl, weren't you, Tiffany? What am I saying... you always are! I'll never let you die here, I made that promise...
He wasn't sure when he had closed his eyes, but it seemed his body desperately sought the sleep his will had done everything in its power to fight against. That wasn't good... to think that he still wasn't ready to dedicate himself, mind and body, heart and soul to Tiffany.
... Oh god, no.
Brook lept to his feet, his lower lip quivering as he looked down to the goddess at his feet. He was a culler of others, the gardener of this poorly overgrown island, and the Mighty Zinnia all at the same time. Compared to Tiffany, however, he was nothing. He had pledged himself to preserving her memory for as long as he may live, but somewhere in the dark of the night, he had fallen asleep.
"No, I'm... I'm sorry!" Silence came back up at him, causing the lanky boy to tremble as he stared down at her. There was an anger directed through the area that only Brook could feel, seeping through the red hole in her clothing and punching through his heart. She was well within her rights to be angry, but he just.... he just couldn't handle it! He looked around frantically, searching for anything he could say in his defense.
"It's.... it's still night time! It's still dark, I wasn't out for that long!" He begged. It was the truth for what it was worth; the sky was still dark, and Tiffany herself was somewhat hard to see. "I-I... I don't know what you want me to do!" Nothing from her, at least that anybody else could see. But Brook saw the true meaning behind the silence. For as quiet as it was, Tiffany may as well have just been screaming at him. The silence grew, and along with it, so did the deafening roar of her screams, the intensity of her glare.
"DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!" He shouted, shutting his eyes and grinding his palms against his ears. All just a futile effort; try as he might, the sounds would penetrate his hands, and the sight, his eyelids. It was all he could do just to stay standing, since he just wanted to fall to his knees at Tiffany's side, cry and continue to beg for forgiveness. There had to be some way to appease her, a way to keep her satisfied.
More... does she need... more?
But that was ridiculous. He would get more bodies for the lovely garden arrangement, but he had already dropped two husks chock full of the damned stuff onto the ground. That should've been enough... she couldn't possibly be hungering for MORE... could she?
That'd make her bloodlust... completely insatiable. I'm supposed to... stuff... I... aaaaaugh!!!
His thoughts were hardly making sense, but the most painful part was that Brook was quite aware of this very fact.
What... do... I...
It was then somebody showed up, and only then could Brook free himself from Tiffany's hold for a few moments. There was a moment or two where he just stared at the intruder upon his garden, trying to allow his brain to catch up to the current events going on all around him. The next step, of course, was to identify just who it was. That second part didn't take long; back at Bayview, the sweet, soft-spoken gardener had met a lot of people, and good ol' boy Colin Falcone was one of them. A lovely voice, cheery personality.
He'll do just fine.
The grin returned to Brook's face as he began walking towards Colin.
You were always that kind of girl, weren't you, Tiffany? What am I saying... you always are! I'll never let you die here, I made that promise...
He wasn't sure when he had closed his eyes, but it seemed his body desperately sought the sleep his will had done everything in its power to fight against. That wasn't good... to think that he still wasn't ready to dedicate himself, mind and body, heart and soul to Tiffany.
... Oh god, no.
Brook lept to his feet, his lower lip quivering as he looked down to the goddess at his feet. He was a culler of others, the gardener of this poorly overgrown island, and the Mighty Zinnia all at the same time. Compared to Tiffany, however, he was nothing. He had pledged himself to preserving her memory for as long as he may live, but somewhere in the dark of the night, he had fallen asleep.
"No, I'm... I'm sorry!" Silence came back up at him, causing the lanky boy to tremble as he stared down at her. There was an anger directed through the area that only Brook could feel, seeping through the red hole in her clothing and punching through his heart. She was well within her rights to be angry, but he just.... he just couldn't handle it! He looked around frantically, searching for anything he could say in his defense.
"It's.... it's still night time! It's still dark, I wasn't out for that long!" He begged. It was the truth for what it was worth; the sky was still dark, and Tiffany herself was somewhat hard to see. "I-I... I don't know what you want me to do!" Nothing from her, at least that anybody else could see. But Brook saw the true meaning behind the silence. For as quiet as it was, Tiffany may as well have just been screaming at him. The silence grew, and along with it, so did the deafening roar of her screams, the intensity of her glare.
"DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!" He shouted, shutting his eyes and grinding his palms against his ears. All just a futile effort; try as he might, the sounds would penetrate his hands, and the sight, his eyelids. It was all he could do just to stay standing, since he just wanted to fall to his knees at Tiffany's side, cry and continue to beg for forgiveness. There had to be some way to appease her, a way to keep her satisfied.
More... does she need... more?
But that was ridiculous. He would get more bodies for the lovely garden arrangement, but he had already dropped two husks chock full of the damned stuff onto the ground. That should've been enough... she couldn't possibly be hungering for MORE... could she?
That'd make her bloodlust... completely insatiable. I'm supposed to... stuff... I... aaaaaugh!!!
His thoughts were hardly making sense, but the most painful part was that Brook was quite aware of this very fact.
What... do... I...
It was then somebody showed up, and only then could Brook free himself from Tiffany's hold for a few moments. There was a moment or two where he just stared at the intruder upon his garden, trying to allow his brain to catch up to the current events going on all around him. The next step, of course, was to identify just who it was. That second part didn't take long; back at Bayview, the sweet, soft-spoken gardener had met a lot of people, and good ol' boy Colin Falcone was one of them. A lovely voice, cheery personality.
He'll do just fine.
The grin returned to Brook's face as he began walking towards Colin.
That noise had been the ravings of a crazy man. A crazy man he would realize was crazy all too late. To the eyes of Colin Falcone, the sight of Brook standing before him was a blessing, the port in the storm. He remembered the gardener from Bayview. They had a couple of classes together, and he honestly had quite liked the boy. If it weren't for his withdrawn demeanor, back then he thought they might have been able to become close friends.
So the fear washed away, just long enough for the scared, lonely boy to feel a moment of respite, a moment of comfort as he watched Brook walking rather hurriedly towards him. His posture almost immediately fixed itself, and the cloud in his mind began to waft slowly away. A familiar face.
"Brook!"
It wasn't Tim. He was still worried for Tim. He needed to find his friend. But honestly, for now? This would more than do. Another person, just as soft spoken, just as calm, just as much of a pacifist as he was back in Bayview. He hadn't heard Brook's name on the announcements either. So it served to reason that he was just as afraid as Colin.
The bodies were obscured from view by the odd tree in the supposed clearing.
"I-I'm so glad to see you." He panted, his vision tunneling onto his face. Brook's body was covered, nay coated in blood. If he had looked down for more than a split second, he would have at least had the inkling to ask. Some survival instinct.
"I got separated from Tim- my friend." His body was almost shaking. Adrenaline of fear washing away. But... Something still just didn't feel right. He glance down to the weapon in Brook's hand. Pointed groundward. In the least threatening way possible. But something still just didn't feel ri-
The blood on the barrel. His vision backed away, the shuffling of feet could be heard. The blood on his arm. The blood on his sleeve. The blood on his chest, on his pants, on his shirt, on his neck.
So much blood.
Still not completely in his right state of mind, rather than turn on a heel and flee for his life, he stammered. Like a deer in the headlights, he stared at Brook's chest. No, through Brook's chest. To the blood on the other side. To the pints upon pints of spilled blood.
What's going on... W-Wasn't Brook afraid of blood?
---
It was seriously hard to concentrate on this damn Algebra test with someone having a mild shit fit in the back of the room. About 20 minutes into the test, there had just been a simple "Oh- Shit" that came from the back of the room. A little distracting, but fair enough.
Now, a good ten minutes later, after a noisy, clumsy sprint to the nurse, the kid was still hyperventilating in the back of the room. Whatever the kid had managed to do to himself must have been nasty if he was acting like that. Stick a pencil through his hand? Either way, Colin did want to actually successfully finish this test. Whether or not he cared about his grades, his father did. And while his mother would inevitably sympathize with him, his father had the belt. And that was not exactly anything that he was looking forward to come report card time.
He also needed to be able to sit for his next show.
Pulling his eyes from his test, he glanced back to see a bandaid on the kid's finger, and a small red stain on the corner of the test page that was on top.
Really? A paper cut? He sighed. Hopefully he could block out the noise to finish off this god damned test...
---
"W-What happened to you? And how are you not like... Freaking out right now?" He motioned to Brook's entire outfit with his head. Another quick shuffle back. Some instinct inside him was finally starting to wake up. However consciously he refused to even entertain the notion that this wasn't explainable. Hell, maybe the island had forced him to get over that fear of blood!
Yeah. That had to be it.
He was safe here. Right? He had to be. Together they would go find Tim, and then the three of them would try and make the best of what time was left. Right?
And it was then that a red glint caught his eye from behind the tree. Some matted grass, a pool of viscous red liquid seeping from something... No, that couldn't be right. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Hell, he'd thought it himself earlier. He was losing his mind, succumbing to the forces around him. That wasn't blood. That was a trick of the eye, an optical illusion that the sun was making.
Hell though, it was a convincing optical illusion. His mind was beginning to feel a sense of panic. Adrenaline rushed through his veins yet again. He was jumpy, but his conscious mind could not fathom why.
He was just spooked for no good reason. Yeah, that's it.
So the fear washed away, just long enough for the scared, lonely boy to feel a moment of respite, a moment of comfort as he watched Brook walking rather hurriedly towards him. His posture almost immediately fixed itself, and the cloud in his mind began to waft slowly away. A familiar face.
"Brook!"
It wasn't Tim. He was still worried for Tim. He needed to find his friend. But honestly, for now? This would more than do. Another person, just as soft spoken, just as calm, just as much of a pacifist as he was back in Bayview. He hadn't heard Brook's name on the announcements either. So it served to reason that he was just as afraid as Colin.
The bodies were obscured from view by the odd tree in the supposed clearing.
"I-I'm so glad to see you." He panted, his vision tunneling onto his face. Brook's body was covered, nay coated in blood. If he had looked down for more than a split second, he would have at least had the inkling to ask. Some survival instinct.
"I got separated from Tim- my friend." His body was almost shaking. Adrenaline of fear washing away. But... Something still just didn't feel right. He glance down to the weapon in Brook's hand. Pointed groundward. In the least threatening way possible. But something still just didn't feel ri-
The blood on the barrel. His vision backed away, the shuffling of feet could be heard. The blood on his arm. The blood on his sleeve. The blood on his chest, on his pants, on his shirt, on his neck.
So much blood.
Still not completely in his right state of mind, rather than turn on a heel and flee for his life, he stammered. Like a deer in the headlights, he stared at Brook's chest. No, through Brook's chest. To the blood on the other side. To the pints upon pints of spilled blood.
What's going on... W-Wasn't Brook afraid of blood?
---
It was seriously hard to concentrate on this damn Algebra test with someone having a mild shit fit in the back of the room. About 20 minutes into the test, there had just been a simple "Oh- Shit" that came from the back of the room. A little distracting, but fair enough.
Now, a good ten minutes later, after a noisy, clumsy sprint to the nurse, the kid was still hyperventilating in the back of the room. Whatever the kid had managed to do to himself must have been nasty if he was acting like that. Stick a pencil through his hand? Either way, Colin did want to actually successfully finish this test. Whether or not he cared about his grades, his father did. And while his mother would inevitably sympathize with him, his father had the belt. And that was not exactly anything that he was looking forward to come report card time.
He also needed to be able to sit for his next show.
Pulling his eyes from his test, he glanced back to see a bandaid on the kid's finger, and a small red stain on the corner of the test page that was on top.
Really? A paper cut? He sighed. Hopefully he could block out the noise to finish off this god damned test...
---
"W-What happened to you? And how are you not like... Freaking out right now?" He motioned to Brook's entire outfit with his head. Another quick shuffle back. Some instinct inside him was finally starting to wake up. However consciously he refused to even entertain the notion that this wasn't explainable. Hell, maybe the island had forced him to get over that fear of blood!
Yeah. That had to be it.
He was safe here. Right? He had to be. Together they would go find Tim, and then the three of them would try and make the best of what time was left. Right?
And it was then that a red glint caught his eye from behind the tree. Some matted grass, a pool of viscous red liquid seeping from something... No, that couldn't be right. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Hell, he'd thought it himself earlier. He was losing his mind, succumbing to the forces around him. That wasn't blood. That was a trick of the eye, an optical illusion that the sun was making.
Hell though, it was a convincing optical illusion. His mind was beginning to feel a sense of panic. Adrenaline rushed through his veins yet again. He was jumpy, but his conscious mind could not fathom why.
He was just spooked for no good reason. Yeah, that's it.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Colin..." Brook called out to the boy one more time as he approached. Colin also seemed to like talking a lot. It was enough to make Brook cringe, what with all of the incredibly stupid and grating words, but that was about what you'd expect from somebody who liked to use their voice so much. Right... he never really attended any of those shows, but if Colin had a nice set of pipes on him, maybe he could at least get a tune or so as he worked!
There was a question somewhere in the jabbering of the other boy. He looked so alone, so wonderfully helpless... squishy, even? When he stopped and really listened to the question though, the prey had a point: why wasn't he freaking out? Brook looked down at his own body, bewildered at just how much blood he had been covered with. When did he lose himself in the rust-colored waterfall of violence? When did he black out and allow himself to become immersed in his fears?
Who the hell was he? Did it matter?
He stared off to the side of Colin's feet, wading through the muck of these thoughts for a few moments or two. He tried to get close to the image of himself before all of this, but the memories were just too strange for him. Had he strayed too far from his original self? If he had, in his endless pursuit to make sure one girl of his life was never forgotten, then was their any point in forgetting? To return to his old self?
The answer of THAT should've been quite obvious.
"Hell... I guess I'm just too strung out by this point to care! All the way around on the scale and then some, right?" Brook giggled, looking back up to Colin. Some of his hair had worked itself loose of his hair-tie during the night, and had found its way into his face. As he continued to smile over to Colin to welcome him, he brushed the stray strands of hair out of his face and safely tucked them behind his ear.
The singer looked awfully wary of the situation, which was an annoyingly accurate and reasonable response. Brook would just have to take advantage of this before he could do anything silly or whatnot. "Well, Colin..." Brook sighed and walked to him, placing the arm that wasn't holding his gun around Colin's back and shoulders. "I've been keeping appearances around here..." He began to walk the two of them to the clearing. The cheery lies would soon be exposed, leaving nothing but bloody inner beauty. Brook could hardly wait.
As they walked, Brook thought about the junky little gun in his hand. Rather than stash it away and use the weapon that Ridley had, likely more formidable than the weapon he was using. But there was something special about this weapon. It was, after all, the little hunk of metal that he had woken up in this hell with, and so far it had served him well. Leila got her dirty little hands all over it, but at least he paid her his revenge. Not as much as he would have LIKED, but still to some extent.
The time was coming... they were well within view of the garden now, and he could practically feel Colin's trepidation seeping through the skin of his hand and arm. In line with Brook's step, his leg drew in front of both of Colin's, and Brook's arm gave a great shove in order to force Colin to the ground. Brook stared down at the boy mercilessly, the smile on his face returning to the more comfortable and slightly manic grin.
"This here! Take a good look, Colin! Ya like it? I'm gonna need your help..."
There was a question somewhere in the jabbering of the other boy. He looked so alone, so wonderfully helpless... squishy, even? When he stopped and really listened to the question though, the prey had a point: why wasn't he freaking out? Brook looked down at his own body, bewildered at just how much blood he had been covered with. When did he lose himself in the rust-colored waterfall of violence? When did he black out and allow himself to become immersed in his fears?
Who the hell was he? Did it matter?
He stared off to the side of Colin's feet, wading through the muck of these thoughts for a few moments or two. He tried to get close to the image of himself before all of this, but the memories were just too strange for him. Had he strayed too far from his original self? If he had, in his endless pursuit to make sure one girl of his life was never forgotten, then was their any point in forgetting? To return to his old self?
The answer of THAT should've been quite obvious.
"Hell... I guess I'm just too strung out by this point to care! All the way around on the scale and then some, right?" Brook giggled, looking back up to Colin. Some of his hair had worked itself loose of his hair-tie during the night, and had found its way into his face. As he continued to smile over to Colin to welcome him, he brushed the stray strands of hair out of his face and safely tucked them behind his ear.
The singer looked awfully wary of the situation, which was an annoyingly accurate and reasonable response. Brook would just have to take advantage of this before he could do anything silly or whatnot. "Well, Colin..." Brook sighed and walked to him, placing the arm that wasn't holding his gun around Colin's back and shoulders. "I've been keeping appearances around here..." He began to walk the two of them to the clearing. The cheery lies would soon be exposed, leaving nothing but bloody inner beauty. Brook could hardly wait.
As they walked, Brook thought about the junky little gun in his hand. Rather than stash it away and use the weapon that Ridley had, likely more formidable than the weapon he was using. But there was something special about this weapon. It was, after all, the little hunk of metal that he had woken up in this hell with, and so far it had served him well. Leila got her dirty little hands all over it, but at least he paid her his revenge. Not as much as he would have LIKED, but still to some extent.
The time was coming... they were well within view of the garden now, and he could practically feel Colin's trepidation seeping through the skin of his hand and arm. In line with Brook's step, his leg drew in front of both of Colin's, and Brook's arm gave a great shove in order to force Colin to the ground. Brook stared down at the boy mercilessly, the smile on his face returning to the more comfortable and slightly manic grin.
"This here! Take a good look, Colin! Ya like it? I'm gonna need your help..."
"Colin..."
Brook's voice was almost sad as he called out his name. Brook recognized him. That was a good thing. A very good thing. That meant they had some common ground to work off of. That was a good start.
As Colin rambled, through the black of the night, he attempted to inspect Brook's visage. His new companion seemed to be almost eyeing him like a hungry wolf would eye a rabbit. Predator and prey. He shook his head, trying to get these thoughts out of his tired and weary head. He just couldn't believe it was true. Brook was too gentle, too soft spoken to be a murderer. Whatever had happened must have traumatized him. So deeply.
It was just the paranoia.
Sighing and stopping for breath, he listened to Brook's creepily joyous voice utter a response.
"Hell... I guess I'm just too strung out by this point to care! All the way around on the scale and then some, right?"
Okay, that wasn't paranoia. Brook's mood had just done a complete 180. This was beyond creepy. That response... That response was uttered in a tone like something a pleasently surprised middle schooler would utter. It sent a shiver down his spine that he couldn't control. His mind began to debate with itself, whether he should flee now or not. The giggle cemented the deal. He knew he should run, that Brook had completely lost his shit. But for some reason, some modicum of the past clung to Colin's perception of the boy before him. Something young and innocent shown through Brook, even through the crazy layer atop.
He knew that wouldn't save him if Brook had collected the 'postal' crazy that had been rampant about the island. But it was more than enough to make him rooted in place, unable to move.
Until whisked away by the gardener himself.
"Well, Colin..."
As the arm slipped about his back, he very visibly shivered. While Brook was still very warm and full of life, something about the touch was just chilling. As if something beyond sinister was happeni-
Oh. My. God.
Numbness and shock were quickly surging over every other emotion that he could possibly have comprehended. Three bodies lied in the twilight, the moon shimmering off of the blood and the pale skin almost goulishly beautiful scene. It was a gothic garden of blood and gore.
"I've been keeping appearances around here..."
Something straight from hell had just appeared before him, and Brook was Bezlebub himself. The orchestrator of this grim arrangement. This is exactly what Dante would have pictured for one of his fictionalized seven levels of hell. The only thing missing was the fire and brimstone. And even without; god damn was it getting hot around here.
Sweat poured through his pores as Brook led him closer and closer, the faces becoming visible, two wounds still looking fresh; the one in the center not quite so much. He didn't recognize a single of the trio more than he would any other person from his year. They looked so peaceful if it were not for the red that they now bathed in, leaking from their bodies and to the ground.
And suddenly, his balence was gone. The world had dissapeared from below his feet, and towards the bodies he fell. The feeling of Brook's arm upon his back melted away, and time seemed to slow as the face of the boy became nearer and nearer, agonizingly slow. He shut his eyes, just as his own body fell upon theirs, a sickly splattering noise and a cold wet feeling making him suddenly feel violently ill.
"This here! Take a good look, Colin! Ya like it? I'm gonna need your help..."
Quickly he rolled on his back, just fast enough to see the moonlight cast a ghastly shadow upon his now captor's face. The grin... That grin would haunt his dreams, if he were to ever have another. Paralyzed by fear, every conscious thought screamed at him to flee. This would very well be the end of the line if he had not. But he knew that Brook had some sort of gun, somewhere nearby, even if the scant light was not kind enough to betray it's position.
Everything came into vivid detail as his mind took in every last thing, every single scenario. The trees, their branches blowing in the breeze, obscuring the bright silver ball; queen of the night sky. Leaves rustling in the clearing, a gentle summer's breeze carrying the remenants of the fall before away, freedom he longed for. The looming power of the boy's form, wine-colored sillouete imposing accross the dead of night. The white hot sting of tears as they flowed from his cheeks over small cuts and scrapes, the result of a man who had been out in the wilderness for far too long.
"Brook, please don't do this... Please..."
Brook's voice was almost sad as he called out his name. Brook recognized him. That was a good thing. A very good thing. That meant they had some common ground to work off of. That was a good start.
As Colin rambled, through the black of the night, he attempted to inspect Brook's visage. His new companion seemed to be almost eyeing him like a hungry wolf would eye a rabbit. Predator and prey. He shook his head, trying to get these thoughts out of his tired and weary head. He just couldn't believe it was true. Brook was too gentle, too soft spoken to be a murderer. Whatever had happened must have traumatized him. So deeply.
It was just the paranoia.
Sighing and stopping for breath, he listened to Brook's creepily joyous voice utter a response.
"Hell... I guess I'm just too strung out by this point to care! All the way around on the scale and then some, right?"
Okay, that wasn't paranoia. Brook's mood had just done a complete 180. This was beyond creepy. That response... That response was uttered in a tone like something a pleasently surprised middle schooler would utter. It sent a shiver down his spine that he couldn't control. His mind began to debate with itself, whether he should flee now or not. The giggle cemented the deal. He knew he should run, that Brook had completely lost his shit. But for some reason, some modicum of the past clung to Colin's perception of the boy before him. Something young and innocent shown through Brook, even through the crazy layer atop.
He knew that wouldn't save him if Brook had collected the 'postal' crazy that had been rampant about the island. But it was more than enough to make him rooted in place, unable to move.
Until whisked away by the gardener himself.
"Well, Colin..."
As the arm slipped about his back, he very visibly shivered. While Brook was still very warm and full of life, something about the touch was just chilling. As if something beyond sinister was happeni-
Oh. My. God.
Numbness and shock were quickly surging over every other emotion that he could possibly have comprehended. Three bodies lied in the twilight, the moon shimmering off of the blood and the pale skin almost goulishly beautiful scene. It was a gothic garden of blood and gore.
"I've been keeping appearances around here..."
Something straight from hell had just appeared before him, and Brook was Bezlebub himself. The orchestrator of this grim arrangement. This is exactly what Dante would have pictured for one of his fictionalized seven levels of hell. The only thing missing was the fire and brimstone. And even without; god damn was it getting hot around here.
Sweat poured through his pores as Brook led him closer and closer, the faces becoming visible, two wounds still looking fresh; the one in the center not quite so much. He didn't recognize a single of the trio more than he would any other person from his year. They looked so peaceful if it were not for the red that they now bathed in, leaking from their bodies and to the ground.
And suddenly, his balence was gone. The world had dissapeared from below his feet, and towards the bodies he fell. The feeling of Brook's arm upon his back melted away, and time seemed to slow as the face of the boy became nearer and nearer, agonizingly slow. He shut his eyes, just as his own body fell upon theirs, a sickly splattering noise and a cold wet feeling making him suddenly feel violently ill.
"This here! Take a good look, Colin! Ya like it? I'm gonna need your help..."
Quickly he rolled on his back, just fast enough to see the moonlight cast a ghastly shadow upon his now captor's face. The grin... That grin would haunt his dreams, if he were to ever have another. Paralyzed by fear, every conscious thought screamed at him to flee. This would very well be the end of the line if he had not. But he knew that Brook had some sort of gun, somewhere nearby, even if the scant light was not kind enough to betray it's position.
Everything came into vivid detail as his mind took in every last thing, every single scenario. The trees, their branches blowing in the breeze, obscuring the bright silver ball; queen of the night sky. Leaves rustling in the clearing, a gentle summer's breeze carrying the remenants of the fall before away, freedom he longed for. The looming power of the boy's form, wine-colored sillouete imposing accross the dead of night. The white hot sting of tears as they flowed from his cheeks over small cuts and scrapes, the result of a man who had been out in the wilderness for far too long.
"Brook, please don't do this... Please..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Ah, finally! This is the reaction that Brook was waiting to see on Colin's face. On his back, gasping in terror and staring up at him as he passed down the boy's fate to him. There were tears gushing from his face for a few bonus points. And really... he was begging? Begging for Brook not to kill him and spill him open all over the ground? It just didn't get any more satisfying than this! A shame he couldn't reward all that begging with... you know, letting him go or something, but he could offer Colin the reward of a more fulfilling death! After all, the more blood, the better!
The suffering was more of a bonus.
"Okay... don't do what? You're gonna have to be veeeeeery specific!" Brook cooed, turning his feet to walk around Colin. As he paced from his feet to somewhere around the boy's right hip, his eyes remained transfixed on Colin's face. Yeah... he wasn't gonna miss a second of this. "Because there's a lot of things I'm going to do right now, and I can't skip out on ALL of them... you saw it, Colin. You saw my garden, and it's not quite finished. So really... just fucking save it!"
With a snarl, Brook dropped his right knee dead center onto Colin's chest. Man, that was one hell of a satisfying scream, or a grunt, maybe it was a wheeze. He didn't hear anything snap though, so at least he hadn't guaranteed Colin's death yet. Fuck no, how boring would that be? If he was to do his job, he was going to keep this as completely interesting as possible! The smaller boy was just so... so fun! His reactions were right up there with Raine's, all of her stupid begging and her desperate calls to Ridley right before the bullet tore up her insides. More of that, and Brook might keep him around for an extra minute or so before he became little more than fertilizer.
Then, for some reason, the crying was annoying. Yeah... you'd think Colin would be happy, aiding Brook in forever enshrining the memory of one of their classmates. Why did he have to act so ungrateful? Why was he so fucking selfish all of a sudden, that little runt!?
Brook's left hand swung down at Colin's face to scrap against right right cheek. Being a righty, it hardly had any real force behind it. No cut, no blood... damn. He gave another blow with his left hand, this time forcing it straight down right below Colin's right eye. The impact was there, and a satisfying yelp met his ears, but still not the vile, vile fluid that was necessary to raise Tiffany higher. He needed more... and Colin, ever the greedy bastard wasn't giving it up! His right hand held the Liberator, but that didn't stop him. Why be biased towards one hand, after all? Brook gave it an even chance by turning his wrist upward, thus pointing the gun's barrel outward and parallel with Colin's prone body, and smashed the pinky-side of his hand right down onto his nose.
It'd take a while, but it was there. The smell of wet, dirty pennies, that sickly copper wafted up from the boy, and Brook paused a moment to sneer at him.
"You're so gross, Colin, bleeding like that... it's people like you that covered me in all this. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bleeding on me."
He rose up from the boy, checking his hand to make sure none of the blood got on him. Damn it, why did Colin have to remind him of just how much he hated the damn stuff? Yet he would have to bathe in it, wouldn't he? If he were to do what was asked of him and his calling...
Would you give me a sec, Tif? I'm trying, really... I am!
The suffering was more of a bonus.
"Okay... don't do what? You're gonna have to be veeeeeery specific!" Brook cooed, turning his feet to walk around Colin. As he paced from his feet to somewhere around the boy's right hip, his eyes remained transfixed on Colin's face. Yeah... he wasn't gonna miss a second of this. "Because there's a lot of things I'm going to do right now, and I can't skip out on ALL of them... you saw it, Colin. You saw my garden, and it's not quite finished. So really... just fucking save it!"
With a snarl, Brook dropped his right knee dead center onto Colin's chest. Man, that was one hell of a satisfying scream, or a grunt, maybe it was a wheeze. He didn't hear anything snap though, so at least he hadn't guaranteed Colin's death yet. Fuck no, how boring would that be? If he was to do his job, he was going to keep this as completely interesting as possible! The smaller boy was just so... so fun! His reactions were right up there with Raine's, all of her stupid begging and her desperate calls to Ridley right before the bullet tore up her insides. More of that, and Brook might keep him around for an extra minute or so before he became little more than fertilizer.
Then, for some reason, the crying was annoying. Yeah... you'd think Colin would be happy, aiding Brook in forever enshrining the memory of one of their classmates. Why did he have to act so ungrateful? Why was he so fucking selfish all of a sudden, that little runt!?
Brook's left hand swung down at Colin's face to scrap against right right cheek. Being a righty, it hardly had any real force behind it. No cut, no blood... damn. He gave another blow with his left hand, this time forcing it straight down right below Colin's right eye. The impact was there, and a satisfying yelp met his ears, but still not the vile, vile fluid that was necessary to raise Tiffany higher. He needed more... and Colin, ever the greedy bastard wasn't giving it up! His right hand held the Liberator, but that didn't stop him. Why be biased towards one hand, after all? Brook gave it an even chance by turning his wrist upward, thus pointing the gun's barrel outward and parallel with Colin's prone body, and smashed the pinky-side of his hand right down onto his nose.
It'd take a while, but it was there. The smell of wet, dirty pennies, that sickly copper wafted up from the boy, and Brook paused a moment to sneer at him.
"You're so gross, Colin, bleeding like that... it's people like you that covered me in all this. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bleeding on me."
He rose up from the boy, checking his hand to make sure none of the blood got on him. Damn it, why did Colin have to remind him of just how much he hated the damn stuff? Yet he would have to bathe in it, wouldn't he? If he were to do what was asked of him and his calling...
Would you give me a sec, Tif? I'm trying, really... I am!
Brook's face seemed to light up, and with that 'glow' that radiated from his fittingly dark face; evaporated any hope that Colin had still clung to, replacing it with despair and terror. That look from before... He wasn't losing his mind, Brook was the insane one. His eyes were wide, his entire body shook. He tried with all of his might not to focus on the dead bodies behind him...
"Okay... don't do what? You're gonna have to be veeeeeery specific!"
He shuddered. Hard. This wasn't just scary, this wasn't just terrifying. This was horrific, creepy, something straight out of a horror flick. Stunned silence. His mouth was agape as he stared up at his former classmate, focused on that gun, dull metal glinting a soft snow white in the moonlight. His head swiveled as far as it could, following the lion as he stalked his cornered prey in a circle.
"Because there's a lot of things I'm going to do right now, and I can't skip out on ALL of them... you saw it, Colin. You saw my garden, and it's not quite finished. So really... just fucking save it!"
In the brief moment between Brook's command and the impending impact, he felt like a whipped puppy. Brook had put so much anger and force behind his words, that they seemed to override his survival instincts for a split second. Had this not been as dire of a situation of the one he were in, he would have quietly apologized, turned and walked away.
But he couldn't here.
Primarily because there was a massive knee in his chest.
His mouth shot agape as a loud yelp forced it's way from his mouth as he felt Brook drop his weight into his chest, his lungs expelling all of the air with such force and violence. His throat was raw, and his chest was throbbing in pain. A quick cough.
And yes, the tears were becoming more and more intense. He was crying in fear for his own life, and for what his parents were watching. Sure, Tim and his life back home flitted in and out of his mind here and there throughout the entire ordeal, but what man can say he faced down death and cried for others without lying through his teeth? None but a saint, and while Colin was a pacifist, he was no saint. He had killed after all. Heck. This might be Karma.
A swift smack, and his entire head rotated quickly to the right in reaction. It didn't really hurt all that much, just a little sting on his right cheek. However pathetic that first hit was, the second strike hit home, right below his eye. He felt something give, just a little, and a shot of fiery pain washed over his entire face. This directly forced more and more tears from his right eye, something broken; never to work again.
He turned his head to face Brook again, and just as he looked up, he saw the gun directly above him. But it was pointed over him. Confusion. The gun grew in size as it rushed closer. Realization.
CRACK
He howled in pain as he felt his nose break under the hard steel of the gun. Blood oozed from his nose as he writhed on the ground, Brook's taunting voice nothing but a whisper.
"You're so gross, Colin, bleeding like that... it's people like you that covered me in all this. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bleeding on me."
He coughed, spattering a little of the blood that had run down his face across the forest floor to mix with the blood of the others sitting below him. "I-I'd stop bleeding on you if you'd stop hitting me. Listen to yourself! You're hitting me, YOU'RE making me bleed. You can stop this Brook, for the love of God, stop hitting me! You don't have to keep doing this. Please!"
A final, desperate plea to anything that might have been left of Brook's sanity. Little did he know how far down the rabbit hole Brook had gone. Hearing Tiffany's voice, urging him onward. More and more blood.
And Colin would be Tiffany's next victim.
"Okay... don't do what? You're gonna have to be veeeeeery specific!"
He shuddered. Hard. This wasn't just scary, this wasn't just terrifying. This was horrific, creepy, something straight out of a horror flick. Stunned silence. His mouth was agape as he stared up at his former classmate, focused on that gun, dull metal glinting a soft snow white in the moonlight. His head swiveled as far as it could, following the lion as he stalked his cornered prey in a circle.
"Because there's a lot of things I'm going to do right now, and I can't skip out on ALL of them... you saw it, Colin. You saw my garden, and it's not quite finished. So really... just fucking save it!"
In the brief moment between Brook's command and the impending impact, he felt like a whipped puppy. Brook had put so much anger and force behind his words, that they seemed to override his survival instincts for a split second. Had this not been as dire of a situation of the one he were in, he would have quietly apologized, turned and walked away.
But he couldn't here.
Primarily because there was a massive knee in his chest.
His mouth shot agape as a loud yelp forced it's way from his mouth as he felt Brook drop his weight into his chest, his lungs expelling all of the air with such force and violence. His throat was raw, and his chest was throbbing in pain. A quick cough.
And yes, the tears were becoming more and more intense. He was crying in fear for his own life, and for what his parents were watching. Sure, Tim and his life back home flitted in and out of his mind here and there throughout the entire ordeal, but what man can say he faced down death and cried for others without lying through his teeth? None but a saint, and while Colin was a pacifist, he was no saint. He had killed after all. Heck. This might be Karma.
A swift smack, and his entire head rotated quickly to the right in reaction. It didn't really hurt all that much, just a little sting on his right cheek. However pathetic that first hit was, the second strike hit home, right below his eye. He felt something give, just a little, and a shot of fiery pain washed over his entire face. This directly forced more and more tears from his right eye, something broken; never to work again.
He turned his head to face Brook again, and just as he looked up, he saw the gun directly above him. But it was pointed over him. Confusion. The gun grew in size as it rushed closer. Realization.
CRACK
He howled in pain as he felt his nose break under the hard steel of the gun. Blood oozed from his nose as he writhed on the ground, Brook's taunting voice nothing but a whisper.
"You're so gross, Colin, bleeding like that... it's people like you that covered me in all this. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bleeding on me."
He coughed, spattering a little of the blood that had run down his face across the forest floor to mix with the blood of the others sitting below him. "I-I'd stop bleeding on you if you'd stop hitting me. Listen to yourself! You're hitting me, YOU'RE making me bleed. You can stop this Brook, for the love of God, stop hitting me! You don't have to keep doing this. Please!"
A final, desperate plea to anything that might have been left of Brook's sanity. Little did he know how far down the rabbit hole Brook had gone. Hearing Tiffany's voice, urging him onward. More and more blood.
And Colin would be Tiffany's next victim.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Colin said something. Damn it, why did he keep saying things? The distractions were becoming just a little too annoying at this point. Couldn't he see that a gardener was trying to do his job, and this job didn't have any room for his bloody schoolboy logic?
Brook spat on the ground near Colin's feet, wiping his nose and mouth with a strip of his sleeve that wasn't caked in somebody's blood yet. Things had yet to get very interesting, and there just wasn't enough blood. Who's voice was calling... was it Tiffany? The voice wasn't his own, but the more he focused, part of it didn't sound like Tiffany anymore. Was it the same one that was calling earlier? He thought for sure it was, but the one back then was her without a shadow of a doubt. Then why was it changing? Why, the more soaked the ground become, did the inflections and timbre change?
This was impossible. It should be, should have been, should have been... Colin was still alive... why was he still alive? Why was the blood going from necessary to disgusting to treasured to wonderful to horrid to an endless chain of things, none of which seemed to be linked to any of the others in a pattern. His fault... of fucking course, it was his fault! So much of the nasty, nasty shit that still needed to spray, of course his mind was going to be clouded. But all in all, Colin was right. Brook hated blood, of course. That should've been obvious! So, why in St. Paul's name was he so obsessed with it now?
He'd mull over his fearful infatuation later. There was still so much to be done, but with what? If only he had a knife, or a shovel, or something... something to have so much fun with before the job had to be finished! After all, what better way to kill fear than with joy? Brook looked around him. What could he use in order to do the job. A few rocks... bludgeoning might be something he'd like to try later, but... no. Sharper rocks? Closer, but no. Poisonous plants, while present, were a no-go... no blood that way (unless you got one of the truly violent killers, but Brook hadn't found a single one of those since his arrival on the island). Some fallen tree branches.... no. Because seriously, who the fuck kills somebody with a tree branch?
A complete psycho, that's who. Brook had standards.
No, the true victor of this little paegant was nested up so peacefully (as well as randomly) against the roots of one of the oak trees just outside the clearing. Upon closer observation, the tree was a sugar maple, Acer saccharum. But for the moment being, that wasn't important. It'd be important later if he ever wanted some nice delicious syrup once the garden was established, and once it was winter, but that'd be such a long time. No, what was important now was the discarded brown beer bottle lying against some of the roots of the tree.
"Heeeeeellllooooo!!!" he crooned, walking a few steps away from Colin to go get the bottle. "Colin! You'll never guess! I think I found just what we need!"
Brook spat on the ground near Colin's feet, wiping his nose and mouth with a strip of his sleeve that wasn't caked in somebody's blood yet. Things had yet to get very interesting, and there just wasn't enough blood. Who's voice was calling... was it Tiffany? The voice wasn't his own, but the more he focused, part of it didn't sound like Tiffany anymore. Was it the same one that was calling earlier? He thought for sure it was, but the one back then was her without a shadow of a doubt. Then why was it changing? Why, the more soaked the ground become, did the inflections and timbre change?
This was impossible. It should be, should have been, should have been... Colin was still alive... why was he still alive? Why was the blood going from necessary to disgusting to treasured to wonderful to horrid to an endless chain of things, none of which seemed to be linked to any of the others in a pattern. His fault... of fucking course, it was his fault! So much of the nasty, nasty shit that still needed to spray, of course his mind was going to be clouded. But all in all, Colin was right. Brook hated blood, of course. That should've been obvious! So, why in St. Paul's name was he so obsessed with it now?
He'd mull over his fearful infatuation later. There was still so much to be done, but with what? If only he had a knife, or a shovel, or something... something to have so much fun with before the job had to be finished! After all, what better way to kill fear than with joy? Brook looked around him. What could he use in order to do the job. A few rocks... bludgeoning might be something he'd like to try later, but... no. Sharper rocks? Closer, but no. Poisonous plants, while present, were a no-go... no blood that way (unless you got one of the truly violent killers, but Brook hadn't found a single one of those since his arrival on the island). Some fallen tree branches.... no. Because seriously, who the fuck kills somebody with a tree branch?
A complete psycho, that's who. Brook had standards.
No, the true victor of this little paegant was nested up so peacefully (as well as randomly) against the roots of one of the oak trees just outside the clearing. Upon closer observation, the tree was a sugar maple, Acer saccharum. But for the moment being, that wasn't important. It'd be important later if he ever wanted some nice delicious syrup once the garden was established, and once it was winter, but that'd be such a long time. No, what was important now was the discarded brown beer bottle lying against some of the roots of the tree.
"Heeeeeellllooooo!!!" he crooned, walking a few steps away from Colin to go get the bottle. "Colin! You'll never guess! I think I found just what we need!"
There was a sound. Something that sounded absolutely abhorent. And then he watched Brook's head rear back, and his lips contort, a soft plop piercing the absolute silence. His eyes darted to the ground in the location where Brook's saliva had landed. And then almost immediately, back to the boy's face. Colin tracked and traced every single movement. Watching as Brook ran his sleeve across his face. He watched in a mixture of morbid curiosity and horror as Brook, even in the unending dark seemed to stare past his form and to the bodies behind him. He was so focused, so content to stare at the object of what had once been his own hatred and fear.
And then suddenly, with a jerk, Brook's head moved away, and Colin jumped back involuntarily. His eyes widened like a cat's as he watched on. His captor, his assailant seemed to be hunting... Searching... His attention was broken. His head turned this way and that against the dark, dreary forest. His face seemed to echo ponderance. Probably at his own demise. Which terrified him to his core. His entire life was boiling down to fight or flight, terror, a desire to flee. He knew that Brook had that Gun, and with that, he knew that he stood absolutely no chance of escape should he decide to pull that trigger. A single, quick, action. Such an easy action, with no repercussion for the wielder of the weapon. Even with a sword, the wielder felt that sting in his hands upon contact with the solidity of another human body. He had to realize that humanity, the act of which he was performing. The gun did not offer that same repercussion. The gun offered no backlash, no pain.
And suddenly, in the middle of Colin's broken train of thought, Brook stalked off into the night. And before he could even make a decision as to whether this was a good idea, he quickly found himself on his own two feet. His chest hurt, and it was difficult to draw breath; his mouth hanging open as he drew in breath the only way he still could. It was loud, it was sloppy, and his now broken nose would probably afford him an inability to ever sing properly again. That was something he could never forgive Brook for. His livelihood, his dream, shattered before him, in just as many pieces as his own skull. Upon finding a moment later down the road, he knew he would weep. He would sing a now nasly tune, and try and forget. But the sound would be a constant reminder upon his escape.
Which, despite his misgivings, he found himself attempting to take now. His loafers pounded the dirt, each in sync with a beat of his own heart. Time slowed to a crawl as he hung in space, each foot slapping upon the soft, wet ground with a soft slap.
One.
Two..
Three...
Four....
His breath was heavy, and his entire body hurt, but he was fleeing towards freedom. He just needed to reach that tree line... Reach that tree line, and escape.
And it was then that he heard Brook's voice from behind him. Apparently the Keeper of the Gardens of the Inferno had found whatever devilish implement he had been searching for. The voice was cold as ice, and felt as though it made his entire body contract from sheer cold of it's harsh, cutting tongue.
"Heeeeeellllooooo!!! Colin! You'll never guess! I think I found just what we need!"
Perhaps that cringe, that contraction had in reality slowed him down. Not much, but enough.
Just enough...
And then suddenly, with a jerk, Brook's head moved away, and Colin jumped back involuntarily. His eyes widened like a cat's as he watched on. His captor, his assailant seemed to be hunting... Searching... His attention was broken. His head turned this way and that against the dark, dreary forest. His face seemed to echo ponderance. Probably at his own demise. Which terrified him to his core. His entire life was boiling down to fight or flight, terror, a desire to flee. He knew that Brook had that Gun, and with that, he knew that he stood absolutely no chance of escape should he decide to pull that trigger. A single, quick, action. Such an easy action, with no repercussion for the wielder of the weapon. Even with a sword, the wielder felt that sting in his hands upon contact with the solidity of another human body. He had to realize that humanity, the act of which he was performing. The gun did not offer that same repercussion. The gun offered no backlash, no pain.
And suddenly, in the middle of Colin's broken train of thought, Brook stalked off into the night. And before he could even make a decision as to whether this was a good idea, he quickly found himself on his own two feet. His chest hurt, and it was difficult to draw breath; his mouth hanging open as he drew in breath the only way he still could. It was loud, it was sloppy, and his now broken nose would probably afford him an inability to ever sing properly again. That was something he could never forgive Brook for. His livelihood, his dream, shattered before him, in just as many pieces as his own skull. Upon finding a moment later down the road, he knew he would weep. He would sing a now nasly tune, and try and forget. But the sound would be a constant reminder upon his escape.
Which, despite his misgivings, he found himself attempting to take now. His loafers pounded the dirt, each in sync with a beat of his own heart. Time slowed to a crawl as he hung in space, each foot slapping upon the soft, wet ground with a soft slap.
One.
Two..
Three...
Four....
His breath was heavy, and his entire body hurt, but he was fleeing towards freedom. He just needed to reach that tree line... Reach that tree line, and escape.
And it was then that he heard Brook's voice from behind him. Apparently the Keeper of the Gardens of the Inferno had found whatever devilish implement he had been searching for. The voice was cold as ice, and felt as though it made his entire body contract from sheer cold of it's harsh, cutting tongue.
"Heeeeeellllooooo!!! Colin! You'll never guess! I think I found just what we need!"
Perhaps that cringe, that contraction had in reality slowed him down. Not much, but enough.
Just enough...
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Brook allowed himself a few minutes to marvel at the stroke of luck in his hand. Imagine that, how he could turn a piece of trash somebody had carelessly chucked near where the garden would be into something that should help him finish it. Hell, that'd be right up there in innovation with using black garbage bags to warm the soil, hinder weeds and promote growth back home! Of course, he wouldn't use such a thing here; the more plants, the better. He'd be going au natural for the time being.
"Yup, this will do just fine, won't it Colin?"
...
Colin? Don't tell me you died al-
Brook turned to look at the spot of pressed grass where a boy had been laying just moments ago, and his blood pressure probably spiked about a good twenty points. Where was he... where the FUCK was he? Brook nearly fell over his feet running to the spot where Colin was, fixated on the terrible fact that ANOTHER person might have escaped his garden. Not another one... no, Tiffany wouldn't stand for it! There had to be more... he needed to kill more!
His agitated heart skipped a beat when he managed to yank his head up from the now Colin-less ground. There was the boy, wavering a little in his steps to try and get to the trees at the clearing's edge. Safety likely lurked in the darkness, and that was simply something Brook could not allow to happen. His quarry had not gotten away, nor would he ever. Nobody would escape this place, not if he had his way. Not if she had her way.
You're NOT getting away!
The pistol in his hand was raised, Brook aimed for somewhere around Colin's head and shot to the boy who was around ten yards away. He squeezed the trigger again, and once more, a satisfying and wrist-jerking crack thundering through the area. There was a moment immediately afterward where he could feel nothing but dissatisfaction; he had doubts about the trashy weapon the moment he had received it, and the two people he had killed with it had both been literally at point blank range... no real chance to miss there. Three shots squeezed off, and none of them shattered through the back of the boy's skull to render his face a fine red mist.
One second and one loud, pathetic scream later, though, Brook was overjoyed to learn one of them had gone right through Colin's left knee. There was a spray of red, some lovely but indescribable splattering sound, and Colin collapsed to the ground. Now THAT was a stroke of luck! Took three gosh-darned bullets to pull it off and he still wasn't sure which one of them was the offender. Ah, but who cares? His hunt was successful, and Colin wasn't going anywhere! Now the fun part could start!
Brook dropped the bottle right there on the grass for now, since he'd need a spare hand and the Liberator had just done its job so well. He happily strutted to the injured and writhing prey on the ground, wrapping his free hand in a vicegrip aroud the ankle of the wounded leg. Cheerily, he dragged the catch of the day face-down all the way back to near the center of the garden, back to where the bottle of honor was waiting.
"Fuck's sake, Colin, you really are a kill-joy, aren't you?" Brook sighed in content as he dropped the boy's leg, pocketing the pistol for now. He likely wouldn't need it, not anymore... he didn't think Colin was going anywhere any time soon. "I mean, really, you were okay at first, but it's like you're TRYING to mess up my night!"
The shattering of glass pierced the night as Brook spiked the bottle at the back of Colin's head. Another scream... that was good! Unfortunately for the bottle, it took the impact even worse than was to be expected, leaving no intact neck to swing and cause more mayhem, no intact circular base to play cookie-cutter on Colin's back. That presented itself as a bit of a problem and a loss of fun potential, until a glint of dying moonlight reflected off of a particuarly large and jagged shard of glass. Perfection shined right back to Brook's mischevious eyes as he knew just what he would do.
Placing a foot on Colin's back, he used it as leverage to tear off a strip of cloth from the boy's shirt. Using it as a guard to prevent himself from cutting up his own hand in accident, Brook picked up the shard of glass in his safely-swaddled fingers and went to kick Colin over.
Take a breath, Brook. Take a bow if you want to. Smile to the camera, they're witnessing a masterpiece in the making.
"Ooooh, Colin... you had a pretty good run, you did, but tell me... isn't it better this way?" Brook asked, lowering himself to one knee beside the boy. He thought to say something else, but he just couldn't keep his hands to himself anymore! Goddamn, so much blood leaking from everywhere, and more of it needed to come out! The shard of glass found its mark just below Colin's ribs, carving a gash into his left side. Brook forgot what organ was there, but it couldn't be too far beneath. He had to be careful not to slice any of those... he wasn't a monster, after all.
He would get up, listen to the atmospheric screaming, walk around and survey where the next incision would be made before making it. Other side, for posterity's sake. Another one right in his pesky little right bicep, seeing as he liked to flail it around so much. Another gash right along the humerus on the same arm because, really, it just annoyed him so much! Brook continued to work, making cut after bloody cut into his ungrateful project.
Well, at least his screaming's died down a little...
He took a step back to admire his handiwork and receive Tiffany's satisfaction, relieved that Colin had finally figured out screaming was just giving them both a headache, and nobody really wanted one of those. But he didn't want things to be so... quiet, either. The garden needed more life... needed more vigor.
He knew just the thing!
"Colin, you sing, don't you? C'mon... why don't you cheer things up with one of those little showtunes of yours?" Brook hummed to get himself in the mood, pacing around Colin. "D'awwww, Coliiiiin! Come on! Hey... I know, how about I start us up?" Brook asked hopefully. The boy didn't give any objections, so Brook giggled in giddy schoolboy glee and cleared his throat, dancing and slicing to a beat only he could here.
Well, they encourage your complete cooperation...
Send ya roses when they think you need to smile!
More incisions, more pain, more enjoyment. He hoped Colin was enjoying this just as much as him, because he was beginning to lose himself down the dark, bleeding tears of skin.
I can't control myself because I don't know how, and...
Brook motioned to one of the cameras that had been watching the scene unfold the entire time. His mother would be so proud!
They love me for it honestly I'll be here for a while...
Back to business. This was the chorus, after all! Ah, nothing like making Colin feel at home while Brook felt the same. A garden contsructed from love, singing for comfort, what wasn't to love?
So give me blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!
Give it to me...
Give me all that she can drink and it will never be enough!
Give it to me...
So give me blood.... Blood... BLOOOOOOOOOD...
BLEED FOR ME!!!
The shard of glass plunged into Colin's abdomen.
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!
"Yup, this will do just fine, won't it Colin?"
...
Colin? Don't tell me you died al-
Brook turned to look at the spot of pressed grass where a boy had been laying just moments ago, and his blood pressure probably spiked about a good twenty points. Where was he... where the FUCK was he? Brook nearly fell over his feet running to the spot where Colin was, fixated on the terrible fact that ANOTHER person might have escaped his garden. Not another one... no, Tiffany wouldn't stand for it! There had to be more... he needed to kill more!
His agitated heart skipped a beat when he managed to yank his head up from the now Colin-less ground. There was the boy, wavering a little in his steps to try and get to the trees at the clearing's edge. Safety likely lurked in the darkness, and that was simply something Brook could not allow to happen. His quarry had not gotten away, nor would he ever. Nobody would escape this place, not if he had his way. Not if she had her way.
You're NOT getting away!
The pistol in his hand was raised, Brook aimed for somewhere around Colin's head and shot to the boy who was around ten yards away. He squeezed the trigger again, and once more, a satisfying and wrist-jerking crack thundering through the area. There was a moment immediately afterward where he could feel nothing but dissatisfaction; he had doubts about the trashy weapon the moment he had received it, and the two people he had killed with it had both been literally at point blank range... no real chance to miss there. Three shots squeezed off, and none of them shattered through the back of the boy's skull to render his face a fine red mist.
One second and one loud, pathetic scream later, though, Brook was overjoyed to learn one of them had gone right through Colin's left knee. There was a spray of red, some lovely but indescribable splattering sound, and Colin collapsed to the ground. Now THAT was a stroke of luck! Took three gosh-darned bullets to pull it off and he still wasn't sure which one of them was the offender. Ah, but who cares? His hunt was successful, and Colin wasn't going anywhere! Now the fun part could start!
Brook dropped the bottle right there on the grass for now, since he'd need a spare hand and the Liberator had just done its job so well. He happily strutted to the injured and writhing prey on the ground, wrapping his free hand in a vicegrip aroud the ankle of the wounded leg. Cheerily, he dragged the catch of the day face-down all the way back to near the center of the garden, back to where the bottle of honor was waiting.
"Fuck's sake, Colin, you really are a kill-joy, aren't you?" Brook sighed in content as he dropped the boy's leg, pocketing the pistol for now. He likely wouldn't need it, not anymore... he didn't think Colin was going anywhere any time soon. "I mean, really, you were okay at first, but it's like you're TRYING to mess up my night!"
The shattering of glass pierced the night as Brook spiked the bottle at the back of Colin's head. Another scream... that was good! Unfortunately for the bottle, it took the impact even worse than was to be expected, leaving no intact neck to swing and cause more mayhem, no intact circular base to play cookie-cutter on Colin's back. That presented itself as a bit of a problem and a loss of fun potential, until a glint of dying moonlight reflected off of a particuarly large and jagged shard of glass. Perfection shined right back to Brook's mischevious eyes as he knew just what he would do.
Placing a foot on Colin's back, he used it as leverage to tear off a strip of cloth from the boy's shirt. Using it as a guard to prevent himself from cutting up his own hand in accident, Brook picked up the shard of glass in his safely-swaddled fingers and went to kick Colin over.
Take a breath, Brook. Take a bow if you want to. Smile to the camera, they're witnessing a masterpiece in the making.
"Ooooh, Colin... you had a pretty good run, you did, but tell me... isn't it better this way?" Brook asked, lowering himself to one knee beside the boy. He thought to say something else, but he just couldn't keep his hands to himself anymore! Goddamn, so much blood leaking from everywhere, and more of it needed to come out! The shard of glass found its mark just below Colin's ribs, carving a gash into his left side. Brook forgot what organ was there, but it couldn't be too far beneath. He had to be careful not to slice any of those... he wasn't a monster, after all.
He would get up, listen to the atmospheric screaming, walk around and survey where the next incision would be made before making it. Other side, for posterity's sake. Another one right in his pesky little right bicep, seeing as he liked to flail it around so much. Another gash right along the humerus on the same arm because, really, it just annoyed him so much! Brook continued to work, making cut after bloody cut into his ungrateful project.
Well, at least his screaming's died down a little...
He took a step back to admire his handiwork and receive Tiffany's satisfaction, relieved that Colin had finally figured out screaming was just giving them both a headache, and nobody really wanted one of those. But he didn't want things to be so... quiet, either. The garden needed more life... needed more vigor.
He knew just the thing!
"Colin, you sing, don't you? C'mon... why don't you cheer things up with one of those little showtunes of yours?" Brook hummed to get himself in the mood, pacing around Colin. "D'awwww, Coliiiiin! Come on! Hey... I know, how about I start us up?" Brook asked hopefully. The boy didn't give any objections, so Brook giggled in giddy schoolboy glee and cleared his throat, dancing and slicing to a beat only he could here.
Well, they encourage your complete cooperation...
Send ya roses when they think you need to smile!
More incisions, more pain, more enjoyment. He hoped Colin was enjoying this just as much as him, because he was beginning to lose himself down the dark, bleeding tears of skin.
I can't control myself because I don't know how, and...
Brook motioned to one of the cameras that had been watching the scene unfold the entire time. His mother would be so proud!
They love me for it honestly I'll be here for a while...
Back to business. This was the chorus, after all! Ah, nothing like making Colin feel at home while Brook felt the same. A garden contsructed from love, singing for comfort, what wasn't to love?
So give me blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!
Give it to me...
Give me all that she can drink and it will never be enough!
Give it to me...
So give me blood.... Blood... BLOOOOOOOOOD...
BLEED FOR ME!!!
The shard of glass plunged into Colin's abdomen.
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!
The shadow and blackness of the forest before him was growing. Escape was in that darkness. Lying in wait, with it's warm embrace, just like Brook had been lying in wait in the darkness, the cobra, the temptation that wrought Adam and Eve to sin. His breath was heavy, and it just plain felt like something wasn't working right. His chest throbbed with every intake of cool breath, the summer's night air something so much more sinister than what those back in Bayview could conceive.
He heard Brook's voice behind him. It was still something jovial, something deranged. Hopefully that meant he had put enough distance between himself in the boy. Hopefully Brook was a poor shot.
Time to roll the dice. He heard a loud crack, and listened as the sounds of flapping wings; the birds who had the misfortune to make their nests near this ode to death. A violent ping as the bullet bounced from a tree a few feet away.
Another crack. Instantaneous fire. At first, as the second bullet struck home, he had thought the round had to be alight. His knee cracked with a sickening thud as his mouth opened, whatever noise that would come loudly forcing itself from his vocal cords as he fell like timber. The ground became closer and closer, but all he could focus on was the nova that had formed in his left leg.
Twack.
The pain that someone would normally feel from bouncing their face off of the earth didn't make itself known to him. His entire world was a small 9 millimeter wide spot in the center of his knee. He didn't even hear the crack as the third bullet rattled over where his head just was, zinging away into the forest proper.
He had only been a few feet away from salvation.
"Fuck's sake, Colin, you really are a kill-joy, aren't you?"
Brook sounded as though he was underwater. The pain had his full focus, but the boy still sounded as though he was directly over him. His eyes closed, panting in fear and pain. Even though the wound he held was not fatal itself, it spelled his doom. Colin was going to die. And yet though they flowed like water before, Colin's tears did not come.
That was at least until the unimaginable pain that echoed through his entire body. He felt Brook's hand wrap about his ankle, and then pulling. His hands clasped and clawed at the ground as he was dragged away, tears bursting from his eyes as the pained yells and screams came back.
And then suddenly it stopped. Back to a flame upon his leg, back to murky thought and pained speech.
"I mean, really, you were okay at first, but it's like you're TRYING to mess up my night!"
He felt a dull thud suddenly against the back of his head as Brook broke the weapon he had not seen upon him. Too much pain. There was a sudden blackness as Colin's eyes closed.
Not half a minute later, his eyes fluttered open again, his mind slowly registering every synapse in his body, yet again taking on the pain. He groaned, suddenly feeling a breeze on his torso.
"...had a pretty good run, you did, but tell me... isn't it better this way?"
His voice was soft, and the entire world seemed to spin. Unsure how, he had now ended up on his back. Turning his head, he saw a female face next to him, yet the features were melted, indistinct. His vision was having issues from whatever Brook had concussed him with.
His screams turned to silent tears, his face and the ground below him soaked literally with his blood, sweat, and tears. He felt his body buckling under the pain, under the stresses upon him. The shard of glass slicing one of his flanks, and then the other. Each cut elicited a yelp of pain, but not another aftershock beyond. His arm lit, just as his knee did before, as he felt it fall limp upon the ground.
"Colin, you sing, don't you? C'mon... why don't you cheer things up with one of those little showtunes of yours? D'awwww, Coliiiiin! Come on! Hey... I know, how about I start us up?"
He couldn't quite comprehend what Brook was saying through the pain. But he did register that... He was being taunted. He didn't respond, he wouldn't give his attacker, his killer the satisfaction. This just seemed to make him happier. And then, in an off key tune, Brook began to sing.
Each incision was so distracting, and the first few elicited yelps of pain, but as Colin finally felt his fight or flight kicking in, he felt the pain numbing about him. And he could once again concentrate... A crappy song, from a crappy artist. My Chemical Romance, an Emo Alternative Rock band. He frankly did not appreciate the notion entertained that he would sing something like this. Even by the man who was mutilating him.
His face felt warm as blood from his chest splattered upon his cheek, and he listened in awe to Brook's Acapulco jingle.
The line was ironic, but the pain was intense. The pain could not be ignored. Colin coughed and sputtered as that piece of glass pierced his chest, a scraping kind of pain as it drove home into a rib, skimming the bone. Touching a lung. His entire chest expanded in breath.
And then, there was a momentary respite. It was almost as if Brook had stopped to admire what he had been doing. Stopped to let it sink in. No, that latter would be a sane man's action.
And suddenly he found himself speaking. His voice was still so nasly, so disgusting from the head wound he suffered. Which would make this absolutely perfect.
"B-Brook... I'll sing with you."
His breath was labored as was his speech, everything hurt with each molecule of air moving throughout his body. He could feel his own heart beat, throbbing in his chest, his neck, his wrists, his legs.
"But... But you're forgetting a line."
Sharp pain. He took in a full breath, and prepared to sing once more. To give Brook a small show before he made his way into the night. No. He would not give this maniac the satisfaction.
He almost sounded as bad as the lead singer himself.
"The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so!"
"But it's really quite alarming... Cause I'm such an awful... Fuuuuuccckkkk!"
The curse was his battle cry, one of irony for his escape plan. He steeled himself, driving his one good limb remaining directly into Brook's groin; his right leg. He watched the boy buckled in two, his head coming closer, and that same foot swung up, connecting directly with his foe's Adam's apple. A satisfying squish, a loud yell. Unscathed from what he was doing? Not anymore. His loafer no longer resided upon his foot, and he wasn't quite sure where it went.
But that didn't matter. Suddenly, Brook was no longer atop him, yet his shard of glass still lie embedded within his chest. He couldn't feel the pain though. Just a dull throb from where the bullet lie lodged against his knee cap. Each step away, a world of hurt. How did he get on his feet? He couldn't remember. No time to complain.
The blackness of the forest was upon him. He would not take the moment to look back upon the garden from which he fled, his classmate who would surely kill so many more of his peers; none so deserving of the fate he offered but the assailant himself.
Colin was free from Brook's grasp. However, he knew he wouldn't last long. Every new wound was leaking stream after drop after faucet of blood. He couldn't feel it, but he knew in his mind that it hurt. He just needed to get away... He couldn't give Brook the satisfaction. He couldn't give Brook the body he wanted.
His only regret was that Tim would probably never see him again. Best though... For the state he was in. He didn't want his friend to see him like this.
The darkness of escape engulfed him.
((Colin Falcone continued in The Encore...))
He heard Brook's voice behind him. It was still something jovial, something deranged. Hopefully that meant he had put enough distance between himself in the boy. Hopefully Brook was a poor shot.
Time to roll the dice. He heard a loud crack, and listened as the sounds of flapping wings; the birds who had the misfortune to make their nests near this ode to death. A violent ping as the bullet bounced from a tree a few feet away.
Another crack. Instantaneous fire. At first, as the second bullet struck home, he had thought the round had to be alight. His knee cracked with a sickening thud as his mouth opened, whatever noise that would come loudly forcing itself from his vocal cords as he fell like timber. The ground became closer and closer, but all he could focus on was the nova that had formed in his left leg.
Twack.
The pain that someone would normally feel from bouncing their face off of the earth didn't make itself known to him. His entire world was a small 9 millimeter wide spot in the center of his knee. He didn't even hear the crack as the third bullet rattled over where his head just was, zinging away into the forest proper.
He had only been a few feet away from salvation.
"Fuck's sake, Colin, you really are a kill-joy, aren't you?"
Brook sounded as though he was underwater. The pain had his full focus, but the boy still sounded as though he was directly over him. His eyes closed, panting in fear and pain. Even though the wound he held was not fatal itself, it spelled his doom. Colin was going to die. And yet though they flowed like water before, Colin's tears did not come.
That was at least until the unimaginable pain that echoed through his entire body. He felt Brook's hand wrap about his ankle, and then pulling. His hands clasped and clawed at the ground as he was dragged away, tears bursting from his eyes as the pained yells and screams came back.
And then suddenly it stopped. Back to a flame upon his leg, back to murky thought and pained speech.
"I mean, really, you were okay at first, but it's like you're TRYING to mess up my night!"
He felt a dull thud suddenly against the back of his head as Brook broke the weapon he had not seen upon him. Too much pain. There was a sudden blackness as Colin's eyes closed.
Not half a minute later, his eyes fluttered open again, his mind slowly registering every synapse in his body, yet again taking on the pain. He groaned, suddenly feeling a breeze on his torso.
"...had a pretty good run, you did, but tell me... isn't it better this way?"
His voice was soft, and the entire world seemed to spin. Unsure how, he had now ended up on his back. Turning his head, he saw a female face next to him, yet the features were melted, indistinct. His vision was having issues from whatever Brook had concussed him with.
His screams turned to silent tears, his face and the ground below him soaked literally with his blood, sweat, and tears. He felt his body buckling under the pain, under the stresses upon him. The shard of glass slicing one of his flanks, and then the other. Each cut elicited a yelp of pain, but not another aftershock beyond. His arm lit, just as his knee did before, as he felt it fall limp upon the ground.
"Colin, you sing, don't you? C'mon... why don't you cheer things up with one of those little showtunes of yours? D'awwww, Coliiiiin! Come on! Hey... I know, how about I start us up?"
He couldn't quite comprehend what Brook was saying through the pain. But he did register that... He was being taunted. He didn't respond, he wouldn't give his attacker, his killer the satisfaction. This just seemed to make him happier. And then, in an off key tune, Brook began to sing.
Each incision was so distracting, and the first few elicited yelps of pain, but as Colin finally felt his fight or flight kicking in, he felt the pain numbing about him. And he could once again concentrate... A crappy song, from a crappy artist. My Chemical Romance, an Emo Alternative Rock band. He frankly did not appreciate the notion entertained that he would sing something like this. Even by the man who was mutilating him.
His face felt warm as blood from his chest splattered upon his cheek, and he listened in awe to Brook's Acapulco jingle.
The line was ironic, but the pain was intense. The pain could not be ignored. Colin coughed and sputtered as that piece of glass pierced his chest, a scraping kind of pain as it drove home into a rib, skimming the bone. Touching a lung. His entire chest expanded in breath.
And then, there was a momentary respite. It was almost as if Brook had stopped to admire what he had been doing. Stopped to let it sink in. No, that latter would be a sane man's action.
And suddenly he found himself speaking. His voice was still so nasly, so disgusting from the head wound he suffered. Which would make this absolutely perfect.
"B-Brook... I'll sing with you."
His breath was labored as was his speech, everything hurt with each molecule of air moving throughout his body. He could feel his own heart beat, throbbing in his chest, his neck, his wrists, his legs.
"But... But you're forgetting a line."
Sharp pain. He took in a full breath, and prepared to sing once more. To give Brook a small show before he made his way into the night. No. He would not give this maniac the satisfaction.
He almost sounded as bad as the lead singer himself.
"The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so!"
"But it's really quite alarming... Cause I'm such an awful... Fuuuuuccckkkk!"
The curse was his battle cry, one of irony for his escape plan. He steeled himself, driving his one good limb remaining directly into Brook's groin; his right leg. He watched the boy buckled in two, his head coming closer, and that same foot swung up, connecting directly with his foe's Adam's apple. A satisfying squish, a loud yell. Unscathed from what he was doing? Not anymore. His loafer no longer resided upon his foot, and he wasn't quite sure where it went.
But that didn't matter. Suddenly, Brook was no longer atop him, yet his shard of glass still lie embedded within his chest. He couldn't feel the pain though. Just a dull throb from where the bullet lie lodged against his knee cap. Each step away, a world of hurt. How did he get on his feet? He couldn't remember. No time to complain.
The blackness of the forest was upon him. He would not take the moment to look back upon the garden from which he fled, his classmate who would surely kill so many more of his peers; none so deserving of the fate he offered but the assailant himself.
Colin was free from Brook's grasp. However, he knew he wouldn't last long. Every new wound was leaking stream after drop after faucet of blood. He couldn't feel it, but he knew in his mind that it hurt. He just needed to get away... He couldn't give Brook the satisfaction. He couldn't give Brook the body he wanted.
His only regret was that Tim would probably never see him again. Best though... For the state he was in. He didn't want his friend to see him like this.
The darkness of escape engulfed him.
((Colin Falcone continued in The Encore...))
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Sometimes there were things in life you simply couldn't control. It was only natural, being life, after all. Such an utter loss of power and control could still sting, holding the distinct bitter aftertaste of an unexpected and outlying failure. Colin had literally been lying face-down in the dirt just a little while ago, and beneath Brook's feet. To lose his grip after the ridiculous advantage he had was just... well, incredible. Such a powerful failure felt just like a shot to his crotch, coupled with a heavily restricted airway.
Oh, wait, those were just from the impacts made by Colin's foot.
Brook had collapsed onto the ground, laying on a thin carpet of grass and dead leaves. His gut hurt so much, which was unexpected to him. He had never taken a hit to the crotch that was hard as this, but he figured the pain would've stayed localized to his groin area or something. If only that were true; not only did his nuts feel like they were being dipped into a tank of pissed off pirahnas who also happened to be able to swim in lava, but his stomach had tied itself up into knots. Oooooh, and how those knots did squrim, pulling and tugging and trying to untangle themselves.
It wouldn't have been so bad if he had the ability to breathe properly, which his victim's foot had oh-so-politely revoked somewhere around the time it decided to give him a testicular exam. The toe of Colin's shoe had pegged him just above the collar and fit, of course, PERFECTLY underneath his chin for maximum damage potential. Brook wheezed and rolled onto his side, taking any advantage he could in his struggle for air. And of course, of fucking course, he caught a faceful of itchy and rattling dry leaves in his face as a reward.
In short, not only did he feel like a coin-op claw machine was stealing his junk whilst being force-choked by Darth Vader, but he also had a bunch of itchy leaves tickling his face. What the hell did he ever do to deserve this?
Tiffany was nearby, calling to him, soothing Brook with her promises of forgiveness. Maybe it was just what he wanted to hear her say, rather than her actually saying it, but he just wanted to believe that was what she actually said. Taking the time to stare at the girl summoning his presence and catch his breath allowed a few inklings of common sense to come back to Brook's damaged psyche, whispering to him.
She's not really there, you know, but do we really know anything?
We've already gone this far, so we might just go all the way, garden or not.
Is she there, though?
Brook would have none of this doubt. Evicting it from his mind for the time being, the boy groaned, croaked and whimpered in pain as he exhaustingly dragged himself inch-by-inch to the center of the garden. That's where the prone and sleeping form of Tiffany awaited him, offering him her chest as a nice and comfy pillow to rest on. Brook's head welcomed the embrace, his ear searching for a heartbeat from the cold body that he would only imagine.
When morning comes, I really should find some daisies... they'd look nice around her.
Oh, wait, those were just from the impacts made by Colin's foot.
Brook had collapsed onto the ground, laying on a thin carpet of grass and dead leaves. His gut hurt so much, which was unexpected to him. He had never taken a hit to the crotch that was hard as this, but he figured the pain would've stayed localized to his groin area or something. If only that were true; not only did his nuts feel like they were being dipped into a tank of pissed off pirahnas who also happened to be able to swim in lava, but his stomach had tied itself up into knots. Oooooh, and how those knots did squrim, pulling and tugging and trying to untangle themselves.
It wouldn't have been so bad if he had the ability to breathe properly, which his victim's foot had oh-so-politely revoked somewhere around the time it decided to give him a testicular exam. The toe of Colin's shoe had pegged him just above the collar and fit, of course, PERFECTLY underneath his chin for maximum damage potential. Brook wheezed and rolled onto his side, taking any advantage he could in his struggle for air. And of course, of fucking course, he caught a faceful of itchy and rattling dry leaves in his face as a reward.
In short, not only did he feel like a coin-op claw machine was stealing his junk whilst being force-choked by Darth Vader, but he also had a bunch of itchy leaves tickling his face. What the hell did he ever do to deserve this?
Tiffany was nearby, calling to him, soothing Brook with her promises of forgiveness. Maybe it was just what he wanted to hear her say, rather than her actually saying it, but he just wanted to believe that was what she actually said. Taking the time to stare at the girl summoning his presence and catch his breath allowed a few inklings of common sense to come back to Brook's damaged psyche, whispering to him.
She's not really there, you know, but do we really know anything?
We've already gone this far, so we might just go all the way, garden or not.
Is she there, though?
Brook would have none of this doubt. Evicting it from his mind for the time being, the boy groaned, croaked and whimpered in pain as he exhaustingly dragged himself inch-by-inch to the center of the garden. That's where the prone and sleeping form of Tiffany awaited him, offering him her chest as a nice and comfy pillow to rest on. Brook's head welcomed the embrace, his ear searching for a heartbeat from the cold body that he would only imagine.
When morning comes, I really should find some daisies... they'd look nice around her.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
[DAY 6]
The resting lady of the garden lay in the spotlight of the sun, the two other bodies resting as her current court. There would be no morning dance, no festivities to add life. The garden would, if at least for only part of one day, rest as its creator had intended it to be... peaceful. But in bringing up the gardener of this magnificent place, one would expect him to be present; perhaps he would be tending to the prized maiden who slept in its center, or keeping up appearances around its inner sanctum, working to shape the land to her wishes.
Brook had, instead, set aside this day to wander along the outer fringe of the garden as he dared, having been banished to the comparitive darkness of the shaded forest. His temporary but painful exile was brought about by his failure yesterday with Colin, who had so disgraciously struggled and brought the curator of the garden down to his knees. The shame from having failed Tiffany burned on, only appeased by each flower that he carefully teased from the earth with only his hands or the occasional tool he could rouse up in his first aid kit.
After each wildflower was wrestled from the ground with a good deal of care and help from his fingertips or a tongue depressor, Brook would slowly set each flower back on the ground, assuming they had a suitable enough base of soil for their roots. Every so often a flower might struggle to hold the dirt in, requiring an emergency transplant to what he called the 'inner sanctum' - the ring-shaped barrier of flowers separating Tiffany from the rest of those common bodies.
"Sorry, Tiffany, I... yeah..." Brook sadly muttered, dropping to his knees and setting the flower into the small, arc-shaped ditch he had begun to dig. "There... you'll be alright now, just had to... to hurry so you don't, you know..." Brook whispered to the flower that he was patting into the ground.
A yellow lady's slipper... Cypripedium Calceolus, an incredibly lucky find. Brook had only seen a couple of them in his life thanks to their elusive nature, rarity, and protection from cultivation, but he had managed to find one here, as though Tiffany were leaving him a gift. It was a gift to tell him that she wasn't too angry with him for all that had happened.
"T-Thank you again..." He muttered with shaking hands as he settled the flower down. He couldn't cry, not like this... not in front of her. That would just be a disgrace to her memory. "I've been trying to... t-to make it up to you..."
There was no response.
Quickly rising to his feet and nodding in affirmation, Brook ran back out to the other tenderly plucked flowers. It was going to be a long day...
The resting lady of the garden lay in the spotlight of the sun, the two other bodies resting as her current court. There would be no morning dance, no festivities to add life. The garden would, if at least for only part of one day, rest as its creator had intended it to be... peaceful. But in bringing up the gardener of this magnificent place, one would expect him to be present; perhaps he would be tending to the prized maiden who slept in its center, or keeping up appearances around its inner sanctum, working to shape the land to her wishes.
Brook had, instead, set aside this day to wander along the outer fringe of the garden as he dared, having been banished to the comparitive darkness of the shaded forest. His temporary but painful exile was brought about by his failure yesterday with Colin, who had so disgraciously struggled and brought the curator of the garden down to his knees. The shame from having failed Tiffany burned on, only appeased by each flower that he carefully teased from the earth with only his hands or the occasional tool he could rouse up in his first aid kit.
After each wildflower was wrestled from the ground with a good deal of care and help from his fingertips or a tongue depressor, Brook would slowly set each flower back on the ground, assuming they had a suitable enough base of soil for their roots. Every so often a flower might struggle to hold the dirt in, requiring an emergency transplant to what he called the 'inner sanctum' - the ring-shaped barrier of flowers separating Tiffany from the rest of those common bodies.
"Sorry, Tiffany, I... yeah..." Brook sadly muttered, dropping to his knees and setting the flower into the small, arc-shaped ditch he had begun to dig. "There... you'll be alright now, just had to... to hurry so you don't, you know..." Brook whispered to the flower that he was patting into the ground.
A yellow lady's slipper... Cypripedium Calceolus, an incredibly lucky find. Brook had only seen a couple of them in his life thanks to their elusive nature, rarity, and protection from cultivation, but he had managed to find one here, as though Tiffany were leaving him a gift. It was a gift to tell him that she wasn't too angry with him for all that had happened.
"T-Thank you again..." He muttered with shaking hands as he settled the flower down. He couldn't cry, not like this... not in front of her. That would just be a disgrace to her memory. "I've been trying to... t-to make it up to you..."
There was no response.
Quickly rising to his feet and nodding in affirmation, Brook ran back out to the other tenderly plucked flowers. It was going to be a long day...