((Edward Sullivan continued from Night Diving))
The jungle brush slapped against his face. Roots jumped out and snagged at his feet, threatening to drag him down. He almost fell a few times, barely managing to get his hands beneath him to keep from tumbling into the mud. His collar stopped beeping a ways back, but that wasn't enough to stop him. Edward Sullivan knew that if he stopped, the steady chirps would return, as if to mock him. "Oh, you thought you were safe? Hardly. Danya just likes watching you run. BOOM!"
His lungs burned fiercely, begging him to stop. His shoes and rifle became lead weights, growing heavier with every forced step. He still couldn't stop. For a moment, he entertained the ridiculous notion of dropping the gun in hopes of getting just a little more distance. He dismissed the idea as soon as it came to him. The weapon still had a purpose to fulfill.
Stepping just a little too roughly, the boy lost his balance. The single misstep was all it took to finally drag him down to his knees and send him sprawling across the jungle floor. His collar remaind silent as the rain trickling through the canopy dripped on his head and back. Alright, you're safe now. Just take a breather Eddie. You've earned it.
Sweat pouring from his face, Eddie gasped and heaved, finally taking a moment to rest. He'd landed on top of his rifle, but hadn't the strength to move off of it. Lying in the muddy earth, the boy wondered where the others managed to get to. Jim and Kimmy had both taken off before he'd had a chance to follow them. The other boy, who he'd managed to identify as Gabe McCallum, had easily outrun him in the jungle, leaving Eddie on his own.
Inside his head, he chided himself. Worry about them later, they'll be fine. They survived on the island before you met them, they'll get along just fine without you. Don't think so highly of yourself. Still, he hoped they'd be ok.
The light showers hissed against the leaves of the jungle, singing a natural lullaby. Every muscle felt unbearably heavy and his joints breathed a sigh of relief to be rested. It felt like he was sinking and floating at the same time. Eddie had managed to avoid sleep for three days and it seemed it was finally time to pay his due.
As his eyes began to droop, his thoughts hovered around the people he'd met in the past week. He didn't know any of them very intimately. In fact, he'd never even spoken to many of them before coming to the island. Still, he didn't wish them any harm. Nobody deserved to die in a place like this.
Before sleep took him, the boy caught a glimpse of Jodene's face in his mind's eye. Wade's psychotic grin followed closely behind it. An icy voice he almost didn't recognize as his own sounded in his head as he drifted off into sleep and dreams.
Almost nobody.
Falling Down
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DetectiveArcher†
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Falling Down
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(PA's character Michael and my character Abel entering from A Moment's Hesitation. Don't worry, I'm not expecting Ed to kill as I asked before, DA. ;D)
Shoes on soggy, wet grass.
The dull, half-hearted crunching sound trailed off, as Abel came to a halt in the middle of the trail, back straight, legs tense for a moment as he looked around. Head whipping left and right, the little tassle of his Stetson that hung under his chin flailed with the movement as he scanned the surrounding brush. For a moment, he seemed like a hunted deer, limbs frozen but poised for action, eyes softly glinting with the sheen of fear. His fingers gripped tight onto the smooth black of the tonfa strapped to his arm, as he felt the hairs on his back rise and push against the inside of his shirt.
A moment later, though, he relaxed his body, glancing back to the boy who he'd escaped the bridge gunfight with. He still didn't know his name. "...Sorry. Thought Ah heard a noise..."
Abel turned back to the road ahead, stepping through a patch of thick grass as he trudged ahead. With a small grimace, he noted the glowing ache in his legs; they must have run for a few kilometers when the two of them escaped from the bridge, buggering their way through branches and bushes and generally bad-for-running terrain. They'd only really stopped when they'd stormed out of the treeline, running onto the patchy road they walked on now. If that kind of thing was going to repeat itself in the near future, keeping it up would not be easy for the young Texan.
As soon as he'd begun setting off again, he stopped, this time turning fully to face Michael as one hand reached for his belt. With some twisting and tugging and below-breath swearing, Abel extracted his second tonfa and held it out towards Michael, nodding once.
"Don't think Ah'll be needin' two, y'know?" Abel shifted his weight slightly, standing more comfortably. "Didn't get yer name, by the way..."
[EDIT: Fixed spelling error.]
Shoes on soggy, wet grass.
The dull, half-hearted crunching sound trailed off, as Abel came to a halt in the middle of the trail, back straight, legs tense for a moment as he looked around. Head whipping left and right, the little tassle of his Stetson that hung under his chin flailed with the movement as he scanned the surrounding brush. For a moment, he seemed like a hunted deer, limbs frozen but poised for action, eyes softly glinting with the sheen of fear. His fingers gripped tight onto the smooth black of the tonfa strapped to his arm, as he felt the hairs on his back rise and push against the inside of his shirt.
A moment later, though, he relaxed his body, glancing back to the boy who he'd escaped the bridge gunfight with. He still didn't know his name. "...Sorry. Thought Ah heard a noise..."
Abel turned back to the road ahead, stepping through a patch of thick grass as he trudged ahead. With a small grimace, he noted the glowing ache in his legs; they must have run for a few kilometers when the two of them escaped from the bridge, buggering their way through branches and bushes and generally bad-for-running terrain. They'd only really stopped when they'd stormed out of the treeline, running onto the patchy road they walked on now. If that kind of thing was going to repeat itself in the near future, keeping it up would not be easy for the young Texan.
As soon as he'd begun setting off again, he stopped, this time turning fully to face Michael as one hand reached for his belt. With some twisting and tugging and below-breath swearing, Abel extracted his second tonfa and held it out towards Michael, nodding once.
"Don't think Ah'll be needin' two, y'know?" Abel shifted his weight slightly, standing more comfortably. "Didn't get yer name, by the way..."
[EDIT: Fixed spelling error.]
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((What Rimfire said.))
They had stopped running a while back, and Michael was now walking slowly behind Abe, his spirits probably about as high as they could be in this...odd situation. Whistling the Hogan's Heroes theme tune, Michael looked around the jungle and up into the still-pouring rain, and broke whistling to sigh quietly.
The Stetson-wearing boy in front of him suddenly stopped walking and his fists tightened on his tonfas. Michael froze in mid-walk, not even moving his head. Eventually, the Stetson boy relaxed and turned around to look at Michael.
"...Sorry. Thought ah heard a noise..."
"That's okay," Michael said quietly. "To be expected."
The Stetson boy started walking again, and then stopped just as quickly as it started. Out of the blue, he grabbed his second tonfa from inside his daypack and handed it to Michael. Michael stumbled back a good couple of metres, letting out a startled yelp.
"Don't think ah'll be needin' two, y'know? Didn't get yer name, by the way..."
Michael recovered himself and grabbed the tonfa. "Thanks, man. And my name's Michael. Michael Anders. Yours? I don't want to keep referring to you as Stetson boy in my head."
They had stopped running a while back, and Michael was now walking slowly behind Abe, his spirits probably about as high as they could be in this...odd situation. Whistling the Hogan's Heroes theme tune, Michael looked around the jungle and up into the still-pouring rain, and broke whistling to sigh quietly.
The Stetson-wearing boy in front of him suddenly stopped walking and his fists tightened on his tonfas. Michael froze in mid-walk, not even moving his head. Eventually, the Stetson boy relaxed and turned around to look at Michael.
"...Sorry. Thought ah heard a noise..."
"That's okay," Michael said quietly. "To be expected."
The Stetson boy started walking again, and then stopped just as quickly as it started. Out of the blue, he grabbed his second tonfa from inside his daypack and handed it to Michael. Michael stumbled back a good couple of metres, letting out a startled yelp.
"Don't think ah'll be needin' two, y'know? Didn't get yer name, by the way..."
Michael recovered himself and grabbed the tonfa. "Thanks, man. And my name's Michael. Michael Anders. Yours? I don't want to keep referring to you as Stetson boy in my head."
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"Abel," Abel replied, a tiny tilt in his tone-of-voice suggesting pride of his name. He regarded his donated tonfa with a slow, subtle nod, as if he were appraising just how effective it would be in Michael's hands. Then, rounding out his shoulders once, he resumed his lope along the trail, looking along the open expanse of overgrown vegetation that crept its way onto the track in patches and gashes.
"Hey, Michael, Ah was wonderin'..." Abel decided on a fairly unambitious pace, partly to let Michael catch up and partly because the throb in his calves was returning. "You got any ideas... like a game plan for us, so's we don't end up wanderin' around all aimless?"
He scratched his head absently, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Cuz Ah've been thinkin', an' Ah don't know where to begin."
"Hey, Michael, Ah was wonderin'..." Abel decided on a fairly unambitious pace, partly to let Michael catch up and partly because the throb in his calves was returning. "You got any ideas... like a game plan for us, so's we don't end up wanderin' around all aimless?"
He scratched his head absently, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Cuz Ah've been thinkin', an' Ah don't know where to begin."
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"Abel." Michael repeated his name quietly. "Well, it's a lot better than Stetson boy."
Michael continued after Abel, the two moving at a slower pace. Abel appeared to be in some kind of pain when he walked, limping slightly, but Michael chose to ignore it. If Abel was hurt, he'd say something, not just grin and bear it.
"Hey, Michael, Ah was wonderin'," Abel said, still walking, "You got any ideas... like a game plan for us, so's we don't end up wanderin' around all aimless? Cuz Ah've been thinkin', an' Ah don't know where to begin."
They kept walking as Michael mulled this question over.
"Ummmm..."
Da-da do doo, da-da da-da do doo, da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da...
"Yeah..."
Da-da do doo, da-da da-da do doo, da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da...
"I don't know. I have no idea."
Bi-ig wheels keep on turnin'...
"We can't escape, I think that's set in stone."
Carry me home to something something...
"So, how about we just find people - stronger people, with better weapons - and team up with them?"
Singing songs about the Southland...
"I like that idea myself..."
Michael trailed off as the song in his head started taking over his thoughts. He could not think straight as long as Lynyrd Skynyrd were allowed free reign inside his head, and he was going to put a stop to it by I miss Alabamy once again singing the cursed thing. Maybe that'd get rid of it.
Michael began whistling the tune to 'Sweet Home Alabama', and, before long, had begun singing it at a rather tolerable volume.
"Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you..."
Maybe things are looking up.
Michael kept singing.
Michael continued after Abel, the two moving at a slower pace. Abel appeared to be in some kind of pain when he walked, limping slightly, but Michael chose to ignore it. If Abel was hurt, he'd say something, not just grin and bear it.
"Hey, Michael, Ah was wonderin'," Abel said, still walking, "You got any ideas... like a game plan for us, so's we don't end up wanderin' around all aimless? Cuz Ah've been thinkin', an' Ah don't know where to begin."
They kept walking as Michael mulled this question over.
"Ummmm..."
Da-da do doo, da-da da-da do doo, da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da...
"Yeah..."
Da-da do doo, da-da da-da do doo, da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da...
"I don't know. I have no idea."
Bi-ig wheels keep on turnin'...
"We can't escape, I think that's set in stone."
Carry me home to something something...
"So, how about we just find people - stronger people, with better weapons - and team up with them?"
Singing songs about the Southland...
"I like that idea myself..."
Michael trailed off as the song in his head started taking over his thoughts. He could not think straight as long as Lynyrd Skynyrd were allowed free reign inside his head, and he was going to put a stop to it by I miss Alabamy once again singing the cursed thing. Maybe that'd get rid of it.
Michael began whistling the tune to 'Sweet Home Alabama', and, before long, had begun singing it at a rather tolerable volume.
"Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you..."
Maybe things are looking up.
Michael kept singing.
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Of course Abel knew the tune. In some kind of arguably stereotypical fit to his looks, 'Sweet Home Alabama' was a great song in his opinion. As they walked, and Michael interspersed the singing with his response on strategy, Abel himself began humming the tune under his breath, the only visual sign of his acknowledgement of the song being his head, with swayed subtly with the song's beat. Like an underpowered metronome... wearing a funny hat.
He broke his rhythm only once or twice, now more interested in the song than in Michael's plan. Who could blame him? After days of skulking behind bushes and amongst shadows like some runt-wolf without his pack, the company was welcome to him.
"Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you..."
He joined Michael on the chorus, forgetting about the ache in his legs as he adopted a more rhythm-shaped step, taking a stride at intervals timed to the song. Given the pacing of the chorus, he looked a bit like a malfunctioning windup toy... but he neither knew nor cared that he was making a fool of himself. Another thought, however, did strike him...
Hey, what if people can hear us? See us? What if people are aiming guns at us now, about to open fire? Of course, Abel had no idea that another boy holding a rifle was passed out some hundred meters away in the undergrowth. Ah, what the hell. People die every day without warning, from the strangest things. Death by gunfire just makes you look like less of a spaz, since it's not your fault... technically. I'm not about to interrupt some great music just because people wanna kill me...
Taking his hat in one hand, Abel repeated the chorus, with a little more accent and gusto this time.
"Sweet home Alabama!
Where the skies're so blue...
Sweet Home Alabama!
Lawd, Ah'm comin' home ta you..."
Unwittingly, he stepped a few inches ahead of Michael with his odd pacing, stetson still in hand.
He broke his rhythm only once or twice, now more interested in the song than in Michael's plan. Who could blame him? After days of skulking behind bushes and amongst shadows like some runt-wolf without his pack, the company was welcome to him.
"Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you..."
He joined Michael on the chorus, forgetting about the ache in his legs as he adopted a more rhythm-shaped step, taking a stride at intervals timed to the song. Given the pacing of the chorus, he looked a bit like a malfunctioning windup toy... but he neither knew nor cared that he was making a fool of himself. Another thought, however, did strike him...
Hey, what if people can hear us? See us? What if people are aiming guns at us now, about to open fire? Of course, Abel had no idea that another boy holding a rifle was passed out some hundred meters away in the undergrowth. Ah, what the hell. People die every day without warning, from the strangest things. Death by gunfire just makes you look like less of a spaz, since it's not your fault... technically. I'm not about to interrupt some great music just because people wanna kill me...
Taking his hat in one hand, Abel repeated the chorus, with a little more accent and gusto this time.
"Sweet home Alabama!
Where the skies're so blue...
Sweet Home Alabama!
Lawd, Ah'm comin' home ta you..."
Unwittingly, he stepped a few inches ahead of Michael with his odd pacing, stetson still in hand.
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Michael gave in to the guilty pleasure of Lynyrd Skynyrd and belted out the song, slightly out of tune. He threw self-awareness and self-preservation to the wind in a fit of Deep South mania. It made absolutely no sense, but Michael couldn't care less. For once in his time on the island, he'd forgotten his mortality in a flood of scatted guitar solos and hilarious attempts at gravelly Southern accents. Abe was doing a better job, but only slightly.
"Now Muscle Shoals has got the Swampers
And they've been known to pick a song or two
Lord they get me off so much
They pick me up when I'm feeling blue
Now how about you?"
Michael spun around on that line, losing himself in the music. It was absurd. Michael knew this. It was dangerous. Michael knew this. The viewers at home would be wondering what the hell was going on onscreen. Michael knew this. But Michael couldn't have cared less.
"Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you..."
Michael busted out the air guitar and started riffing in a very badly-improvised manner. Losing himself in the dancing, Michael didn't notice how close he was getting to Abel, and particularly how close his feet were getting to Abel's, because of Abel's walking in time to the tune.
So Michael had no idea what was going to happen next, as he stepped on Abel's heel.
"Now Muscle Shoals has got the Swampers
And they've been known to pick a song or two
Lord they get me off so much
They pick me up when I'm feeling blue
Now how about you?"
Michael spun around on that line, losing himself in the music. It was absurd. Michael knew this. It was dangerous. Michael knew this. The viewers at home would be wondering what the hell was going on onscreen. Michael knew this. But Michael couldn't have cared less.
"Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you..."
Michael busted out the air guitar and started riffing in a very badly-improvised manner. Losing himself in the dancing, Michael didn't notice how close he was getting to Abel, and particularly how close his feet were getting to Abel's, because of Abel's walking in time to the tune.
So Michael had no idea what was going to happen next, as he stepped on Abel's heel.
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Abel almost broke his rhythm with a shudder of laughter, as Michael threw caution to the wind and busted out a ripping air-guitar solo. How terrible was this? Former classmates were out there, scared, some hurt... some dying. Many already dead. And here two fools with no regard for their safety or any eavesdroppers' music tastes were screwing around and singing the world's most popular hillbilly song. It was outrageous, it was thoughtless, callous...
"They pick me up when I'm feeling blue... Now how about you?"
...It was glorious.
This is the best thing I could have hoped to do in this damn place, Abel mused, tearing a little furrow along a patch of not-quite-overgrown grass with the side of his shoe, still gyrating in tune with the song. With goddamn Danya and and this goddamn game and the goddamn idiots who are actually playing, and goddamn Neil Sinclair and his band of camera-breaking fucks... and all the misery, pain and fear waiting to swallow every one of us up.
"Sweet! Home! Alabama! Where the skies are so blueee..."
By now, there's nothing this damn game can do to me anymore, nothing that it can take away from me. My dignity? I've always played the fool, as I'm doing now. so nothing lost there... That foolish grin of his didn't waver for a moment, as he headed into the chorus, unaware of Michael moving so close to him. My morals? Hell, I haven't really even seen anyone, let alone killed somebody. At least I'm clean in that respect... wonder how many of those of us left here can say that?
"Sweet! Home! Alabama! Lord, I'm coming home to you!"
The young Texan meant to take a step forward, pulling it up and forward... but no such luck. Something held his foot planted to the dirt, pinning it by its heel. Abel had no time to comprehend even what may have caused it. It didn't even occur to him that Michael may have stepped on his feel. Instead, he only felt a dipping crackle of fear in the pit of his stomach, the very first tinges of a falling sensation, as he tipped forwards...
"What the-"
--
The next moment was hazy, alien, as if Abel were viewing some grotesque organism through a cheap microscope. The ground seemed to swing up to meet him, pivoting as if on a hinge. He caught the suggestion of something bulging out of the ground, a thickened shadow with a craggy surface, entering the left side of his vision with surprising speed.
And he felt nothing, but his eyes (or at least his vision) was presented with a kind of inverted sunburst, an explosion of visual matter on a colour-spectrum he could never see, before. By now, some remaining functions of his mind had guessed what was happening, and registered casual surprise as the roar of tingling white that now flooded his senses. He'd expected darkness to come with death.
Wow... damn. Oh, well. Good song, Mike.
--
Abel lay facedown, in the dirt and the grass, lanky frame as still and lifeless as the rock on which he'd smashed the left side of his face open. He lay fairly naturally for someone who'd been tripped; legs slightly apart, with his tonfa-strapped arm bent forward, hand beside his head with its taped palm to the ground. A near-inaudible, tiny wisp of exhalation forced its way from his lungs, the last sound he would make. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead...
...From being so unconquerably alive an instant ago. His last, unfinished sentence had barely been a whisper as he fell, and the wedging split along his eye-socket and up his skull had only been accompanied a wet, thumping crack. Not attracting terrible amounts of attention, not affecting any outsiders... essentially, the way he'd lived his life, quietly going about his business without bothering anyone particularly. Now, he'd just quietly let himself out.
Even his corpse was about as unintrusive on the senses as could be... the cracked bone, blood and brain-matter of his cleaved face had been nicely covered by his treasured Stetson, laid across his head in one last act of service towards its owner.
All that moved was the soft flutter of his jacket in the breeze, and the gleaming trail of red that spread in snaking lines from under his hat and along the ground.
B121 – ABEL WILLIAMS – DEAD
"They pick me up when I'm feeling blue... Now how about you?"
...It was glorious.
This is the best thing I could have hoped to do in this damn place, Abel mused, tearing a little furrow along a patch of not-quite-overgrown grass with the side of his shoe, still gyrating in tune with the song. With goddamn Danya and and this goddamn game and the goddamn idiots who are actually playing, and goddamn Neil Sinclair and his band of camera-breaking fucks... and all the misery, pain and fear waiting to swallow every one of us up.
"Sweet! Home! Alabama! Where the skies are so blueee..."
By now, there's nothing this damn game can do to me anymore, nothing that it can take away from me. My dignity? I've always played the fool, as I'm doing now. so nothing lost there... That foolish grin of his didn't waver for a moment, as he headed into the chorus, unaware of Michael moving so close to him. My morals? Hell, I haven't really even seen anyone, let alone killed somebody. At least I'm clean in that respect... wonder how many of those of us left here can say that?
"Sweet! Home! Alabama! Lord, I'm coming home to you!"
The young Texan meant to take a step forward, pulling it up and forward... but no such luck. Something held his foot planted to the dirt, pinning it by its heel. Abel had no time to comprehend even what may have caused it. It didn't even occur to him that Michael may have stepped on his feel. Instead, he only felt a dipping crackle of fear in the pit of his stomach, the very first tinges of a falling sensation, as he tipped forwards...
"What the-"
--
The next moment was hazy, alien, as if Abel were viewing some grotesque organism through a cheap microscope. The ground seemed to swing up to meet him, pivoting as if on a hinge. He caught the suggestion of something bulging out of the ground, a thickened shadow with a craggy surface, entering the left side of his vision with surprising speed.
And he felt nothing, but his eyes (or at least his vision) was presented with a kind of inverted sunburst, an explosion of visual matter on a colour-spectrum he could never see, before. By now, some remaining functions of his mind had guessed what was happening, and registered casual surprise as the roar of tingling white that now flooded his senses. He'd expected darkness to come with death.
Wow... damn. Oh, well. Good song, Mike.
--
Abel lay facedown, in the dirt and the grass, lanky frame as still and lifeless as the rock on which he'd smashed the left side of his face open. He lay fairly naturally for someone who'd been tripped; legs slightly apart, with his tonfa-strapped arm bent forward, hand beside his head with its taped palm to the ground. A near-inaudible, tiny wisp of exhalation forced its way from his lungs, the last sound he would make. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead...
...From being so unconquerably alive an instant ago. His last, unfinished sentence had barely been a whisper as he fell, and the wedging split along his eye-socket and up his skull had only been accompanied a wet, thumping crack. Not attracting terrible amounts of attention, not affecting any outsiders... essentially, the way he'd lived his life, quietly going about his business without bothering anyone particularly. Now, he'd just quietly let himself out.
Even his corpse was about as unintrusive on the senses as could be... the cracked bone, blood and brain-matter of his cleaved face had been nicely covered by his treasured Stetson, laid across his head in one last act of service towards its owner.
All that moved was the soft flutter of his jacket in the breeze, and the gleaming trail of red that spread in snaking lines from under his hat and along the ground.
B121 – ABEL WILLIAMS – DEAD
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The accidental trip. The accidental fall. The accidental convenient placing of the accidental sharp rock. The accidental landing of Abel's head on the accidental rock.
Michael didn't even have time to comprehend the sheer number of accidents and coincidences involved in Abel's death as he staggered back, looking at his new friend. Or, rather, at the dead body that had been his new friend.
The blood trickled out from the almost comically-large wound in Abel's forehead, the rock covered in brain matter and bone fragments.
Oh God...
What did I do?
Michael stood there for a second, stunned, petrified.
And then Michael turned around, closed his eyes and ran.
"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh"THUD.
Michael didn't even see the tree in front of him, what with his eyes being tightly shut and all. Reverting back to his seemingly default emotion of stunned, he stepped back, eyes wide open, and muttered something about invisible penguins and human traps.
Then Michael fell to the ground, unconscious.
Never had Lynyrd Skynyrd been so catastrophic.
Michael didn't even have time to comprehend the sheer number of accidents and coincidences involved in Abel's death as he staggered back, looking at his new friend. Or, rather, at the dead body that had been his new friend.
The blood trickled out from the almost comically-large wound in Abel's forehead, the rock covered in brain matter and bone fragments.
Oh God...
What did I do?
Michael stood there for a second, stunned, petrified.
And then Michael turned around, closed his eyes and ran.
"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh"THUD.
Michael didn't even see the tree in front of him, what with his eyes being tightly shut and all. Reverting back to his seemingly default emotion of stunned, he stepped back, eyes wide open, and muttered something about invisible penguins and human traps.
Then Michael fell to the ground, unconscious.
Never had Lynyrd Skynyrd been so catastrophic.
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DetectiveArcher†
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- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:45 pm
Edward Sullivan felt strangely out of place, even as he traced his old, familiar routes down the halls of Southridge High School. The familiarity of the place should have been welcoming, but the wandering boy couldn't shake the feeling that something was out of place. Certainly, the buildings looked similar to the place in his memories. Upon closer inspection, however, the boy's dark eyes were drawn to strange inaccuracies. Didn't that wall used to have a crack running along the bottom of it? And the paint on that door was peeling at the bottom left hand corner, right? The whole of the world seemed too idealized. Angles were too sharp, too perfect. Colors shone unnaturally bright against a strange gloom. Sounds carried peculiarly far, in the ominous quiet.
"H-hello? Is anyone here?" His words echoing in his ears, Eddie felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest. He called out again, his voice sounding desperate, even to himself. "Hello? Wh-where...where is everyone?!" The words returned to him, mocking and taunting in his own voice. Losing the last of his self-control, he broke and ran. The sharp tap of shoe against concrete followed him with dogged determination, pushing him ever onward. Sprinting through the school's hallways, blood pounding in his ears, the boy failed to notice that he was taking turns that weren't supposed to exist.
Exiting the school altogether, Eddie stumbled, and almost fell, as he forced himself to stop. In a wide, open plain, his fellow seniors gathered around him. Each face was carefully neutral, devoid of any emotion, their eyes cold and unwavering. "Wh-what's going on?" The ring of students slowly moved forward, closing in on the frightened boy. Turning to flee back into the school, Eddie was shocked to find that it was gone, instead replaced by the same expansive fields and more of his peers. Spinning quickly, he took in the detached stares of the young men and women that surrounded him.
"Tell me... just what the hell is going on?!" The faces in the crowd never showed the slightest lapse in their cool composure. They just kept their listless eyes glued to the increasingly terrified boy they encircled. Feeling decidedly claustrophobic, Eddie screwed his eyes shut, muttering quickly to himself, "It's just a dream, this can't be real. None of this is real!"
After a long moment, the boy carefully opened one eye. He immediately wished he hadn't. Blood soaked into the soil and grass. His eyes watered and stung from the disorienting stench of offal and rotten meat. Clouds of flies and other insects buzzed past his head. The face and bodies of his classmates were horribly disfigured, baring sickening wounds that turned Eddie's stomach when he looked at them. Open wounds bled freely and torn abdomens exposed the contents of their guts. Vicious tears in skin blackened at the edges as flesh rotted away. With skulls crushed in and throats brutally slashed open, the students of Southridge High School continued to stare with their strangely detached glares.
Five students stepped from the throng. Braden Marsh's chest carried a large hole; his crushed skull dripped blood and the occasional gob of grey matter. Mortimer Jones stared with empty eye sockets, the remains of his optical nerves dangling from the open space in his head. Kode Hairesu, very much like Braden, lacked a head, his neck ending in a ragged edge of shredded meat. Joseph Gai carried his own severed head under his arm, his eyes still blinking intermittently. The girl at the center of the five, however, hit Eddie hardest.
Jodene Zalack's stomach had been punctured by the same weapon that had opened Braden's chest. The front of her shirt was stained red, as fresh blood constantly flowed from the wound. Her pants were soaked in the same ruddy fluid, testament to the savage assault on her nether regions. Of all of the faces in the crowd, hers was the only one that held any emotion. All the anger and disappointment in the world were in her eyes as they locked with Eddie's.
The boy couldn't breath. His throat closed and his eyes began to water, not at all from the smell. He tried to speak several times, failing at each attempt. Finally, he managed to mutter something in a so soft a voice, he barely heard himself over the buzz of the insects that gathered around the spoiled flesh that had once been his contemporaries. "I...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The earth beneath the tormented boy's feet grew less solid. As the soil slowly turned to liquid, he felt the thick fluid sucking at his legs and pulling him down. His ankles soon disappeared in the thick red liquid, followed shortly thereafter by his shins and his thighs. "No, please! Please, I'm sorry!" The girl shook her head, watching as he slowly sank into a pool of blood and gore. The liquid crept up his chest, closing around his neck. "No, please! Please, don't let me sink! I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die! Someone help me!"
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Eddie thrashed wildly as his mind finally rose from the depths of sleep. His whole body shook, not entirely from the biting chill of the rain and wind. Running a hand through his hair, he cursed to himself quietly as the dream slowly left him alone in the dark of the jungle. "Oh Christ. Oh fucking hell. Oh Jesus fucking Christ."
Forcing himself to his feet, the boy felt his stomach clench tight. Fear, hunger and anxiety nestled snugly in his belly. Shaking his head, he pressed onward, through the brush. You've already wasted enough time. Time to get down to it. Passing through the foliage, the eavesdropper almost missed the forms of the two young men on the ground.
Pausing and listening carefully, Eddie managed to pick out the steady sound of breathing, over the constant patter of rain. Shit. If it's not one thing, it's another. For a moment he considered leaving them there. But only for a moment. Eddie made his way to the closest one to him. Kneeling down next to the young man, he quickly identified the albino boy as Michael Anders. Reaching out, he carefully shook Michael's shoulder. "Hey, you ok?"
"H-hello? Is anyone here?" His words echoing in his ears, Eddie felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest. He called out again, his voice sounding desperate, even to himself. "Hello? Wh-where...where is everyone?!" The words returned to him, mocking and taunting in his own voice. Losing the last of his self-control, he broke and ran. The sharp tap of shoe against concrete followed him with dogged determination, pushing him ever onward. Sprinting through the school's hallways, blood pounding in his ears, the boy failed to notice that he was taking turns that weren't supposed to exist.
Exiting the school altogether, Eddie stumbled, and almost fell, as he forced himself to stop. In a wide, open plain, his fellow seniors gathered around him. Each face was carefully neutral, devoid of any emotion, their eyes cold and unwavering. "Wh-what's going on?" The ring of students slowly moved forward, closing in on the frightened boy. Turning to flee back into the school, Eddie was shocked to find that it was gone, instead replaced by the same expansive fields and more of his peers. Spinning quickly, he took in the detached stares of the young men and women that surrounded him.
"Tell me... just what the hell is going on?!" The faces in the crowd never showed the slightest lapse in their cool composure. They just kept their listless eyes glued to the increasingly terrified boy they encircled. Feeling decidedly claustrophobic, Eddie screwed his eyes shut, muttering quickly to himself, "It's just a dream, this can't be real. None of this is real!"
After a long moment, the boy carefully opened one eye. He immediately wished he hadn't. Blood soaked into the soil and grass. His eyes watered and stung from the disorienting stench of offal and rotten meat. Clouds of flies and other insects buzzed past his head. The face and bodies of his classmates were horribly disfigured, baring sickening wounds that turned Eddie's stomach when he looked at them. Open wounds bled freely and torn abdomens exposed the contents of their guts. Vicious tears in skin blackened at the edges as flesh rotted away. With skulls crushed in and throats brutally slashed open, the students of Southridge High School continued to stare with their strangely detached glares.
Five students stepped from the throng. Braden Marsh's chest carried a large hole; his crushed skull dripped blood and the occasional gob of grey matter. Mortimer Jones stared with empty eye sockets, the remains of his optical nerves dangling from the open space in his head. Kode Hairesu, very much like Braden, lacked a head, his neck ending in a ragged edge of shredded meat. Joseph Gai carried his own severed head under his arm, his eyes still blinking intermittently. The girl at the center of the five, however, hit Eddie hardest.
Jodene Zalack's stomach had been punctured by the same weapon that had opened Braden's chest. The front of her shirt was stained red, as fresh blood constantly flowed from the wound. Her pants were soaked in the same ruddy fluid, testament to the savage assault on her nether regions. Of all of the faces in the crowd, hers was the only one that held any emotion. All the anger and disappointment in the world were in her eyes as they locked with Eddie's.
The boy couldn't breath. His throat closed and his eyes began to water, not at all from the smell. He tried to speak several times, failing at each attempt. Finally, he managed to mutter something in a so soft a voice, he barely heard himself over the buzz of the insects that gathered around the spoiled flesh that had once been his contemporaries. "I...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The earth beneath the tormented boy's feet grew less solid. As the soil slowly turned to liquid, he felt the thick fluid sucking at his legs and pulling him down. His ankles soon disappeared in the thick red liquid, followed shortly thereafter by his shins and his thighs. "No, please! Please, I'm sorry!" The girl shook her head, watching as he slowly sank into a pool of blood and gore. The liquid crept up his chest, closing around his neck. "No, please! Please, don't let me sink! I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die! Someone help me!"
----------
Eddie thrashed wildly as his mind finally rose from the depths of sleep. His whole body shook, not entirely from the biting chill of the rain and wind. Running a hand through his hair, he cursed to himself quietly as the dream slowly left him alone in the dark of the jungle. "Oh Christ. Oh fucking hell. Oh Jesus fucking Christ."
Forcing himself to his feet, the boy felt his stomach clench tight. Fear, hunger and anxiety nestled snugly in his belly. Shaking his head, he pressed onward, through the brush. You've already wasted enough time. Time to get down to it. Passing through the foliage, the eavesdropper almost missed the forms of the two young men on the ground.
Pausing and listening carefully, Eddie managed to pick out the steady sound of breathing, over the constant patter of rain. Shit. If it's not one thing, it's another. For a moment he considered leaving them there. But only for a moment. Eddie made his way to the closest one to him. Kneeling down next to the young man, he quickly identified the albino boy as Michael Anders. Reaching out, he carefully shook Michael's shoulder. "Hey, you ok?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler DetectiveArcher.
(Jimmy Trejo continued from There's No Home For You Here)
As he scrambled through the forest once more, Jimmy found himself unable to take his mind off of the person who he was associating with. Whenever he wasn't concerned about a branch in his path or a tangle of trees, he concentrated on keeping her in his sight at all times. Maybe Lyn had made a promise not to hurt him until they found Wade Wilson, but Jimmy wasn't taking her word for it. Fixated on her as he was, he didn't notice the people ahead of him until he was a short distance away, at which point he ducked quickly back into the trees.
Peeking out, he took a look at the situation. From what he could tell, two gray shapes were lying on the ground, with one person leaning over them and...investigating them? Shaking them? Checking them for weapons? He couldn't really tell. What he could see though was some gray shape protruding out from the human shape, which looked from the way he was holding it like a rifle of some kind.
Crap! He's got a gun. This had better be handled delicately.
Coming up behind the man, Jimmy decided to try something daring. Taking his axe, he pressed the handle into the man's back, hoping that it would feel like a gun of some kind. "Alright you! Hands up!" he said, trying to sound menacing. "Now I don't want to hurt you. I'm just looking for a guy named Eddie Sullivan. Have you seen him?" He hoped he wasn't handling someone with even the slightest bit of intelligence, because that would spoil this plan entirely.
As he scrambled through the forest once more, Jimmy found himself unable to take his mind off of the person who he was associating with. Whenever he wasn't concerned about a branch in his path or a tangle of trees, he concentrated on keeping her in his sight at all times. Maybe Lyn had made a promise not to hurt him until they found Wade Wilson, but Jimmy wasn't taking her word for it. Fixated on her as he was, he didn't notice the people ahead of him until he was a short distance away, at which point he ducked quickly back into the trees.
Peeking out, he took a look at the situation. From what he could tell, two gray shapes were lying on the ground, with one person leaning over them and...investigating them? Shaking them? Checking them for weapons? He couldn't really tell. What he could see though was some gray shape protruding out from the human shape, which looked from the way he was holding it like a rifle of some kind.
Crap! He's got a gun. This had better be handled delicately.
Coming up behind the man, Jimmy decided to try something daring. Taking his axe, he pressed the handle into the man's back, hoping that it would feel like a gun of some kind. "Alright you! Hands up!" he said, trying to sound menacing. "Now I don't want to hurt you. I'm just looking for a guy named Eddie Sullivan. Have you seen him?" He hoped he wasn't handling someone with even the slightest bit of intelligence, because that would spoil this plan entirely.
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Super Llama†
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
{{continued from There's No Home For You Here}}
Just as Jimmy kept an eye on her, Laeil (or Lyn, as Jimmy had taken to calling her by her real name) did the same. She started to wonder if revealing herself as a player was such a good idea, as it had only served to set him on edge. It's better than him finding out through somebody else, I guess. She thought. There was no telling if this Eddie would recognize her from the announcements, and if he were to reveal this bit of information, the level of trust would probably go down even further than it was now, to the point that the two of them would probably turn on her.
Eddie Sullivan...Eddie Sullivan... She dug through the bits of information in her mind for anything she might have heard about this guy. Didn't he kill somebody on the first day? No, wait. Wrong Eddie. That guy's dead, anyway. In the end she drew a complete blank, which only served to worry her, as she had no idea what kind of person she'd be dealing with. Fortunately, she still had her secret weapon in case things turned sour. She had made a point not to reveal the molotovs hidden in her pack, and thankfully Morgan hadn't mentioned them either. If this Eddie person recognized her from the announcements though, he'd probably remember that she had won a BKA weapon and would get suspicious about the apparent lack of any kind of weapon on her person, save for the sword.
Finally, the pair emerged on a rather large and weathered trail, scarred with tire marks, and with vegetation growing in random places throughout. It was then that she noticed two figures nearby, one lying flat on the ground, and other hovering over the first, a rifle in hand. Before she could react further, Jimmy walked up and pressed the handle of his axe to his back, an action that elicted an annoyed "Tch!" from Laeil. Idiot! What the hell is he doing? All the guy had to do was be an idiot as well and turn around to see he was being threatened with a fucking axe handle, and then fill him full of lead. It would've been better to hold the blade of the axe to his throat; at least then he could do some damage if he decided to fight back. She stood warily, ready to dive back into the brush if things went south.
Just as Jimmy kept an eye on her, Laeil (or Lyn, as Jimmy had taken to calling her by her real name) did the same. She started to wonder if revealing herself as a player was such a good idea, as it had only served to set him on edge. It's better than him finding out through somebody else, I guess. She thought. There was no telling if this Eddie would recognize her from the announcements, and if he were to reveal this bit of information, the level of trust would probably go down even further than it was now, to the point that the two of them would probably turn on her.
Eddie Sullivan...Eddie Sullivan... She dug through the bits of information in her mind for anything she might have heard about this guy. Didn't he kill somebody on the first day? No, wait. Wrong Eddie. That guy's dead, anyway. In the end she drew a complete blank, which only served to worry her, as she had no idea what kind of person she'd be dealing with. Fortunately, she still had her secret weapon in case things turned sour. She had made a point not to reveal the molotovs hidden in her pack, and thankfully Morgan hadn't mentioned them either. If this Eddie person recognized her from the announcements though, he'd probably remember that she had won a BKA weapon and would get suspicious about the apparent lack of any kind of weapon on her person, save for the sword.
Finally, the pair emerged on a rather large and weathered trail, scarred with tire marks, and with vegetation growing in random places throughout. It was then that she noticed two figures nearby, one lying flat on the ground, and other hovering over the first, a rifle in hand. Before she could react further, Jimmy walked up and pressed the handle of his axe to his back, an action that elicted an annoyed "Tch!" from Laeil. Idiot! What the hell is he doing? All the guy had to do was be an idiot as well and turn around to see he was being threatened with a fucking axe handle, and then fill him full of lead. It would've been better to hold the blade of the axe to his throat; at least then he could do some damage if he decided to fight back. She stood warily, ready to dive back into the brush if things went south.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Super Llama.
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Pigeon Army†
- Posts: 232
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:17 am
The darkness had enveloped Michael for some time when he felt his shoulder being shaken. Michael opened his eyes slowly.
"Hey, you ok?"
Michael's eyes were bleary, and he squinted into the muddied colours and blurred figures, trying to make out something. The person shaking him was obviously behind him, as he couldn't see him. Michael didn't recognise the voice, and a thought immediately crossed his mind...
What if he's playing?
Michael suddenly became scared. He didn't even know how he had ended up on the ground, unconscious. Maybe this person's kidnapped me or something...hell...God, whadda I do?
Michael's fear of the boy dissipated within the next few seconds, but that was only because a more pertinent fear gripped his mind.
"Alright you! Hands up! Now I don't want to hurt you. I'm just looking for a guy named Eddie Sullivan. Have you seen him?"
The gruff line had been delivered very close to Michael, probably just behind the guy who had been shaking him. There was an audible "tch" from the other side of the clearing - a girl, it sounded like - and Michael put two and two together.
This guy was trying to help me, and he's going to be killed by these two...and I will be too...unless...
Michael closed his eyes slowly and breathed shallow, slowly and as little and quiet as possible. All he had to do was keep still and shut up for as long as these people were here, then he could run. He just had to wait.
"Hey, you ok?"
Michael's eyes were bleary, and he squinted into the muddied colours and blurred figures, trying to make out something. The person shaking him was obviously behind him, as he couldn't see him. Michael didn't recognise the voice, and a thought immediately crossed his mind...
What if he's playing?
Michael suddenly became scared. He didn't even know how he had ended up on the ground, unconscious. Maybe this person's kidnapped me or something...hell...God, whadda I do?
Michael's fear of the boy dissipated within the next few seconds, but that was only because a more pertinent fear gripped his mind.
"Alright you! Hands up! Now I don't want to hurt you. I'm just looking for a guy named Eddie Sullivan. Have you seen him?"
The gruff line had been delivered very close to Michael, probably just behind the guy who had been shaking him. There was an audible "tch" from the other side of the clearing - a girl, it sounded like - and Michael put two and two together.
This guy was trying to help me, and he's going to be killed by these two...and I will be too...unless...
Michael closed his eyes slowly and breathed shallow, slowly and as little and quiet as possible. All he had to do was keep still and shut up for as long as these people were here, then he could run. He just had to wait.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Pigeon Army. 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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DetectiveArcher†
- Posts: 163
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:45 pm
Someone dropped a bucket of ice water into Eddie's gut as he felt the pressure against his back. Stiffening, he cautiously began to take his hand away from the downed student's shoulder. Very smooth, Sullivan. Way to stay alert. Now you're fucked, unless you do something very drastic, very quickly. The suddenly shaking boy forced down a lump in his throat. His right hand clutching the rifle, he tensed himself, ready to spin around and use the gun as a club, when the presence at his back spoke in a familiar voice.
"Alright you! Hands up! Now I don't want to hurt you. I'm just looking for a guy named Eddie Sullivan. Have you seen him?"
Blinking a few times, the dark eyed boy cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "J-Jimmy? Oh, Jesus, it's you! I mean it's m-me, Eddie! Christ, you almost g-gave me a heart attack." His free hand traveling to his chest, Eddie felt the thumping of his heart as it slowly wound down from its terror induced high. Too many more of those big scares couldn't be very healthy. Probably wind up having a coronary, before someone can kill me, at this rate.
Quickly climbing to his feet, the eavesdropper grinned as he turned towards his acquaintance. "Man, it's g-good to see you." Eddie didn't bother to mention that it would have been good to see anyone, just then. After waking from his nightmare, he decided that being alone in the dark was extremely uncomfortable. His eyes flicked quickly to the girl standing well behind Jimmy.
Eddie promptly recognized the thin presence in black as Lyn Burbank. "Oh, h-h-hello," he managed, giving a small wave. Realizing how stupid the gesture looked, the nervous eavesdropper quickly jammed the offending hand into his pocket. Lyn was someone that made Eddie uneasy. Mainly, because he felt sorry for her.
He'd always managed to piss and moan about his own troubles, but he'd never really had it all that bad. Sure, nobody ever recognized him and often forgot he was even around, but at least that meant nobody could find the motivation to be mean to him. To more than a few students at Southridge, Lyn was a verbal punching bag. She'd probably think being a ghost was a blessing. How were you supposed to act, around someone like that?
It also quickly came to mind that the thin girl's name had been on the announcements. It didn't necessarily mean that she was playing, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful. Clearing his throat and looking everywhere but at Lyn's eyes, Eddie tried to think of something to say. "So, uhm...are you two t-together?"
"Alright you! Hands up! Now I don't want to hurt you. I'm just looking for a guy named Eddie Sullivan. Have you seen him?"
Blinking a few times, the dark eyed boy cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "J-Jimmy? Oh, Jesus, it's you! I mean it's m-me, Eddie! Christ, you almost g-gave me a heart attack." His free hand traveling to his chest, Eddie felt the thumping of his heart as it slowly wound down from its terror induced high. Too many more of those big scares couldn't be very healthy. Probably wind up having a coronary, before someone can kill me, at this rate.
Quickly climbing to his feet, the eavesdropper grinned as he turned towards his acquaintance. "Man, it's g-good to see you." Eddie didn't bother to mention that it would have been good to see anyone, just then. After waking from his nightmare, he decided that being alone in the dark was extremely uncomfortable. His eyes flicked quickly to the girl standing well behind Jimmy.
Eddie promptly recognized the thin presence in black as Lyn Burbank. "Oh, h-h-hello," he managed, giving a small wave. Realizing how stupid the gesture looked, the nervous eavesdropper quickly jammed the offending hand into his pocket. Lyn was someone that made Eddie uneasy. Mainly, because he felt sorry for her.
He'd always managed to piss and moan about his own troubles, but he'd never really had it all that bad. Sure, nobody ever recognized him and often forgot he was even around, but at least that meant nobody could find the motivation to be mean to him. To more than a few students at Southridge, Lyn was a verbal punching bag. She'd probably think being a ghost was a blessing. How were you supposed to act, around someone like that?
It also quickly came to mind that the thin girl's name had been on the announcements. It didn't necessarily mean that she was playing, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful. Clearing his throat and looking everywhere but at Lyn's eyes, Eddie tried to think of something to say. "So, uhm...are you two t-together?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler DetectiveArcher.
When Eddie spoke up, Jimmy jumped back nervously, barely keeping hold of the axe. The handle nearly slipped out of his hand, causing him to fumble with it before finally catching it dangerously close to the head. Turning it around hurriedly so that the blade was out front again, he leaned it on his shoulder and laughed nervously. "Geez Eddie, I'm sorry. I thought you were somebody else," he said, scratching his unruly and dirty hair with his free hand. "Man, I've been looking for you. I'm glad you're still alive."
Though I kinda wish you'd shown me it was you before I went and made a fool of myself.
Eddie then looked past Jimmy and asked about Lyn. Sighing, the half-blind guy turned around to see that Lyn wasn't exactly beside him. She probably had hidden herself among the plants. "Right..." Jimmy mumbled to himself. Raising his voice to an audible level, he said to Eddie, "Yeah, she's with me. She wants to help us take out Wade Wilson." Turning around again to look where he assumed that Lyn was, Jimmy called, "It's alright! It's Eddie!" Back to Eddie, the half-blind guy continued, "I met her over at the really large building marked as the Storehouse on the map. She's a player, but she promised not to attack us until after we killed Wade Wilson."
"Oh, and Eddie..." Lowering his voice a little so that Lyn wouldn't hear, Jimmy whispered, "Don't mention my gun. Right now, she only thinks I've got an axe. If she knows that I've got a revolver in my bag, she might try to take it, and then we'd be in trouble. Just stay quiet for now about it, okay?"
Though I kinda wish you'd shown me it was you before I went and made a fool of myself.
Eddie then looked past Jimmy and asked about Lyn. Sighing, the half-blind guy turned around to see that Lyn wasn't exactly beside him. She probably had hidden herself among the plants. "Right..." Jimmy mumbled to himself. Raising his voice to an audible level, he said to Eddie, "Yeah, she's with me. She wants to help us take out Wade Wilson." Turning around again to look where he assumed that Lyn was, Jimmy called, "It's alright! It's Eddie!" Back to Eddie, the half-blind guy continued, "I met her over at the really large building marked as the Storehouse on the map. She's a player, but she promised not to attack us until after we killed Wade Wilson."
"Oh, and Eddie..." Lowering his voice a little so that Lyn wouldn't hear, Jimmy whispered, "Don't mention my gun. Right now, she only thinks I've got an axe. If she knows that I've got a revolver in my bag, she might try to take it, and then we'd be in trouble. Just stay quiet for now about it, okay?"