(Rosemary Michaels continued from Hortensius.)
Rosemary realized that she wasn't going in the direction Timothy had gone a while ago. Unlike when she had left Meera, however, she had not stopped. She was much faster now, without the shotgun weighing her steps.
Alas, she had to stop eventually.
The town reeked of decay. She could smell the bodies that wafted from doorways or buildings as she fell to the ground. Lighted by the morning sun, she vomited. Then she laid beside her duffle, face down on the ground. If anyone saw her from a distance, they would think she was among the dead. But her back moved up and down, her breath wheezed out against the dirty ground. She was still alive.
After a while of this, Rosemary let herself sit up, then taking a couple of more minutes to keep the world from spinning. Sprinting while your sick was just asking for trouble. She turned to the vomit a few feet away, eyeing it with distaste. Her medicine had been in there. She took two more aspirin, swallowing them down with some water. Her own water now. She had left Timothy's back at the school.
She looked at the streets, realizing where she was.
Instead of falling back down, Rosemary stood, dragging her duffle along the ground with her. She felt too tired to carrying it, until she came to the store she was looking for.
The days had not been kind to Becca Everett and Joey Caputo. She had to dry heave at the sight of maggots crawling in their exposed wounds and stumped necks, at the putrid stench of it all. She wanted to burn it down. Burn down the store, the town, the entire island could fucking burn for all she cared in that moment. But, she had another reason.
"I'm sorry... that I couldn't find another way, Joey." she got out. That was it. There was nothing left to say. She pulled her duffle along the street, until she reached a shop front that was didn't smell as much, and went into the alley at the side, where there was shade. She slumped against the wall, letting her body slide down. She felt her little knife in her pocket, and held her bag close, before letting herself fall into an exhausted sleep until night time.
Retrograde
Back to the Beginning
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MrMissMrs Random†
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Retrograde
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Rattlesnake
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((Katarina Konipaski continued from Vertigo))
The dying rays of the sun cast long shadows over the buildings and the streets of the forsaken town.
Katarina shivered a bit, looked around, tensed a muscle in her jaw. The island that had shrunk so much in the morning's announcements seemed almost endless in its barren desolation. She blinked and held it for a few seconds. Her eyes were painful and dry, and closing them was so soothing, if only for a moment. She hadn't found much to drink since her bag had been taken. Some puddles, a dripping gutter, but nothing clean or substantial. And it was pretty difficult to sleep when you had nothing but your fingernails against fifty murderers living where twenty had room.
The overpass hung like a sleeping leviathan in the distance. She thought of herself, balancing on the rail with the ground three dozen feet below as if she were a child again, waving her arms about as she tried out a curb for a balance beam. It was mad. Pure madness. Her very life, the most valuable thing she could ever possess, a stumble away from oblivion. But maybe, she thought, you had to be a little mad sometimes to get by. Her mind shrunk from the thought, but she put herself back on it. Face it like she'd faced the razor-edge of death because you had to feel what there was to lose to know what you had to gain.
She shivered again. Padded softly amongst the alleyways on her toes. The very last of her old supplies, the bandages that still criss-crossed up her boots in that childish, girly little decoration, ground away beneath her toes so better to commit murder with victims still unaware.
Another slit of darkness gaped to her side. She checked it without even thinking. A shape, irregular, heaped - or huddled? Her chest seemed to still of its own accord as she stepped into the concrete cranny. The shape resolved itself. Rosemary Whatsherface in the flesh. A sudden lightness washed over her, heart absolutely singing. She walked down the alleyway, oblivious to Rosemary's response. Let her flinch or back away or even beckon if she liked, it wouldn't change a thing. There was something there she couldn't let escape. Salvation from the creeping malaise. She didn't know quite why it was that way, but the part of her that was most certain knew it. Maybe it was just the thought of rest. A face she could still see laughing even as she held a knife out while Katarina brandished her scythe.
She closed until she was a couple feet away. An honest-to-goodness grin formed on her face.
"Sup?" she said, and let herself slide down the wall until she was huddled next to Rosemary.
"Don't got any water, do you?" she added after letting her greeting hang for just a second.
The dying rays of the sun cast long shadows over the buildings and the streets of the forsaken town.
Katarina shivered a bit, looked around, tensed a muscle in her jaw. The island that had shrunk so much in the morning's announcements seemed almost endless in its barren desolation. She blinked and held it for a few seconds. Her eyes were painful and dry, and closing them was so soothing, if only for a moment. She hadn't found much to drink since her bag had been taken. Some puddles, a dripping gutter, but nothing clean or substantial. And it was pretty difficult to sleep when you had nothing but your fingernails against fifty murderers living where twenty had room.
The overpass hung like a sleeping leviathan in the distance. She thought of herself, balancing on the rail with the ground three dozen feet below as if she were a child again, waving her arms about as she tried out a curb for a balance beam. It was mad. Pure madness. Her very life, the most valuable thing she could ever possess, a stumble away from oblivion. But maybe, she thought, you had to be a little mad sometimes to get by. Her mind shrunk from the thought, but she put herself back on it. Face it like she'd faced the razor-edge of death because you had to feel what there was to lose to know what you had to gain.
She shivered again. Padded softly amongst the alleyways on her toes. The very last of her old supplies, the bandages that still criss-crossed up her boots in that childish, girly little decoration, ground away beneath her toes so better to commit murder with victims still unaware.
Another slit of darkness gaped to her side. She checked it without even thinking. A shape, irregular, heaped - or huddled? Her chest seemed to still of its own accord as she stepped into the concrete cranny. The shape resolved itself. Rosemary Whatsherface in the flesh. A sudden lightness washed over her, heart absolutely singing. She walked down the alleyway, oblivious to Rosemary's response. Let her flinch or back away or even beckon if she liked, it wouldn't change a thing. There was something there she couldn't let escape. Salvation from the creeping malaise. She didn't know quite why it was that way, but the part of her that was most certain knew it. Maybe it was just the thought of rest. A face she could still see laughing even as she held a knife out while Katarina brandished her scythe.
She closed until she was a couple feet away. An honest-to-goodness grin formed on her face.
"Sup?" she said, and let herself slide down the wall until she was huddled next to Rosemary.
"Don't got any water, do you?" she added after letting her greeting hang for just a second.
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MrMissMrs Random†
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Rosemary looked at the uninvited guest with awe. At first, she thought she was still dreaming, Was this really Katarina Konipaski, the five time killer, the first person she had seen when she first woke up on the island, or was she just a simple hallucination?
But then she smelled the blood and grime on her body, and her body warmth as she huddled next to her in the crooked alley. She had heard hallucinations felt real, but Kat felt too real for even that.
And god, even in the dying light, she looked like shit. Even worse than Travis' injuries and twice- bludgeoned head. They were all worse for wear by this point, but all of these seemed recent. She also had no bag, no supplies, and no weapons to speak of.
"...Hello." Rosemary replied with a sigh. She was too tired to scream or hit or tell Kat to get away from her anymore. "Yeah... here."
She got the water bottle from her pack, handing it to the other girl. Payback for getting some from Timothy.
"Where's Steve?" she said aloud the first thing that had popped into head, despite its absurdity.
But then she smelled the blood and grime on her body, and her body warmth as she huddled next to her in the crooked alley. She had heard hallucinations felt real, but Kat felt too real for even that.
And god, even in the dying light, she looked like shit. Even worse than Travis' injuries and twice- bludgeoned head. They were all worse for wear by this point, but all of these seemed recent. She also had no bag, no supplies, and no weapons to speak of.
"...Hello." Rosemary replied with a sigh. She was too tired to scream or hit or tell Kat to get away from her anymore. "Yeah... here."
She got the water bottle from her pack, handing it to the other girl. Payback for getting some from Timothy.
"Where's Steve?" she said aloud the first thing that had popped into head, despite its absurdity.
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
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Rosemary didn't run away or scream, which was nice. Or stab her, which was even better. And to top it off, she even had water. Was there a church on the island? And did they take offers for new saints?
She took the bottle, felt the glorious heft of life-giving water in her hands. The air was still in the alleyway, free of the restless drafts that plagued the coastal scenery. It wasn't warm, but sitting there together, it felt just a little cozy.
Rosemary was talking, but Katarina had business to attend to before she responded. The water flowed smooth over the shredded skin of her lips, down her barren throat. It was stagnant water, lukewarm, carrying the taste of plastic on it. It was the best water she'd had in her life.
When she was finished gulping she pulled the bottle from her lips and let out a breath that was half satisfied sigh, half gasp for air. "Wh-" she started, looking over at Rosemary, and then caught herself. Leaning on her scythe, joking and laughing and carrying on like the girl who just wanted to go to Disneyland with her friends. She hoped Rosemary wouldn't see her grinning like an idiot, but then considered that it probably didn't matter if she did. "Ah, Steve. —Sorry, by the way," she said, swirling the remaining inch or so of water around the bottle.
"He left to pursue his options a couple days ago. Bit of a swinger, I guess." a quick glance for recognition of the pun. "But yeah, I thought I was pretty well set with my little prize. Guess I wasn't."
The last sentence came with a deal more edge than she expected. Her face flushed and her mind bubbled.
"You still got that knife?" she threw in, forestalling the obvious question. "Offer's still open, by the way. Don't feel like cashing in right now, though."
She leaned back against the wall and sighed again.
She took the bottle, felt the glorious heft of life-giving water in her hands. The air was still in the alleyway, free of the restless drafts that plagued the coastal scenery. It wasn't warm, but sitting there together, it felt just a little cozy.
Rosemary was talking, but Katarina had business to attend to before she responded. The water flowed smooth over the shredded skin of her lips, down her barren throat. It was stagnant water, lukewarm, carrying the taste of plastic on it. It was the best water she'd had in her life.
When she was finished gulping she pulled the bottle from her lips and let out a breath that was half satisfied sigh, half gasp for air. "Wh-" she started, looking over at Rosemary, and then caught herself. Leaning on her scythe, joking and laughing and carrying on like the girl who just wanted to go to Disneyland with her friends. She hoped Rosemary wouldn't see her grinning like an idiot, but then considered that it probably didn't matter if she did. "Ah, Steve. —Sorry, by the way," she said, swirling the remaining inch or so of water around the bottle.
"He left to pursue his options a couple days ago. Bit of a swinger, I guess." a quick glance for recognition of the pun. "But yeah, I thought I was pretty well set with my little prize. Guess I wasn't."
The last sentence came with a deal more edge than she expected. Her face flushed and her mind bubbled.
"You still got that knife?" she threw in, forestalling the obvious question. "Offer's still open, by the way. Don't feel like cashing in right now, though."
She leaned back against the wall and sighed again.
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MrMissMrs Random†
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"It's... okay." Rosemary answered, though he voice gave the distinct hoarseness of a sore throat. She hoped there was another bottle in the duffle.
She couldn't help the quirk up on her lips. She had truly gone insane, but it looks like she would have company.
"Yeah... never fired the weapon I got from Best Kill, did whack Travis Webster with it though. That felt good, but he got in anyway." Rosemary answered with her own weapon woes. "And yup- still have that little knife."
She didn't want to bring it out at the moment. Despite the warmth she felt coming from Kat, bringing a weapon in there would just bring tension. "You've got another proposition for me? Guess... I'll listen to it later."
This all felt a bit surreal. She was alone, with Kat. The same as it was on day one, only the two of them had completely changed. She wondered if someone, some author she never read or heard of, could describe this sense of bewilderment and peace. Everything in the town was still, save for her and Kat.
She couldn't help the quirk up on her lips. She had truly gone insane, but it looks like she would have company.
"Yeah... never fired the weapon I got from Best Kill, did whack Travis Webster with it though. That felt good, but he got in anyway." Rosemary answered with her own weapon woes. "And yup- still have that little knife."
She didn't want to bring it out at the moment. Despite the warmth she felt coming from Kat, bringing a weapon in there would just bring tension. "You've got another proposition for me? Guess... I'll listen to it later."
This all felt a bit surreal. She was alone, with Kat. The same as it was on day one, only the two of them had completely changed. She wondered if someone, some author she never read or heard of, could describe this sense of bewilderment and peace. Everything in the town was still, save for her and Kat.
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Rattlesnake
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Another little glance over. Rosemary didn't brandish the knife, and if she patted the pocket where it resided, then Katarina looked for it too late.
"Alright," she said, "But if I doze off, don't shank me while I'm asleep. Deal?"
It felt so good to sit there and talk to someone, talk to them like a person and have them talk back to her like she was a person. Not a cat and a mouse or a dog or whatever you wanted to break it down into. To hug her knees and guard each other just a little from the cool of the oncoming night. Is that what she should have done from the beginning? Find allies, people she could talk to, forge alliances in the crucible of fear that would keep their temper when tested by the murder that warped everything else? Was that how everyone else lived their last days? They found happiness, and it was all the sweeter for the bitterness around them. Her own fantasy, the vision she chased of a warm shower, a soft bed with a fluffy comforter, decent food, her cat dozing at her side as she worked along on her Pokemon file. It just seemed...
She'd done a lot of things wrong on the island. Her nose was a throbbing reminder of that. She looked over at Rosemary again. The girl with a knife in her pocket, spare clothes and food to eat. Katarina tried to sniff back the tears oozing their way out around her eyes, down her nostrils. She coughed and gritted her teeth as pain lanced through her face. It wasn't an option any more. Maybe, if she'd been honest with herself, it never was. A vice of regret wrung her heart dry, but maybe that just proved she was still there underneath it all. The decision was made.
"Sorry," she said shortly, placing a hand to her throat. Her collar was still there, rimmed with grime and blood. The real cage that kept them all there. She'd ridden the edge of freedom, balanced a misstep from death, but there was no fevered fantasy that made it any looser.
"I got..." but the gory details seemed so out of place now. Impulsively, decisively, she slid her hands down her shins and loosened her boots, slid them slowly off and let them fall in a heap on the ground. She couldn't run now. Not far or long, at least. But it wouldn't be worse than missing her bag. One day, she could pull through. Two, it would hurt. But probably. Three? Not likely. But she tried not to think about that. She could curl her toes freely now. Feel cool air swirling up around her ankles.
"I'm staying put for a while. If you don't mind," she said, and there were still tears in her throat. Darkness was falling ever faster. Just for one night she wanted to feel safe, or find the capacity not to worry too much over it. And two, and three, and years and decades of night, but she liked to keep things realistic.
"God, I want to go home," she said.
"Alright," she said, "But if I doze off, don't shank me while I'm asleep. Deal?"
It felt so good to sit there and talk to someone, talk to them like a person and have them talk back to her like she was a person. Not a cat and a mouse or a dog or whatever you wanted to break it down into. To hug her knees and guard each other just a little from the cool of the oncoming night. Is that what she should have done from the beginning? Find allies, people she could talk to, forge alliances in the crucible of fear that would keep their temper when tested by the murder that warped everything else? Was that how everyone else lived their last days? They found happiness, and it was all the sweeter for the bitterness around them. Her own fantasy, the vision she chased of a warm shower, a soft bed with a fluffy comforter, decent food, her cat dozing at her side as she worked along on her Pokemon file. It just seemed...
She'd done a lot of things wrong on the island. Her nose was a throbbing reminder of that. She looked over at Rosemary again. The girl with a knife in her pocket, spare clothes and food to eat. Katarina tried to sniff back the tears oozing their way out around her eyes, down her nostrils. She coughed and gritted her teeth as pain lanced through her face. It wasn't an option any more. Maybe, if she'd been honest with herself, it never was. A vice of regret wrung her heart dry, but maybe that just proved she was still there underneath it all. The decision was made.
"Sorry," she said shortly, placing a hand to her throat. Her collar was still there, rimmed with grime and blood. The real cage that kept them all there. She'd ridden the edge of freedom, balanced a misstep from death, but there was no fevered fantasy that made it any looser.
"I got..." but the gory details seemed so out of place now. Impulsively, decisively, she slid her hands down her shins and loosened her boots, slid them slowly off and let them fall in a heap on the ground. She couldn't run now. Not far or long, at least. But it wouldn't be worse than missing her bag. One day, she could pull through. Two, it would hurt. But probably. Three? Not likely. But she tried not to think about that. She could curl her toes freely now. Feel cool air swirling up around her ankles.
"I'm staying put for a while. If you don't mind," she said, and there were still tears in her throat. Darkness was falling ever faster. Just for one night she wanted to feel safe, or find the capacity not to worry too much over it. And two, and three, and years and decades of night, but she liked to keep things realistic.
"God, I want to go home," she said.
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MrMissMrs Random†
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Rosemary was at a loss of how to respond to Kat, at her relaxing, and her breakdown. It was hard to believe that she was a killer. But then again, if Kat had not killed, would she still even be here?
If Rosemary hadn't let friend after friend die, would she be here either?
No matter what choices we make here, they will always be the wrong ones. she thought, stopping herself from repeating the mantra out loud. It was true, but not right now. Not when there was a murderer who was also a crying girl that wanted to go home beside her to hear it. Philosophy was worth nothing to those in despair.
So she did what she could never do in the life she had before the island. She reached out.
Rosemary's arm quietly snuck around Kat's shoulders, pulling her into a half-embrace, and held it for a few moments, before drawing back. Enough for Katarina to know that, yes, Rosemary understood that she wanted to go home.
And though she would deny it, she wanted that too, now. She didn't want to be like her brother. Ripped from the world by a freak accident before he even had the chance to live. She didn't want to be cold and starving and alone for the rest of her now shortened lifespan. It was the same feeling she had when she tried to reach out to Joachim.
Rosemary wanted to live, really, really live. But so did everyone else. And that's what made everything on the island hurt more.
"I promise not to shank you while you sleep." she said after the moment had passed.
If Rosemary hadn't let friend after friend die, would she be here either?
No matter what choices we make here, they will always be the wrong ones. she thought, stopping herself from repeating the mantra out loud. It was true, but not right now. Not when there was a murderer who was also a crying girl that wanted to go home beside her to hear it. Philosophy was worth nothing to those in despair.
So she did what she could never do in the life she had before the island. She reached out.
Rosemary's arm quietly snuck around Kat's shoulders, pulling her into a half-embrace, and held it for a few moments, before drawing back. Enough for Katarina to know that, yes, Rosemary understood that she wanted to go home.
And though she would deny it, she wanted that too, now. She didn't want to be like her brother. Ripped from the world by a freak accident before he even had the chance to live. She didn't want to be cold and starving and alone for the rest of her now shortened lifespan. It was the same feeling she had when she tried to reach out to Joachim.
Rosemary wanted to live, really, really live. But so did everyone else. And that's what made everything on the island hurt more.
"I promise not to shank you while you sleep." she said after the moment had passed.
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Rattlesnake
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For a fraction of an instant Katarina felt recoiling terror at Rosemary's touch, but the hand sliding across her shoulders wasn't Bella's. wasn't Ami's or Hansel's. It didn't seek to deprive her life or food or weapons or dignity. Rosemary squeezed a little, pulled her into a half-hug that was pure bliss. That someone could find value in her enough to give their little form of comfort...
She smiled as Rosemary answered her half-joking concern with her own half-joking assurance. Smiled, but didn't respond. The silence wasn't sacred or unbreakable in itself. There was just nothing left to say. She looked over one more time at the girl huddled just inches away. Screw it, she thought, and leaned right against her.
Was her family watching this? Surely it would be on record. One girl with a plan and no supplies, another one with supplies and no plan. History between them. Jokes, laughs, threats. They'd follow that for sure. But would they watch them as they sat and chatted and watched night fall over them? Maybe they thought that was interesting or cute or heartwarming, something they could squeeze for extra drama. And as much as she wanted to, Katarina couldn't find it in herself to damn them for it.
So please be watching this, she thought desperately, and squeezed a pair of tears through her eyelids. No, please don't was the frantic reply. Because she was decided on her course now, and she had no illusions about it. She knew what the end result of the pursuit of comfort, pleasure, fleeting security was. What selfishness' reward was. She'd seen that firsthand. Doled it out in a flurry of smoke and screams and the smell of sulfur. She was setting them up for a fall, just like Rosemary. Just like herself. She crossed her arms over her chest, squeezed herself against the cold, leaned into Rosemary and felt her lean back against her. The soft warmth of her body, the slow, rhythmic pulse of her breathing. She was so tired. Back at home, she'd be asleep in seconds. But the dagger kept twisting itself. The future. Her family. Her brothers, learning secondhand how the sister they loved and admired and looked up to was a cold-blooded monster.
But screw the world. She was tasting everything she'd denied herself. Danger, comfort, human kindness. She needed to experience it all, as purely and earnestly as she could. Remember who she was doing it all for. She gave a little shrug, settled in. A vulnerability to blatant it felt downright secure. That was the ticket. Her breathing slowed and she let herself fall backwards into her dreams.
She smiled as Rosemary answered her half-joking concern with her own half-joking assurance. Smiled, but didn't respond. The silence wasn't sacred or unbreakable in itself. There was just nothing left to say. She looked over one more time at the girl huddled just inches away. Screw it, she thought, and leaned right against her.
Was her family watching this? Surely it would be on record. One girl with a plan and no supplies, another one with supplies and no plan. History between them. Jokes, laughs, threats. They'd follow that for sure. But would they watch them as they sat and chatted and watched night fall over them? Maybe they thought that was interesting or cute or heartwarming, something they could squeeze for extra drama. And as much as she wanted to, Katarina couldn't find it in herself to damn them for it.
So please be watching this, she thought desperately, and squeezed a pair of tears through her eyelids. No, please don't was the frantic reply. Because she was decided on her course now, and she had no illusions about it. She knew what the end result of the pursuit of comfort, pleasure, fleeting security was. What selfishness' reward was. She'd seen that firsthand. Doled it out in a flurry of smoke and screams and the smell of sulfur. She was setting them up for a fall, just like Rosemary. Just like herself. She crossed her arms over her chest, squeezed herself against the cold, leaned into Rosemary and felt her lean back against her. The soft warmth of her body, the slow, rhythmic pulse of her breathing. She was so tired. Back at home, she'd be asleep in seconds. But the dagger kept twisting itself. The future. Her family. Her brothers, learning secondhand how the sister they loved and admired and looked up to was a cold-blooded monster.
But screw the world. She was tasting everything she'd denied herself. Danger, comfort, human kindness. She needed to experience it all, as purely and earnestly as she could. Remember who she was doing it all for. She gave a little shrug, settled in. A vulnerability to blatant it felt downright secure. That was the ticket. Her breathing slowed and she let herself fall backwards into her dreams.
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MrMissMrs Random†
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Rosemary sighed. The warmth of another human was almost overpowering, but it would be good when night set in. She still felt weak, even after sleeping all day...
As Kat fell asleep, Rosemary felt herself slowly drifting off as well. The more practical side of her was screaming how bad an idea this was, but that voice was growing fainter and fainter.
"Kat...?" she whispered, not knowing why she called out. But the girl didn't respond.
Despite that danger, the threat of letting her guard down, Rosemary succumbed to sleep, her head leaning against Kat's as her eyes fluttered close.
As Kat fell asleep, Rosemary felt herself slowly drifting off as well. The more practical side of her was screaming how bad an idea this was, but that voice was growing fainter and fainter.
"Kat...?" she whispered, not knowing why she called out. But the girl didn't respond.
Despite that danger, the threat of letting her guard down, Rosemary succumbed to sleep, her head leaning against Kat's as her eyes fluttered close.
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Rattlesnake
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Katarina woke so suddenly it felt as if she'd been literally catapulted from her slumber.
She looked around. The sky seemed to be lightening, or maybe that was just her acclamation to the dark. Either way, Rosemary was fast asleep against her shoulder. Pure and innocent and kind and everything the island wasn't. A light sweat ran up Katarina's side, a touch of moisture where Rosemary's body pressed gently against hers. She took a calming breath. Molten lead filled her chest, her pulse beating in her temples. Anticipation and fear and the clenching terror of beating the alarm clock, wondering any second if it might go off. Please, just for a minute, she pleaded, and felt nearly sick from adrenaline.
Slowly, carefully, she pushed Rosemary upright and slid soundlessly away. The sleeping girl's arm drooped off the lap onto the ground between them. Barely an inch separated them, but an inch was all she needed.
One more check against wakefulness. A moment's pause to make sure the light stirring didn't progress any further. Another moment to make double-sure. A third out of pure weakness.
Katarina pushed herself slowly up and bent into a kneel and then a crouch. Everywhere she'd shared Rosemary's warmth felt suddenly frigid in the cold air, and the chill of the ground soaked up quickly through her socks. Carefully she stepped over Rosemary's legs, turned, and straddled her sleeping form.
Almost but not quite they touched. Katarina could feel the draft of Rosemary's breath, see in the dim light the smoothness of her face. No concerns for her. No worries. No chronic mortal fear that wrinkled your brow so thoroughly that relaxing it brought the lightness of a post-workout rest. Katarina hovered over her, propped up on her knees and her toes, and she couldn't stop herself from brushing a wisp of hanging hair away from Rosemary's face.
Doing it would be impossible. But avoiding it would be even harder.
She reached down and unbuckled her belt, relaxing suddenly the iron grip around her hips as she knelt with legs splayed. It slithered out through her beltloops like a poisonous snake until she held it wrapped in one hand. She bent forward, her chest pressing into Rosemary's so firmly she thought she could feel the girl's heartbeat.
Quickly now.
One wrist, and then the other. Lightness gave way to speed as she brought her hands, and Rosemary's, together. Either would do if she beat the sliding deadline that hummed and groaned and stirred. One wrap, check, wrap again and then again. Make sure it's tight. make sure it's secure. She was waking.
Katarina pushed the end of the belt through the coil, and then again the other way. Pulled it tight as she could. With her victim's wrists securely bound, she fastened her hands tightly around Rosemary's throat.
She looked around. The sky seemed to be lightening, or maybe that was just her acclamation to the dark. Either way, Rosemary was fast asleep against her shoulder. Pure and innocent and kind and everything the island wasn't. A light sweat ran up Katarina's side, a touch of moisture where Rosemary's body pressed gently against hers. She took a calming breath. Molten lead filled her chest, her pulse beating in her temples. Anticipation and fear and the clenching terror of beating the alarm clock, wondering any second if it might go off. Please, just for a minute, she pleaded, and felt nearly sick from adrenaline.
Slowly, carefully, she pushed Rosemary upright and slid soundlessly away. The sleeping girl's arm drooped off the lap onto the ground between them. Barely an inch separated them, but an inch was all she needed.
One more check against wakefulness. A moment's pause to make sure the light stirring didn't progress any further. Another moment to make double-sure. A third out of pure weakness.
Katarina pushed herself slowly up and bent into a kneel and then a crouch. Everywhere she'd shared Rosemary's warmth felt suddenly frigid in the cold air, and the chill of the ground soaked up quickly through her socks. Carefully she stepped over Rosemary's legs, turned, and straddled her sleeping form.
Almost but not quite they touched. Katarina could feel the draft of Rosemary's breath, see in the dim light the smoothness of her face. No concerns for her. No worries. No chronic mortal fear that wrinkled your brow so thoroughly that relaxing it brought the lightness of a post-workout rest. Katarina hovered over her, propped up on her knees and her toes, and she couldn't stop herself from brushing a wisp of hanging hair away from Rosemary's face.
Doing it would be impossible. But avoiding it would be even harder.
She reached down and unbuckled her belt, relaxing suddenly the iron grip around her hips as she knelt with legs splayed. It slithered out through her beltloops like a poisonous snake until she held it wrapped in one hand. She bent forward, her chest pressing into Rosemary's so firmly she thought she could feel the girl's heartbeat.
Quickly now.
One wrist, and then the other. Lightness gave way to speed as she brought her hands, and Rosemary's, together. Either would do if she beat the sliding deadline that hummed and groaned and stirred. One wrap, check, wrap again and then again. Make sure it's tight. make sure it's secure. She was waking.
Katarina pushed the end of the belt through the coil, and then again the other way. Pulled it tight as she could. With her victim's wrists securely bound, she fastened her hands tightly around Rosemary's throat.
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MrMissMrs Random†
- Posts: 213
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 2:39 am
When she awoke, she first thought the hands on her throat were Travis Webster's. His bloodied, almost mangled looking hands closing around her neck. Back to finish the job he had started, along with the collar around her throat.
But then her eyes focused, and all she could see was Katarina. She tried to speak, but the air she had was less and less. She yanked at her hands to find they were bound. She squirmed tried to toss her head back and forth has the air got less and less.
She should've known. She should've known after Travis took her gun, that nobody would play the game her way. She should've listened to the fucking announcements that listed Kat's name over and over. She struggled more, spitting in Kat's face, trying to wriggle her wrists free or swing it. Get the knife, get the knife, get the knife-
Get it getitgetitgeit come on you're more flexible than that! she shrieked in her head, the warning bells ringing in her head, or the oxygen deprivation was kicking in.
Oh god, oh god I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die like this!
She would've screamed if she could've. Rosemary didn't want to die like this. She didn't want to die like an animal. Spittle dribbled down her face as she continued to fight, staring at Kat's face.
But then her eyes focused, and all she could see was Katarina. She tried to speak, but the air she had was less and less. She yanked at her hands to find they were bound. She squirmed tried to toss her head back and forth has the air got less and less.
She should've known. She should've known after Travis took her gun, that nobody would play the game her way. She should've listened to the fucking announcements that listed Kat's name over and over. She struggled more, spitting in Kat's face, trying to wriggle her wrists free or swing it. Get the knife, get the knife, get the knife-
Get it getitgetitgeit come on you're more flexible than that! she shrieked in her head, the warning bells ringing in her head, or the oxygen deprivation was kicking in.
Oh god, oh god I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die like this!
She would've screamed if she could've. Rosemary didn't want to die like this. She didn't want to die like an animal. Spittle dribbled down her face as she continued to fight, staring at Kat's face.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler MrMissMrs Random. 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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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Deeper and deeper Katarina pressed her hands into Rosemary's neck. Sweat ran down her shoulders. She squeezed harder. Throw yourself off the deep end so there's no going back. Not even if you want to. And the thing, the really big thing about it all: she had to want to.
She pushed herself against the struggling girl, forcing her back with her bodyweight. Everything was bubbling up. Her goals, her dreams, her purpose. Rosemary's neck was so soft. She had to want to. That was the only way forward. Rosemary just wanted to see home again. Well, so did Katarina.
In fact, she thought, and her cheeks burned and her fingers clenched like vicegrips, every other hope but her own was an anathema to her. Every wish, every dream, every idle fantasy of home was an unconscionable offense. If Rosemary ever felt another loving embrace then she, Katarina, would be dead. You couldn't wish simply to survive. Because you wished, then, that everyone else would die. Painfully. Horribly. Because there was no peaceful way to die. There was no comfort or security in ending everything she ever knew. They'd do it personally, too, if it came to it, because that's how it had to be. Oh, they'd find some way around it. They'd dehumanize her in their minds. Say she deserved it. Call defense of themselves noble, as if Katarina wasn't trying to fucking survive as well. They would cut her throat, or slash her guts open, or blast her precious brain into dripping, oozing chunks. They would attack her, and it was surgery by hatchet, because they were after one thing and one thing only, and it was crude and indirect and it was the only way they knew how. They'd slice and carve and flay her soul from her body.
And then they'd feel satisfied.
Could there be any harm more brutal? More personal? She clenched her aching hands harder. Felt the faint throbbing of Rosemary's pulse and dedicated herself to wiping it out. Rosemary would do it. Katarina stared into her eyes as she tried to find some avenue to escape her rushing fate. Rosemary would do it because Bella would, and Hansel, and Max and Theo and everyone else who boarded for Disneyland and landed in Hell. Ami would do it. Something flashed behind her eyes. Ami, who thought herself so innocent and just. Who had shattered her nose and taken the food and the water and the gun she needed to keep on living. Oh, she felt great about that, no doubt. She didn't kill Katarina but she wasn't going to save her either. Like she was fucking Batman who thought there was any difference at all. And if that's what the so-called good guys did, what would the dregs of highschool society do to her if they had her in their power?
Rosemary was stirring ever more feebly. Brain screaming for oxygen and lungs drawing none. Katarina's fingernails slicing into tender skin. Oh, she was a hypocrite for it. But no more than she was before. Not a fraction. Katarina the killer, Katarina the person. Keep them separate. Compartmentalize, because some shred of humanity has to make it home or it's all for naught. Deny yourself every comfort, because you might just get attached. Don't wipe the sweat from your eyes when you're chained and screaming in Hell because you might not want to leave. Try to dull away the feeling, because that's sure going to help you make the best decisions. Lock it all up and then go door to door asking if anyone has the fucking key at gunpoint. That was a sure strategy. Let one hand pretend they all deserve to live while depriving them of the right with the other. Grab a gun and some food and sit and wait around.
For what?
She pushed herself away, let her body weight off as Rosemary's muscles starved and died. It didn't work. You didn't survive like that. There wasn't a society in the history of the world that endured long on what might come to pass. If she wasn't reaching for something, stretching with all her might, then someone else would take it. She had been trying not to die. But that wasn't how you won the game. She had to try, had to want, had to desire with every fiber of her being to live. And know what that meant. She could scratch her cat behind her ears if she slashed enough throats. Lay on the couch and race with her brothers if she shot and stabbed. And she had to want that, too. Because they deserved it. That was the piece she'd been missing all along. Steven deserved to die. Kelly deserved to die.
She pressed her thumbs into Rosemary's windpipe like twin daggers. Because Rosemary deserved to die.
She pushed herself against the struggling girl, forcing her back with her bodyweight. Everything was bubbling up. Her goals, her dreams, her purpose. Rosemary's neck was so soft. She had to want to. That was the only way forward. Rosemary just wanted to see home again. Well, so did Katarina.
In fact, she thought, and her cheeks burned and her fingers clenched like vicegrips, every other hope but her own was an anathema to her. Every wish, every dream, every idle fantasy of home was an unconscionable offense. If Rosemary ever felt another loving embrace then she, Katarina, would be dead. You couldn't wish simply to survive. Because you wished, then, that everyone else would die. Painfully. Horribly. Because there was no peaceful way to die. There was no comfort or security in ending everything she ever knew. They'd do it personally, too, if it came to it, because that's how it had to be. Oh, they'd find some way around it. They'd dehumanize her in their minds. Say she deserved it. Call defense of themselves noble, as if Katarina wasn't trying to fucking survive as well. They would cut her throat, or slash her guts open, or blast her precious brain into dripping, oozing chunks. They would attack her, and it was surgery by hatchet, because they were after one thing and one thing only, and it was crude and indirect and it was the only way they knew how. They'd slice and carve and flay her soul from her body.
And then they'd feel satisfied.
Could there be any harm more brutal? More personal? She clenched her aching hands harder. Felt the faint throbbing of Rosemary's pulse and dedicated herself to wiping it out. Rosemary would do it. Katarina stared into her eyes as she tried to find some avenue to escape her rushing fate. Rosemary would do it because Bella would, and Hansel, and Max and Theo and everyone else who boarded for Disneyland and landed in Hell. Ami would do it. Something flashed behind her eyes. Ami, who thought herself so innocent and just. Who had shattered her nose and taken the food and the water and the gun she needed to keep on living. Oh, she felt great about that, no doubt. She didn't kill Katarina but she wasn't going to save her either. Like she was fucking Batman who thought there was any difference at all. And if that's what the so-called good guys did, what would the dregs of highschool society do to her if they had her in their power?
Rosemary was stirring ever more feebly. Brain screaming for oxygen and lungs drawing none. Katarina's fingernails slicing into tender skin. Oh, she was a hypocrite for it. But no more than she was before. Not a fraction. Katarina the killer, Katarina the person. Keep them separate. Compartmentalize, because some shred of humanity has to make it home or it's all for naught. Deny yourself every comfort, because you might just get attached. Don't wipe the sweat from your eyes when you're chained and screaming in Hell because you might not want to leave. Try to dull away the feeling, because that's sure going to help you make the best decisions. Lock it all up and then go door to door asking if anyone has the fucking key at gunpoint. That was a sure strategy. Let one hand pretend they all deserve to live while depriving them of the right with the other. Grab a gun and some food and sit and wait around.
For what?
She pushed herself away, let her body weight off as Rosemary's muscles starved and died. It didn't work. You didn't survive like that. There wasn't a society in the history of the world that endured long on what might come to pass. If she wasn't reaching for something, stretching with all her might, then someone else would take it. She had been trying not to die. But that wasn't how you won the game. She had to try, had to want, had to desire with every fiber of her being to live. And know what that meant. She could scratch her cat behind her ears if she slashed enough throats. Lay on the couch and race with her brothers if she shot and stabbed. And she had to want that, too. Because they deserved it. That was the piece she'd been missing all along. Steven deserved to die. Kelly deserved to die.
She pressed her thumbs into Rosemary's windpipe like twin daggers. Because Rosemary deserved to die.
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MrMissMrs Random†
- Posts: 213
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 2:39 am
Rosemary fought. She fought with every fiber of her dying body. She didn't want to die. Then and there, it wasn't because she didn't want her friends sacrifices to be in vain. It wasn't because of her parents, now losing their final child. It wasn't even because she thought she was a good person: someone who didn't deserve to be here. It wasn't any of that. She just wanted to live, because she was human and all humans wanted to fucking live.
As brain cells died and she felt all of the little air pockets that could be in her lungs run out, she thought this, and felt herself smiling.
"H-h-heh..." She wheezed through a death mask of a grin. She must've looked like a beast, but she was starting not to care as much.
In her losing consciousness, as Katarina's fingers squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, she had never wanted to live more in her life. Wanted to live, just as she was about to die.
I guess... I really am... pathetic....
guys....
G006, Rosemary Michaels: DECEASED
As brain cells died and she felt all of the little air pockets that could be in her lungs run out, she thought this, and felt herself smiling.
"H-h-heh..." She wheezed through a death mask of a grin. She must've looked like a beast, but she was starting not to care as much.
In her losing consciousness, as Katarina's fingers squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, she had never wanted to live more in her life. Wanted to live, just as she was about to die.
I guess... I really am... pathetic....
guys....
G006, Rosemary Michaels: DECEASED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler MrMissMrs Random. 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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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
One-one-thousand.
Rosemary sputtered and spasmed, and something like a crazed grin flashed over her face. Katarina's hands shook from the strain and from the heady mix of rage and fear and adrenaline but she kept on squeezing, driving, crushing Rosemary's neck to hamburger. The girl's struggles petered out to almost nothing, and then with a final twitch, she went limp. Rosemary Whatsherface, who'd just wanted to go to Disneyland, was dead.
Two-one-thousand.
Well, not quite.
Three-one-thousand.
Almost instinctively Katarina began the count. Five minutes, was it? Five minutes without oxygen before all your cells died off, or enough of them to make it stick.
Eight-one-thousand.
In other words, a hell of a long time. You didn't choke someone and toss them away like Darth Vader or something. Not if you wanted it to stick. Every time her palms slipped over the dying girl's soft throat, Katarina's stomach gave a little lurch. Was that enough? Did something get through? Did she have to make the time up?
Twenty-two-one-thousand.
The ground dug at her knees. It was like kneeling on a cheese grater, except for the stabbing pebbles that appeared seemingly from nowhere when she shifted her weight. Saliva trickled down from Rosemary's slack jaw, insinuating itself beneath her grip. Gradually her breathing began to slow, the fire in her veins began to ebb, and the chill of the night crept over her. An icy mantle settled over her shoulders, toes chilled from the weathered pavement.
Fifty-three-one-thousand.
She couldn't shake it from her mind. Over and over, Rosemary smiled in her final throes before blackness overtook her. Not dead then—maybe now, maybe not, though it didn't really matter—but the final light. Did it all work the same way? Did your brain dump everything it had into one blissful moment before the world passed out of your vision, or did it wait until the very last second? Was Rosemary dreaming now, as the lights flicked off one by one?
Sixty-seven-one-thousand.
More importantly, was she still herself? Did she know who she was, what, where? Was she still Rosemary in her dying moments? But she'd smiled. She'd smiled, like nobody ever should when their mind was teetering over the void. Fear and heat and pain lanced through her chest, seizing so hard it actually hurt. Could you think to take it with you, if you lost it all before you passed over? If there was someplace to pass over to? The gasping and the thrashing and the lost innocence and the brutal return of the kindness the girl had shown seemed to come to Katarina through frosted glass. The picture she could see, crystal clear, vibrant and clean, was the total death of her self.
One-hundred-and-thirty-two-one-thousand.
Just over halfway. Rosemary showed no signs of life. No pulse came through Katarina's palms, not that she could feel one against the clench of muscle and tendon in the first place. Was she gone already, then? Had her soul slipped out between Katarina's fingers? How was such a thing possible?
One-hundred-and-sixty-eight-one-thousand.
She shivered. The night was truly cold now, now that her only warmth was slumped beneath her fingers and no fire burned beneath her skin. Tears snuck down her cheeks and stuck her eyelashes together. Her bloodshot gaze didn't catch Rosemary's glassy stare. Morbidity and curiosity drifted back to the deep foundations of her mind. Again and again she tried to find a comfortable position, but her hands were stiff and sore, the tendons in her arms leaden. It was poetic to say that there was no possible comfort in the act, but the realistic part of her chimed in that you could sure find some way to murder someone from a nice couch.
One hundred and eighty-two.
She tried leaving off the bit at the end. It felt fairer, as the numbers got longer. And if it wasn't more accurate, it still made it all pass just a little more quickly.
Three hundred.
Katarina let her arms fall away and gave a deep, gasping sigh. There wasn't any doubt now, and there hadn't been for a while. The corpse drooped and toppled over, and she turned and slipped her boots back on. There was inventory to take, but she could do that in the light. She had something now, at least, and that itself was a victory. A bag, some food, maybe some clothes if she really wanted. They were built about the same. Probably had the same shoe size, even. She bent over the body, unwound her belt and threaded it back around her hips.
Oh, and one more thing.
She patted her hands up and down, found Rosemary's pockets and dug her fingers inside. In a moment, she held before her the butterfly knife she'd set her sights on back when her head was still fogged by the last of the terrorists' sedative.
I wasn't kidding about that offer.
((Katarina Konipaski continued in She Spies Sharp Steel by the Seashore))
Rosemary sputtered and spasmed, and something like a crazed grin flashed over her face. Katarina's hands shook from the strain and from the heady mix of rage and fear and adrenaline but she kept on squeezing, driving, crushing Rosemary's neck to hamburger. The girl's struggles petered out to almost nothing, and then with a final twitch, she went limp. Rosemary Whatsherface, who'd just wanted to go to Disneyland, was dead.
Two-one-thousand.
Well, not quite.
Three-one-thousand.
Almost instinctively Katarina began the count. Five minutes, was it? Five minutes without oxygen before all your cells died off, or enough of them to make it stick.
Eight-one-thousand.
In other words, a hell of a long time. You didn't choke someone and toss them away like Darth Vader or something. Not if you wanted it to stick. Every time her palms slipped over the dying girl's soft throat, Katarina's stomach gave a little lurch. Was that enough? Did something get through? Did she have to make the time up?
Twenty-two-one-thousand.
The ground dug at her knees. It was like kneeling on a cheese grater, except for the stabbing pebbles that appeared seemingly from nowhere when she shifted her weight. Saliva trickled down from Rosemary's slack jaw, insinuating itself beneath her grip. Gradually her breathing began to slow, the fire in her veins began to ebb, and the chill of the night crept over her. An icy mantle settled over her shoulders, toes chilled from the weathered pavement.
Fifty-three-one-thousand.
She couldn't shake it from her mind. Over and over, Rosemary smiled in her final throes before blackness overtook her. Not dead then—maybe now, maybe not, though it didn't really matter—but the final light. Did it all work the same way? Did your brain dump everything it had into one blissful moment before the world passed out of your vision, or did it wait until the very last second? Was Rosemary dreaming now, as the lights flicked off one by one?
Sixty-seven-one-thousand.
More importantly, was she still herself? Did she know who she was, what, where? Was she still Rosemary in her dying moments? But she'd smiled. She'd smiled, like nobody ever should when their mind was teetering over the void. Fear and heat and pain lanced through her chest, seizing so hard it actually hurt. Could you think to take it with you, if you lost it all before you passed over? If there was someplace to pass over to? The gasping and the thrashing and the lost innocence and the brutal return of the kindness the girl had shown seemed to come to Katarina through frosted glass. The picture she could see, crystal clear, vibrant and clean, was the total death of her self.
One-hundred-and-thirty-two-one-thousand.
Just over halfway. Rosemary showed no signs of life. No pulse came through Katarina's palms, not that she could feel one against the clench of muscle and tendon in the first place. Was she gone already, then? Had her soul slipped out between Katarina's fingers? How was such a thing possible?
One-hundred-and-sixty-eight-one-thousand.
She shivered. The night was truly cold now, now that her only warmth was slumped beneath her fingers and no fire burned beneath her skin. Tears snuck down her cheeks and stuck her eyelashes together. Her bloodshot gaze didn't catch Rosemary's glassy stare. Morbidity and curiosity drifted back to the deep foundations of her mind. Again and again she tried to find a comfortable position, but her hands were stiff and sore, the tendons in her arms leaden. It was poetic to say that there was no possible comfort in the act, but the realistic part of her chimed in that you could sure find some way to murder someone from a nice couch.
One hundred and eighty-two.
She tried leaving off the bit at the end. It felt fairer, as the numbers got longer. And if it wasn't more accurate, it still made it all pass just a little more quickly.
Three hundred.
Katarina let her arms fall away and gave a deep, gasping sigh. There wasn't any doubt now, and there hadn't been for a while. The corpse drooped and toppled over, and she turned and slipped her boots back on. There was inventory to take, but she could do that in the light. She had something now, at least, and that itself was a victory. A bag, some food, maybe some clothes if she really wanted. They were built about the same. Probably had the same shoe size, even. She bent over the body, unwound her belt and threaded it back around her hips.
Oh, and one more thing.
She patted her hands up and down, found Rosemary's pockets and dug her fingers inside. In a moment, she held before her the butterfly knife she'd set her sights on back when her head was still fogged by the last of the terrorists' sedative.
I wasn't kidding about that offer.
((Katarina Konipaski continued in She Spies Sharp Steel by the Seashore))