"Oh. Thanks."
Myles wanted to be mad still. It was rare for him to try to hold on to that, but he'd been in the right, was still in the right, and once again nobody had listened to him. Seeing her fully again in the morning light made it so much harder to stay mad.
He cleared his throat and swung his legs around and over the side of the couch to sit up properly. He'd slept with his boots on, despite the discomfort, and the faint crunch that he thought he might have heard under the soles when he set his feet on the floor validated that choice. An awkward silence weighed on them while Myles leaned over to grab the bag and pull it up onto the couch so that he could retrieve his shirt.
It stank, and it was crusty and gross with blood and God knew what else at this point, but it was the only shirt he had. It was dumb, but he felt a little more secure with one more flimsy layer between himself and the world. Anyway, he sunburned easily and needed the cover when they headed out.
"Thanks," he said again, hating how he sounded unsure.
"...How do you feel?"
who is the lamb and who is the knife?
PM For Entry! Day 9, Post Announcement
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"I didn't sleep well," she murmured, but that didn't really answer the question. "It... hurts, a lot, obviously, but it hurts so much it kind of blocks itself out after a while," but that didn't either.
In a better world where none of this would be happening anyway, Ivy would be honest. She'd tell Myles he was being stupid, and that being so on-edge was bad for him, and that maybe he was wrong about something just this once. And she'd say it with a smile, and he'd probably protest, and she'd make fun of him, and he'd make fun of how big a mess her hair was or something, and she'd pretend to be offended, and they'd both laugh. And then she'd apologize, anyway, because being right didn't matter that much. Not against the look on Myles's face.
But they were here, instead, and the tension still lined his expression, stiffened his shoulders. It wasn't the time to convince him of anything. All she needed was to skip to the part where everything was okay again.
"It wasn't... it wasn't important enough to fight about. I should have listened."
She leaned her head against the side of the couch, closing her eye.
"I'm sorry."
In a better world where none of this would be happening anyway, Ivy would be honest. She'd tell Myles he was being stupid, and that being so on-edge was bad for him, and that maybe he was wrong about something just this once. And she'd say it with a smile, and he'd probably protest, and she'd make fun of him, and he'd make fun of how big a mess her hair was or something, and she'd pretend to be offended, and they'd both laugh. And then she'd apologize, anyway, because being right didn't matter that much. Not against the look on Myles's face.
But they were here, instead, and the tension still lined his expression, stiffened his shoulders. It wasn't the time to convince him of anything. All she needed was to skip to the part where everything was okay again.
"It wasn't... it wasn't important enough to fight about. I should have listened."
She leaned her head against the side of the couch, closing her eye.
"I'm sorry."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles didn't respond right away, caught off guard and throat already tight. Here she was apologizing again. Even when he was right, it felt wrong for Ivy to apologize.
"...Yeah," he muttered, because he didn't know what else to say. They both just sat there like that in another awkward silence before Myles held his arms out to her.
It was stupid, but it was more or less over now. They could move on and get out of here, leave this stupid horror house behind and find something better. Anything was better.
"...Yeah," he muttered, because he didn't know what else to say. They both just sat there like that in another awkward silence before Myles held his arms out to her.
It was stupid, but it was more or less over now. They could move on and get out of here, leave this stupid horror house behind and find something better. Anything was better.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Myles didn't really say anything, and Ivy didn't expect him to. But she looked at him and his arms were open and that was enough.
It hurt, climbing onto the couch and collapsing against his chest. It didn't matter.
She just listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.
It hurt, climbing onto the couch and collapsing against his chest. It didn't matter.
She just listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.
Several trains of thought left Garren’s mind-station as soon as Ivy wrapped her arms around Myles.
The first was a question; what, exactly, was Ace and Ivy’s relationship? She had told Garren, back at the lake, exactly what had gotten her so distraught on the first night they’d met. It hadn’t been about Bret, the Carter twin she had actually been dating, the one she was supposed to have been carrying a flame for. It had been Wyatt. It had been Wyatt, and she’d spilled her heart there and then on the spot and told him that she loved him.
But. Loved him how? Not to speak ill of the dead, but Garren didn’t really think Wyatt was capable of the sort of love shared between Ivy and Myles, which really only left one option as to the true nature of Ivy and Wyatt’s relationship. And yet, here she was, willing to side with Ace, despite Myles protestations, despite his desperation that she did otherwise. Had they been close, back at school? Ivy and Ace? He hadn’t known them to be, but then he hadn’t known her and Wyatt to be close either. And he didn’t think he could ever possibly understand, even if he knew the full truth, because the closest he’d come to a similar feeling had been a crush on a girl too far above his station to even consider, a crush that he couldn’t tell if it was legit or if it was just his natural goddamn incel desire for a goth girlfriend.
The second thought went back to Ivy and Myles, close in an unsteady embrace, some of the tension seeping out of the room. He could have been jealous, easily. That they’d been unbreakably close for years upon years, that they’d had some concrete goal on the island, a person to find, a goal they’d achieved. None of that was something he’d ever experienced, and now he never ever would. But he couldn’t even come close to hating them for what they had, not when it had all been his own fault that he lived the way he had.
Better to deal with the lot he had thrown himself into than complain about it and get even further nowhere.
Finally, he couldn’t help but think about how much goddamn firepower they now had. The room was fucking chock full of guns and shit, and it was honestly a minor miracle that none of them had actually gone off in the confrontation just now. At least that was one bright mark; if Emmett, or any other chucklefuck tried to burst in and attack them, maybe they’d think twice when confronted with the equivalent of a fucking cannon.
All of those trains started, but not one of them reached their destination. At some point, as soon as it was clear that Ace and Myles were willing to put their disagreements aside for the sake of sleep, Garren had flopped back down onto the couch. A few seconds later, his eyes had flickered close.
And a few seconds later, he was back in the welcome grips of sleep.
…
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand now he was awake, and good fucking christ had somebody put his body through a fax machine or something while he was sleeping?
His eyes cracked back open - just about - and he yawned for about ten goddamn straight seconds. There was a hazy orange filter over everything. An odd feeling of warmth enveloped him. Despite his entire body being sore, and the pang in his leg reawakening along with the rest of him, he had absolutely no desire to move from his spot.
Then he looked a little to the right, and saw Myles and Ivy, tangled in each other's arms, crammed onto the opposite side of the sofa.
“Oh…”
A pause.
“Uh…”
Another pause, as he tried to blink the remaining exhaustion from his eyes.
“G’morning…”
He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders, letting out a wince as the action sent a jolt of pain through his body.
“You, uh, want me to move? Give you space an’ shit, I can like… check the perimeter of the house or whatever…”
The first was a question; what, exactly, was Ace and Ivy’s relationship? She had told Garren, back at the lake, exactly what had gotten her so distraught on the first night they’d met. It hadn’t been about Bret, the Carter twin she had actually been dating, the one she was supposed to have been carrying a flame for. It had been Wyatt. It had been Wyatt, and she’d spilled her heart there and then on the spot and told him that she loved him.
But. Loved him how? Not to speak ill of the dead, but Garren didn’t really think Wyatt was capable of the sort of love shared between Ivy and Myles, which really only left one option as to the true nature of Ivy and Wyatt’s relationship. And yet, here she was, willing to side with Ace, despite Myles protestations, despite his desperation that she did otherwise. Had they been close, back at school? Ivy and Ace? He hadn’t known them to be, but then he hadn’t known her and Wyatt to be close either. And he didn’t think he could ever possibly understand, even if he knew the full truth, because the closest he’d come to a similar feeling had been a crush on a girl too far above his station to even consider, a crush that he couldn’t tell if it was legit or if it was just his natural goddamn incel desire for a goth girlfriend.
The second thought went back to Ivy and Myles, close in an unsteady embrace, some of the tension seeping out of the room. He could have been jealous, easily. That they’d been unbreakably close for years upon years, that they’d had some concrete goal on the island, a person to find, a goal they’d achieved. None of that was something he’d ever experienced, and now he never ever would. But he couldn’t even come close to hating them for what they had, not when it had all been his own fault that he lived the way he had.
Better to deal with the lot he had thrown himself into than complain about it and get even further nowhere.
Finally, he couldn’t help but think about how much goddamn firepower they now had. The room was fucking chock full of guns and shit, and it was honestly a minor miracle that none of them had actually gone off in the confrontation just now. At least that was one bright mark; if Emmett, or any other chucklefuck tried to burst in and attack them, maybe they’d think twice when confronted with the equivalent of a fucking cannon.
All of those trains started, but not one of them reached their destination. At some point, as soon as it was clear that Ace and Myles were willing to put their disagreements aside for the sake of sleep, Garren had flopped back down onto the couch. A few seconds later, his eyes had flickered close.
And a few seconds later, he was back in the welcome grips of sleep.
…
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand now he was awake, and good fucking christ had somebody put his body through a fax machine or something while he was sleeping?
His eyes cracked back open - just about - and he yawned for about ten goddamn straight seconds. There was a hazy orange filter over everything. An odd feeling of warmth enveloped him. Despite his entire body being sore, and the pang in his leg reawakening along with the rest of him, he had absolutely no desire to move from his spot.
Then he looked a little to the right, and saw Myles and Ivy, tangled in each other's arms, crammed onto the opposite side of the sofa.
“Oh…”
A pause.
“Uh…”
Another pause, as he tried to blink the remaining exhaustion from his eyes.
“G’morning…”
He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders, letting out a wince as the action sent a jolt of pain through his body.
“You, uh, want me to move? Give you space an’ shit, I can like… check the perimeter of the house or whatever…”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Myles snorted at Garren. "Do whatever," he said, because he honestly didn't care at this point. Sure, Garren could go out and march around the outside of the house if he really wanted to. Whatever.
Ace wasn't up and around yet. Ivy had left him asleep, left him in bed without waking him up to say good morning or goodbye. They could just all pack up and leave him right now. They ought to, but Myles kind of wanted to see the look on Ace's face when he got up and realized that his little victory was over and done with. He was still mad at Ivy, but he'd never stayed really mad at her for long.
As soon as they felt like moving again, they could go. Whenever that was.
Ace wasn't up and around yet. Ivy had left him asleep, left him in bed without waking him up to say good morning or goodbye. They could just all pack up and leave him right now. They ought to, but Myles kind of wanted to see the look on Ace's face when he got up and realized that his little victory was over and done with. He was still mad at Ivy, but he'd never stayed really mad at her for long.
As soon as they felt like moving again, they could go. Whenever that was.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ivy had honestly forgotten Garren was there for a moment, despite him being close enough that his foot was nearly touching her. There was something that made her happy about Myles being rude to Garren, which was rather rude of her, really, when she'd just decided she liked him, but whatever. The dynamic had become comfortable over the last couple of days, for her and Myles if not for Garren, and the nod toward normalcy was welcome.
"He means good morning," she said anyway, and smiled. Myles rolled his eyes. All was well. "But sure, if you want."
She dismissed him with an airy wave of her hand, and off he went.
"He's not so bad," she murmured as he went, resting her head again on Myles's chest. "We could've done worse, I think."
She closed her eye.
"I'm so tired."
"We can just... stay like this, I think."
"Just for a little longer."
The orange light had faded into the white light of day, by the time Ivy opened her eye again.
The couch was not a particularly spacious place to sleep for even one person, let alone two. With Myles lying on his side and Ivy tucked against him as closely as she could, they barely managed to keep themselves both from rolling off. It was cramped, and she couldn't shift at all without either jostling Myles or hitting one of her many injuries. Having slept on the forest floor it could objectively be much worse, but it was a step down from the bed, for certain. She'd been having a hard enough time falling asleep as it was.
Yet she slept. His heartbeat was a lullaby like nothing else. She only woke at all because she'd shifted in her sleep, hit her shoulder against the side of the couch; it couldn't have been more than two or three hours, but she felt far better rested than she had when last she woke.
"Myles," she whispered, jostling his shoulder. She untangled herself gently from his arms, pausing to brush an errant strand of hair behind his ear.
"Announcements soon, I think." She had to imagine they hadn't been sleeping so deeply that she'd missed the telltale blare of the speakers overhead. It was hardly the first time she wished they had some more-reliable method of marking time than the progress of the sun. It could easily still be another hour until announcements and she'd have no idea. Still, now that the thought had entered her mind, it was hard to escape that there were some things she still needed to deal with.
"We should go after, I think," she said. "I should... go get Ace."
She sighed and pulled away, managing to stand with the help of the side of the couch. Her legs felt a bit wobbly, still; the pain in her arm had begun to fade, which seemed to let her broken rib reassert itself in competition with the thudding in her skull. It didn't make walking harder, but it did make it feel worse. A whimper escaped her lips as she moved, but she steadied. She was used to this by now.
"Get your stuff together, yeah?" she said fondly, looking down. Myles was a mess and so was she but his five-more-minutes face never changed.
Her gaze moved from him to the bedroom door, still open, and she headed toward and through it. Ace was still dead asleep, snoring away, which was a relief; there was always a chance his reaction to waking up alone would be unpleasant. Easiest to pretend she'd been there the whole time, right? They could say their goodbyes, part on good terms. She owed him that much, didn't she? If she framed it that way, as a debt worth repaying, maybe she could avoid thinking too much.
She'd taken what she wanted from Ace and it hadn't helped, not enough. It was stupid of her to think that it would. She wanted to feel nothing, shaking him awake. She really should have felt nothing.
"Hey. It's morning."
"He means good morning," she said anyway, and smiled. Myles rolled his eyes. All was well. "But sure, if you want."
She dismissed him with an airy wave of her hand, and off he went.
"He's not so bad," she murmured as he went, resting her head again on Myles's chest. "We could've done worse, I think."
She closed her eye.
"I'm so tired."
"We can just... stay like this, I think."
"Just for a little longer."
The orange light had faded into the white light of day, by the time Ivy opened her eye again.
The couch was not a particularly spacious place to sleep for even one person, let alone two. With Myles lying on his side and Ivy tucked against him as closely as she could, they barely managed to keep themselves both from rolling off. It was cramped, and she couldn't shift at all without either jostling Myles or hitting one of her many injuries. Having slept on the forest floor it could objectively be much worse, but it was a step down from the bed, for certain. She'd been having a hard enough time falling asleep as it was.
Yet she slept. His heartbeat was a lullaby like nothing else. She only woke at all because she'd shifted in her sleep, hit her shoulder against the side of the couch; it couldn't have been more than two or three hours, but she felt far better rested than she had when last she woke.
"Myles," she whispered, jostling his shoulder. She untangled herself gently from his arms, pausing to brush an errant strand of hair behind his ear.
"Announcements soon, I think." She had to imagine they hadn't been sleeping so deeply that she'd missed the telltale blare of the speakers overhead. It was hardly the first time she wished they had some more-reliable method of marking time than the progress of the sun. It could easily still be another hour until announcements and she'd have no idea. Still, now that the thought had entered her mind, it was hard to escape that there were some things she still needed to deal with.
"We should go after, I think," she said. "I should... go get Ace."
She sighed and pulled away, managing to stand with the help of the side of the couch. Her legs felt a bit wobbly, still; the pain in her arm had begun to fade, which seemed to let her broken rib reassert itself in competition with the thudding in her skull. It didn't make walking harder, but it did make it feel worse. A whimper escaped her lips as she moved, but she steadied. She was used to this by now.
"Get your stuff together, yeah?" she said fondly, looking down. Myles was a mess and so was she but his five-more-minutes face never changed.
Her gaze moved from him to the bedroom door, still open, and she headed toward and through it. Ace was still dead asleep, snoring away, which was a relief; there was always a chance his reaction to waking up alone would be unpleasant. Easiest to pretend she'd been there the whole time, right? They could say their goodbyes, part on good terms. She owed him that much, didn't she? If she framed it that way, as a debt worth repaying, maybe she could avoid thinking too much.
She'd taken what she wanted from Ace and it hadn't helped, not enough. It was stupid of her to think that it would. She wanted to feel nothing, shaking him awake. She really should have felt nothing.
"Hey. It's morning."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
He slept pretty soundly for a murderer. A cheater. An interloper. An intruder.
It didn’t really matter what you called him or why: he slept soundly all the same.
Whether he felt he deserved it or not, whether he wanted it or not—his body saw the first sign of peace and comfort and took it. Without care or payment. He didn’t have nightmares of murder and he wasn’t plagued with images of vengeful blonde ghosts. It was a deep sleep, filled with blackness and taking his body into a groggy state of weakness. He felt spent: physically, emotionally and spiritually.
It felt like every limb in his body had twenty-pound weights tied to them. When she shook him, he awoke slowly, as if the idea of waking up at all seemed foreign to him. He stared at her with a certain confusion and curiosity, tilting his head a bit and rubbing his eyes.
“That’s good…”
He muttered to himself and to her. Morning, huh? He had made it through another day. He stretched and twisted as he got up, his skin coated in a layer of sweat. The only piece of clothing he had left was his shorts—covered in blood and muck and very much likely capable of standing on their own. He felt so naked, so vulnerable…
Yeah, that’s the Ivy Langley experience alright…
“Okay, okay, I’m up, I’m up.”
Another day—what was the plan? He had avoided groups since Angie…he hadn’t felt like he had deserved a group since Meilin had passed. He didn’t want to be depended on. He shouldn’t be depended on. When the chips were down? Ace took care of Ace. He wasn’t special or noble—he knew that. He wasn’t some sorta hero—he wasn’t built like that.
Ivy seemed to rely on him anyway. They kept a special reserve of kindness reserved for one another against rhyme or reason. Ace didn’t mind it. It felt almost like a victory. Out here, you took those where they came. All things considered; this victory had come at the perfect time. He woke up with a renewed focus and energy. Once he had yawned and stretched out his fatigue, he felt a wave of comfort and confidence begin at his face and extend to his fingertips and toes.
He felt good, strangely enough. As good as he could feel. He stumbled towards his bag and he pulled out a half drank thing of water. He chugged a few sips and choked down an ibuprofen. An old habit, but nursing pain had become a habit the last few days. He placed the water bottle back in and pulled out the BR-18. He’d let Myles keep the shotgun, a gesture of good will. That shit only had like four more shots anyway. The BR-18 had proven deadly enough--it was deadly enough. He knew that, had proven that. They really thought Ace Beats only had one Big Ass Fuck You gun? C'mon. Get real.
He also figured that Myles would be less likely to point a gun at Ace if he had to face a gun head on. Myles could only fight via sucker punch. You beat small smug dogs like him by being the big bad wolf. He'd be lying if he said there wasn't also a small, petty and cruel part of his brain that wanted to make a point to Myles: Beats was no punk. He only got one up on and over him because Ace had allowed it. That was all. Nothing more. Lies & Bullshit You Tell Yourself for 800 Alex.
“Alright,” he zipped up his bag and placed the strap on his bare shoulder again, he held his gun to his chest like a football, he found his shoes and carefully slipped them on and tied them “Let’s seize the day, right?”
He almost believed his own bullshit. He felt powerful and strong and rested: spiritually, emotionally and physically. Nothing could bring him down. Nothing would bring him down. Nobody could fuck with him. He was the baddest dude on the planet. Fake it till you make it. A game by any other name. Mantras and meditations. If you believe it, you can achieve it and all the other cliches.
He walked through that bedroom door with his head held high…he already knew what he was gonna say as soon as he walked out. He'd look at Myles all smooth like and smile and say...
"Hey."
It all went according to plan. Until the crackling of announcement speakers brought him back to earth and wiped the smug look off his face.
It didn’t really matter what you called him or why: he slept soundly all the same.
Whether he felt he deserved it or not, whether he wanted it or not—his body saw the first sign of peace and comfort and took it. Without care or payment. He didn’t have nightmares of murder and he wasn’t plagued with images of vengeful blonde ghosts. It was a deep sleep, filled with blackness and taking his body into a groggy state of weakness. He felt spent: physically, emotionally and spiritually.
It felt like every limb in his body had twenty-pound weights tied to them. When she shook him, he awoke slowly, as if the idea of waking up at all seemed foreign to him. He stared at her with a certain confusion and curiosity, tilting his head a bit and rubbing his eyes.
“That’s good…”
He muttered to himself and to her. Morning, huh? He had made it through another day. He stretched and twisted as he got up, his skin coated in a layer of sweat. The only piece of clothing he had left was his shorts—covered in blood and muck and very much likely capable of standing on their own. He felt so naked, so vulnerable…
Yeah, that’s the Ivy Langley experience alright…
“Okay, okay, I’m up, I’m up.”
Another day—what was the plan? He had avoided groups since Angie…he hadn’t felt like he had deserved a group since Meilin had passed. He didn’t want to be depended on. He shouldn’t be depended on. When the chips were down? Ace took care of Ace. He wasn’t special or noble—he knew that. He wasn’t some sorta hero—he wasn’t built like that.
Ivy seemed to rely on him anyway. They kept a special reserve of kindness reserved for one another against rhyme or reason. Ace didn’t mind it. It felt almost like a victory. Out here, you took those where they came. All things considered; this victory had come at the perfect time. He woke up with a renewed focus and energy. Once he had yawned and stretched out his fatigue, he felt a wave of comfort and confidence begin at his face and extend to his fingertips and toes.
He felt good, strangely enough. As good as he could feel. He stumbled towards his bag and he pulled out a half drank thing of water. He chugged a few sips and choked down an ibuprofen. An old habit, but nursing pain had become a habit the last few days. He placed the water bottle back in and pulled out the BR-18. He’d let Myles keep the shotgun, a gesture of good will. That shit only had like four more shots anyway. The BR-18 had proven deadly enough--it was deadly enough. He knew that, had proven that. They really thought Ace Beats only had one Big Ass Fuck You gun? C'mon. Get real.
He also figured that Myles would be less likely to point a gun at Ace if he had to face a gun head on. Myles could only fight via sucker punch. You beat small smug dogs like him by being the big bad wolf. He'd be lying if he said there wasn't also a small, petty and cruel part of his brain that wanted to make a point to Myles: Beats was no punk. He only got one up on and over him because Ace had allowed it. That was all. Nothing more. Lies & Bullshit You Tell Yourself for 800 Alex.
“Alright,” he zipped up his bag and placed the strap on his bare shoulder again, he held his gun to his chest like a football, he found his shoes and carefully slipped them on and tied them “Let’s seize the day, right?”
He almost believed his own bullshit. He felt powerful and strong and rested: spiritually, emotionally and physically. Nothing could bring him down. Nothing would bring him down. Nobody could fuck with him. He was the baddest dude on the planet. Fake it till you make it. A game by any other name. Mantras and meditations. If you believe it, you can achieve it and all the other cliches.
He walked through that bedroom door with his head held high…he already knew what he was gonna say as soon as he walked out. He'd look at Myles all smooth like and smile and say...
"Hey."
It all went according to plan. Until the crackling of announcement speakers brought him back to earth and wiped the smug look off his face.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Myles hadn't intended to go back to sleep, but once Ivy cuddled up to him it was all over. Everything was- not fine, it would never be fine. Not until Ace was gone. Not until Myles was home. But everything was better, for a little while.
He grumbled when Ivy woke him again, letting her go while he got his bearings once again. The sun was properly up now, but they hadn't heard any announcements. Myles couldn't make himself dread them anymore. Not since he'd been on them. Ivy was here with him, and Myles had- done what he'd done. There was nobody left to hear about. It was all just numbers counting down.
Ivy went off to wake Ace up, and as much as Myles would have rather just left him in the dust, it was whatever. They could just go their separate ways peacefully, if that was what Ivy really wanted. Ace had had his chance to do something during the night, and he hadn't taken it. He wouldn't take it now. Ace was 90% talk, just like Myles. Probably more than Myles, actually, because Myles didn't feel the need to go around mouthing off like some kind of discount rapper to let everyone know that he was a badass.
As long as everyone understood that, it was fine.
Once Myles had gotten his things together as instructed, he picked the handgun back up off the couch cushion and fiddled with it. There was the safety. He flicked it off. Better. No unfortunate mistakes like forgetting about that this time.
Garren had apparently made good on his promise to check the outside, or something. "Hey, Garren?" Myles called from inside. They hadn't heard anything weird, but... well, you know. Anyway, the shotgun Myles had confiscated was still sitting on the floor. He couldn't leave it unattended.
Of course, wouldn't you know it, Ace had another gun. That was the first thing Myles saw when Ace entered the room. Why did he have another gun? Where had he been keeping that!?
"Hey," Ace said, like that was a thing you said to people when you'd been sleeping in the same room as Ivy all night with a secret gun. Myles's bubbling outrage didn't get a chance to respond.
Like he'd thought, there was hardly anything new to hear. That Julien was dead was kind of surprising. That Blaise had done it wasn't. The announcement didn't go into detail about what had happened, but it sounded nasty. And you know what, good. Myles hoped it had been nasty, and that Julien had suffered and cried, and that the last thing he'd seen was Blaise getting off on his misery like they did to everyone. For once, they had done Myles a favor.
That was all the good news, aside from the fact that they didn't need to run. The rest wasn't bad news, though. It wasn't like yesterday's announcement. Myles took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but he just as quickly remembered that Ace was still in the room and snapped them open again.
"...Hey," he replied belatedly as the noise from the speakers faded. He adjusted his grip on the gun.
He grumbled when Ivy woke him again, letting her go while he got his bearings once again. The sun was properly up now, but they hadn't heard any announcements. Myles couldn't make himself dread them anymore. Not since he'd been on them. Ivy was here with him, and Myles had- done what he'd done. There was nobody left to hear about. It was all just numbers counting down.
Ivy went off to wake Ace up, and as much as Myles would have rather just left him in the dust, it was whatever. They could just go their separate ways peacefully, if that was what Ivy really wanted. Ace had had his chance to do something during the night, and he hadn't taken it. He wouldn't take it now. Ace was 90% talk, just like Myles. Probably more than Myles, actually, because Myles didn't feel the need to go around mouthing off like some kind of discount rapper to let everyone know that he was a badass.
As long as everyone understood that, it was fine.
Once Myles had gotten his things together as instructed, he picked the handgun back up off the couch cushion and fiddled with it. There was the safety. He flicked it off. Better. No unfortunate mistakes like forgetting about that this time.
Garren had apparently made good on his promise to check the outside, or something. "Hey, Garren?" Myles called from inside. They hadn't heard anything weird, but... well, you know. Anyway, the shotgun Myles had confiscated was still sitting on the floor. He couldn't leave it unattended.
Of course, wouldn't you know it, Ace had another gun. That was the first thing Myles saw when Ace entered the room. Why did he have another gun? Where had he been keeping that!?
"Hey," Ace said, like that was a thing you said to people when you'd been sleeping in the same room as Ivy all night with a secret gun. Myles's bubbling outrage didn't get a chance to respond.
Like he'd thought, there was hardly anything new to hear. That Julien was dead was kind of surprising. That Blaise had done it wasn't. The announcement didn't go into detail about what had happened, but it sounded nasty. And you know what, good. Myles hoped it had been nasty, and that Julien had suffered and cried, and that the last thing he'd seen was Blaise getting off on his misery like they did to everyone. For once, they had done Myles a favor.
That was all the good news, aside from the fact that they didn't need to run. The rest wasn't bad news, though. It wasn't like yesterday's announcement. Myles took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but he just as quickly remembered that Ace was still in the room and snapped them open again.
"...Hey," he replied belatedly as the noise from the speakers faded. He adjusted his grip on the gun.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Garren nodded as soon as Ivyles gave the a-okay, smiled at Ivy as he slipped off the couch, and headed out the front door without another word. He took a moment to properly stretch his arms and legs, free to do so without worrying about smacking either of the pastel pair in the face.
Then he sat down, and looked up into the sky, and waited.
He was grateful, of course, that they’d managed to find shelter, a roof over their heads and a comfy… semi-comfy… adequate place to sleep. It made a hell of a nice change to waking up each morning with a fresh set of twigs in your hair. But the house was cramped, and not just physically. The tension from last night still hung low in the air, mingling with the lingering smell of blood and crunching of glass under your shoes. It was good to just get outside, get some fresh air, feel the sun on his skin.
He knew as well as anybody else that he might not live to see another sunrise, after all.
When was the last time he’d seen a sunrise, for that matter? Not in recent memory, that was for freakin’ sure. Not on a school day, where he’d normally wake up a half hour before first class, and sure as hell not on a weekend when he’d grab as much sleep as he could get before his dad got on the goddamn riding mower. And out here, he’d always been so wracked with exhaustion that he was only woken up by the announcements, or somebody else prodding him awake.
He had no idea the sky could be this orange. He’d never seen it as beautiful as this.
Garren stayed outside, watching as the colour of the sky shifted, and the light filtering the village changed from orange to white, until Myles called his name from back inside the house.
“Yeah?” Garren called back, not turning around just yet. The back of his head rested against the wood of the house. He’d found a small tuft of grass that wasn’t bursting with thistles. He was comfortable out here. Whatever it was Myles wanted, surely it could wait a moment or two longer.
Of course, Uncle goddamn Danya couldn’t wait any longer to wave his dick around and interrupt everything with the announcement. Garren sighed, and grumbled, and staggered to his feet, walking back inside as Danya’s speech played out. There wasn’t much to take in of note; the same killers, the Erikas and Justins and Blaises, killing people who didn’t deserve it but who didn’t trigger anything more than a vague memory in Garren’s mind, and a soft pang of hurt in his chest at the fact he’d never gotten the chance to feel worse for them.
He tried his best to block out the details of Tirzah’s death, though. He’d seen it first hand through her corpse. He absolutely didn’t need to experience it all again.
Garren stepped inside the house and, y’know, he’d hoped that fog of tension would have read the fucking room and pissed off by now, but considering Myles was holding a gun, and Ace was holding a gun, and both were holding an expression that looked like they’d rather drop through the floor than drop the weapon, he guessed fucking not.
“... Hey,” Garren said, tentatively, looking to Ivy for some sign of reassurance. “You guys, uh… sleep… okay?”
Then he sat down, and looked up into the sky, and waited.
He was grateful, of course, that they’d managed to find shelter, a roof over their heads and a comfy… semi-comfy… adequate place to sleep. It made a hell of a nice change to waking up each morning with a fresh set of twigs in your hair. But the house was cramped, and not just physically. The tension from last night still hung low in the air, mingling with the lingering smell of blood and crunching of glass under your shoes. It was good to just get outside, get some fresh air, feel the sun on his skin.
He knew as well as anybody else that he might not live to see another sunrise, after all.
When was the last time he’d seen a sunrise, for that matter? Not in recent memory, that was for freakin’ sure. Not on a school day, where he’d normally wake up a half hour before first class, and sure as hell not on a weekend when he’d grab as much sleep as he could get before his dad got on the goddamn riding mower. And out here, he’d always been so wracked with exhaustion that he was only woken up by the announcements, or somebody else prodding him awake.
He had no idea the sky could be this orange. He’d never seen it as beautiful as this.
Garren stayed outside, watching as the colour of the sky shifted, and the light filtering the village changed from orange to white, until Myles called his name from back inside the house.
“Yeah?” Garren called back, not turning around just yet. The back of his head rested against the wood of the house. He’d found a small tuft of grass that wasn’t bursting with thistles. He was comfortable out here. Whatever it was Myles wanted, surely it could wait a moment or two longer.
Of course, Uncle goddamn Danya couldn’t wait any longer to wave his dick around and interrupt everything with the announcement. Garren sighed, and grumbled, and staggered to his feet, walking back inside as Danya’s speech played out. There wasn’t much to take in of note; the same killers, the Erikas and Justins and Blaises, killing people who didn’t deserve it but who didn’t trigger anything more than a vague memory in Garren’s mind, and a soft pang of hurt in his chest at the fact he’d never gotten the chance to feel worse for them.
He tried his best to block out the details of Tirzah’s death, though. He’d seen it first hand through her corpse. He absolutely didn’t need to experience it all again.
Garren stepped inside the house and, y’know, he’d hoped that fog of tension would have read the fucking room and pissed off by now, but considering Myles was holding a gun, and Ace was holding a gun, and both were holding an expression that looked like they’d rather drop through the floor than drop the weapon, he guessed fucking not.
“... Hey,” Garren said, tentatively, looking to Ivy for some sign of reassurance. “You guys, uh… sleep… okay?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
It was funny, how sleep put everyone on the same level. Ivy studied Ace's face in the moments before he woke and it was the same as Myles's, the same even as Garren's in the glance she'd gotten at him. Myles and Ace both would recoil at the comparisons, of course, but she didn't need to speak them. It was just an observation of the incongruity. Even here they all found peace in their dreams.
Ace's expression as he came to wasn't unlike Myles's either. The groggy irritation of someone realizing they couldn't afford to hit snooze another time. It was charmingly normal despite the circumstances, and she didn't suppress the smile that formed on her face in response. She sat on the edge of the bed as he stretched and made his morning preparations, kicking her feet idly, considering their next move.
They would have to move on, of course. Coming to the village in the first place had been a risky proposition, probably spurred, in retrospect, less by any particular plan and more by Myles being too out of it to really plot a course that wasn't "walk forward until it gets dark". Staying another night was riskier than she'd like. Where would they go, though? She had the map more or less memorized, and while she'd missed yesterday's danger zone in the light of the rest of the announcements Myles had mentioned it to her later. Anywhere to the south was a no-go. Anywhere particularly far was a no-go, too, even with Garren carrying her things; her new injuries didn't actually affect her mobility, but the thought of crossing the island again in her current condition made her sweat worse than the humidity. Back into the woods seemed like the safest bet, loathe as she was to give up having a mattress for the familiar discomfort of dirt.
They'd listen to the announcements—the only person left she could think of whose name she'd be at all distressed to hear was Faith, and even then she'd be okay, so it was more of a means to gather information than an exercise in fear. And then they'd say their goodbyes. And then she'd hear Ace's name on the announcements in a day or a couple. And that would be that. And she would care, when it happened. Not as much as she should and more than she wanted to.
She couldn't actually see him, from where she'd been sitting, facing the wall with her bad eye in his direction, so when he spoke and she turned toward him she paled instantly. A second gun—how? Why? Parker must have had one, she assumed, and Ace had gotten the first one from... somewhere. How had everyone but her and Myles been so lucky in the firearm department? The discrepancy had been made up for in the last couple of days, yes, but an injustice repaired was still an injustice.
Ace leaving the bedroom with a gun in his hands was him making a statement. A stupid, macho statement. Puffing his chest against Wyatt all over again without years of comradery to soften the blow. Ivy's expression was nervous as she followed behind him, and the feeling wasn't lessened when she saw Myles's gun was also in his hands.
The speakers sparked to life, which somehow worked to cut the tension, at least for a moment.
It was strange, hearing her own name in their captor's voice, though it provoked no particular reaction outside of a quiet "really?" at the awful joke that accompanied it. The only matter of real interest to her was Julien's name. Julien, who'd hurt her in ways that she'd probably never recover from, who'd haunted her thoughts, who spoke disgusting words, who found every way he could to make her suffer. Whose knife she'd stomped straight through his hand. It only barely registered that it was Blaise who'd done it, someone else she hoped would die slowly and painfully; it didn't matter. Whatever sick joy Blaise had probably gotten out of it was worth it. He was gone. One thing less to be afraid of.
The speakers died again. Garren, bless him once again, was the one to make some attempt to break the tension. He locked eyes with her, as though she was the one who had any power in this situation. She supposed she did, in a way, though at this point she'd feel rather more comfortable if it was a power she could back up at gunpoint. She'd stupidly left her own bags, and by extension her own guns, in the bedroom, planning on asking Garren to grab them.
Would she point hers at Ace, if she had to, if something went wrong? Convenient to not need to answer that question.
"Fine," she said shortly, which didn't help anything. If she wanted to keep things calm, she had to fake calm. Mediation was really not one of her better social skills. Put her in this situation when she wanted one of them to start shooting and she'd get what she wanted every time.
"I slept fine, I mean," she backpedaled, glancing between Ace and Myles, back to Garren. "We should—we should probably get going? I was thinking toward the woods again, maybe, unless you had other ideas. I'm not, um, attached, particularly."
Change the subject. Redirect. Say goodbyes. Move on. It was empty posturing on both of their parts. Boys were like that. It was fine, no matter how hard it was to convince her speeding heart.
Ace's expression as he came to wasn't unlike Myles's either. The groggy irritation of someone realizing they couldn't afford to hit snooze another time. It was charmingly normal despite the circumstances, and she didn't suppress the smile that formed on her face in response. She sat on the edge of the bed as he stretched and made his morning preparations, kicking her feet idly, considering their next move.
They would have to move on, of course. Coming to the village in the first place had been a risky proposition, probably spurred, in retrospect, less by any particular plan and more by Myles being too out of it to really plot a course that wasn't "walk forward until it gets dark". Staying another night was riskier than she'd like. Where would they go, though? She had the map more or less memorized, and while she'd missed yesterday's danger zone in the light of the rest of the announcements Myles had mentioned it to her later. Anywhere to the south was a no-go. Anywhere particularly far was a no-go, too, even with Garren carrying her things; her new injuries didn't actually affect her mobility, but the thought of crossing the island again in her current condition made her sweat worse than the humidity. Back into the woods seemed like the safest bet, loathe as she was to give up having a mattress for the familiar discomfort of dirt.
They'd listen to the announcements—the only person left she could think of whose name she'd be at all distressed to hear was Faith, and even then she'd be okay, so it was more of a means to gather information than an exercise in fear. And then they'd say their goodbyes. And then she'd hear Ace's name on the announcements in a day or a couple. And that would be that. And she would care, when it happened. Not as much as she should and more than she wanted to.
She couldn't actually see him, from where she'd been sitting, facing the wall with her bad eye in his direction, so when he spoke and she turned toward him she paled instantly. A second gun—how? Why? Parker must have had one, she assumed, and Ace had gotten the first one from... somewhere. How had everyone but her and Myles been so lucky in the firearm department? The discrepancy had been made up for in the last couple of days, yes, but an injustice repaired was still an injustice.
Ace leaving the bedroom with a gun in his hands was him making a statement. A stupid, macho statement. Puffing his chest against Wyatt all over again without years of comradery to soften the blow. Ivy's expression was nervous as she followed behind him, and the feeling wasn't lessened when she saw Myles's gun was also in his hands.
The speakers sparked to life, which somehow worked to cut the tension, at least for a moment.
It was strange, hearing her own name in their captor's voice, though it provoked no particular reaction outside of a quiet "really?" at the awful joke that accompanied it. The only matter of real interest to her was Julien's name. Julien, who'd hurt her in ways that she'd probably never recover from, who'd haunted her thoughts, who spoke disgusting words, who found every way he could to make her suffer. Whose knife she'd stomped straight through his hand. It only barely registered that it was Blaise who'd done it, someone else she hoped would die slowly and painfully; it didn't matter. Whatever sick joy Blaise had probably gotten out of it was worth it. He was gone. One thing less to be afraid of.
The speakers died again. Garren, bless him once again, was the one to make some attempt to break the tension. He locked eyes with her, as though she was the one who had any power in this situation. She supposed she did, in a way, though at this point she'd feel rather more comfortable if it was a power she could back up at gunpoint. She'd stupidly left her own bags, and by extension her own guns, in the bedroom, planning on asking Garren to grab them.
Would she point hers at Ace, if she had to, if something went wrong? Convenient to not need to answer that question.
"Fine," she said shortly, which didn't help anything. If she wanted to keep things calm, she had to fake calm. Mediation was really not one of her better social skills. Put her in this situation when she wanted one of them to start shooting and she'd get what she wanted every time.
"I slept fine, I mean," she backpedaled, glancing between Ace and Myles, back to Garren. "We should—we should probably get going? I was thinking toward the woods again, maybe, unless you had other ideas. I'm not, um, attached, particularly."
Change the subject. Redirect. Say goodbyes. Move on. It was empty posturing on both of their parts. Boys were like that. It was fine, no matter how hard it was to convince her speeding heart.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
The announcements came and they went as they tended to do. When they left all he was left with was a familiar bitter taste in his mouth. He had intimate knowledge of what had happened to Tirzah and had seen the results himself. There was no surprise there. There was only so very few of his close friends and teammates left, most of them had already passed on or he had passed them. He felt no bitterness or anger towards the names of any victims. No need to disrespect the dead.
The bitter taste came from familiar sources: Blaise and Justin. He had the opportunity to have stopped Blaise dead once and Justin twice—Ace had all their victims blood on his hands. Not to mention his own victim and the literal blood on his hands. His weakness and cowardice was just as much responsible as the guns and the durian or whatever the fuck Blaise did to Julien (who, like, also could get fucked, but whatever--don't disrespect the dead, remember?). He had left Angie because he had felt that this was a path he had to walk alone. He had wandered this island as a rebel without a clue for too many days. Determined to die or kill in the name of shit he thought was bigger than himself.
It hadn’t worked. It wouldn't, not if he kept on doing what he had always done. He needed some sort of direction. He needed victories and to string them together. If you felt good, you did good. It was all confidence. All the war was mental. He knew that. He was physically strong—still. He was mentally weak—always. Directionless and unprepared. Unreliable and irresponsible.
Justin and Blaise, if he wanted them, shit would have to change. It was perhaps time to stop looking for them and make their ass look for him. Being alone had done him no good, the only time he felt anything resembling heroic and strong on this island was when he was tending to Ivy. And maybe that was pathetic, right? Just needing to be needed. He took the victories where he could. He needed them and he needed to string them together. He had been coming up short for over a week. He needed to win. Again and again and again. It wasn't a matter of want. He needed W's.
And Myles expression at him walking out with that gun? Oh damn, that was another dub for Ace Beats. Just what the doctor ordered.
“Bit of a long night at first,” he said in response to Garren, “But a bed was real fuckin' nice. I knocked out fuckin’ hard when I did.”
Ivy, thank god, had both a plan and a sense of direction. That was one of the things he had missed the most about traveling with her. She could read a map and figure out where the fuck she was going. That was a skill that still eluded Ace.
“Woods sounds as good a place as any to me," he nodded, "The weather hasn’t been as bad as it was, in like, terms of rain and shit…," he suggested like it was something for a group project, "The plan to keep movin' or hole up somewhere?"
He said it casually, like it was normal and like he belonged there. Y'all want Chinese or pizza? Mexican or sushi? Just an everyday guy in an everyday situation asking everyday questions. If you acted like you belonged, people just assumed that you did. Act like something was normal and people would treat it as such. Turn on the smile, act cool. Just a cool guy cooling it being cool. Fake it till you make it.
Now he was just going through possible epitaphs. Y'know, for fun's sake.
The bitter taste came from familiar sources: Blaise and Justin. He had the opportunity to have stopped Blaise dead once and Justin twice—Ace had all their victims blood on his hands. Not to mention his own victim and the literal blood on his hands. His weakness and cowardice was just as much responsible as the guns and the durian or whatever the fuck Blaise did to Julien (who, like, also could get fucked, but whatever--don't disrespect the dead, remember?). He had left Angie because he had felt that this was a path he had to walk alone. He had wandered this island as a rebel without a clue for too many days. Determined to die or kill in the name of shit he thought was bigger than himself.
It hadn’t worked. It wouldn't, not if he kept on doing what he had always done. He needed some sort of direction. He needed victories and to string them together. If you felt good, you did good. It was all confidence. All the war was mental. He knew that. He was physically strong—still. He was mentally weak—always. Directionless and unprepared. Unreliable and irresponsible.
Justin and Blaise, if he wanted them, shit would have to change. It was perhaps time to stop looking for them and make their ass look for him. Being alone had done him no good, the only time he felt anything resembling heroic and strong on this island was when he was tending to Ivy. And maybe that was pathetic, right? Just needing to be needed. He took the victories where he could. He needed them and he needed to string them together. He had been coming up short for over a week. He needed to win. Again and again and again. It wasn't a matter of want. He needed W's.
And Myles expression at him walking out with that gun? Oh damn, that was another dub for Ace Beats. Just what the doctor ordered.
“Bit of a long night at first,” he said in response to Garren, “But a bed was real fuckin' nice. I knocked out fuckin’ hard when I did.”
Ivy, thank god, had both a plan and a sense of direction. That was one of the things he had missed the most about traveling with her. She could read a map and figure out where the fuck she was going. That was a skill that still eluded Ace.
“Woods sounds as good a place as any to me," he nodded, "The weather hasn’t been as bad as it was, in like, terms of rain and shit…," he suggested like it was something for a group project, "The plan to keep movin' or hole up somewhere?"
He said it casually, like it was normal and like he belonged there. Y'all want Chinese or pizza? Mexican or sushi? Just an everyday guy in an everyday situation asking everyday questions. If you acted like you belonged, people just assumed that you did. Act like something was normal and people would treat it as such. Turn on the smile, act cool. Just a cool guy cooling it being cool. Fake it till you make it.
Now he was just going through possible epitaphs. Y'know, for fun's sake.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
"'We' doesn't include you," Myles said flatly. Get it right out there, cut past all the niceties and Ace's posturing and everything else. He didn't care that it was rocking the boat so soon after things had started to settle. Myles was sick and tired of things not going his way and people trying to walk all over him.
What was Ace going to do, really? Nothing. Not even with that gun that he'd had hidden away. Ace wanted a group and he wanted Ivy, and he couldn't have either of those things if he tried to get rid of Myles with force. The shotgun being out and vaguely pointed in his direction at all made Myles's stomach do sick flips, but he could still be logical about this. Any way you sliced it, Ace wasn't getting one over on him again. He and Ivy had agreed already. There was no room for Ace to muscle his way in on that agreement and try to change the terms in his favor.
"You got to stay the night. Be happy you got that." His palm was sweating as he readjusted his grip on the handgun again, but didn't raise it yet. "Now leave."
What was Ace going to do, really? Nothing. Not even with that gun that he'd had hidden away. Ace wanted a group and he wanted Ivy, and he couldn't have either of those things if he tried to get rid of Myles with force. The shotgun being out and vaguely pointed in his direction at all made Myles's stomach do sick flips, but he could still be logical about this. Any way you sliced it, Ace wasn't getting one over on him again. He and Ivy had agreed already. There was no room for Ace to muscle his way in on that agreement and try to change the terms in his favor.
"You got to stay the night. Be happy you got that." His palm was sweating as he readjusted his grip on the handgun again, but didn't raise it yet. "Now leave."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Oh no.
Ivy very nearly said the words allowed, so quickly she moved from nervous to panicked; that would have been embarrassing at best and actively contributed to the tension at worst. All that escaped her was a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't less telling.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The tension in the air was supposed to be based on mistrust and bad feelings and just sort of go away on its own when Ace did the thing he was obviously supposed to do and say goodbye. Was he stupid? They'd had an agreement. A very clear one, she'd had to fight her best friend to get him that much, and he wanted to push his luck when he was standing more-or-less at gunpoint. And—what? What did he think he was going to gain, here? Did he think this was a fight she was willing to have a second time?
He looked at her with hope all over his face. Yes, that's what he thought. She climbed into bed with him so she was on his side. Why else would she have said yes, why else would she have kissed him?
He was so simple. She remembered the confusion etched onto Wyatt's face, when she'd told him they needed to act like she hadn't been there. Everything was so complicated but feelings didn't need to be, right? She was the bad guy again, the cheater, the troublemaker. She hated it.
Her gaze slid off of his face as she shuffled past him, toward Myles, gritting her teeth at a spark of pain in her skull. Fleetingly she considered playing it up, collapsing dramatically or some such, hoping that would distract both of them enough from each other that maybe they'd both stop being like this, but it wasn't worth the risk. This shouldn't need so much complication. Ace would realize he was wrong, and he would turn tail and go. That was all.
She reached Myles's side, gently touching his shoulder. She glanced at Garren, as though he could do anything to help here; probably staying out of the way was his best course of action. And then she looked at Ace again. Hurt in his eyes. Betrayal. It wasn't her fault.
"We agreed," she said neutrally. "That was the compromise."
I'm sorry, she didn't say, because she was, but not in the way he'd hear it.
Ivy very nearly said the words allowed, so quickly she moved from nervous to panicked; that would have been embarrassing at best and actively contributed to the tension at worst. All that escaped her was a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't less telling.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The tension in the air was supposed to be based on mistrust and bad feelings and just sort of go away on its own when Ace did the thing he was obviously supposed to do and say goodbye. Was he stupid? They'd had an agreement. A very clear one, she'd had to fight her best friend to get him that much, and he wanted to push his luck when he was standing more-or-less at gunpoint. And—what? What did he think he was going to gain, here? Did he think this was a fight she was willing to have a second time?
He looked at her with hope all over his face. Yes, that's what he thought. She climbed into bed with him so she was on his side. Why else would she have said yes, why else would she have kissed him?
He was so simple. She remembered the confusion etched onto Wyatt's face, when she'd told him they needed to act like she hadn't been there. Everything was so complicated but feelings didn't need to be, right? She was the bad guy again, the cheater, the troublemaker. She hated it.
Her gaze slid off of his face as she shuffled past him, toward Myles, gritting her teeth at a spark of pain in her skull. Fleetingly she considered playing it up, collapsing dramatically or some such, hoping that would distract both of them enough from each other that maybe they'd both stop being like this, but it wasn't worth the risk. This shouldn't need so much complication. Ace would realize he was wrong, and he would turn tail and go. That was all.
She reached Myles's side, gently touching his shoulder. She glanced at Garren, as though he could do anything to help here; probably staying out of the way was his best course of action. And then she looked at Ace again. Hurt in his eyes. Betrayal. It wasn't her fault.
"We agreed," she said neutrally. "That was the compromise."
I'm sorry, she didn't say, because she was, but not in the way he'd hear it.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
At this point, getting caught off guard should’ve been an old habit. A well-worn uniform. Something he was both prepared and ready to deal with. He had been caught off guard when his class had been kidnapped, when classmates actually started killing other classmates, when Ivy came onto him, when Ramsey died and then Meilin afterwards and then when the deaths didn’t fuckin’ stop. He had been caught off guard by Justin. He had been caught off guard by Tirzah. He had been caught off guard again by Myles just last night.
At this point, getting caught off guard was an old habit. A well worn uniform. It should’ve been something he was both prepared and ready to deal with.
Spoilers: he wasn’t.
The confusion on his face went to hurt and then twisted into frustration very quickly. He should walk away. Storm out. End this whole thing. His days were numbered. There was no need to waste time where he wasn’t wanted. With people that didn’t want him.
He looked at Myles, he looked at Garren, he looked at Ivy. Fuckin’ Ivy. He knew she was bad news. Had always known. A murderer and a manipulator. He felt used. He felt manipulated and he knew in his heart of hearts that this is what happened when you played with people’s hearts and with fire. He had burned Meilin, she had died. Ivy had just burned him, his destiny was obvious. But she had needed him and she had wanted him and she had...it just didn't make any fuckin' sense that she would just ice him out like this! Except, of course it did...except...he was always more sensitive than her. And this was always just a relationship of convenience, for the both of them. He knew that--and still he felt angry and hurt. He didn't know what to with either. He didn't know what to say.
He spoke without thinking.
“We agreed,” he said in a harsh whisper, “Or he agreed?”
He looked downward…
“I shouldn’t have to prove shit to you Ives, this is fucked up.”
He paused. He thought for a moment. He shook his head.
“Nah, fuck that. Fuck this,” he pointed a finger towards Myles, his assault rifle pointed towards the ground, “Fuck you!”
He spat to the side and he stared with a fierceness. Was he really ready to die on this hill? This hill was stupid. It was small. It was petty—and it didn’t fuckin’ matter. Not out here, not right now. He should’ve walked away. There was no reason to waste time where he wasn’t wanted. With people that didn’t want him.
It wasn’t so much that this was the hill he was ready to die on—it was more like this was just the hill that happened to be in front of him. And at this point, that was enough.
“I don’t think I feel like leavin’ y’all,” he stared at Myles, he puffed out his chest, he tried his best to seem tall and intimidating, “So I don’t think I will. How ‘bout fuckin’ that?!”
At this point, getting caught off guard was an old habit. A well worn uniform. It should’ve been something he was both prepared and ready to deal with.
Spoilers: he wasn’t.
The confusion on his face went to hurt and then twisted into frustration very quickly. He should walk away. Storm out. End this whole thing. His days were numbered. There was no need to waste time where he wasn’t wanted. With people that didn’t want him.
He looked at Myles, he looked at Garren, he looked at Ivy. Fuckin’ Ivy. He knew she was bad news. Had always known. A murderer and a manipulator. He felt used. He felt manipulated and he knew in his heart of hearts that this is what happened when you played with people’s hearts and with fire. He had burned Meilin, she had died. Ivy had just burned him, his destiny was obvious. But she had needed him and she had wanted him and she had...it just didn't make any fuckin' sense that she would just ice him out like this! Except, of course it did...except...he was always more sensitive than her. And this was always just a relationship of convenience, for the both of them. He knew that--and still he felt angry and hurt. He didn't know what to with either. He didn't know what to say.
He spoke without thinking.
“We agreed,” he said in a harsh whisper, “Or he agreed?”
He looked downward…
“I shouldn’t have to prove shit to you Ives, this is fucked up.”
He paused. He thought for a moment. He shook his head.
“Nah, fuck that. Fuck this,” he pointed a finger towards Myles, his assault rifle pointed towards the ground, “Fuck you!”
He spat to the side and he stared with a fierceness. Was he really ready to die on this hill? This hill was stupid. It was small. It was petty—and it didn’t fuckin’ matter. Not out here, not right now. He should’ve walked away. There was no reason to waste time where he wasn’t wanted. With people that didn’t want him.
It wasn’t so much that this was the hill he was ready to die on—it was more like this was just the hill that happened to be in front of him. And at this point, that was enough.
“I don’t think I feel like leavin’ y’all,” he stared at Myles, he puffed out his chest, he tried his best to seem tall and intimidating, “So I don’t think I will. How ‘bout fuckin’ that?!”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'