Katelynne didn't move, but her heart was racing. That despair of running tight into Quinn at the house came flooding back, but all she could do was keep staring at the gun. She didnt even register who was holding it for a good few seconds.
So many thoughts... she didn't know what to think, other than Marceline was in the announcements today. From the spine-chilling look of her eyes it didn't seem like that was also a warped lie.
Katelynne glanced around the room. There had to be something, some sort of trick to de-escalate by force if they had to.
But she couldn't think of anything.
Princess of the Night
Day 9 sometime overnight to day 11 post-announcements, private
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
They were following orders, that was good. That meant that she had a moment to think.
The sound of Marceline's heart rapidly hammering away continued to reverberate in her ears, her throat tightening in anticipation as all her muscles trembled ever so slightly, tense and ready to go at a moment's notice. She quickly scanned the interior of the temple, keeping the gun trained on the group all the while. The only items of note were some floor pillows, some curtains, a fallen support beam. There was basically no cover between herself and them, no extra people hiding in her blind-spots, and no additional exits that she could see at a cursory glance. Not only that, but now that she was able to get a proper look, it appeared that they really didn't have any weaponry on them that would pose a threat—the knife that Ogilvie had almost lunged for seemed to be it.
Killing them would be easy. They wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop her. All she had to do was start shooting.
And yet, whatever had kept her from opening fire immediately was still holding her back, locking her fingers up and not allowing her to just go for it. Was it some small part of her that still didn't want her to go any farther, in spite of what she had already done and the conclusions she had already reached? Was it some vague fear of nebulous karmic punishment awaiting her down the line if she proceeded? Was it some mix of both, or something else entirely? She didn't know for sure, but she did know that she couldn't afford to just stand around silently building up the courage to go through with it.
"Sit still, and no funny business," she snarled. "If any of you do anything I didn't tell you to do, you all die."
As she stood there, she couldn't help but think back to her first encounter with Ogilvie and Hart in the waterfall cave, when Roxanne had still been with her. Back then, she had interrogated Ogilvie about Beryl's death, silently contemplating all the while whether or not he deserved to die for what he did. He had told her his version of events, but she had never been able to find out whether or not he had been lying to her. Her current reasoning might be slightly different, but she wanted him dead now just as much as she did then, and if she were to kill him and his entourage here without another word, she might never find out the truth.
What exactly had happened between them didn't really matter, and she realized that. Knowing whether Beryl had been murdered by a jilted ex-lover or simply euthanized like Ogilvie claimed wouldn't affect her survival prospects in any way, but Beryl had been one of her best friends. Did that still matter to her?
It did.
It still did.
No matter how much she wanted to and how hard she might try, she couldn't completely shake her former attachments and focus entirely on her new goal. She still wanted to know what had happened to her friend. She had to know, so she could finally put it all to rest. After all, she at least knew who to blame for what had happened to Dolly and Alex, and she knew all too well what she herself had done to Amelia. Never uncovering the truth about Beryl would put her in the same position she had been in the day that Dolly had died, before she finally learned the name of who had been responsible. If she was going to do this—and she was doing this, her hesitance be damned—then she had to know if she was putting down her friend's killer, or if she was just adding an extra innocent victim to her tally.
But how could it possibly be proven, one way or another? She couldn't just take Ogilvie's word for it, and it wasn't like she was about to allow them all to live if he did somehow prove that it had been a mercy kill all along. Now that she was here, someone was going to die, and she wasn't about to allow it to be herself.
Perhaps there was still one way for her to indirectly learn what happened, however...
Her breathing was fast, uneven, and shallow as she stared them down. "Back at the waterfall," she began, choosing her words carefully and deliberately, not letting her focus on the threats in front of her wane for even a moment. "When you told me what happened to Beryl, I didn't believe you. Now that I'm here again, I want to know the truth, one way or another."
She began to strafe off to her right as she spoke, keeping her gaze and the gun trained on the group, clearing a great deal of space between herself and the entrance while maintaining her distance to them. "I know you can't prove it," she continued, addressing Ogilvie and ignoring the other two. "But you can show me just what kind of person you really are, deep down."
Taking her left hand off of the handgun, she slowly reached behind her back to grip the sword's hilt, removing it from its sheathe in one, smooth motion. She had no plan to actually use it, but it served well as an implicit threat to anyone trying to get close. Despite the plan she was concocting and what she was now saying, she wanted it to be abundantly clear that trying to fight her was not an option. "You either can stay where you are, and I'll let the two of them go," she stated, gesturing towards the entrance with the sword. "Or you can run, and I'll kill both of them instead."
She knew that letting any of them live was a poor decision that would at best only turn the survivors into enemies, but killing in general did that too. There might already peers of hers hunting her down for what she did to Amelia. She doubted it, given Amelia's lack of friends, but it was a possibility. The only reason she was even considering the idea of letting any of the three in front of her go was because none of them were adequately armed, and she found it unlikely that they would stumble upon any easily obtained firearms like she had. It was still a gamble on her part, but at least for the time being, she wasn't putting herself in any danger. She had complete control of this situation, and it was her fight to lose.
In a way, she might even be able to think of this as herself doing them an undeserved kindness by letting them live a little longer than they really needed to. They would still die of course, she would make sure of it herself if the need arose, but she needn't do so right this instant. For now, the truth mattered more to her than eliminating the competition.
"Speak, and make your choice," she ordered. "Either way, I think I'll have my answer."
The sound of Marceline's heart rapidly hammering away continued to reverberate in her ears, her throat tightening in anticipation as all her muscles trembled ever so slightly, tense and ready to go at a moment's notice. She quickly scanned the interior of the temple, keeping the gun trained on the group all the while. The only items of note were some floor pillows, some curtains, a fallen support beam. There was basically no cover between herself and them, no extra people hiding in her blind-spots, and no additional exits that she could see at a cursory glance. Not only that, but now that she was able to get a proper look, it appeared that they really didn't have any weaponry on them that would pose a threat—the knife that Ogilvie had almost lunged for seemed to be it.
Killing them would be easy. They wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop her. All she had to do was start shooting.
And yet, whatever had kept her from opening fire immediately was still holding her back, locking her fingers up and not allowing her to just go for it. Was it some small part of her that still didn't want her to go any farther, in spite of what she had already done and the conclusions she had already reached? Was it some vague fear of nebulous karmic punishment awaiting her down the line if she proceeded? Was it some mix of both, or something else entirely? She didn't know for sure, but she did know that she couldn't afford to just stand around silently building up the courage to go through with it.
"Sit still, and no funny business," she snarled. "If any of you do anything I didn't tell you to do, you all die."
As she stood there, she couldn't help but think back to her first encounter with Ogilvie and Hart in the waterfall cave, when Roxanne had still been with her. Back then, she had interrogated Ogilvie about Beryl's death, silently contemplating all the while whether or not he deserved to die for what he did. He had told her his version of events, but she had never been able to find out whether or not he had been lying to her. Her current reasoning might be slightly different, but she wanted him dead now just as much as she did then, and if she were to kill him and his entourage here without another word, she might never find out the truth.
What exactly had happened between them didn't really matter, and she realized that. Knowing whether Beryl had been murdered by a jilted ex-lover or simply euthanized like Ogilvie claimed wouldn't affect her survival prospects in any way, but Beryl had been one of her best friends. Did that still matter to her?
It did.
It still did.
No matter how much she wanted to and how hard she might try, she couldn't completely shake her former attachments and focus entirely on her new goal. She still wanted to know what had happened to her friend. She had to know, so she could finally put it all to rest. After all, she at least knew who to blame for what had happened to Dolly and Alex, and she knew all too well what she herself had done to Amelia. Never uncovering the truth about Beryl would put her in the same position she had been in the day that Dolly had died, before she finally learned the name of who had been responsible. If she was going to do this—and she was doing this, her hesitance be damned—then she had to know if she was putting down her friend's killer, or if she was just adding an extra innocent victim to her tally.
But how could it possibly be proven, one way or another? She couldn't just take Ogilvie's word for it, and it wasn't like she was about to allow them all to live if he did somehow prove that it had been a mercy kill all along. Now that she was here, someone was going to die, and she wasn't about to allow it to be herself.
Perhaps there was still one way for her to indirectly learn what happened, however...
Her breathing was fast, uneven, and shallow as she stared them down. "Back at the waterfall," she began, choosing her words carefully and deliberately, not letting her focus on the threats in front of her wane for even a moment. "When you told me what happened to Beryl, I didn't believe you. Now that I'm here again, I want to know the truth, one way or another."
She began to strafe off to her right as she spoke, keeping her gaze and the gun trained on the group, clearing a great deal of space between herself and the entrance while maintaining her distance to them. "I know you can't prove it," she continued, addressing Ogilvie and ignoring the other two. "But you can show me just what kind of person you really are, deep down."
Taking her left hand off of the handgun, she slowly reached behind her back to grip the sword's hilt, removing it from its sheathe in one, smooth motion. She had no plan to actually use it, but it served well as an implicit threat to anyone trying to get close. Despite the plan she was concocting and what she was now saying, she wanted it to be abundantly clear that trying to fight her was not an option. "You either can stay where you are, and I'll let the two of them go," she stated, gesturing towards the entrance with the sword. "Or you can run, and I'll kill both of them instead."
She knew that letting any of them live was a poor decision that would at best only turn the survivors into enemies, but killing in general did that too. There might already peers of hers hunting her down for what she did to Amelia. She doubted it, given Amelia's lack of friends, but it was a possibility. The only reason she was even considering the idea of letting any of the three in front of her go was because none of them were adequately armed, and she found it unlikely that they would stumble upon any easily obtained firearms like she had. It was still a gamble on her part, but at least for the time being, she wasn't putting herself in any danger. She had complete control of this situation, and it was her fight to lose.
In a way, she might even be able to think of this as herself doing them an undeserved kindness by letting them live a little longer than they really needed to. They would still die of course, she would make sure of it herself if the need arose, but she needn't do so right this instant. For now, the truth mattered more to her than eliminating the competition.
"Speak, and make your choice," she ordered. "Either way, I think I'll have my answer."
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
- Contact:
"Wait."
Two barrels snapped to Marco. He swallowed.
"I can prove it."
It was the only plan he had. Marceline would kill them, that wasn't up for debate. Asking about Beryl meant there was something she wanted though. It would be easier, even safer, to unload on Nick without all of this pageantry if all she wanted out of this was revenge. Questions meant doubts that could only be resolved with closure. Marceline didn't trust Nick, but she didn't even know Marco before. It was possible she'd forgotten what he'd done, or never cared enough to remember in the first place.
"Please. Princess just…" The words caught in his throat. "I don't want to see anyone else get hurt."
As far as she knew he had nothing to do with Beryl. He was harmless. A weak, scared boy who was barely on his feet with no reason to throw his life on the line but to avoid seeing more violence. If he was telling the truth he had the answers she wanted. If he was lying she could kill him easily.
"It's in my bag. Outside. I can show you."
She didn't know he had a weapon.
Marceline most likely wouldn't believe him. Probably she would shoot him just for speaking up. Plausibly she wouldn't let them leave alone. Certainly she would pull the trigger before he got the glove out of the bag.
"Just let Nick and Kate leave."
But assuming against certainty that her curiosity got the best of her, he would-well. It would be excessive to repeat the phrase again.
Two barrels snapped to Marco. He swallowed.
"I can prove it."
It was the only plan he had. Marceline would kill them, that wasn't up for debate. Asking about Beryl meant there was something she wanted though. It would be easier, even safer, to unload on Nick without all of this pageantry if all she wanted out of this was revenge. Questions meant doubts that could only be resolved with closure. Marceline didn't trust Nick, but she didn't even know Marco before. It was possible she'd forgotten what he'd done, or never cared enough to remember in the first place.
"Please. Princess just…" The words caught in his throat. "I don't want to see anyone else get hurt."
As far as she knew he had nothing to do with Beryl. He was harmless. A weak, scared boy who was barely on his feet with no reason to throw his life on the line but to avoid seeing more violence. If he was telling the truth he had the answers she wanted. If he was lying she could kill him easily.
"It's in my bag. Outside. I can show you."
She didn't know he had a weapon.
Marceline most likely wouldn't believe him. Probably she would shoot him just for speaking up. Plausibly she wouldn't let them leave alone. Certainly she would pull the trigger before he got the glove out of the bag.
"Just let Nick and Kate leave."
But assuming against certainty that her curiosity got the best of her, he would-well. It would be excessive to repeat the phrase again.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Somehow, Nick was prepared for the flow of odious bullshit that came out of Marceline's mouth. That she'd appointed herself as some kind of moral arbiter, that her attempts to piece together what happened actually mattered at this point, that was obvious. It was the impression he'd got from their encounter under the waterfall. The righteousness, the arrogance, even though it now came from the voice of someone who was acting like the archetypal killer. Hypocrisy was always a feature with these types. That she had some kind of obnoxious test of character, that she had decided to use her position with the gun to bully people into playing along with it, that wasn't surprising. Nick hated it, sure, in the same way he hated it whenever he was forced to play by someone else's rules. Ultimately, that she opted for such a...cruel and traumatic test, with such malicious stakes, wasn't surprising in the least.
What caught him off guard, though was Marco's intervention.
It probably shouldn't have done. Perfectly matched with everything Nick knew about Marco, how Marco viewed and valued Nick. Nick sighed. No. His impulses kicked in, and before Nick had even thought it through, Marco's offer had swiftly been followed up by Nick's own interjection.
"No, Marco. No." Nick said the words before he could ponder the implications, and as quickly as he'd said them, some reasons to feel regret entered his mind. Perhaps there was some secret test of character, one that only made sense in the darkest confines of Marcy's twisted mind, that Marco had failed. Perhaps them being caught in a lie, them clearly scrambling for some uncoordinated feint or deception in an ungainly mess to try and save the others, would send her into a rage.
She was an erratic person, that much was clear. Trying to predict what Marcy would do, what she was thinking...Nick was not equipped for that task. One thing he noticed was that she'd came in alone. She was no longer with Roxanne. Had Roxanne died? Nick couldn't remember. If he had time to think, to confer with Marco and Katelynne, he would have been able to recall. But not here. Not right now. Maybe she was still with Roxanne. Maybe she was waiting outside, as backup. Nick wasn't inclined to believe that, though. Not because he'd put it past Roxanne - though it would have been quite a change in temperament - but because, though he wasn't one to read much into what Marcy was saying or doing, he got the impression that she was, in fact, on her own right now.
Why else would she be so...blase about letting people go?
If you had people to protect, you made sure you weren't letting potential enemies wander into their way. Maybe Roxanne was there, waiting with a trap but...Marcy had all the cards. If she just wanted to kill them, why wouldn't she? She clearly had no scruples about the act of taking a life. Amelia's death could attest to that. Unless it was the most crazy of accidents, she was okay, with whatever reason, with the weight of being the person to take someone else's final breath. He didn't doubt the sincerity of her threat. What he did doubt was that she'd just throw in extra unnecessary steps, delegate some of the extra murdering to an unseen ally, rather than just handle it herself.
Maybe that was just Nick. He'd always been bad at reading other people. Well, not strictly true. He was fine at it if he wanted to get into their pants, or to fool them for some asinine illusion. But working out their strategies, how they'd best protect people they cared about? Nah, he'd always gone by blind impulse or basic allegiances. The exception was Marco. He could tell what Marco was planning. Could see that he was taking a risk. A stupid risk. One that Nick didn't want him to take. He was pretty sure Marcy was on her own. Everything - the pause as she thought, the inflections and emphases she placed on words, the fundamentally selfish lens through which she wanted answers - pointed to a lone wolf. Maybe Nick was just...riddled with confirmation bias, was that what it was called? It would be so much easier, simpler, if she was a lone wolf, that it was best to just selectively look for clues to prove that.
He couldn't do anything about that.
"No, Marco can't prove it," Nick said, turning back to Marcy. He didn't say Marco was a liar. Rather deliberately so. Hoped to give her the vague impression that Marco's evidence was just circumstantial.
He looked to Marceline. "I don't care if you believe me about Beryl. Your...opinion, really, I couldn't give a toss about." Though his words were blunt, his tone was soft. Measured. Almost conciliatory, as if taking the edge off his words. A soothing Scottish burr, as if also trying to calm down Marco and Katelynne and his family and, in the rare event there still was anyone at home watching who gave a shit about him outside of that, whoever else was watching the delayed footage. "But...let them go. I'm gonna stay right here. If that'll make you happy in some weird esoteric way, good for you."
What caught him off guard, though was Marco's intervention.
It probably shouldn't have done. Perfectly matched with everything Nick knew about Marco, how Marco viewed and valued Nick. Nick sighed. No. His impulses kicked in, and before Nick had even thought it through, Marco's offer had swiftly been followed up by Nick's own interjection.
"No, Marco. No." Nick said the words before he could ponder the implications, and as quickly as he'd said them, some reasons to feel regret entered his mind. Perhaps there was some secret test of character, one that only made sense in the darkest confines of Marcy's twisted mind, that Marco had failed. Perhaps them being caught in a lie, them clearly scrambling for some uncoordinated feint or deception in an ungainly mess to try and save the others, would send her into a rage.
She was an erratic person, that much was clear. Trying to predict what Marcy would do, what she was thinking...Nick was not equipped for that task. One thing he noticed was that she'd came in alone. She was no longer with Roxanne. Had Roxanne died? Nick couldn't remember. If he had time to think, to confer with Marco and Katelynne, he would have been able to recall. But not here. Not right now. Maybe she was still with Roxanne. Maybe she was waiting outside, as backup. Nick wasn't inclined to believe that, though. Not because he'd put it past Roxanne - though it would have been quite a change in temperament - but because, though he wasn't one to read much into what Marcy was saying or doing, he got the impression that she was, in fact, on her own right now.
Why else would she be so...blase about letting people go?
If you had people to protect, you made sure you weren't letting potential enemies wander into their way. Maybe Roxanne was there, waiting with a trap but...Marcy had all the cards. If she just wanted to kill them, why wouldn't she? She clearly had no scruples about the act of taking a life. Amelia's death could attest to that. Unless it was the most crazy of accidents, she was okay, with whatever reason, with the weight of being the person to take someone else's final breath. He didn't doubt the sincerity of her threat. What he did doubt was that she'd just throw in extra unnecessary steps, delegate some of the extra murdering to an unseen ally, rather than just handle it herself.
Maybe that was just Nick. He'd always been bad at reading other people. Well, not strictly true. He was fine at it if he wanted to get into their pants, or to fool them for some asinine illusion. But working out their strategies, how they'd best protect people they cared about? Nah, he'd always gone by blind impulse or basic allegiances. The exception was Marco. He could tell what Marco was planning. Could see that he was taking a risk. A stupid risk. One that Nick didn't want him to take. He was pretty sure Marcy was on her own. Everything - the pause as she thought, the inflections and emphases she placed on words, the fundamentally selfish lens through which she wanted answers - pointed to a lone wolf. Maybe Nick was just...riddled with confirmation bias, was that what it was called? It would be so much easier, simpler, if she was a lone wolf, that it was best to just selectively look for clues to prove that.
He couldn't do anything about that.
"No, Marco can't prove it," Nick said, turning back to Marcy. He didn't say Marco was a liar. Rather deliberately so. Hoped to give her the vague impression that Marco's evidence was just circumstantial.
He looked to Marceline. "I don't care if you believe me about Beryl. Your...opinion, really, I couldn't give a toss about." Though his words were blunt, his tone was soft. Measured. Almost conciliatory, as if taking the edge off his words. A soothing Scottish burr, as if also trying to calm down Marco and Katelynne and his family and, in the rare event there still was anyone at home watching who gave a shit about him outside of that, whoever else was watching the delayed footage. "But...let them go. I'm gonna stay right here. If that'll make you happy in some weird esoteric way, good for you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
The finger Marceline had wrapped around the gun's dual triggers twitched ever so slightly when Hart spoke up, out of turn. Had she not exercised so much restraint, she would have shot him dead right then and there for it. They were treading on thin ice already just by still continuing to breathe when she needed them dead in order to make it to the end, they didn't need to give her another excuse to quit holding back.
Not only was he speaking out of turn, though, he was also clearly trying to lead her into some kind of trap, which made her want to open fire even more. Why else would he otherwise be so vague about what his supposed evidence was? Not that it mattered anyway, the only person she needed any information from here was Ogilvie, and he just did her the favor of confirming her suspicions correct before she even needed to deliberate whether or not to take them all out for Hart's transgression.
She pointed the gun back at Ogilvie as he spoke. She was taken aback by just how quickly he agreed to stay behind and let the other two go, almost but not quite letting the surprise show on her face. He was seriously surrendering his own life for their sake. When she had heard him announced as Beryl's murderer all those days ago, she had never imagined that he would have that capacity in him. Had she really been wrong all along to assume that he had lied to her back then? If he had been telling the truth the whole time, did that mean that he was a better person than her?
No, no. Maybe he would be elsewhere, but not here. She had gone over that much already. Conventional morality didn't matter here; it was kill or be killed, end of story. Whether Ogilvie had murdered Beryl in cold blood or not, her death didn't weigh on him in the same way that Amelia's death didn't weigh on her. All of them were equals in this situation, regardless of how much blood they had on their hands, and why.
Meanwhile, going along with her ultimatum and sacrificing his life was noble, but ultimately foolish. If he would so easily allow himself to be eliminated as a threat for the sake of others, then so be it. All that would mean was that one less person was in her way.
At least now with Ogilvie taking his stand she was getting an idea as to the truth of what happened. Maybe she would never know the full story, but this unique situation presented enough character evidence to satiate her. Now, she simply needed to see if he was going to stick to his guns, or if what he was saying was merely some kind of strange ploy and he was still trying to plan a way out. Her eyes quickly darted between Hart and Kirkpatrick as she steadied her grip on her pistol, before her mouth opened to speak again.
"You two say your goodbyes loud enough for me to hear them and then walk out, slowly," she barked, gesturing to the open entrance with her sword once again. "Once you're through the doors, run away as fast as you can. I'll count to thirty, and if you're still in eyeshot by the time I get done, I'll kill you both."
Even if Ogilvie wasn't trying to trick her and sincerely meant it when he said he'd stay behind, the two survivors would be dealt with too, in time. They were no threat to her now, and likely wouldn't be so in the future, either. Plus, if Hart's ploy was any indication, he seemed like he was the type that would likely come back to either protect or avenge his friend.
If he did, she'd kill him on the spot, without any need for hesitation.
Not only was he speaking out of turn, though, he was also clearly trying to lead her into some kind of trap, which made her want to open fire even more. Why else would he otherwise be so vague about what his supposed evidence was? Not that it mattered anyway, the only person she needed any information from here was Ogilvie, and he just did her the favor of confirming her suspicions correct before she even needed to deliberate whether or not to take them all out for Hart's transgression.
She pointed the gun back at Ogilvie as he spoke. She was taken aback by just how quickly he agreed to stay behind and let the other two go, almost but not quite letting the surprise show on her face. He was seriously surrendering his own life for their sake. When she had heard him announced as Beryl's murderer all those days ago, she had never imagined that he would have that capacity in him. Had she really been wrong all along to assume that he had lied to her back then? If he had been telling the truth the whole time, did that mean that he was a better person than her?
No, no. Maybe he would be elsewhere, but not here. She had gone over that much already. Conventional morality didn't matter here; it was kill or be killed, end of story. Whether Ogilvie had murdered Beryl in cold blood or not, her death didn't weigh on him in the same way that Amelia's death didn't weigh on her. All of them were equals in this situation, regardless of how much blood they had on their hands, and why.
Meanwhile, going along with her ultimatum and sacrificing his life was noble, but ultimately foolish. If he would so easily allow himself to be eliminated as a threat for the sake of others, then so be it. All that would mean was that one less person was in her way.
At least now with Ogilvie taking his stand she was getting an idea as to the truth of what happened. Maybe she would never know the full story, but this unique situation presented enough character evidence to satiate her. Now, she simply needed to see if he was going to stick to his guns, or if what he was saying was merely some kind of strange ploy and he was still trying to plan a way out. Her eyes quickly darted between Hart and Kirkpatrick as she steadied her grip on her pistol, before her mouth opened to speak again.
"You two say your goodbyes loud enough for me to hear them and then walk out, slowly," she barked, gesturing to the open entrance with her sword once again. "Once you're through the doors, run away as fast as you can. I'll count to thirty, and if you're still in eyeshot by the time I get done, I'll kill you both."
Even if Ogilvie wasn't trying to trick her and sincerely meant it when he said he'd stay behind, the two survivors would be dealt with too, in time. They were no threat to her now, and likely wouldn't be so in the future, either. Plus, if Hart's ploy was any indication, he seemed like he was the type that would likely come back to either protect or avenge his friend.
If he did, she'd kill him on the spot, without any need for hesitation.
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
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Marco started walking. One foot in front of the other, straight line to Nick. Slow and easy. No sudden movements. He was doing as he was told. Goodbyes loud enough, obvious enough, that everyone would hear them. What else was he going to do? Rushing her wouldn't work. Nick wouldn't allow him to lead her away and she wouldn't follow if he did. So Marco did the only thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt he could do.
He got in the way.
More than a foot spanned from Nick's head to Marco's. Enough of a target that he held no illusions he could protect him in a rush, Marceline could shoot high, but Nick would understand right? He was smart. As Marco's path to say goodbye intersected between them, he could see that Marco was calm. Too calm to be coming to let him go. He moved with purpose, jaw set, fists at his sides. He was crying. He couldn't keep himself from crying. They were only tears. They did not bring a tremor to his breath. The set line of his mouth did not twitch.
Action movies did it all the time. The guns were bigger, the forms usually thinner, and Marco didn't know enough about either to know if it really worked but it was the only idea he had. Nick had found so much to love in this fat, ugly, helpless body, and he had days of practice carrying his dead weight. The least it could do, no, the only useful thing it could do for him was wrap around him one more time and catch a few bullets so he had a chance to make it out alive.
Yes. That was the scene. Dramatic, heroic sacrifice to slay the villain and die in the arms of the one you loved. He'd read that fic. He, he'd written that fic, probably a dozen times at least. It was a good ending. People liked it. Maybe enough to redeem what he'd done. That. That made it okay, right?
Nick was staring straight through him.
Marco froze.
He got in the way.
More than a foot spanned from Nick's head to Marco's. Enough of a target that he held no illusions he could protect him in a rush, Marceline could shoot high, but Nick would understand right? He was smart. As Marco's path to say goodbye intersected between them, he could see that Marco was calm. Too calm to be coming to let him go. He moved with purpose, jaw set, fists at his sides. He was crying. He couldn't keep himself from crying. They were only tears. They did not bring a tremor to his breath. The set line of his mouth did not twitch.
Action movies did it all the time. The guns were bigger, the forms usually thinner, and Marco didn't know enough about either to know if it really worked but it was the only idea he had. Nick had found so much to love in this fat, ugly, helpless body, and he had days of practice carrying his dead weight. The least it could do, no, the only useful thing it could do for him was wrap around him one more time and catch a few bullets so he had a chance to make it out alive.
Yes. That was the scene. Dramatic, heroic sacrifice to slay the villain and die in the arms of the one you loved. He'd read that fic. He, he'd written that fic, probably a dozen times at least. It was a good ending. People liked it. Maybe enough to redeem what he'd done. That. That made it okay, right?
Nick was staring straight through him.
Marco froze.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Marceline laid down the terms for how this would go. What was most...striking? Alarming? Whatever. What caught Nick’s attention the most was how vivid an image she was painting. With every word, Nick could imagine how it would go. How she was imagining it would go. It was weird having an insight into her mind - or at least what Nick thought was an insight - what with everything else that was so ambiguous and unknowable about her. It wasn’t a neatly choreographed thing, but what Marceline wanted was to keep things as controlled as possible. No surprises, that was her watchword.
Nick could picture it too. They would step forward. Meet in the middle. Hands would stay in full view, hidden messages utterly prohibited. On pain of death. She hadn’t made that part explicit, but she scarcely needed to. She wanted the spirit of her ‘say everything loud’ message to be adhered to too. Marco would want more affection, whereas the goodbye with Katelynne would be more professional, laced with a kind of ‘keep him safe’ attitude regarding Marco. Katelynne and Marco would then leave. Marceline would shoot Nick. Hopefully she’d then stick to her promise to give them a headstart - not that Nick would ever know. He could maybe waste some of her time then. Would cross that bridge when he came to it.
With how she’d entered, Nick supposed that she’d been planning this. Perhaps not for days, no, that was implausible. But she’d probably seen an opportunity and, rather than just impulsively taking it, had made sure she took it on her terms. Rigged the game, to put it in more loaded terms. Whatever. Nick didn’t care much about that. Maybe she hadn’t thoroughly sketched this out in her mind in advance, maybe she had. Whether it was premeditated or not wasn’t really that big a concern for Nick. Interesting trivia, sure, but it was a distraction from bigger things.
Maybe Nick wasn’t actually getting an insight into what Marcy was thinking. Maybe he was just...ascribing his mental image of what would happen next to her. It was disappointing, really, to not have a more formal goodbye, yet it was still better than anything Nick could have expected, could have hoped for. He’d expected a death like Jeremiah’s. Brutish, unintentional, spur of the moment. Now that he was getting something else, he didn’t want to get too comfortable with it. The idea that Marcy would conscientiously prevent it getting too nice, too heartwarming, too satisfying, that was a good one to internalise.
Nick sighed, rolled his eyes, a private joke purely for Marco’s enjoyment, at just how exacting, how fastidious, Marcy was proving to be. Nick did get it, of course. Everything had to be on her terms. She couldn’t allow a moment of sentiment to be turned against her. He could still resent it, of course.
But as he looked into Marco’s eyes, resentment was no longer his dominant emotion.
He exhaled. Felt a couple of tears trickle down into his beard. He knew Marco was thinking of something, trying to search for some morsel of hope, a smattering of opportunity. Maybe Marco could do something to disrupt Marceline’s plan, to fuck with the plan of action she’d set out, but to thwart it? To save Nick’s life without risking his own? Nick couldn’t see a way to do that. Maybe that was a lack of imagination on his part but...looking into Marco’s eyes, Nick could tell Marco didn’t have a plan. He just had desperation.
‘Go. It’s okay.’ He tried saying that with his eyes. Weary, tired, teary eyes. He had no idea if Marco would get it.
Nick could picture it too. They would step forward. Meet in the middle. Hands would stay in full view, hidden messages utterly prohibited. On pain of death. She hadn’t made that part explicit, but she scarcely needed to. She wanted the spirit of her ‘say everything loud’ message to be adhered to too. Marco would want more affection, whereas the goodbye with Katelynne would be more professional, laced with a kind of ‘keep him safe’ attitude regarding Marco. Katelynne and Marco would then leave. Marceline would shoot Nick. Hopefully she’d then stick to her promise to give them a headstart - not that Nick would ever know. He could maybe waste some of her time then. Would cross that bridge when he came to it.
With how she’d entered, Nick supposed that she’d been planning this. Perhaps not for days, no, that was implausible. But she’d probably seen an opportunity and, rather than just impulsively taking it, had made sure she took it on her terms. Rigged the game, to put it in more loaded terms. Whatever. Nick didn’t care much about that. Maybe she hadn’t thoroughly sketched this out in her mind in advance, maybe she had. Whether it was premeditated or not wasn’t really that big a concern for Nick. Interesting trivia, sure, but it was a distraction from bigger things.
Maybe Nick wasn’t actually getting an insight into what Marcy was thinking. Maybe he was just...ascribing his mental image of what would happen next to her. It was disappointing, really, to not have a more formal goodbye, yet it was still better than anything Nick could have expected, could have hoped for. He’d expected a death like Jeremiah’s. Brutish, unintentional, spur of the moment. Now that he was getting something else, he didn’t want to get too comfortable with it. The idea that Marcy would conscientiously prevent it getting too nice, too heartwarming, too satisfying, that was a good one to internalise.
Nick sighed, rolled his eyes, a private joke purely for Marco’s enjoyment, at just how exacting, how fastidious, Marcy was proving to be. Nick did get it, of course. Everything had to be on her terms. She couldn’t allow a moment of sentiment to be turned against her. He could still resent it, of course.
But as he looked into Marco’s eyes, resentment was no longer his dominant emotion.
He exhaled. Felt a couple of tears trickle down into his beard. He knew Marco was thinking of something, trying to search for some morsel of hope, a smattering of opportunity. Maybe Marco could do something to disrupt Marceline’s plan, to fuck with the plan of action she’d set out, but to thwart it? To save Nick’s life without risking his own? Nick couldn’t see a way to do that. Maybe that was a lack of imagination on his part but...looking into Marco’s eyes, Nick could tell Marco didn’t have a plan. He just had desperation.
‘Go. It’s okay.’ He tried saying that with his eyes. Weary, tired, teary eyes. He had no idea if Marco would get it.
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
- Contact:
All along Marco had thought of Nick as a fighter. Hard not to when he took every challenger that came after them in a stride, he was always ready at a moment's notice to drop someone who came at them in the wrong way. People had been trying to kill him since before they'd met and he was still here. Come at him with hands and he'd beat you until you can't stand. Swing a knife in his face and he'd have you own the ground bartering for your life. Point a gun in his face and promise him certain death, and he didn't even flinch. Marco had seen so much strength in him. Somewhere in his heart he still believed that they-again as if Marco had anything to do with it-could have taken anyone that came for them if Nick wanted to, that every person they'd met before now could have been in the ground if Nick decided they needed to die. Axel trusted him to lead him through the darkness of the cave; smashing his head into the rock at the turn of a corner wasn't so unimaginable. Garnet's back was wide open to him while she strangled Marco; he could have stabbed her right there. Marceline and her friend had let their guard down while he attended to Marco; he could have left him to swim delirious in his mind and stalked them down the path, slit her friend's throat before shooting Marceline with her gun. Yuka was on her back at his mercy and with the most justification anyone had provided either of them; he could have crushed her skull and walked away without a pause in his stride to collect Teresa next. Marco lay next to him in complete vulnerability night after night with more opportunities to lose his life than he could recount, and right now if he wanted it he was ready to give Nick his life as an advantage. He could take it. He could kill Marceline. He could be the only person to walk out of this room alive.
But Nick had never wanted that. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone at all. Despite all the fights he'd finished for them, Nick never started any of his own, and he never went farther than needed to protect them. Marco looked into his face and did not see calculation waiting for an opportunity to resolve in his favor. He saw exhaustion so heavy it nearly cut him off at the knees. Nick didn't want to walk out of this room over any more bodies, least of all Marco's. He wouldn't. He couldn't. No one else was going to die for Nick. Love, hate, or indifference wouldn't change that. There wasn't room for an ounce more of weight on his shoulders.
Without saying a word, Nick told Marco how fantastically selfish he was being.
There was a quote he'd heard somewhere about how you couldn't love someone more than to give up your life for them. It resonated with him. Marco hadn't thought of himself as a candidate for martyrdom, but there was an allure to it, heroic sacrifice, drama, redemption, he'd already been there. So that idea might be true sometimes. Nick's willingness to die here, that was out of love. Marco's wasn't. It was fear. Maybe jealousy too. Dying for someone was a single act with a clear ending and beginning. Other than living it was difficult to get wrong. Living for someone, on the other hand, was a process of unknown goal or duration, one challenged every step because as soon as it stopped being challenging you probably stopped doing it right.
Some twisted part of him was jealous that Nick pulled the easier job, and he hated it.
But he accepted it.
It was okay.
He wouldn't make Nick watch him die too.
A few more steps brought them within arm's reach. His hands trembled as he raised them slow, painfully slow, he wanted Marceline to see every moment. He offered no explanation. Nick didn't ask for one. They both understood. From the bottom he straightened out the creases in Nick's trousers. Detritus clung to his fine clothing; dust, dirt, dandruff, the occasional marshmallow. He brushed away what he could. Each button on his shirt and waistcoat was checked, double-checked, re-fastened in the place or two where it did not flatter him. He tucked his shirt in. Smoothed out his cuffs. Reached up until he strained his arms to comb his hair straight with his fingers. There was little Marco could do about his beard with his hands, but they framed his face through his tangles without moving.
The tears hadn't stopped, but they finally cracked through his voice.
"Nicholas. Domnhall. Parkhurst. Ogilvie."
He smiled through the twitching of his muscles trying to twist his face into a sob.
"You've never looked better."
Thank you for staying with me, he wanted to say. Thank you for believing me. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for embracing me. Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for holding me and holding me back. Thank you. Thank you. I love you.
He wanted to say it, but he didn't need to say what Nick already knew, and Marceline didn't deserve to hear it.
But Nick had never wanted that. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone at all. Despite all the fights he'd finished for them, Nick never started any of his own, and he never went farther than needed to protect them. Marco looked into his face and did not see calculation waiting for an opportunity to resolve in his favor. He saw exhaustion so heavy it nearly cut him off at the knees. Nick didn't want to walk out of this room over any more bodies, least of all Marco's. He wouldn't. He couldn't. No one else was going to die for Nick. Love, hate, or indifference wouldn't change that. There wasn't room for an ounce more of weight on his shoulders.
Without saying a word, Nick told Marco how fantastically selfish he was being.
There was a quote he'd heard somewhere about how you couldn't love someone more than to give up your life for them. It resonated with him. Marco hadn't thought of himself as a candidate for martyrdom, but there was an allure to it, heroic sacrifice, drama, redemption, he'd already been there. So that idea might be true sometimes. Nick's willingness to die here, that was out of love. Marco's wasn't. It was fear. Maybe jealousy too. Dying for someone was a single act with a clear ending and beginning. Other than living it was difficult to get wrong. Living for someone, on the other hand, was a process of unknown goal or duration, one challenged every step because as soon as it stopped being challenging you probably stopped doing it right.
Some twisted part of him was jealous that Nick pulled the easier job, and he hated it.
But he accepted it.
It was okay.
He wouldn't make Nick watch him die too.
A few more steps brought them within arm's reach. His hands trembled as he raised them slow, painfully slow, he wanted Marceline to see every moment. He offered no explanation. Nick didn't ask for one. They both understood. From the bottom he straightened out the creases in Nick's trousers. Detritus clung to his fine clothing; dust, dirt, dandruff, the occasional marshmallow. He brushed away what he could. Each button on his shirt and waistcoat was checked, double-checked, re-fastened in the place or two where it did not flatter him. He tucked his shirt in. Smoothed out his cuffs. Reached up until he strained his arms to comb his hair straight with his fingers. There was little Marco could do about his beard with his hands, but they framed his face through his tangles without moving.
The tears hadn't stopped, but they finally cracked through his voice.
"Nicholas. Domnhall. Parkhurst. Ogilvie."
He smiled through the twitching of his muscles trying to twist his face into a sob.
"You've never looked better."
Thank you for staying with me, he wanted to say. Thank you for believing me. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for embracing me. Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for holding me and holding me back. Thank you. Thank you. I love you.
He wanted to say it, but he didn't need to say what Nick already knew, and Marceline didn't deserve to hear it.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Facing imminent death was...complicated. There were all kinds of emotion Nick knew he should have been feeling. He probably should have - would have expected to - take stock of his whole life. Think back on the mistakes he made, like with Beryl and Tristan and just the whole needless saga of drama that defined his last days at George Hunter High. All that shit with Ryan back in Scotland, too, how so many of Nick’s flaws first began to show. He could have thought about that more. He couldn’t really blame himself all that much because he had been a kid at the time, but he could blame himself for how little he’d learnt on it.
Or he could have thought about others. All his friends and classmates, those who’d died, those who’d survived. Or his family. Could have thought about them some more. He had a good relationship with his family, all things considered, but he hadn’t really acted like it. Had never really taken full advantage of it. His parents, Joanne, Willie, there was undoubtedly going to be heartache for all of them. He loved them all, he really did, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been a mediocre son and brother even at the best of times. There were so many pointless confrontations, trivial disagreements, inane confrontations, ones that had felt cathartic at the time but now seemed an insulting waste of limited time.
Maybe he could have let his mind turn to the grander scheme of things. He could have felt outrage at the injustice of it all, he and his peers forced to confront hardships and traumas nobody should suffer instead of focusing on the dramas and life choices that should be occupying their minds at their age. Despair for how this cycle was so clearly destined to continue, without break or pause. That bigger picture stuff, that Nick was never much good with, that was always the province of others around him with just a more connected social conscience. How it had only been luck that had allowed him to ignore it up until this point.
But Nick didn’t really think about any of these things, except in the sense of just mentally noting in passing how fleeting his treatment of them was. Maybe it was because Nick supposed other people could ponder these problems better than he could. Maybe it was because he wasn’t being confronted with them in the here and now. Maybe it was because it was just easier to...concentrate his energies, conserve his emotions, for this single minor thing.
Instead, he just thought about Marco.
The days that they’d spent together were...Nick could count them on his fingers. Yet it was all he cared about right now. Marco would get out of this encounter in one piece, Nick would do everything in his power to make sure of that and then...well, Nick would never know. But that lack of closure, that open-endedness, there was something hopeful in that. Far more hopeful than the routine of listening to the daily announcements and dodging encroaching danger zones and working through the inescapable atmosphere of death could ever be.
Marco made him look smart. He smiled. Nick had once taken an...unorthodox sense of pride in the way he looked. His build, his eyebrows, his beard, his stainless steel watch, his penchant for waistcoats and brogues. He looked like a mess the past few days. The scuffles, the fighting, the lack of hygiene. It was odd, how Marco had fallen for him despite all that, as his unkempt look moved from fashion choice to inevitability. His buttons were all fixed, every corner of his clothes properly straightened, his shirt tucked and dirt and marshmallows (which threatened to bring a smile to his face, even in this time) brushed away.
Marco told him he’d never looked better.
“I know. After the makeover you received yesterday, guess it’s only fitting we both look our best.”
He smiled. Tears were everywhere, and his beard was a tangled mess. Not even Marco’s affectionate caresses had been able to fix that. But his smile was as genuine as ever, and it was all because of Marco. He leaned in. Kissed Marco. Like all the times before, yet different in a way that Nick couldn’t describe but for reasons he knew all too well. Nick didn’t know how long that slow, gentle, passionate kiss lasted for, but he knew what it said. Knew the message it conveyed. Knew it saved having to actually allow Marcy to infringe too much on these precious final moments, by taking full advantage of the one mode of communication she couldn’t police.
Pulling away from the kiss, hands caressing Marco’s face, he gave him one last loving smile. “You’ve been a fantastic boyfriend. Now stay with Katelynne, look out for each other. Bye, Marco.”
Or he could have thought about others. All his friends and classmates, those who’d died, those who’d survived. Or his family. Could have thought about them some more. He had a good relationship with his family, all things considered, but he hadn’t really acted like it. Had never really taken full advantage of it. His parents, Joanne, Willie, there was undoubtedly going to be heartache for all of them. He loved them all, he really did, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been a mediocre son and brother even at the best of times. There were so many pointless confrontations, trivial disagreements, inane confrontations, ones that had felt cathartic at the time but now seemed an insulting waste of limited time.
Maybe he could have let his mind turn to the grander scheme of things. He could have felt outrage at the injustice of it all, he and his peers forced to confront hardships and traumas nobody should suffer instead of focusing on the dramas and life choices that should be occupying their minds at their age. Despair for how this cycle was so clearly destined to continue, without break or pause. That bigger picture stuff, that Nick was never much good with, that was always the province of others around him with just a more connected social conscience. How it had only been luck that had allowed him to ignore it up until this point.
But Nick didn’t really think about any of these things, except in the sense of just mentally noting in passing how fleeting his treatment of them was. Maybe it was because Nick supposed other people could ponder these problems better than he could. Maybe it was because he wasn’t being confronted with them in the here and now. Maybe it was because it was just easier to...concentrate his energies, conserve his emotions, for this single minor thing.
Instead, he just thought about Marco.
The days that they’d spent together were...Nick could count them on his fingers. Yet it was all he cared about right now. Marco would get out of this encounter in one piece, Nick would do everything in his power to make sure of that and then...well, Nick would never know. But that lack of closure, that open-endedness, there was something hopeful in that. Far more hopeful than the routine of listening to the daily announcements and dodging encroaching danger zones and working through the inescapable atmosphere of death could ever be.
Marco made him look smart. He smiled. Nick had once taken an...unorthodox sense of pride in the way he looked. His build, his eyebrows, his beard, his stainless steel watch, his penchant for waistcoats and brogues. He looked like a mess the past few days. The scuffles, the fighting, the lack of hygiene. It was odd, how Marco had fallen for him despite all that, as his unkempt look moved from fashion choice to inevitability. His buttons were all fixed, every corner of his clothes properly straightened, his shirt tucked and dirt and marshmallows (which threatened to bring a smile to his face, even in this time) brushed away.
Marco told him he’d never looked better.
“I know. After the makeover you received yesterday, guess it’s only fitting we both look our best.”
He smiled. Tears were everywhere, and his beard was a tangled mess. Not even Marco’s affectionate caresses had been able to fix that. But his smile was as genuine as ever, and it was all because of Marco. He leaned in. Kissed Marco. Like all the times before, yet different in a way that Nick couldn’t describe but for reasons he knew all too well. Nick didn’t know how long that slow, gentle, passionate kiss lasted for, but he knew what it said. Knew the message it conveyed. Knew it saved having to actually allow Marcy to infringe too much on these precious final moments, by taking full advantage of the one mode of communication she couldn’t police.
Pulling away from the kiss, hands caressing Marco’s face, he gave him one last loving smile. “You’ve been a fantastic boyfriend. Now stay with Katelynne, look out for each other. Bye, Marco.”
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
The hand holding Marceline's gun began to shake, her eyes widening and the corners of her mouth beginning to curl into a frown. Her vision began to blur just a little bit, as her grip tightened around her weapon like a vice, a desperate attempt to maintain composure. Perhaps to an outside observer, the depth of the relationship unfolding in front of her had been obvious all along, but to her, it took until just now for the realization to slowly dawn on her just how much these two meant to one another.
Underneath Marco's voice, she could hear the faint echo of her own. From back then, when she had lost everything she cared about in one fell swoop. His words were tinged with the same anguish, the same longing for everything to be different, and the same rage at the hand of fate taking everything away. Meanwhile, in Nick's voice, she could hear Dolly pleading with her to continue to live, his tone carrying the same equal measure of certainty and comfort that Dolly's last words to her had.
In that moment of accidental voyeurism, of her so rudely intruding on their lives and love, she connected with them. Not as fellow players in a deadly game, but as people that she felt she understood. Marco was her, from all those days ago. Nick was Dolly, right before she died. So, who did that make Marceline?
The answer was obvious.
Had this exact situation transpired a few days ago, she would have lowered her gun and walked away. She wouldn't have been able to face the guilt from what she was doing, the pain she was causing, and the monster she had so clearly already become. A few days ago, inflicting the same cruelty on Marco that d'Aramitz had originally caused her would have been completely unthinkable. She would have never allowed her own sorrow to beget the sorrow of another.
But...
She blinked, clearing her eyes. She inhaled deeply through her nose, holding the breath for a moment, before exhaling through her mouth, her neutral expression having returned to her face. Maybe a few days ago, everything would have been different, but this wasn't a few days ago. No matter how she felt about what she was doing now, she had already chosen to play the role of the monster, and walk the path of the winner. She simply couldn't afford to allow her emotions to get the better of her. She had to push through them, all the way to the end.
Her hand steadied. Her intent solidified.
Underneath Marco's voice, she could hear the faint echo of her own. From back then, when she had lost everything she cared about in one fell swoop. His words were tinged with the same anguish, the same longing for everything to be different, and the same rage at the hand of fate taking everything away. Meanwhile, in Nick's voice, she could hear Dolly pleading with her to continue to live, his tone carrying the same equal measure of certainty and comfort that Dolly's last words to her had.
In that moment of accidental voyeurism, of her so rudely intruding on their lives and love, she connected with them. Not as fellow players in a deadly game, but as people that she felt she understood. Marco was her, from all those days ago. Nick was Dolly, right before she died. So, who did that make Marceline?
The answer was obvious.
Had this exact situation transpired a few days ago, she would have lowered her gun and walked away. She wouldn't have been able to face the guilt from what she was doing, the pain she was causing, and the monster she had so clearly already become. A few days ago, inflicting the same cruelty on Marco that d'Aramitz had originally caused her would have been completely unthinkable. She would have never allowed her own sorrow to beget the sorrow of another.
But...
She blinked, clearing her eyes. She inhaled deeply through her nose, holding the breath for a moment, before exhaling through her mouth, her neutral expression having returned to her face. Maybe a few days ago, everything would have been different, but this wasn't a few days ago. No matter how she felt about what she was doing now, she had already chosen to play the role of the monster, and walk the path of the winner. She simply couldn't afford to allow her emotions to get the better of her. She had to push through them, all the way to the end.
Her hand steadied. Her intent solidified.
Despite all she tried, there was nothing Katelynne could do. There were no rooms to turn around and go hide in, or an angel to swoop in and rescue her. She couldn't even rely on dumb luck this time.
It was one thing to see someone die right in front of her, or finding a body afterwards. It was worse watching someone knowing what was gonna happen.
So she complied, before Marceline changed her mind. Marco and Katelynne had to accept the precious gift of time Nicholas paid them forward. They could figure out how to pay it back later.
Able to move again Katelynne quietly approached Marco from behind, feeling Marceline with the gun locked right on her. Katelynne caressed his back and shoulder and grabbed his hand, gently but firmly tearing him away.
"Come on, we gotta go... we gotta go..." She just managed to say the words through her own eyes gradually welling up.
She dragged and plodded the two of them across the decaying wood floor over to the front entrance. With one last look at Nicholas, and then Marceline, she was gone.
((Continued at the cave where it all began))
It was one thing to see someone die right in front of her, or finding a body afterwards. It was worse watching someone knowing what was gonna happen.
So she complied, before Marceline changed her mind. Marco and Katelynne had to accept the precious gift of time Nicholas paid them forward. They could figure out how to pay it back later.
Able to move again Katelynne quietly approached Marco from behind, feeling Marceline with the gun locked right on her. Katelynne caressed his back and shoulder and grabbed his hand, gently but firmly tearing him away.
"Come on, we gotta go... we gotta go..." She just managed to say the words through her own eyes gradually welling up.
She dragged and plodded the two of them across the decaying wood floor over to the front entrance. With one last look at Nicholas, and then Marceline, she was gone.
((Continued at the cave where it all began))
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Marco was dragged away. Gently, sure. Katelynne was not exactly violently dragging him along the stone floor, nor was she of the strength to just pick Marco up and march out of there. Katelynne needed Marco's consent - by way of inaction - to steer him out of there, and though Nick doubted Marco would have moved on his own, he was pleased to see Marco let himself be pulled away. Nick stood, passively, silently, as Katelynne did what was necessary, extricating Marco from the situation. Nick was more grateful than ever that they had been with her, someone who cared enough to physically intervene yet not too much as to get paralysed by the crippling emotional stakes.
Nick just stayed there, staring forlornly at the ground where Marco had once been. If he moved, if he tried cheating by getting one final lasting exchange of looks or words or touch with Marco, maybe his own powers of self-restraint would have fallen away. Maybe Marco's would have. Maybe Nick making one final gesture would have been enough to tip him over the edge, to get him to forget the sensible consensus they'd agreed upon and do something stupid, destructive, in the hope that the one-in-a-million chance of a movie-style 'take a third option' style resolution would have materialised into something concrete. Nick couldn't risk that. He couldn't do that to Marco. So as tricky as it was, he stayed still, bar his trembling upper lip and shivering limbs and the rapid blink of tear-filled eyes.
Best to let Katelynne work.
He looked up at her as he left, just a brief glance. 'Thank you', he said with his eyes. She probably wouldn't be able to read him that way. Only with Marco had he developed that kind of unspoken language so quickly, so effortlessly. But the context said it all, he hoped. Then she looked at Marceline, and with that, she was gone.
He was gone.
It was just Nick and Marcy now.
Nick sighed, and after a second of clearing his mind, slowly turned to face her. Nick had seen that look of...empathy, of sadness, on her features. It was fleeting, ephemeral, almost able to be mistaken for a trick of the light at first glance. But he'd seen it. She was set in her course, Nick had no delusions otherwise, but she clearly wasn't used to confronting the actual emotional cost of that. Maybe Nick was reading into her too much. Maybe he was giving her too much credit. That had been a problem for him lately. Nick had gone from one extreme to the other, from being thoughtless to those who didn't deserve it, now being thoughtful towards those who, in their own way, also didn't deserve it.
"So many things I could ask," Nick murmured. "Final requests, what happened to Roxanne, what happened to Amelia..." He couldn't deny that a part of him wanted all of those things. Felt entitled to all of those things. There was something appealing in being able to lean back with a cigarette and look death in the eyes, but Nick wasn't able to live out that cinematic idyll of pre-mortem badassery. Too late for that. He was crying too much.
"When you could have killed me earlier...however many days ago it was," Nick continued, leaning against a beam, looking instead at the door. "You know what I thought? There are so many people who...deserved to kill me more. More legitimate grievances, y'know? Like, I'd actually fucking hurt them. Properly. Deliberately, sometimes. Maybe they even had a better claim to avenge Beryl than you, you know?" Nick shrugged. "And now they're all dead, and it's just you." He sniffed. He was careful not to disturb Marco's work. Made sure his clothes didn't get too creased or crinkled, that his hair wasn't rendered too dishevelled or unkempt. "I mean, I made a lot out of those extra days. Shit, actually lost count, y'know. Almost felt like a new normal, as dumb as that is." It was selfish, not to mention stupid, to think that in the midst of such chaos, in the middle of such violence.
But it was true.
He exhaled. "Least I can hold my head up high. More luxury than most people got."
Nick just stayed there, staring forlornly at the ground where Marco had once been. If he moved, if he tried cheating by getting one final lasting exchange of looks or words or touch with Marco, maybe his own powers of self-restraint would have fallen away. Maybe Marco's would have. Maybe Nick making one final gesture would have been enough to tip him over the edge, to get him to forget the sensible consensus they'd agreed upon and do something stupid, destructive, in the hope that the one-in-a-million chance of a movie-style 'take a third option' style resolution would have materialised into something concrete. Nick couldn't risk that. He couldn't do that to Marco. So as tricky as it was, he stayed still, bar his trembling upper lip and shivering limbs and the rapid blink of tear-filled eyes.
Best to let Katelynne work.
He looked up at her as he left, just a brief glance. 'Thank you', he said with his eyes. She probably wouldn't be able to read him that way. Only with Marco had he developed that kind of unspoken language so quickly, so effortlessly. But the context said it all, he hoped. Then she looked at Marceline, and with that, she was gone.
He was gone.
It was just Nick and Marcy now.
Nick sighed, and after a second of clearing his mind, slowly turned to face her. Nick had seen that look of...empathy, of sadness, on her features. It was fleeting, ephemeral, almost able to be mistaken for a trick of the light at first glance. But he'd seen it. She was set in her course, Nick had no delusions otherwise, but she clearly wasn't used to confronting the actual emotional cost of that. Maybe Nick was reading into her too much. Maybe he was giving her too much credit. That had been a problem for him lately. Nick had gone from one extreme to the other, from being thoughtless to those who didn't deserve it, now being thoughtful towards those who, in their own way, also didn't deserve it.
"So many things I could ask," Nick murmured. "Final requests, what happened to Roxanne, what happened to Amelia..." He couldn't deny that a part of him wanted all of those things. Felt entitled to all of those things. There was something appealing in being able to lean back with a cigarette and look death in the eyes, but Nick wasn't able to live out that cinematic idyll of pre-mortem badassery. Too late for that. He was crying too much.
"When you could have killed me earlier...however many days ago it was," Nick continued, leaning against a beam, looking instead at the door. "You know what I thought? There are so many people who...deserved to kill me more. More legitimate grievances, y'know? Like, I'd actually fucking hurt them. Properly. Deliberately, sometimes. Maybe they even had a better claim to avenge Beryl than you, you know?" Nick shrugged. "And now they're all dead, and it's just you." He sniffed. He was careful not to disturb Marco's work. Made sure his clothes didn't get too creased or crinkled, that his hair wasn't rendered too dishevelled or unkempt. "I mean, I made a lot out of those extra days. Shit, actually lost count, y'know. Almost felt like a new normal, as dumb as that is." It was selfish, not to mention stupid, to think that in the midst of such chaos, in the middle of such violence.
But it was true.
He exhaled. "Least I can hold my head up high. More luxury than most people got."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Marceline's eyes darted back and forth between Nick and Kirkpatrick leaving with Marco in tow, her grip on the sword's hilt tightening as she kept the gun steady with her other hand. She had been expecting some kind of foolish, last-second, desperate attack. Were she in Marco's shoes, that's what she would have done without a moment's hesitation. Yet, the rush of movement, screaming, and ensuing gunfire never came. They exited the doors without another word, and just like that, she was left all alone with Nick, just as she had originally planned.
Nick started talking, and Marceline listened, returning the sword to its sheathe and sidling back to the entrance. Her eyes and the muzzle of her gun remained trained upon him as he spoke, her newly freed hand reaching behind her for the knobs of the entrance, before shutting both doors behind her, just in case the other two decided to come back. The sunlight was no longer streaming in through the entrance, and the interior of the temple was now only dimly illuminated. Her pupils took a moment to adjust to the change, still fixated on Nick. With the doors closed and the outside world now shut out, she could almost say that in a way, she saw Nick more clearly than ever before.
She stared into his tear-filled eyes as he finished speaking, bearing witness to the sheer exhaustion he carried in them. The mental wall that she had tried to build between them quickly crumbled in the face of the raw humanity that he demonstrated. Peering through her little window into Nick's mind's eye, she began to imagine how, if everything had transpired just a bit differently for her, she very well could've been in his position, and sacrificed her own life for the sake of her love. She had been so willing to do just that a mere few days ago. There was some measure of peace to be found in an end like that, and she hoped that in light of what was about to transpire, that he had discovered it himself.
"This isn't..." she began to respond, her voice carrying some measure of vulnerability for the first time since she entered the temple. "It's not about avenging Beryl, really."
She could very well just shoot him. He wasn't resisting, he wasn't trying to fight his fate. He was just tired, accepting what was about to come with grace. Killing him and being done with it would be the smart play. Though, since he wasn't attacking her, and therefore wasn't an immediate threat to her life, maybe she could humor him, tell him her story as he had told his own. Maybe there was something for her to learn from him, before he was gone forever.
"When I came in here, I was barely thinking about Beryl. Originally I was planning to kill all three of you without a word."
A condemnation of her own character, spoken clearly, without stumbling over her words, and without a hint of dishonesty. She had no reason to lie to an imminently dying man.
"But I hesitated, and I changed my mind when I saw that all of you were basically defenseless. Then I decided that I wanted to know the truth of what happened, and I think I got it."
She rolled her neck, alleviating some of the tension that was gradually building up in it. The inside of her mouth felt awfully dry, and not very conducive to talking, but she persisted in spite of it.
"You gave me the answers I wanted with your actions, so I'll do you the courtesy of giving you some of my own. For some context, my girlfriend, before she died," she paused on that word, unintentionally lingering on it, hurt visibly flashing on her face before she continued. "She made me promise that if anything happened to her, that I would keep living."
She didn't need to tell him this. It was possible he didn't even want to know, or didn't care to know, but she felt he deserved to know why this was happening nonetheless, before he'd never be able to know anything ever again.
"Originally, I was angry. I wanted to lash out at everyone who had hurt the people I cared about, including you. That was why I behaved like that, back at the waterfall. But then," the hand holding her gun began to tremble ever so slightly as she recounted the path she walked up to this point, her other hand reaching up to steady her aim. "I came to the conclusion that that was bullshit. So I decided to stick to the promise I made to her, instead. I decided I was going to win."
That was all the context that Nick needed. Now for the answers to what he had asked. She had no reason to hide anything anymore, not to him, at least.
"I told Roxy all of that. Then she told me to kill her, to prove I had what it took to achieve my new goal. I couldn't do it, so she left me behind."
She was not giving him the full story of what transpired, but she didn't need to. She was already baring her soul to her soon to be victim, she was under no obligation to tell him the specifics. He likely didn't even care to know, anyway.
"Then I found Amelia, with this," she tilted the gun from side to side, hopefully communicating exactly what she was talking about. "And I saw an opportunity to prove to Roxy and myself that I had what it took. So I killed her."
She didn't need to sugarcoat it. For all of the justifications she had built up in her head prior to what happened, there was no getting around the fact that she had killed her friend for the sake of her own survival. She could try to paint herself as misunderstood, as someone who wasn't really in control of her actions, but she didn't want his sympathy, and she didn't expect him to understand. She knew that she chose this path, willingly. She knew exactly the kind of person that she was.
"Now I'm going to kill you," she stated, flatly, as if it were some kind of banal fact of life. "Not for revenge, or because I think it's the right thing to do, but just because you're in my way. Maybe this used to be personal, but it's not now."
Nick started talking, and Marceline listened, returning the sword to its sheathe and sidling back to the entrance. Her eyes and the muzzle of her gun remained trained upon him as he spoke, her newly freed hand reaching behind her for the knobs of the entrance, before shutting both doors behind her, just in case the other two decided to come back. The sunlight was no longer streaming in through the entrance, and the interior of the temple was now only dimly illuminated. Her pupils took a moment to adjust to the change, still fixated on Nick. With the doors closed and the outside world now shut out, she could almost say that in a way, she saw Nick more clearly than ever before.
She stared into his tear-filled eyes as he finished speaking, bearing witness to the sheer exhaustion he carried in them. The mental wall that she had tried to build between them quickly crumbled in the face of the raw humanity that he demonstrated. Peering through her little window into Nick's mind's eye, she began to imagine how, if everything had transpired just a bit differently for her, she very well could've been in his position, and sacrificed her own life for the sake of her love. She had been so willing to do just that a mere few days ago. There was some measure of peace to be found in an end like that, and she hoped that in light of what was about to transpire, that he had discovered it himself.
"This isn't..." she began to respond, her voice carrying some measure of vulnerability for the first time since she entered the temple. "It's not about avenging Beryl, really."
She could very well just shoot him. He wasn't resisting, he wasn't trying to fight his fate. He was just tired, accepting what was about to come with grace. Killing him and being done with it would be the smart play. Though, since he wasn't attacking her, and therefore wasn't an immediate threat to her life, maybe she could humor him, tell him her story as he had told his own. Maybe there was something for her to learn from him, before he was gone forever.
"When I came in here, I was barely thinking about Beryl. Originally I was planning to kill all three of you without a word."
A condemnation of her own character, spoken clearly, without stumbling over her words, and without a hint of dishonesty. She had no reason to lie to an imminently dying man.
"But I hesitated, and I changed my mind when I saw that all of you were basically defenseless. Then I decided that I wanted to know the truth of what happened, and I think I got it."
She rolled her neck, alleviating some of the tension that was gradually building up in it. The inside of her mouth felt awfully dry, and not very conducive to talking, but she persisted in spite of it.
"You gave me the answers I wanted with your actions, so I'll do you the courtesy of giving you some of my own. For some context, my girlfriend, before she died," she paused on that word, unintentionally lingering on it, hurt visibly flashing on her face before she continued. "She made me promise that if anything happened to her, that I would keep living."
She didn't need to tell him this. It was possible he didn't even want to know, or didn't care to know, but she felt he deserved to know why this was happening nonetheless, before he'd never be able to know anything ever again.
"Originally, I was angry. I wanted to lash out at everyone who had hurt the people I cared about, including you. That was why I behaved like that, back at the waterfall. But then," the hand holding her gun began to tremble ever so slightly as she recounted the path she walked up to this point, her other hand reaching up to steady her aim. "I came to the conclusion that that was bullshit. So I decided to stick to the promise I made to her, instead. I decided I was going to win."
That was all the context that Nick needed. Now for the answers to what he had asked. She had no reason to hide anything anymore, not to him, at least.
"I told Roxy all of that. Then she told me to kill her, to prove I had what it took to achieve my new goal. I couldn't do it, so she left me behind."
She was not giving him the full story of what transpired, but she didn't need to. She was already baring her soul to her soon to be victim, she was under no obligation to tell him the specifics. He likely didn't even care to know, anyway.
"Then I found Amelia, with this," she tilted the gun from side to side, hopefully communicating exactly what she was talking about. "And I saw an opportunity to prove to Roxy and myself that I had what it took. So I killed her."
She didn't need to sugarcoat it. For all of the justifications she had built up in her head prior to what happened, there was no getting around the fact that she had killed her friend for the sake of her own survival. She could try to paint herself as misunderstood, as someone who wasn't really in control of her actions, but she didn't want his sympathy, and she didn't expect him to understand. She knew that she chose this path, willingly. She knew exactly the kind of person that she was.
"Now I'm going to kill you," she stated, flatly, as if it were some kind of banal fact of life. "Not for revenge, or because I think it's the right thing to do, but just because you're in my way. Maybe this used to be personal, but it's not now."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Nick was hurting. Saying goodbye to Marco, being confronted with death, knowing that everything he'd done, all the mistakes he'd made, culminated in this, that was painful. He had grown, so quickly, from the rage-frenzied monster who'd killed Jeremiah, who'd threatened Yuka, who'd been such a dick to Tristan and Beryl, and though he'd known all along how that'd end, it felt painful being confronted with the reality of just how pointless it had all been. In the grand scheme of things, he was still a cunt. He'd lived most of his life as a cunt. Nothing was gonna change that.
At this point in his life, Nick knew how it worked. There would be no dealing with the causes of that pain. Just addressing the symptoms. Palliative stuff. And Marcy, unintentionally, provided that. She distracted him from the pain, by giving him a new emotion to seize upon. Hatred, condescension, judgement. He could look down on her, so easily. She was all but inviting him to do so. That was a good distraction. Sometimes her own hurt flashed across her features, and Nick observed that with a steely passivity, not at all moved by her own pain, happy even that there was still some sense of cosmic justice, however inadvertent, that he could point to.
So he looked at her, with scorn and derision, and that made staring in the face of death easier. Simpler to deal with. Cleared his thoughts.
Nick knew it wasn't about avenging Beryl. He always had known. His look when Marcy launched into a obnoxious soliloquy, trying to explain her motives like Nick or anyone watching on the cameras actually cared, was disdainful. 'I know this already', 'I don't give a fuck', 'you're just a bad person', they were all things that he wanted to say to her, but settled to just conveying that message through the look on his face. Furrowed brow, a contemptuous venom in his eyes, scrunched up features that told a story about just how unpleasant Nick found it having to listen to her inane rambling. The more she talked, the more sympathy Nick lost for her. It was surprising, really. He didn't know he had sympathy to lose - or that negative sympathy was such a thing. Even now, he was discovering new sides to his emotional range.
When Nick spoke again, his tone was openly sneering. All the rancor and anger that he felt, he was focusing on her. Just like all the love he had to give he'd given to Marco, just like Marco and Katelynne were the sole people he'd treated with respect in his final days, Marcy was serving as a useful way for him to focus his emotions, a nice, simple, easy way for him to get through complex end-of-life thoughts. "If you manage to get home..." Nick sighed. "And I think it goes without saying that I hope you don't, and that is personal, but if you get home, you won't be someone who fought to survive. Who was forced to do terrible things to stay alive. Who was a victim of what the terrorists did."
"You'll be an executioner."
His voice softened, his timbre counrerintuitively becoming less acerbic, more matter-of-fact, letting his words do all the work that a spiteful inflection and forceful pronunciation would previously have done. "Not a survivor. But an executioner. A callous, premeditated, vicious murderer. A collaborator. Someone who it turned out thrived in this island." He looked at her, holding his head up high, turning his nose up at her. "I didn't want any of your answers. I didn't ask for them. I didn't need them. My actions showed who I am. Your actions showed who you are. And people back home who care about me? They can be proud of me. But the people back home who care about you? They'll be fucking ashamed."
He looked at the door over her shoulder. Chuckled.
"But hey, I've bought my friends enough extra time. You really do love talking about yourself."
At this point in his life, Nick knew how it worked. There would be no dealing with the causes of that pain. Just addressing the symptoms. Palliative stuff. And Marcy, unintentionally, provided that. She distracted him from the pain, by giving him a new emotion to seize upon. Hatred, condescension, judgement. He could look down on her, so easily. She was all but inviting him to do so. That was a good distraction. Sometimes her own hurt flashed across her features, and Nick observed that with a steely passivity, not at all moved by her own pain, happy even that there was still some sense of cosmic justice, however inadvertent, that he could point to.
So he looked at her, with scorn and derision, and that made staring in the face of death easier. Simpler to deal with. Cleared his thoughts.
Nick knew it wasn't about avenging Beryl. He always had known. His look when Marcy launched into a obnoxious soliloquy, trying to explain her motives like Nick or anyone watching on the cameras actually cared, was disdainful. 'I know this already', 'I don't give a fuck', 'you're just a bad person', they were all things that he wanted to say to her, but settled to just conveying that message through the look on his face. Furrowed brow, a contemptuous venom in his eyes, scrunched up features that told a story about just how unpleasant Nick found it having to listen to her inane rambling. The more she talked, the more sympathy Nick lost for her. It was surprising, really. He didn't know he had sympathy to lose - or that negative sympathy was such a thing. Even now, he was discovering new sides to his emotional range.
When Nick spoke again, his tone was openly sneering. All the rancor and anger that he felt, he was focusing on her. Just like all the love he had to give he'd given to Marco, just like Marco and Katelynne were the sole people he'd treated with respect in his final days, Marcy was serving as a useful way for him to focus his emotions, a nice, simple, easy way for him to get through complex end-of-life thoughts. "If you manage to get home..." Nick sighed. "And I think it goes without saying that I hope you don't, and that is personal, but if you get home, you won't be someone who fought to survive. Who was forced to do terrible things to stay alive. Who was a victim of what the terrorists did."
"You'll be an executioner."
His voice softened, his timbre counrerintuitively becoming less acerbic, more matter-of-fact, letting his words do all the work that a spiteful inflection and forceful pronunciation would previously have done. "Not a survivor. But an executioner. A callous, premeditated, vicious murderer. A collaborator. Someone who it turned out thrived in this island." He looked at her, holding his head up high, turning his nose up at her. "I didn't want any of your answers. I didn't ask for them. I didn't need them. My actions showed who I am. Your actions showed who you are. And people back home who care about me? They can be proud of me. But the people back home who care about you? They'll be fucking ashamed."
He looked at the door over her shoulder. Chuckled.
"But hey, I've bought my friends enough extra time. You really do love talking about yourself."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Marceline listened to Nick—no, Ogilvie—speak, and brick by brick, word by word, he rebuilt the mental wall between them that he had so thoroughly demolished just moments before. Perhaps she had been wrong to think that she had something to learn from him. He could be right about everything he was saying, but it was abundantly clear that, more than anything, he was using his final moments to try to get under her skin.
Maybe she would consider his words more carefully in the immediate future, but for right now?
She didn't have anything else to say to him.
When he finished speaking, the only sound that followed was the roar of gunfire.
Maybe she would consider his words more carefully in the immediate future, but for right now?
She didn't have anything else to say to him.
When he finished speaking, the only sound that followed was the roar of gunfire.