((Mercedes Guenther continued from Heart of Fire))
Finally.
It had taken her over a day, her own thoughts and decisions and plans sending her back and forth and to the very far side of the desert itself, but now she was here, at the compound, right where she’d planned on being since she’d first woken up in the middle of the road. She’d managed, via chance rather than her own designs, to avoid running into anyone since she’d grabbed her new prize. It was hard to say whether that was a blessing or not; one the one hand, it meant she’d still been deprived of any chances to ask whether anyone had seen her brother or her best friend. Alan had said they’d… encountered him in the compound, but that had been yesterday afternoon at the very latest. There was no way of telling if he had hung around since then.
On the other hand, every encounter with another person was a potential bloodbath waiting to happen. She knew that it was an inevitability that would catch up with her, that she’d run into conflict once again before she was free of this place, and she was ready for whenever it happened.
It would just be nice to have a little bit of breathing room before having to pull the trigger once again.
The rusting, chain link fence that surrounded the entire compound didn’t give much of a chance for that, nor did it give her anything in the way of shade from the relentless sun. Mercy stopped short of the compound’s parking lot anyway, a few meters away from the guardhouse, tarnished brown barbed wire looming overhead. It was even hotter than the previous day, and even walking at a slow, steady pace had caused sweat to soak the back of her tank top. She needed just a few brief minutes to catch her breath, to grab a drink, to hitch up and adjust her bag, and to prepare herself for who she might find inside. Maybe she’d bump into her two closest classmates. Maybe Alan and Crispin had wound up back in the safety of the compound. There was no way of telling until she was actually in there with them, and that was why she needed to keep the gun held firmly in her grasp at all times.
And she knew that there was every chance she’d get the news that she’d just missed Auggie and Link, that they’d wandered off into the desert for whatever reasons they might have held, that she’d need to about-face and leave once more. Once again, she had steeled herself for that possibility; walking at a snail's pace gave her ample time to think over everything she might be walking into, and what she’d do in every set of circumstances.
It just wasn’t a prospect she was particularly looking forward to. And so, for just a moment, she gave herself a chance to rest, and a moment to just herself.
Burning Bright
Presently Private - situation may change, or Mercy might just up and leave at a moment's notice, who can say????
Moderator: SOTF Supers Staff
((Lincoln Guenther continued from Toeing the Line))
Lincoln had reoriented himself, both literally and figuratively. Well, mostly.
He hadn’t gone looking for his body. His corpse. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he didn’t have any eyes, or ears, or mouth or nose, or how he couldn’t move any arms or legs because the connection was gone.
He was still alive, he never knew he would still be alive because he hadn’t died before today, but he was still alive. Could he get his body back? He didn’t know. He didn't know. He’d never had to reconnect before. Even if he did, he was still dead.
He wanted to slap his face to stop this train of thought, but he didn’t have arms and he didn’t have a face any more.
But he could still think. He still had his thoughts. He could still speak. He had to keep thinking of something that would centre him, because if he didn’t he might start going crazy and spin out of control. It was hard enough moving himself with omnidirectional view and no eyes to get a point of focus. He had already realised he was circling a bush or a snake carcass four times. He didn’t have his bag any more, so he didn’t have the map. He didn’t have his supplies. He didn’t have anything.
Did he still need to eat? He didn’t know. He didn’t have a stomach any more. He didn’t have lungs any more. He didn’t even have skin or bones, not unless you counted whatever his orb (me) was made up of. He wouldn’t need the bathroom anytime soon either, he didn’t think.
It was weird: thinking about what had happened was terrifying, but also...not? Like, scientifically, it was fascinating. He had always lived his life in two places. They were usually right next to each other, but they were separate yet joined. Now, for the first time in his life, he only had a single perspective. A distinctly non-human perspective, but one he had had his entire life. Asking questions about this new state of being kind of helped, in a weird scary way. Maybe it was just an early, giddy stage of his mental breakdown? Yeah, he'd roll with that.
Eventually, after much misdirected floating across the ground (holy shit I’m actually flying), he reached the compound, helped by its prominence on the otherwise empty skyline. He knew his sister still probably needed to go there, because it was still hot out and she might melt in it. If she had gone to collect her prize, he had missed her (so yeah, this was worth it), making this the next best place he could think to find her. Crispin might be here, but he was down a Moose at least. Frankly, if he saw Crispin again, he’d kick his ass (don’t know what with, since I don’t have feet now, but fuck it).
He didn’t need to think that far ahead though, because he finally saw the person he’d spent the last two days looking for. She looked exhausted, but she was alive. Silently, lacking feet to make any noisy footsteps, he approached her as she faced through the fence.
How exactly to phrase this?
“ℍ𝕖𝕪, 𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪. ℍ𝕠𝕨'𝕤 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘?”
Yeah, how else would you start this conversation?
Lincoln had reoriented himself, both literally and figuratively. Well, mostly.
He hadn’t gone looking for his body. His corpse. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he didn’t have any eyes, or ears, or mouth or nose, or how he couldn’t move any arms or legs because the connection was gone.
He was still alive, he never knew he would still be alive because he hadn’t died before today, but he was still alive. Could he get his body back? He didn’t know. He didn't know. He’d never had to reconnect before. Even if he did, he was still dead.
He wanted to slap his face to stop this train of thought, but he didn’t have arms and he didn’t have a face any more.
But he could still think. He still had his thoughts. He could still speak. He had to keep thinking of something that would centre him, because if he didn’t he might start going crazy and spin out of control. It was hard enough moving himself with omnidirectional view and no eyes to get a point of focus. He had already realised he was circling a bush or a snake carcass four times. He didn’t have his bag any more, so he didn’t have the map. He didn’t have his supplies. He didn’t have anything.
Did he still need to eat? He didn’t know. He didn’t have a stomach any more. He didn’t have lungs any more. He didn’t even have skin or bones, not unless you counted whatever his orb (me) was made up of. He wouldn’t need the bathroom anytime soon either, he didn’t think.
It was weird: thinking about what had happened was terrifying, but also...not? Like, scientifically, it was fascinating. He had always lived his life in two places. They were usually right next to each other, but they were separate yet joined. Now, for the first time in his life, he only had a single perspective. A distinctly non-human perspective, but one he had had his entire life. Asking questions about this new state of being kind of helped, in a weird scary way. Maybe it was just an early, giddy stage of his mental breakdown? Yeah, he'd roll with that.
Eventually, after much misdirected floating across the ground (holy shit I’m actually flying), he reached the compound, helped by its prominence on the otherwise empty skyline. He knew his sister still probably needed to go there, because it was still hot out and she might melt in it. If she had gone to collect her prize, he had missed her (so yeah, this was worth it), making this the next best place he could think to find her. Crispin might be here, but he was down a Moose at least. Frankly, if he saw Crispin again, he’d kick his ass (don’t know what with, since I don’t have feet now, but fuck it).
He didn’t need to think that far ahead though, because he finally saw the person he’d spent the last two days looking for. She looked exhausted, but she was alive. Silently, lacking feet to make any noisy footsteps, he approached her as she faced through the fence.
How exactly to phrase this?
“ℍ𝕖𝕪, 𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪. ℍ𝕠𝕨'𝕤 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘?”
Yeah, how else would you start this conversation?
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Her second water bottle was a third of the way empty by the time she lowered it from her lips, wiping her mouth with the back of her free hand. She made a disgruntled noise, glaring down at the hole in her hand through the bottle, warped and distorted into a yawning black void by the water and the crumpled plastic. She had no way of knowing how long they would be trapped out here for. It would all end when she was the only person still breathing, she knew that, but how many days would pass before she got to that point?
Worst case scenario - aside from the obvious, where she ended up face down in the dust counting worms - was that only one person died each day, dragging this whole nightmare on for weeks, until survival came entirely down to who could stave off dehydration for the longest. It was a pretty damn far fetched idea, to be sure, especially given just how many people had died yesterday if the announcement could be trusted, but it certainly wasn’t impossible. The Gifts they had all been granted were evidence enough against the existence of impossibility.
And even if the deaths did continue at the rate they had on this first day, she still didn’t think this much water would be enough. She doubted it would sustain most of her classmates, it certainly wouldn’t be enough to keep herself from overheating, and it definitely wouldn’t be enough for anyone if they were forced to keep traipsing from location to location, whether that be to search for a friend, or to hide from a killer, or simply to escape the so-called ‘Danger Zones’.
God, if they went and shut her out of the compound when it was a furnace outside…
Mercy shook her head, dispelling the thought from her mind. It wouldn’t do her any good, letting her brain churn over hypotheticals and what-could-have-beens. There was nothing she could do about them, even if they ever did come to pass, so why waste vital time and energy fretting? She had rested for long enough now, anyway. Her throat still felt kinda parched, and her internal temperature was still at an uncomfortably high level, but she screwed the cap back onto the water bottle anyway. She would save the rest for when she truly, desperately needed it.
And good thing she did too. Otherwise, the moment that the tinny, robotic voice echoed from behind her, her precious water would have sprayed all over the ground, as she squeezed the bottle tightly in shock.
Mercedes yelped, spinning around and causing her bag to crash into her arm, leveling the gun at the intruder, baffled for a moment as to how in the hell they’d snuck up on her without a sound. Her brain hitched for a second, hesitating at the knowledge that she recognised that voice, long enough that she didn’t automatically pull the trigger as soon as she was facing whoever it was that had crept up on her.
Long enough that she was now facing the smooth, curved surface of Lincoln Guenther’s orb, hovering at eye level, close enough to the barrel of her gun that it could have been an extra large soap bubble from a cheap plastic toy pistol.
“Link? That’s… that’s your…”
Her arm fell down to her side, and her head drooped. She looked down at the ground, sweat soaked hair blocking her eyes from sight.
“Goddamnit, you stupid asshole, don’t fucking scare me like that, okay?”
She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she spoke. She blinked as fast as she could, loose strands of hair catching the tears that she wasn’t quick enough to dispel in time.
“Even without this thing, I could still have… just… goddamnit, you bitch. Fuck.”
Mercedes’ grin reached her eyes now as she gestured aimlessly with her pistol, making sure it was pointed anywhere other than the orb. She was half-tempted to slip the weapon into her bag for the moment, and almost overcome with the need to wrap her arms around this floating sphere and hug it. But for the former, they were as far from a safe spot as one could possibly get, and there was no telling who else might creep up on them soon.
And for the latter, she could give the real deal a hug soon enough.
“All right, come on out. You’ve gone and spooked me with your orb buddy, great job, you can stop hiding now, you dork.”
Worst case scenario - aside from the obvious, where she ended up face down in the dust counting worms - was that only one person died each day, dragging this whole nightmare on for weeks, until survival came entirely down to who could stave off dehydration for the longest. It was a pretty damn far fetched idea, to be sure, especially given just how many people had died yesterday if the announcement could be trusted, but it certainly wasn’t impossible. The Gifts they had all been granted were evidence enough against the existence of impossibility.
And even if the deaths did continue at the rate they had on this first day, she still didn’t think this much water would be enough. She doubted it would sustain most of her classmates, it certainly wouldn’t be enough to keep herself from overheating, and it definitely wouldn’t be enough for anyone if they were forced to keep traipsing from location to location, whether that be to search for a friend, or to hide from a killer, or simply to escape the so-called ‘Danger Zones’.
God, if they went and shut her out of the compound when it was a furnace outside…
Mercy shook her head, dispelling the thought from her mind. It wouldn’t do her any good, letting her brain churn over hypotheticals and what-could-have-beens. There was nothing she could do about them, even if they ever did come to pass, so why waste vital time and energy fretting? She had rested for long enough now, anyway. Her throat still felt kinda parched, and her internal temperature was still at an uncomfortably high level, but she screwed the cap back onto the water bottle anyway. She would save the rest for when she truly, desperately needed it.
And good thing she did too. Otherwise, the moment that the tinny, robotic voice echoed from behind her, her precious water would have sprayed all over the ground, as she squeezed the bottle tightly in shock.
Mercedes yelped, spinning around and causing her bag to crash into her arm, leveling the gun at the intruder, baffled for a moment as to how in the hell they’d snuck up on her without a sound. Her brain hitched for a second, hesitating at the knowledge that she recognised that voice, long enough that she didn’t automatically pull the trigger as soon as she was facing whoever it was that had crept up on her.
Long enough that she was now facing the smooth, curved surface of Lincoln Guenther’s orb, hovering at eye level, close enough to the barrel of her gun that it could have been an extra large soap bubble from a cheap plastic toy pistol.
“Link? That’s… that’s your…”
Her arm fell down to her side, and her head drooped. She looked down at the ground, sweat soaked hair blocking her eyes from sight.
“Goddamnit, you stupid asshole, don’t fucking scare me like that, okay?”
She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she spoke. She blinked as fast as she could, loose strands of hair catching the tears that she wasn’t quick enough to dispel in time.
“Even without this thing, I could still have… just… goddamnit, you bitch. Fuck.”
Mercedes’ grin reached her eyes now as she gestured aimlessly with her pistol, making sure it was pointed anywhere other than the orb. She was half-tempted to slip the weapon into her bag for the moment, and almost overcome with the need to wrap her arms around this floating sphere and hug it. But for the former, they were as far from a safe spot as one could possibly get, and there was no telling who else might creep up on them soon.
And for the latter, she could give the real deal a hug soon enough.
“All right, come on out. You’ve gone and spooked me with your orb buddy, great job, you can stop hiding now, you dork.”
“ℂ𝕠𝕠𝕝, 𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠𝕠, 𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙.”
Despite the harsh language, Mercy’s smile made Lincoln smile on the inside. He knew he was staring down a barrel of a gun, which, yeah, had taken him by surprise. But he was still in that giddy pre-mental breakdown state, so Mercy could’ve been swinging a baseball bat at him for a home run and he would still be smiling so fucking much right now. What was the worst she could do: kill him? Girl, he'd already died once today.
He’d found his goddamn bitch of a neurotic big sister, and he’d never missed her more than he had right up until that moment.
“𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕙, 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥…”, he trailed off, remembering there was a question lingering in the air. He eyes would’ve drifted aside too, if he still had eyes. It was both easy and hard to avoid eye contact when you had no eyes, but couldn’t actually look away from your sister’s face, who looked so eager to see you, without leaving. Shit.
And yet, it was almost as if his eyes still were drifting. It felt like that. Maybe because he was focusing on a different spot? Maybe that was the equivalent of his eyes drifting now?
Oh right, sister. Mercy wasn't up to speed yet. Cool, this was going to go well.
“𝕊𝕠. H𝕠𝕨 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡? 𝔹𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕀'𝕞 𝕒𝕟 𝕠𝕣𝕓.”
Despite the harsh language, Mercy’s smile made Lincoln smile on the inside. He knew he was staring down a barrel of a gun, which, yeah, had taken him by surprise. But he was still in that giddy pre-mental breakdown state, so Mercy could’ve been swinging a baseball bat at him for a home run and he would still be smiling so fucking much right now. What was the worst she could do: kill him? Girl, he'd already died once today.
He’d found his goddamn bitch of a neurotic big sister, and he’d never missed her more than he had right up until that moment.
“𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕙, 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥…”, he trailed off, remembering there was a question lingering in the air. He eyes would’ve drifted aside too, if he still had eyes. It was both easy and hard to avoid eye contact when you had no eyes, but couldn’t actually look away from your sister’s face, who looked so eager to see you, without leaving. Shit.
And yet, it was almost as if his eyes still were drifting. It felt like that. Maybe because he was focusing on a different spot? Maybe that was the equivalent of his eyes drifting now?
Oh right, sister. Mercy wasn't up to speed yet. Cool, this was going to go well.
“𝕊𝕠. H𝕠𝕨 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡? 𝔹𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕀'𝕞 𝕒𝕟 𝕠𝕣𝕓.”
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
“I mean, yeah. No shit. You’re doing your stupid prank again.”
Mercedes really hadn’t thought anything of the fact that her brother was speaking through his flying water polo ball at first - well, anything other than an intense and overwhelming feeling of relief at hearing him for the first time in what felt like a millenia. It was far from the first time he’d done this, after all. He used his sphere as a little personal messenger to call Mercy in for dinner when she was in the garage or her room or wherever, because sending a text just wasn’t damn fancy enough for his liking. The aforementioned prank, when he was deciding to be a real douchebag, was zipping the orb under her bed when she was trying to have a nice long weekend lie-in and making weird, creepy noises to pretend like there was a monster or something under her mattress.
Either that, or just yelling as loud as he fucking could to jolt her awake.
“I’m doing… Well… I’m surviving, okay, look, we can talk more once you stop talking like Optimus Prime and get your stupid ass out from wherever you’re hiding.”
It had to be a dumb joke, after all, right? Making his orb glide along soundlessly to spook her, speaking entirely out of the orb instead of his own damn mouth. He was probably trying to - oh, God, she was suddenly reminded of the fact he must have heard every word on the announcement this morning, every sentence detailing what she’d done, every aspect of her crimes broadcast for him to hear. It would explain why Link was doing all of this; a way of breaking the ice to make sure he was still talking to the same sister he had been missing this past day and a half, a way to make sure she wasn’t planning to shoot on sight, and a way - even though it made her heart lurch to acknowledge this - for him to talk to her while keeping a safe distance away.
“Where even are you… hiding… Link?”
But her words drifted away as she spoke, and her heart, having only just settled back into place, suddenly sprung a leak, a horribly sinking feeling slowly spreading through her body. She couldn’t see anywhere close to an effective hiding spot as she scanned the area around her; no clump of grass thick enough, no rock or shrub large enough. He couldn’t be here, in walking distance at least, so where was he? On the other side of the desert? Inside the compound? And if he was somewhere else, then why had he sent his orb out to speak to her? Was he trapped? Pinned down? Stuck? Hiding from someone stalking him? None of the options she conjured up in her head, as she desperately tried to tether her mind and stop it from spiraling, were promising.
And what the hell had he meant when he’d trailed off before?
“Lincoln, what the shit is going on here?”
Mercedes really hadn’t thought anything of the fact that her brother was speaking through his flying water polo ball at first - well, anything other than an intense and overwhelming feeling of relief at hearing him for the first time in what felt like a millenia. It was far from the first time he’d done this, after all. He used his sphere as a little personal messenger to call Mercy in for dinner when she was in the garage or her room or wherever, because sending a text just wasn’t damn fancy enough for his liking. The aforementioned prank, when he was deciding to be a real douchebag, was zipping the orb under her bed when she was trying to have a nice long weekend lie-in and making weird, creepy noises to pretend like there was a monster or something under her mattress.
Either that, or just yelling as loud as he fucking could to jolt her awake.
“I’m doing… Well… I’m surviving, okay, look, we can talk more once you stop talking like Optimus Prime and get your stupid ass out from wherever you’re hiding.”
It had to be a dumb joke, after all, right? Making his orb glide along soundlessly to spook her, speaking entirely out of the orb instead of his own damn mouth. He was probably trying to - oh, God, she was suddenly reminded of the fact he must have heard every word on the announcement this morning, every sentence detailing what she’d done, every aspect of her crimes broadcast for him to hear. It would explain why Link was doing all of this; a way of breaking the ice to make sure he was still talking to the same sister he had been missing this past day and a half, a way to make sure she wasn’t planning to shoot on sight, and a way - even though it made her heart lurch to acknowledge this - for him to talk to her while keeping a safe distance away.
“Where even are you… hiding… Link?”
But her words drifted away as she spoke, and her heart, having only just settled back into place, suddenly sprung a leak, a horribly sinking feeling slowly spreading through her body. She couldn’t see anywhere close to an effective hiding spot as she scanned the area around her; no clump of grass thick enough, no rock or shrub large enough. He couldn’t be here, in walking distance at least, so where was he? On the other side of the desert? Inside the compound? And if he was somewhere else, then why had he sent his orb out to speak to her? Was he trapped? Pinned down? Stuck? Hiding from someone stalking him? None of the options she conjured up in her head, as she desperately tried to tether her mind and stop it from spiraling, were promising.
And what the hell had he meant when he’d trailed off before?
“Lincoln, what the shit is going on here?”
OK Great, continued progress in this conversation. Mercy was absolutely getting up to speed and catching on without forcing him to say it out loud. But just to make this situation more fun for him than it already was, why not spell it out loud?
“𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪, 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕? 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕙, 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕖, 𝕆𝕂?”
He couldn’t wring his hands, because there was no hands. He couldn’t stare down at his phone, because there were no eyes. He couldn’t even pace about the room, because he didn’t have feet. He floated back and forth a little bit, but it just didn’t have the same effect.
Harder still was putting words to the picture. The sight of his neck blowing wide open. Yeah, he was far away when he saw it, so it was more like a flash of light followed by his body falling over, but he had seen himself die. How the hell he was even coherent right now rather than curling up in a fetal position and trembling in terror was a mystery for him. Maybe, you know, the lack of legs to cradle?!
“𝕀 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕, 𝕆𝕂?!”
Yeah, he just yelled it out. What else could he do?
“𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕀 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕫𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕣𝕓, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕀’𝕞 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕜 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕕 𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕚𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝟜𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝔹𝕒𝕣𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕖.
“𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪? 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕣𝕓 𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕪, 𝕤𝕠 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕆𝕂!? 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕀 𝔻𝕆ℕ’𝕋 𝔼𝕍𝔼ℕ ℍ𝔸𝕍𝔼 𝔸 ℍ𝔼𝔸𝔻 𝔸ℕ𝕐𝕄𝕆ℝ𝔼!”
He rotated away from his sister, struggling to regain his composure. Not that turning away made any difference, because he could still see her looking right at him plain as day.
“𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪, 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕? 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕙, 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕖, 𝕆𝕂?”
He couldn’t wring his hands, because there was no hands. He couldn’t stare down at his phone, because there were no eyes. He couldn’t even pace about the room, because he didn’t have feet. He floated back and forth a little bit, but it just didn’t have the same effect.
Harder still was putting words to the picture. The sight of his neck blowing wide open. Yeah, he was far away when he saw it, so it was more like a flash of light followed by his body falling over, but he had seen himself die. How the hell he was even coherent right now rather than curling up in a fetal position and trembling in terror was a mystery for him. Maybe, you know, the lack of legs to cradle?!
“𝕀 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕, 𝕆𝕂?!”
Yeah, he just yelled it out. What else could he do?
“𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕀 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕫𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕣𝕓, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕀’𝕞 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕜 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕕 𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕚𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝟜𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝔹𝕒𝕣𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕖.
“𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪? 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕣𝕓 𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕪, 𝕤𝕠 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕆𝕂!? 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕀 𝔻𝕆ℕ’𝕋 𝔼𝕍𝔼ℕ ℍ𝔸𝕍𝔼 𝔸 ℍ𝔼𝔸𝔻 𝔸ℕ𝕐𝕄𝕆ℝ𝔼!”
He rotated away from his sister, struggling to regain his composure. Not that turning away made any difference, because he could still see her looking right at him plain as day.
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
“... What?”
Her heart finally finished its long descent, sinking down through her body and coming to rest with a hollow thud in the pit of her stomach. The words coming out of Lincoln’s orb - his very own words, if Mercy could trust anything she heard or saw in front of her - refused to sink in, like they’d been spoken to her in a dream, where everything was hazy around the edges and nothing made sense if you examined it for more than a second, not helped by the warping, echoing effect overlaying what it was saying.
She felt the furnace inside of her chug into life again, her breathing growing faster and more harried again, sweat rolling down flyaway strands of hair and splashing onto the ground. Instinct, built up after years of training herself to control her body, tried to kick in, to slow herself down and steady herself and find her center again.
But all that rationality did was tell her there was no way in hell her brother had been killed. No way that he could ever be killed. And all that did was direct the fury inside of her straight at the orb floating in front of her.
“That’s… No, fuck off, fuck you, stop bullshitting me, okay? You’re not dead, you can’t be… you’re fucking talking to me right now, you asshole, whatever this is supposed to be, its not fucking funny!”
Her vision had blurred out of nowhere, sweat pouring down her face now, and she frantically pushed past Lincoln - or instinctively tried to, anyway, another jolt hitting her stomach as her shoulder-barge hit nothing but air and she moved past the orb effortlessly - moving further away from the compound, shielding her eyes with her hand and shoving a palmful of hair out of the way. She scanned the area in front of her frantically, vision darting from rock to shrub to divot in the dirt.
“Lincoln!”
Mercedes yelled, self-preservation on standby, turning from right to left, almost making herself stumble as her head began to roil and her bag smacked into her side.
“Lincoln! Link! Get the fuck out of here!”
And just as instantaneously as she had been yelling, her voice dimmed, cracked and broken and audible only by the wind.
“Please…”
Her lungs grasped desperately for air as she looked out over the desert sand for a few seconds longer. She wiped at her eyes, blinking furiously. Then, in an instant, she spun on her heels, facing the orb.
Once more, the gun was leveled right at it.
“Where the fuck is my brother?”
The wind kicked up dust between the two of them. The only sound was the harsh rasping of Mercedes' breathing. Her aim wavered for just a moment. Then it steadied.
Then something clicked inside of her, a realisation, the penny dropping moment that this was still part of Link, that she was still aiming her gun towards a piece of her brother - what could be the last remaining piece of her brother - and that if she stayed here a moment longer, something would go horribly horribly wrong. Something caught in her throat. The gun jutted down towards the ground.
"Do not. Follow me. Please. Fuck, please, just, I need..."
Time. Space. An eternity of both. A revelation she doubted she'd ever receive. Everything and anything she needed, she wouldn't find it here in this moment.
She stepped backwards, unable to rip her gaze away from the orb, until she felt her heel hit asphalt, and she finally turned to break into the compound, a choked, desperate sob echoing behind her.
((Mercedes Guenther continued in Resistance))
Her heart finally finished its long descent, sinking down through her body and coming to rest with a hollow thud in the pit of her stomach. The words coming out of Lincoln’s orb - his very own words, if Mercy could trust anything she heard or saw in front of her - refused to sink in, like they’d been spoken to her in a dream, where everything was hazy around the edges and nothing made sense if you examined it for more than a second, not helped by the warping, echoing effect overlaying what it was saying.
She felt the furnace inside of her chug into life again, her breathing growing faster and more harried again, sweat rolling down flyaway strands of hair and splashing onto the ground. Instinct, built up after years of training herself to control her body, tried to kick in, to slow herself down and steady herself and find her center again.
But all that rationality did was tell her there was no way in hell her brother had been killed. No way that he could ever be killed. And all that did was direct the fury inside of her straight at the orb floating in front of her.
“That’s… No, fuck off, fuck you, stop bullshitting me, okay? You’re not dead, you can’t be… you’re fucking talking to me right now, you asshole, whatever this is supposed to be, its not fucking funny!”
Her vision had blurred out of nowhere, sweat pouring down her face now, and she frantically pushed past Lincoln - or instinctively tried to, anyway, another jolt hitting her stomach as her shoulder-barge hit nothing but air and she moved past the orb effortlessly - moving further away from the compound, shielding her eyes with her hand and shoving a palmful of hair out of the way. She scanned the area in front of her frantically, vision darting from rock to shrub to divot in the dirt.
“Lincoln!”
Mercedes yelled, self-preservation on standby, turning from right to left, almost making herself stumble as her head began to roil and her bag smacked into her side.
“Lincoln! Link! Get the fuck out of here!”
And just as instantaneously as she had been yelling, her voice dimmed, cracked and broken and audible only by the wind.
“Please…”
Her lungs grasped desperately for air as she looked out over the desert sand for a few seconds longer. She wiped at her eyes, blinking furiously. Then, in an instant, she spun on her heels, facing the orb.
Once more, the gun was leveled right at it.
“Where the fuck is my brother?”
The wind kicked up dust between the two of them. The only sound was the harsh rasping of Mercedes' breathing. Her aim wavered for just a moment. Then it steadied.
Then something clicked inside of her, a realisation, the penny dropping moment that this was still part of Link, that she was still aiming her gun towards a piece of her brother - what could be the last remaining piece of her brother - and that if she stayed here a moment longer, something would go horribly horribly wrong. Something caught in her throat. The gun jutted down towards the ground.
"Do not. Follow me. Please. Fuck, please, just, I need..."
Time. Space. An eternity of both. A revelation she doubted she'd ever receive. Everything and anything she needed, she wouldn't find it here in this moment.
She stepped backwards, unable to rip her gaze away from the orb, until she felt her heel hit asphalt, and she finally turned to break into the compound, a choked, desperate sob echoing behind her.
((Mercedes Guenther continued in Resistance))
“𝕆𝕂 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕝, 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤 𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪! 𝕎𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝔽𝕌ℂ𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝔻𝕐𝕀ℕ𝔾!”
He shouted after his sister, but she was a fading speck that he wasn’t following.
This was abso-fuckin’-typical of Mercy. He got himself into a minor scrape, and she would freak out and act like he had put her through an emotional wringer. Now, normally these minor scrapes involved a cut hand from slicing onions, or those few times he had been shoved against a locker before Mercy taught people not to shove Lincoln against lockers. This was, admittedly, a bit more severe than that, but still! Abso-fuckin'-typical!
He sank to the ground, nestling himself in the dirt and focusing on the sky above him. This seemed to be what happened when he ‘relaxed’ now, so to speak, as much as anyone falls over when they relax their legs. Or as much as he could be called ‘relaxed’ right now, which was to say absolutely not. Rather, he was mentally exhausted. It had been a long day.
While it pissed him off that Mercy was making this about her, the agony on her face stabbed at his non-existent heart. She was a crimson mess, the heat from the desert no doubt pushing her well past her breaking point. Mad enough to shove past him and scream out for someone who was not there, because he was a bleeding corpse a ways off. Mad enough to point the gun right at him, again, as if it would get him to crack and tell the truth. That her little brother was alive somewhere else, not right in front of her.
Fuck. Mercy had never really gotten the whole orb thing. She was his twin sister, the person who was supposed to really get him more than anyone else, but she never understood that the orb wasn’t just his pet sphere that he’d die if he moved away from. Like everyone else, she’d never understood what it was like to have one consciousness in two bodies. The orb was him, just a second him that didn’t look like a human. He was still alive, even if it was only half of him.
Maybe that’s another reason why this adjustment hadn’t driven him insane. It was kind of like losing an arm, he considered, except a bit more than an arm. Maybe after people had a while to start missing their arm, it became a lot harder, but he was still in that post-losing-arm shock that prioritised not bleeding out and getting help. Until they got out of here, and would have a moment to reflect, he’d just keep going and not think too hard.
A while later, Lincoln was still staring up at the sky, the ground below, the compound behind him, and also the vast desert in front of him.
He didn’t really have a ‘comfortable’ position any more, because he didn’t have a sensation of touch. It was probably the weirdest thing, not getting that feedback from surfaces you were up against or the wind on your face, or the chill in the air. Just this instinct that, no, you can’t phase through the ground or the fence. But you can fly up in the air if you want, or into the compound to find your sister, who you really hope hasn’t passed out with heatstroke. And, more importantly, has calmed the fuck down.
He hadn't forgotten about the Moose thing either, he noted in his Mercy consideration, but it was small potatoes. He didn't like Moose when he was alive, and since dying himself, he really didn't give a shit what Mercy's reasons had been for lighting him up. Right now he just wanted to be with her, for her to chill the fuck out, and for the two of them come up with an escape plan.
He’d have to go looking for her, he concluded, floating up from his little nest in the ground. Again. He had already considered that he could just fly out of the arena instead, maybe try to find help, but he wasn’t leaving Mercy behind. He’d also already been blown up once today; he wasn’t eager to rush for a repea—
His thinking was interrupted by the compound’s upper level being blown up.
He found himself reeling through the air, blown back by the airburst from the explosion, like a plastic bag in the wind. If he had ears, they would surely be wringing. The world spun around him, a mixture of wreckage, sky and dirt. If he had a stomach, it would surely be turning. There was no way to slow himself down, and no way to reorient himself until he stopped moving. If he had arms, they would surely be grabbing.
As just a little orb against the force of August’s meltdown, Lincoln was helpless to stop himself being thrown far into the distance.
((Lincoln Guenther continued in Shine a Little Light on my Dark Day))
He shouted after his sister, but she was a fading speck that he wasn’t following.
This was abso-fuckin’-typical of Mercy. He got himself into a minor scrape, and she would freak out and act like he had put her through an emotional wringer. Now, normally these minor scrapes involved a cut hand from slicing onions, or those few times he had been shoved against a locker before Mercy taught people not to shove Lincoln against lockers. This was, admittedly, a bit more severe than that, but still! Abso-fuckin'-typical!
He sank to the ground, nestling himself in the dirt and focusing on the sky above him. This seemed to be what happened when he ‘relaxed’ now, so to speak, as much as anyone falls over when they relax their legs. Or as much as he could be called ‘relaxed’ right now, which was to say absolutely not. Rather, he was mentally exhausted. It had been a long day.
While it pissed him off that Mercy was making this about her, the agony on her face stabbed at his non-existent heart. She was a crimson mess, the heat from the desert no doubt pushing her well past her breaking point. Mad enough to shove past him and scream out for someone who was not there, because he was a bleeding corpse a ways off. Mad enough to point the gun right at him, again, as if it would get him to crack and tell the truth. That her little brother was alive somewhere else, not right in front of her.
Fuck. Mercy had never really gotten the whole orb thing. She was his twin sister, the person who was supposed to really get him more than anyone else, but she never understood that the orb wasn’t just his pet sphere that he’d die if he moved away from. Like everyone else, she’d never understood what it was like to have one consciousness in two bodies. The orb was him, just a second him that didn’t look like a human. He was still alive, even if it was only half of him.
Maybe that’s another reason why this adjustment hadn’t driven him insane. It was kind of like losing an arm, he considered, except a bit more than an arm. Maybe after people had a while to start missing their arm, it became a lot harder, but he was still in that post-losing-arm shock that prioritised not bleeding out and getting help. Until they got out of here, and would have a moment to reflect, he’d just keep going and not think too hard.
A while later, Lincoln was still staring up at the sky, the ground below, the compound behind him, and also the vast desert in front of him.
He didn’t really have a ‘comfortable’ position any more, because he didn’t have a sensation of touch. It was probably the weirdest thing, not getting that feedback from surfaces you were up against or the wind on your face, or the chill in the air. Just this instinct that, no, you can’t phase through the ground or the fence. But you can fly up in the air if you want, or into the compound to find your sister, who you really hope hasn’t passed out with heatstroke. And, more importantly, has calmed the fuck down.
He hadn't forgotten about the Moose thing either, he noted in his Mercy consideration, but it was small potatoes. He didn't like Moose when he was alive, and since dying himself, he really didn't give a shit what Mercy's reasons had been for lighting him up. Right now he just wanted to be with her, for her to chill the fuck out, and for the two of them come up with an escape plan.
He’d have to go looking for her, he concluded, floating up from his little nest in the ground. Again. He had already considered that he could just fly out of the arena instead, maybe try to find help, but he wasn’t leaving Mercy behind. He’d also already been blown up once today; he wasn’t eager to rush for a repea—
His thinking was interrupted by the compound’s upper level being blown up.
He found himself reeling through the air, blown back by the airburst from the explosion, like a plastic bag in the wind. If he had ears, they would surely be wringing. The world spun around him, a mixture of wreckage, sky and dirt. If he had a stomach, it would surely be turning. There was no way to slow himself down, and no way to reorient himself until he stopped moving. If he had arms, they would surely be grabbing.
As just a little orb against the force of August’s meltdown, Lincoln was helpless to stop himself being thrown far into the distance.
((Lincoln Guenther continued in Shine a Little Light on my Dark Day))