Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence? (Yeah, Yeah!)

[Wham Yubeesling]

“You…”

And he was ignoring her.

Rebuking her.

Acting as if it was the fault of this game.

Acting as if he was absolutely blameless as to how she felt.

She could feel her hands shaking. The gun inside her right digging into her flesh.

The world around her heating up.

“Are you fucking serious?”

And she breathed. Laboured. Heavy. She knew she was getting angry. She knew that she needed to calm herself down.

Because it’s not your fault he tricked you.

It’s not your fault he asked you out.

It’s not your fault you fell in love with him.

She turned her head.

Walked towards him.

Looked him in the eyes.

[Cicadan]

Paris frowned, slightly. He had pretty important things to say but Jasmine was being a distraction. Paris still couldn't think of what it was he'd done wrong, because he hadn't treated Jasmine different from any other girl in school. As far as he could remember.

Paris shrugged noncommittally. "Well, uh. I'm sorry." He had to look up at an angle because Jasmine towered over him by a full finger's length. This close he saw something in her expression. Beauty. Fury. A bit of both, clear and stark alabaster like the artisan carving of marbled statues of antiquity. "I hope you choose to not stay angry with me, because this isn't the time for us to be divided." Paris tried to glance around Jasmine's shoulders, looking to the other two she'd barged past. "Am I right, guys? Bygones be bygones?"

Paris figured that would be it. They'd burned enough time on the petty things as it stood.

[Wham Yubeesling]

And Jasmine knew that she couldn’t be angry. Not right here. Not right now.

And Jasmine knew that Paris was right. That they couldn’t be divided. They couldn’t let this game overwhelm them as a group. Not when it was her life on the line.

But it was adding up. Everything. This island. These people.

And she was angry.

And it was all adding up.

And when he said those words, when he made it clear that he didn’t give a shit about her at all, it all came up. It all boiled over.

It all came tumbling out.

“Hey, look at me! I’m Paris Ardennes, and I’m soooooooo fucking sorry.”

The gun was in her hands. Digging into the flesh of her palm.

But she couldn’t feel the pain.

“I’m soooooooo sorry that I made you fall in love with me and then just strung you along for a few months.”

She couldn’t feel the heat searing her skin.

“I’m soooooooo sorry that I only just fucking pretended to care about you.”

She couldn’t feel the world around her. The wind blowing against the cliffs, the two people behind her. They weren’t there.

It was just him and her.

Just as she would have wanted it to be.

“I’m soooooooo sorry that even after all we’d done together, even though I knew how much you meant to me that I dumped you with a fucking text.”

And she couldn’t hear anything. The sound of the wind. The sound of her voice.

How far it carried across the cliffs.

“And I’m soooooooo sorry that even after all we’d done, even though I knew you loved me that I barely even gave you the time of day afterwards, that I just went on with my merry little life and just started fucking over the next girl who took my fancy.”

It was all adding up.

All building within her body.

And she couldn’t keep it in.

“So you know what, Paris. I’m sorry too.”

She took a step forward. Drilled her eyes into his.

“I’m sorry that I ever gave a shit about you.”

---

“Okay.”

Admittedly, part of him wanted to argue more. Admittedly, part of him wanted to keep the knife. There was no telling what would happen here, so having something- anything to protect him made Maxwell that much more happy. There was no point in arguing, though. No point in possibly getting Baxter angry. Even though the idea that he had killed Paris was honestly fucking retarded, even though the fact that Paris was still alive could probably be easily seen in the distance, he wasn’t going to speak anymore. Go with the plan, stay with the cabin, and do nothing unnecessarily dangerous. Do nothing not worth the risk.

He took the knife out of his pocket and dropped it in Baxter’s hand as he turned around.

“I’ll lead the way.”

He took his steps. Forward. Towards where he had last seen Paris.

And as he heard the shouting, as he saw the other group standing in front of Paris, his steps became faster. More hurried, as an expression of worry came onto his face.

[Laurels]

Brigid had heard a bit about Paris Ardennes back in school, and it was clear his reputation was as she heard. If Jasmine could immediately flip out and start to yell at him just from seeing him, it must have been that bad. Still, it was quite strange that they'd choose to bring up high school grievances in the midst of their abduction. Brigid was sure there was a time and place for that.

What she also knew was that this was not the right time to be waving a gun around. Jasmine, in the midst of her Paris impression, kept waving the gun. If she wasn't careful, that thing could go off, and someone in the area could drop dead.

Brigid stepped forward and put a hand on Jasmine's shoulder.

"Hey, calm down a sec," she said. "Let's try to be smart."

[CondorTalon]

There was nothing that Christopher could do. Well, no, there's a bunch of things that he could do. But it didn't feel like there was anything right for Christopher to do.

This argument didn't involve him in any way, so why should get involved? Even as the argument escalated, even as Jasmine's voice raised in volume, even as the gun was waved around dangerously, even as Brigid stepped forward to try and mediate...

Christopher just watched. That was the right thing to do... no, that was the smart thing to do.

[The Honeless Beard]

Maxwell and Aria were both moving towards the source of the argument, making Baxter twist around to address it, too. He squeezed his grip on the knife, tilted it so that the blade faced downwards, shook slightly with the force of it.

"Great," he said, and, with a heavy sigh, he followed the two, a half-step behind Maxwell.

[Cicadan]

Paris felt a weight that sagged over the skin of his temples, a coiled tension probably something like the spring of a gun.

He shrugged, after Jasmine had used up however many precious seconds with her breathing.

"You're being unreasonable," he grumbled faster and louder than intended, through slightly tense lips. He realized his temper and forced himself to relax with a deep sigh. He continued to look right into her eyes, seeing only himself reflected in deep tarry pools. "I did the best I could back then, and I promise you I'll keep doing the best I can now." He firmly articulated his point.

"If you..." The words came slower, his lips silently moving and actual sound only a ghostly echo. "If you have something else to say I think you should get it all out now."

Eventually she'd stop stealing time. They'd move on. It wasn't like one person could be so selfish.

[Wham Yubeesling]

Air burning. Searing her lungs.

Hands clenched, gun in between. Fingernails piercing her skin.

But she couldn't feel the pain.

She looked him in the eyes.

"Fuck you."

Swung the gun towards his face.

[Cicadan]

Paris was still staring expectantly, up until the moment blunt metal gun met his cheek. He saw the rapid realignment of Jasmine's form; from towering over him, breathing on him, to being merely the blurred watercolor silhouette in his tumbling horizon.

Paris tried to shout but there was only pain left in his lungs.

He staggered. Like a ragdoll he was unable to correct his fall, rubber bones and squishy skin scattered over ground like free-falling dominoes. Paris hit the ground on his wounded shoulder, and felt the fresh sting of a half-undone bandage now polluted by clumps of dusty earth. Momentum rolled him like a capsizing ship, keeling over until he was flat on his back, His Kingdom mysteriously close above him in the lone cloud lazily drifting through the sky.

Now he groaned.

Paris could have recovered pretty quickly, but he was too shocked. Betrayed.

[Wham Yubeesling]

There was a thunk as the gun hit against his face.

A force pushing against Jasmine’s body as the gun dug into his cheek, throttling him, off of his feet and onto the ground.

And there was something Jasmine was feeling as she saw Paris on the ground below her.

Heat rising.

Skin tingling.

A feeling as if she’d won a prize at the fair. As if she’d gotten a grade far better than what she’d imagined she’d get. As if she had played one of her performances absolutely perfectly and the audience was right there in front of her, applauding.

Because it had all been so bullshit, hadn’t it? He was the one who had fucked her over. He was the one who pretended to be in love with her. He was the one who made her fall in love with him, and he was the one who dropped her like she was nothing. Like all the things she did for him meant nothing. He was the one who ignored her. Acted as if they had never even talked to each once everything was said and done, and he was the one acting like everything was absolutely fine right now. Like he and Jasmine were always friends. Like she should just ignore what he did and act like everything was just fine.

As if she was the one in the wrong for being angry at him.

As if she was the one being unreasonable.

As if anything she felt was invalid.

And she didn’t want that.

And she couldn’t help it.

And the gun had smashed against his face. Knocked him to the ground. She’d taken a step forward. Stood over his body.

And she could feel the heat searing.

Her skin tingling.

That feeling of pride rising up within her as she grinned. Looked down into his eyes.

Sew the expression of absolute fear on his face as she raised her foot.

And you know what you want to do. And you know that it’s bad. You know that it’s dumb. You know that regardless of the way you think it you can’t do this. You shouldn’t.

But it’s his fault.

He fucked you.

He hurt you.

He made you believe that just for a moment you had someone who actually understood you, and he took that away. He made it clear that he was like everyone else. Made it clear that he didn’t ever give a shit about you.

It’s his fault.

So do it.

Make him break.

Make him bleed.

Make him pay.

Gladly.

The foot went down against his chest, flesh and bone failing to stand up as it broke. Crunched. Paid.

And then the foot went down again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

[decoy73]

Jock Boy got a knife from Maxie - apparently it was Jock's originally, making him a case of road rage with a large blade. Great. Snake wanted to talk to Paris, which was impossible as he was busy.

Sarah shuffled around a little, looking at him hitting on a girl or something. Sarah chuckled. The other girl seemed pretty pissed, naturally, so she slapped him ... with a gun. And then stomped on him.

This isn't good.

"Uh, guys? I think Paris is in a spot of trouble."

[The Honeless Beard]

"Don't," Baxter said under his breath, his steps becoming a trot as Jasmine's body language became nuclear, the flash of gun in her hand suddenly pulling his focus, containing its own orbit.

"Don't, don't- motherfuck," he barked, breaking into a run as she hit him.

Paris crumpled to the ground, Jasmine lifted her foot, and Baxter's slammed into the ground in an outright sprint, moving from jogging laps to dashing the 40 as Jasmine's foot came down. Even with this distance, he could feel the crunch of Paris' ribcage in his teeth.

"HEY," he roared, stride lengthening, knife in his right hand.

[jimmydalad]

What started as a walk became a full out sprint as Aria had heard the sounds of shouting. Aria felt a sinking feeling deep inside of him as he realized his fucking predictions were coming true. Paris was in trouble and Aria wasn't there to help him.

The closer he got, the worse the scene became. He could feel the impact of the gun rattle through his bones and each stamp pushed Aria faster. He had never run so fast in his life. The overwhelming urge to protect Paris, to stop this fucking bitch who was hurting him, spurred him onwards and gave him the speed he never thought he could achieve.

Aria could hear someone running behind him, but his attention was elsewhere. He was quickly approaching the group and he had a clear line between him and Paris's assailant. Any sense of self-preservation was gone at this point. Only the desire to save his friend and a burning rage at the fucking bitch who was hurting him.

"Get off my friend you fucking bitch!" Aria roared loudly, jumping forwards and slamming his right fist into Jasmine's face.

[Wham Yubeesling]

There was a thud. A smack. A feeling as if the whole world was surrounding Jasmine as her body reeled. Struggled to even keep itself up as her feet pedaled, threw themselves backwards along the ground of the cliffs.

And the heat was gone.

Her skin stopped tingling.

And that feeling within her - that sense of happiness, that sense of pride - was gone. Whisked away. Never to be seen again.

And it’s all because of the person standing in front of you.

He hit you.

He hurt you.

And you’ve gotta make him pay for that.

Right, sister?

Right.

She raised the gun and-

Felt a shape, felt a force plow into her chest, the whole world surrounding Jasmine as she was knocked to the ground.

---

All it had taken was a few minutes of Maxwell looking in the other direction and already somebody had gone crazy.

Jasmine wasn’t exactly a person that Maxwell knew all that well. Of course he recognized her, and of course he knew about her skill in academics, but it wasn’t exactly comparable to knowing who she was as a person, what exactly made her tick. He had heard the stories of her snootiness, of course. He had heard Paris talk about her, go on about how amazing she seemed to be but nothing more than that. When Paris stopped talking about her, when he began to spend all his time with the other popular kids again Maxwell didn’t question him. He hadn't really seen a point in finding out what happened, since Paris never spoke then Maxwell respected that privacy.

But now he wished he hadn’t..

And now he wished that he hadn’t done it. Leave Paris behind. Go back to the rest of the group.

Maybe he could have stopped this.

Maybe he could have saved Paris.

But he couldn’t. He was hurt now.

And there was nothing Maxwell could do about that.

And there was nothing Maxwell could do to save his friend.

But at the very least, he could make sure Jasmine didn’t get away with this scot free.

At the very least, he could make her pay.

So he ran. Empty air rushed against his body as he lept. Gravity pushed him as he tackled Jasmine down onto the ground.

Felt the air surrounding him heat up as he saw her below him.

Felt his skin tingle as he felt her under his body, trying to push herself out.

He felt a feeling - one of pride, one of satisfaction - rise up within him as he saw the fear in her eyes.

And he knew that what he was about to do wasn’t good.

And he knew that this wouldn’t be what Paris wanted. That he wouldn’t want Maxwell to commit an act of revenge on his behalf.

But he didn’t care.

She hurt Paris.

She hurt his friend.

And he was going to make her pay for that.

He felt a grin appear on his face as he brought the first punch down.

He felt it grow as he brought down the second.

---

Jasmine felt a crunch as the first punch hit her jaw.

Felt a squish, a crack as the second punch hit her cheek.

Felt everything turn to black for a second as the third punch hit her eye.

And she tried pulling.herself out, getting herself out of his grip, but she couldn’t.

She couldn’t do anything.

She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t defend herself. She couldn’t do anything against him.

She couldn’t win.

And she hated that. There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could say. She would die on this island and everyone would see it and they would all forget about her. All the people here would run. Fight. Live. All the people at home - all the people in her family - would carry on. Her parents would keep just fawning over Saffron. Saffron would keep on doing nothing to deserve it. Aster would keep on being too busy to care about his sister. Primrose would continue just being a little shit.

And they’d all forget about you.

Just as they always did.

And maybe one day someone would find you. See you die right in front of their eyes.

And then they would look you up.

And then they would find out all about you.

And you know how they’d feel? You know what they’d say?

‘Aww, the poor girl. She tried so hard and yet she still failed.’

‘To be honest, I just feel so sorry for her.’

…

No.

She wasn’t going to die here.

She wasn’t going to let anyone else do that to her.

She saw the gun. On the ground. Next to her.

To be honest, there wasn’t a lot else to what she was doing. She picked up the gun, aimed it at Maxwell, and pulled the trigger.

---

He barely even registered the sight of the gun as she pulled it up to face him.

He barely even heard the noise as she fired it at him, point blank.

He felt the pain though, as the bullet tore itself through his shoulder. As the hole the bullet left roared, screamed at his mind. It was numb, it was dull but it was sharp and absolutely clear at the same time.

And for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything other than the pain. And for a moment, the heat, the tingling, the feeling in his body was gone.

And then there was a thud, a crack as a foot went against his face.

And his body was pushed, thrown back as a feeling - dull, numb - hit his face. As his shoulder, his nose became warm.

But he saw her. Getting up. Running away.

Getting away from what she’d done.

Not having paid for attacking Paris.

And immediately, the feeling - the heat, the tingling, the sense - came back.

Because she was running.

She’d hurt Paris.

She’d hurt him.

And he knew that he wasn’t going to let her win.

He knew that he wasn’t just going to let her run off scot-free for what she did.

He was going to have to make her pay.

So he moved. Got up.

Chased after her, as fast as he could.

((Jasmine King, continued elsewhere))
((Maxwell Lombardi, continued elsewhere))

[Laurels]

The hand on Jasmine's shoulder did nothing to assuage her, as she was now getting closer and more confrontational with Paris. Brigid felt her grip on the bec de corbin tighten. She had a bad feeling for what was about to happen next, a feeling which was made legitimate by Jasmine's gun whipping Paris in the face.

Brigid stepped back a bit when she saw Jasmine rush forward. Jasmine began to stomp on Paris' chest.

"Jasmine! What the hell?!?" she blurted.

Before she knew anything, more people came out of the shadows and began to assault Jasmine as well. Brigid knew she should have stepped in to help Jasmine. After all, Jasmine was supposed to be her ally, right? The girl had gotten irrationally angry and randomly assaulted a guy, prompting assault from other people, but Brigid was supposed to help her. Right?

Jasmine then fired her gun, hitting one of the guys.

"Nope. Nope."

Brigid stepped back, quickly looking at Christopher.

"Run," she blurted.

She stepped backwards, then turned and bolted. She felt the duffel bag bounce against her side and the weight of the bec de corbin creating a weird imbalance as she ran with it in her hand. All those years running and doing track had to pay off right now. Jasmine wasn't her ally, and it was clear someone, or several people, were going to die here.

The best she could do was run away.

((Brigid Paxton continued in I Jumped Out and I Pranked Him to Death with a Tire Iron))