((Jacob Lang continued from Take a long last look at this filet mignon))
Jacob trudged through the rocky beach, petulantly kicking up a spray of pebbles every few steps. Taking out his frustrations on inanimate objects was all he could do for now, it seemed. Not that he was planning to just give up and die or anything, but he had to face the facts. He was small and weak, he didn't have too many friends to rely on, and the nature of the situation had changed the phrase 'what're you gonna do, kill me?' from an absurd last-resort taunt into something that could be charitably described as 'extremely dangerous'. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. A classmate having a decent weapon gave them far more power over the situation than he did, and while most of them were probably not much less hesitant to kill here than they were at home, it wasn't going to be that way for long.
Still, he had to admit... the feeling of brushing so close to death was rather exhilarating. Nothing he had experienced at home came close to it. Even during the closest of calls, he knew that the worst danger was getting beaten up, and that was only in the rare instance that he hadn't picked a good point to back out. Out here, there were no laws to provide him a safety net - only his own ability to work his way out of the problems he caused. It was...
His kicking soon came to a halt as his boot slammed into a rather large rock, causing him to yelp in pain. He stopped and hobbled over to large, snow-covered outcrop, brushing away the snow as best he could before taking a seat. Unfortunately, no matter how well he cleared the snow, he had no way of drying the spot, and the cold wetness soaking into his jeans caused him to cringe in discomfort. Trying his best not to focus on it, he pulled off his shoe, emptying any pebbles that had managed to sneak their way in and rubbing his sore foot. Nothing seemed broken, thankfully, but since he had already made the sacrifice of getting himself wet, he might as well make the best of it and take the chance to have a little break from walking.
He stared off over the ocean, watching the waves go in and out beneath the grey sky. He still didn't really know what he was doing, aside from searching for somewhere warm and dry. That was priority number one, at least at the moment, but any long term plans were still up in the air, unfortunately. One thing was for sure though, he was going to have to be a little smarter with how he interacted with his fellow students. With no rules or authority figures to fall back on, he was going to have to rely on himself alone.
And that knife he had found in his bag, of course. Couldn't forget that.
Ocean Man
Day 1, Afternoon
((Spike continued from Ghosts))
Going to the town took longer than expected, it was already afternoon. Maybe Spike should've picked the route Bill suggested, but well, they can't be too far away from it.
Spike ate some more of his rations on the way and swallowed another aspirin.
Honestly, Spike had no clue where he was, looking at the map. Where was the town? They saw it then took a shortcut through the mountains and now it's nowhere in sight.
Spike spotted a figure in the distance, and whispered to Bill.
„Hey, watch out, there's someone there."
Going to the town took longer than expected, it was already afternoon. Maybe Spike should've picked the route Bill suggested, but well, they can't be too far away from it.
Spike ate some more of his rations on the way and swallowed another aspirin.
Honestly, Spike had no clue where he was, looking at the map. Where was the town? They saw it then took a shortcut through the mountains and now it's nowhere in sight.
Spike spotted a figure in the distance, and whispered to Bill.
„Hey, watch out, there's someone there."
Ok. Ok.
Where the hell were they?
They were at a building that was not close to town, where Spike committed murder against a snowman, and they left Constance behind- which still didn't sit well with Bill; she had been robbed beforehand and was wandering around the wilderness and into a random building alone without any help? It felt like a disaster in the making- and now... they were at a beach? Things were slippery, and Bill's balance could break at any moment cause he was like an octopus with legs.
Bill was getting an increasing sense that Spike did not know where the town was and was guessing even more than Bill was. Only Bill wasn't leading the expedition here and was relying on him to know cause Bill sure did not know where it was. They had been wandering for a while now, and this sense of not knowing where anything was, least of all this town was starting to get a bit concerning.
But never mind that someone else was also here in the distance; Bill could not tell who it was. Bill squinted his eyes and blinked a lot. Yep, still couldn't tell.
"Can you see 'em from here? Who is it? Does it look like they have anything?"
Where the hell were they?
They were at a building that was not close to town, where Spike committed murder against a snowman, and they left Constance behind- which still didn't sit well with Bill; she had been robbed beforehand and was wandering around the wilderness and into a random building alone without any help? It felt like a disaster in the making- and now... they were at a beach? Things were slippery, and Bill's balance could break at any moment cause he was like an octopus with legs.
Bill was getting an increasing sense that Spike did not know where the town was and was guessing even more than Bill was. Only Bill wasn't leading the expedition here and was relying on him to know cause Bill sure did not know where it was. They had been wandering for a while now, and this sense of not knowing where anything was, least of all this town was starting to get a bit concerning.
But never mind that someone else was also here in the distance; Bill could not tell who it was. Bill squinted his eyes and blinked a lot. Yep, still couldn't tell.
"Can you see 'em from here? Who is it? Does it look like they have anything?"
Donovan was running from something—though he'd never say what. Honestly, it might've been calming under different circumstances. MP3 player blaring through his earbuds, drowning it all like ocean waves—that'd have been nice right about now. He would've loved to lose himself in the rhythm—disappearing into a playlist as if nothing mattered.
If only.
S043: DONOVAN LAUER — CONTINUED FROM "How Did I Get Here"
Donovan had made it pretty far. As it turned out, running away from your problems—whether tangible or not—was the way to go. Still, just like always, like for everything else, it was never enough. No matter how many miles he fled or how fast he'd cleared that track, he never escaped them. They were always right there, just like the shadow behind him.
He was fast, sure, but not that fast. As much as it tempted him, he knew he couldn't keep that pace up forever—he wasn't Usain Bolt or Haile Gebrselassie. Eventually, he'd have to slow down. Either that, or he'd end up working himself to the bone. He wasn't even done with the first quarter yet, thinking of it like a basketball game—running himself dry so soon was sloppy.
"What happened to your game plan?" Donovan thought, digging at the scabs again, "Smarter, not harder, dumbass."
Eventually, Donovan's footfalls fell slower—and then they stopped, marks trailing him down the beach. His whole body ached, toe to tip. He'd pushed his lungs as far as they could go, and they were sore with every breath. Then, he leaned—or, just as accurately, doubled—over, clutching his upper legs. Donovan sucked in the oxygen—just as greedily as he'd stolen the other guy's bags—regardless of how much it hurt.
It wasn't easy to keep up. It was more manageable on a small scale, dividing things up into little blocks of time. It was easier when you didn't care if you ended up at home that night. Eight minutes—like on the Terriers—that was nothing. Ten minutes—like college ball—wasn't that difficult. Twelve minutes—like an NBA player—was a good challenge. This game, though? It was hard.
There were no breaks, no chances to rest—Donovan guessed there was no half-time, either. It was as much a game as a marathon: no stopping until you hit the finish line. You had to keep going and going like your life depended on it—because it did. He'd never thought about history—social studies, whatever—much, but a little bit that he'd noted came back.
The first marathon was a battle, and the runner just died at the end.
He'd forgotten most of the other stuff but remembered that part. The teacher constantly rambled on about that quote, "those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." For the life of him, he couldn't remember who the hell had said it. Suddenly, Donovan wished he'd studied up a little more.
He shut the idea away, like so many other thoughts. He didn't want to think at all right now. He just wanted to breathe—in, out, in again. He kept going until the pain was just a little bit further away. Then, he took a tentative step forward, then another, and picked up speed, pacing himself this time.
He'd caught his breath—no need to lose it again so soon. There was no use in shambling around, panting like a dog. Not if he could help it, anyway. Then, Donovan saw something in the distance. People, probably—a group of two, maybe three—fresh marks, if he could manage it. His right hand dashed to the handle of his gun, tucked in the pocket of his jeans. He advanced again, trying to stay low, out of sight.
"You don't wanna lose, right?" he asked himself, then answered, "Then keep playing. You've got to win eventually."
He didn't quite buy the hype this time—but he almost did, and right now, that was close enough.
If only.
S043: DONOVAN LAUER — CONTINUED FROM "How Did I Get Here"
Donovan had made it pretty far. As it turned out, running away from your problems—whether tangible or not—was the way to go. Still, just like always, like for everything else, it was never enough. No matter how many miles he fled or how fast he'd cleared that track, he never escaped them. They were always right there, just like the shadow behind him.
He was fast, sure, but not that fast. As much as it tempted him, he knew he couldn't keep that pace up forever—he wasn't Usain Bolt or Haile Gebrselassie. Eventually, he'd have to slow down. Either that, or he'd end up working himself to the bone. He wasn't even done with the first quarter yet, thinking of it like a basketball game—running himself dry so soon was sloppy.
"What happened to your game plan?" Donovan thought, digging at the scabs again, "Smarter, not harder, dumbass."
Eventually, Donovan's footfalls fell slower—and then they stopped, marks trailing him down the beach. His whole body ached, toe to tip. He'd pushed his lungs as far as they could go, and they were sore with every breath. Then, he leaned—or, just as accurately, doubled—over, clutching his upper legs. Donovan sucked in the oxygen—just as greedily as he'd stolen the other guy's bags—regardless of how much it hurt.
It wasn't easy to keep up. It was more manageable on a small scale, dividing things up into little blocks of time. It was easier when you didn't care if you ended up at home that night. Eight minutes—like on the Terriers—that was nothing. Ten minutes—like college ball—wasn't that difficult. Twelve minutes—like an NBA player—was a good challenge. This game, though? It was hard.
There were no breaks, no chances to rest—Donovan guessed there was no half-time, either. It was as much a game as a marathon: no stopping until you hit the finish line. You had to keep going and going like your life depended on it—because it did. He'd never thought about history—social studies, whatever—much, but a little bit that he'd noted came back.
The first marathon was a battle, and the runner just died at the end.
He'd forgotten most of the other stuff but remembered that part. The teacher constantly rambled on about that quote, "those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." For the life of him, he couldn't remember who the hell had said it. Suddenly, Donovan wished he'd studied up a little more.
He shut the idea away, like so many other thoughts. He didn't want to think at all right now. He just wanted to breathe—in, out, in again. He kept going until the pain was just a little bit further away. Then, he took a tentative step forward, then another, and picked up speed, pacing himself this time.
He'd caught his breath—no need to lose it again so soon. There was no use in shambling around, panting like a dog. Not if he could help it, anyway. Then, Donovan saw something in the distance. People, probably—a group of two, maybe three—fresh marks, if he could manage it. His right hand dashed to the handle of his gun, tucked in the pocket of his jeans. He advanced again, trying to stay low, out of sight.
"You don't wanna lose, right?" he asked himself, then answered, "Then keep playing. You've got to win eventually."
He didn't quite buy the hype this time—but he almost did, and right now, that was close enough.
Jacob slipped his boot back on, the pain in his toe having subsided into dull ache, just another inconvenience to add to the load of this already terrible day. He sighed, turning to stare at the waves once more, when something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. His head immediately jerked to the side, and was met by the sight of a group of people standing some distance away.
The arrival, as unexpected as it was, provided a welcome reprieve from his current bout of self-pity. The group was a little too far away to make out their faces (or what they might be armed with, for that matter), and didn't seem to be getting any closer. Had they seen him? This beach was so deserted that any living creature stuck out like a sore thumb, but people in groups did tend to get pretty wrapped up in their conversations...
He took a deep breath, looking back to his bag. Despite the clear and present danger that such a group posed, the thought of running away from the first people he had seen in hours didn't seem very appealing. More than anything else right now, Jacob wanted something to take him away from his own worries, just for a while, and had letting them come up to him felt pretty worth the risk. Fishing in his bag, he pulled out the knife he had been given and slowly slipped it into his pocket, a tight fit, but a workable one nevertheless. If worst came to worst and they actually were here to rob him or something, well, he'd make them regret it.
Anyway, there wasn't much point spending any more time speculating. He turned to the group yet again and gave them a silent wave.
The arrival, as unexpected as it was, provided a welcome reprieve from his current bout of self-pity. The group was a little too far away to make out their faces (or what they might be armed with, for that matter), and didn't seem to be getting any closer. Had they seen him? This beach was so deserted that any living creature stuck out like a sore thumb, but people in groups did tend to get pretty wrapped up in their conversations...
He took a deep breath, looking back to his bag. Despite the clear and present danger that such a group posed, the thought of running away from the first people he had seen in hours didn't seem very appealing. More than anything else right now, Jacob wanted something to take him away from his own worries, just for a while, and had letting them come up to him felt pretty worth the risk. Fishing in his bag, he pulled out the knife he had been given and slowly slipped it into his pocket, a tight fit, but a workable one nevertheless. If worst came to worst and they actually were here to rob him or something, well, he'd make them regret it.
Anyway, there wasn't much point spending any more time speculating. He turned to the group yet again and gave them a silent wave.
Spike looked closer at the red figure in the distance.
„I don't know. Looks like a girl. Wait no, could be a dude."
A moment of silence erupted to give Spike a chance to inspect the figure.
„Ah no, it's a girl...or a dude. Ah, what the fuck, who cares?"
Well, it looked like they were waving with their hands.
Spike waved back.
„Bill, wave at them, they're waving. We need to show that we're friendly."
Duh. Mister obvious.
„I don't know. Looks like a girl. Wait no, could be a dude."
A moment of silence erupted to give Spike a chance to inspect the figure.
„Ah no, it's a girl...or a dude. Ah, what the fuck, who cares?"
Well, it looked like they were waving with their hands.
Spike waved back.
„Bill, wave at them, they're waving. We need to show that we're friendly."
Duh. Mister obvious.
Spike couldn't tell who it was from this distance either, which wasn't good for them. They would be walking into this blind, and Bill hated that it was not part of the plan. Find the town and hunker down; that's all they had to do, yet here they were. On a beach with a stranger.
Knowing their luck, they were probably on the wrong side of wherever this was.
Did they appear to be friendly? They were at least waving at them, and Spike waved back. Bill went with the flow; he lifted his left hand into a wave and gave it a whirl. This would show them as friends he hoped.
"Should we move closer or wait for them to do it?"
Knowing their luck, they were probably on the wrong side of wherever this was.
Did they appear to be friendly? They were at least waving at them, and Spike waved back. Bill went with the flow; he lifted his left hand into a wave and gave it a whirl. This would show them as friends he hoped.
"Should we move closer or wait for them to do it?"
Donovan skulked across the beach. The little stones beat the bottom of his sneakers as he crept. Before today, they'd never seen much real action; they were more for show than for the stage. Ordinarily, he liked to keep them in good shape, but that didn't matter now. He had a million problems, and scuffed shoes weren't one.
He crept across the stones like a snake, inching forward with every step. Then, when he reached a big rock, he ducked behind it. There was no need to get closer: they were in range now, so that was good enough. Any more movement would be a mistake. Those three would see him, and then, the game was up—he'd lose the element of surprise. He needed to play it cool instead.
"Out of sight," he thought to himself, "out of mind."
He crouched low and pressed his back against the rock. In a single motion, Donovan yanked the pistol from his pocket. The safety was on, but not for long—a flick of his thumb, and that changed. He hefted it up, and his left hand reached over to the edge of the rock. For now, he'd spy on them and wait for the opportunity to arise.
"I'll get my moment," he noted, with a gulp, "my shot. They'll never see it coming."
He crept across the stones like a snake, inching forward with every step. Then, when he reached a big rock, he ducked behind it. There was no need to get closer: they were in range now, so that was good enough. Any more movement would be a mistake. Those three would see him, and then, the game was up—he'd lose the element of surprise. He needed to play it cool instead.
"Out of sight," he thought to himself, "out of mind."
He crouched low and pressed his back against the rock. In a single motion, Donovan yanked the pistol from his pocket. The safety was on, but not for long—a flick of his thumb, and that changed. He hefted it up, and his left hand reached over to the edge of the rock. For now, he'd spy on them and wait for the opportunity to arise.
"I'll get my moment," he noted, with a gulp, "my shot. They'll never see it coming."
Jacob waited, eyes fixed expectantly on the duo as they waved back. Well, they didn't seem hostile, at least, though it seemed they were just going to stand there and wait for him to walk all the way over there. It wasn't that big of a deal; walking over there would at least be less boring than sitting on that rock alone. Still, god, what a pain. He pulled himself to his feet, grimacing briefly as the wet fabric of his jeans brushed against his skin.
So he went, heading towards yet another person whose face was too far away from him to recognize. The realization gave him a major sense of deja vu, pulling his mind back to the scene with the girl in the snow. Jacob stopped for a moment, staring forward, unfocused. If those guys were of the same mindset as the girl from earlier, things could go very bad for him. Not that he was going to chicken out or anything, but he had to be a little more cautious this time.
Trying not to attract too much attention, he reached into his bag and pulled out his assigned weapon, quickly slipping the knife into his jacket pocket. He wasn't interested in doing anything as barbaric as stabbing someone, not at all, but it would be good to have a little... insurance in case those guys weren't able to take a joke. If he wasn't going to have anywhere safe to run to, at least he'd have a way to deter anyone from chasing him.
With that, Jacob began to continue his walk towards the pair, his confidence boosted by the pointy safety net sitting in his pocket. This day had been, well, pretty shitty so far, but hopefully he'd at least be able to blow off some of the frustration that had been building up since his encounter with that killjoy back at the snow field.
So he went, heading towards yet another person whose face was too far away from him to recognize. The realization gave him a major sense of deja vu, pulling his mind back to the scene with the girl in the snow. Jacob stopped for a moment, staring forward, unfocused. If those guys were of the same mindset as the girl from earlier, things could go very bad for him. Not that he was going to chicken out or anything, but he had to be a little more cautious this time.
Trying not to attract too much attention, he reached into his bag and pulled out his assigned weapon, quickly slipping the knife into his jacket pocket. He wasn't interested in doing anything as barbaric as stabbing someone, not at all, but it would be good to have a little... insurance in case those guys weren't able to take a joke. If he wasn't going to have anywhere safe to run to, at least he'd have a way to deter anyone from chasing him.
With that, Jacob began to continue his walk towards the pair, his confidence boosted by the pointy safety net sitting in his pocket. This day had been, well, pretty shitty so far, but hopefully he'd at least be able to blow off some of the frustration that had been building up since his encounter with that killjoy back at the snow field.
„Oh, they're coming closer," Spike told Bill. That was a good thing, he supposed. Looking at the ground, he was glad the person was moving towards them instead of Spike having to walk on the annoying rocks, and dunno, risking a fall.
Ah, screw it, he had to meet them halfway, couldn't make the other fella walk all the way here. Spike slowly walked forward, to reduce the distance, but so slowly as to not slip on a rock, mindfully taking each step.
Spike's glasses also slowly caught on the identity of the other person. Jacob Long, not a popular guy. Always seemed to be picked on by his school mates. Apparently Jacob was the one provoking others, but that never justified you know, being a bully.
„Hey, Jake. Do you know where the town is?," Spike shouted. "I think I'm really bad at reading maps and compasses."
Ah, screw it, he had to meet them halfway, couldn't make the other fella walk all the way here. Spike slowly walked forward, to reduce the distance, but so slowly as to not slip on a rock, mindfully taking each step.
Spike's glasses also slowly caught on the identity of the other person. Jacob Long, not a popular guy. Always seemed to be picked on by his school mates. Apparently Jacob was the one provoking others, but that never justified you know, being a bully.
„Hey, Jake. Do you know where the town is?," Spike shouted. "I think I'm really bad at reading maps and compasses."
The other person started approaching, so they did in kind. Spike first, naturally. It took Bill a bit to follow as he wondered if it was a good idea to continue across this place, but it did not take long before he did.
Bill tried to keep pace with Spike but lagged a little bit behind. He hated walking on these rocks like this; it was a hazard to his feet, and he dreaded thinking how much it would hurt if he fell over.
Eventually, he stopped behind Spike with a sigh. Bill lifted his hands above his eyes and squinted his eyes to see who it was...
Jacob Lang?
Oh no, this guy. He could sympathize with the bullying he experienced, but Bill remembered the tales that he would tell. Blatant lies and the like. Not exactly someone he wanted to meet could say that much.
He tried not to let that show and let Spike handle this. They just needed to know where to go, after all.
Bill tried to keep pace with Spike but lagged a little bit behind. He hated walking on these rocks like this; it was a hazard to his feet, and he dreaded thinking how much it would hurt if he fell over.
Eventually, he stopped behind Spike with a sigh. Bill lifted his hands above his eyes and squinted his eyes to see who it was...
Jacob Lang?
Oh no, this guy. He could sympathize with the bullying he experienced, but Bill remembered the tales that he would tell. Blatant lies and the like. Not exactly someone he wanted to meet could say that much.
He tried not to let that show and let Spike handle this. They just needed to know where to go, after all.
From his position behind the rock, Donovan could sit back and watch everything unfold. It was nice, in a way—for a moment, he was on the sidelines, the game playing out in front of his eyes. Still, he couldn't let himself get comfortable—this was his game to win, and he needed to stay on his toes.
He peeked out, trying to confirm the voices, to pair them to faces, then names. The first one he recognized was Spike—not a close friend, but a good man. They'd played streetball more than once, just casual pick-up games. It almost made Donovan feel guilty for what he was planning.
Almost, but not quite—he could save the regret for later. Donovan couldn't let himself get psyched out now. He had to be willing to make a choice: when it came down to the end, it'd be them and him. And he wanted to make it to the end.
"Sorry, man," he thought, "but I've got to look out for number one."
The guy with the longer hair—Jacob Lang—was someone Donovan knew. Jacob was one of those people who liked to push buttons until something broke. To drive people to the point where they just wanted to clean his clock. Frankly, he deserved all the flak he caught.
The last one was a blank slate. For all Donovan knew, he didn't even have a name. That was fine. It gave him less to think about—less to feel guilty about when it was all over. He didn't need the additional weight on his conscious, thank you.
That made three people. Three marks—if he played his cards right, he could end up with all the supplies he'd need for the rest of the game. Even so, Donovan was willing to settle for less. It was a good haul, but no amount of supplies was worth dying over.
If they asked questions, he had an answer: nestled in the grip of his right hand, held tight. And if they tried him, he'd make them regret it. Because, in the end, he couldn't just roll over and let them walk away without a price—that was weakness, that was losing.
"And I'm not gonna lose," he told himself.
He peeked out, trying to confirm the voices, to pair them to faces, then names. The first one he recognized was Spike—not a close friend, but a good man. They'd played streetball more than once, just casual pick-up games. It almost made Donovan feel guilty for what he was planning.
Almost, but not quite—he could save the regret for later. Donovan couldn't let himself get psyched out now. He had to be willing to make a choice: when it came down to the end, it'd be them and him. And he wanted to make it to the end.
"Sorry, man," he thought, "but I've got to look out for number one."
The guy with the longer hair—Jacob Lang—was someone Donovan knew. Jacob was one of those people who liked to push buttons until something broke. To drive people to the point where they just wanted to clean his clock. Frankly, he deserved all the flak he caught.
The last one was a blank slate. For all Donovan knew, he didn't even have a name. That was fine. It gave him less to think about—less to feel guilty about when it was all over. He didn't need the additional weight on his conscious, thank you.
That made three people. Three marks—if he played his cards right, he could end up with all the supplies he'd need for the rest of the game. Even so, Donovan was willing to settle for less. It was a good haul, but no amount of supplies was worth dying over.
If they asked questions, he had an answer: nestled in the grip of his right hand, held tight. And if they tried him, he'd make them regret it. Because, in the end, he couldn't just roll over and let them walk away without a price—that was weakness, that was losing.
"And I'm not gonna lose," he told himself.
Jacob approached the pair, putting on a smile which was only half an act. Maybe these guys were cool, maybe they weren't, but regardless - talking to anyone would be better than sitting alone on that rock. The fact that Spike both knew his name while simultaneously talking to him like a normal human being was a good sign - it had been getting harder and harder to outrun his reputation as of late. There was something about the situation that felt clean, like freshly fallen snow. He couldn't lie that he felt a slight twinge of regret, knowing that he was about to ruin that fresh start, just as he had done so many other times before. He had little time to ponder this feeling, however, because his mouth had already started talking as soon as he arrived.
"The town, huh? Yeah, it's that way."
He pulled his free hand from his jacket pocket, gesturing vaguely in a direction picked at random, somewhat perpendicular to the path that Spike and Bill seemed to be travelling. What actually lay in that direction was a mystery to him, though based on the lack of visible landmarks in that direction, it was likely that it would take a while before the two found out for themselves. Maybe if he had actually looked at the map beforehand, he could have picked something better, but as someone not very good with maps and compasses himself, this really was the best he could do.
With that done, Jacob adjusted the straps of his bag before returning his hand to his jacket pocket. He could feel a tremor of anxiety inside his chest as he considered the questions that the pair could choose in reply. As funny as it was to think of sending them on a wild goose chase, he began to wonder if he should perhaps have opened with something else. Immediately messing with that girl hadn't been so much of an issue - she had been a bit of a jerk right from the start, so he had every right to screw with her. This guy not only didn't hate him, but trusted him enough to actually ask him a question to which he expected a serious answer. No matter how this interaction proceeded, Spike's trust in him would be clearly proven to have been misplaced, locking the two into the same adversarial relationship Jacob had created with so many others.
Screw it. He had already committed to this bit, and to back out now would be the worst outcome of all. He was going to see this through, have his fun, and then leave. Enough things made him feel like shit already, no need to add more to the pile. If he couldn't be happy in general, he was going to at least go through with one of the little pleasures in his life rather than getting all mopey and philosophical about it. After all, how many more chances would he get before this place turned into a free for all deathmatch?
"The town, huh? Yeah, it's that way."
He pulled his free hand from his jacket pocket, gesturing vaguely in a direction picked at random, somewhat perpendicular to the path that Spike and Bill seemed to be travelling. What actually lay in that direction was a mystery to him, though based on the lack of visible landmarks in that direction, it was likely that it would take a while before the two found out for themselves. Maybe if he had actually looked at the map beforehand, he could have picked something better, but as someone not very good with maps and compasses himself, this really was the best he could do.
With that done, Jacob adjusted the straps of his bag before returning his hand to his jacket pocket. He could feel a tremor of anxiety inside his chest as he considered the questions that the pair could choose in reply. As funny as it was to think of sending them on a wild goose chase, he began to wonder if he should perhaps have opened with something else. Immediately messing with that girl hadn't been so much of an issue - she had been a bit of a jerk right from the start, so he had every right to screw with her. This guy not only didn't hate him, but trusted him enough to actually ask him a question to which he expected a serious answer. No matter how this interaction proceeded, Spike's trust in him would be clearly proven to have been misplaced, locking the two into the same adversarial relationship Jacob had created with so many others.
Screw it. He had already committed to this bit, and to back out now would be the worst outcome of all. He was going to see this through, have his fun, and then leave. Enough things made him feel like shit already, no need to add more to the pile. If he couldn't be happy in general, he was going to at least go through with one of the little pleasures in his life rather than getting all mopey and philosophical about it. After all, how many more chances would he get before this place turned into a free for all deathmatch?
„Thanks," Spike said with a smile, nodding at Jacob. „Bill, it's that way," Spike gestured in the direction Jacob pointed at, while also stepping into that direction. Didn't want to waste any time, the sooner they'd get inside somewhere, the better. Bill deserved a break too, poor fella wasn't that athletic, he probably walked more the last day than in his entire life. Spike was definitely going to cook something once they get into town in case the stoves were still working. Maybe they'd find steak in a fridge...hmmmm, steak. Yeah, Bill definitely deserved a break and a meal, and Spike as well.
„We should be there soon. Can't be too far off."
Spike's boots carefully walked on the slippery rocks, very slow in pace.
„We should be there soon. Can't be too far off."
Spike's boots carefully walked on the slippery rocks, very slow in pace.
Apparently, they were already on their way to the town? Jacob had pointed in the direction they were already going in, so all they had to was continue past here. Which Spike was all game to do. He was already ahead in doing that.
"Th-thanks." He said, attempting to keep the shiver out of his voice.
Bill internally sighed and started carefully stepping across rocks to keep up with his travel partner. He clasped his hands together and rubbed them against one another, with shivers going through his fingers down his arms. He exhaled for warmth onto his hands.
"Th-thanks." He said, attempting to keep the shiver out of his voice.
Bill internally sighed and started carefully stepping across rocks to keep up with his travel partner. He clasped his hands together and rubbed them against one another, with shivers going through his fingers down his arms. He exhaled for warmth onto his hands.