Iris had expected Darryl to take the gun first, so that she could watch how he handled it. She almost wanted to protest, but she'd just gone and opened her big mouth about how it had to be easy.
So she just had to show that it was easy.
She held out her hands, one for the gun and one for the bullets. "Sure. I can do it." There was still a warmth in the pit of her stomach, and the gun was a little warm from Richard's hand. There were still friends sitting around her. It didn't have to be scary, as long as she treated it right.
Iris focused intently on the bullets as she loaded them in one at a time, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. They fit neatly right inside, just like a puzzle. She glanced self-consciously up at the boys from time to time, but as far as she could tell, things were going smoothly. Her hands weren't even shaking! She was doing great, even with a warm stomach and bubbly head.
"Yeah, see?" She exhaled, not quite giggling again. "Easy."
Zero Incoming
Day 4 afternoon; Open once Buko and Deamon join!
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Dickie let Iris load the gun, handed the beer to Darryl and then he buried the twinge of guilt and shame that came to him with a shovel made of constant and unsustainable hope. That hope was all he had and Dick, after all, had it bad. Hope allowed him to frame shit different. This wasn’t bringing his best friend and middle-school girlfriend/homecoming date in on a potential murder-pact, nah! This was being protective! A white knight with a sword teaching his squires to spar! Sure, buddy, whatever you say.
Richard had it bad alright. No doubt about it at all. He had told himself enough times that even he knew at this point.
Dick was just as desperate to give up responsibility as he was to take it on. Maybe that’s why he had given up the gun, maybe that was why he felt that hint of guilt and shame. He had abandoned Iliya to die out of cowardice parading as caution. He hadn’t chased after Amaryllis or Lily because what he had wanted to find was his friend Darryl or Chloe. Once he had Darryl? He was more than willing to hole up and playhouse with the homie. More than willing to let West wander off to get gunned down. There was no plan to move forward, there was no way out that Dick could see. Richard wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a martyr, he wasn’t a villain or a victim. Dickie was a passive, hopeful idiot—hoping that some proximity to positivity would grant him unseen power.
He placed a chubby arm around his buddy and leaned his red head on Darryl’s shoulder before sighing like an old English bulldog on a hot summer day. There was power in proximity. There was hope in staying together. There was a fire that could be found in faith that could light the way forward in even impenetrable darkness. Dickie just had to keep believing, no matter how bad it got. No matter how bad it was or how bad he had it.
“Easy-peasy,” he spoke to Iris with a tired grin on his face, a platitude and cliché on his tongue. "Lemon squeezy.”
Richard had it bad alright. No doubt about it at all. He had told himself enough times that even he knew at this point.
Dick was just as desperate to give up responsibility as he was to take it on. Maybe that’s why he had given up the gun, maybe that was why he felt that hint of guilt and shame. He had abandoned Iliya to die out of cowardice parading as caution. He hadn’t chased after Amaryllis or Lily because what he had wanted to find was his friend Darryl or Chloe. Once he had Darryl? He was more than willing to hole up and playhouse with the homie. More than willing to let West wander off to get gunned down. There was no plan to move forward, there was no way out that Dick could see. Richard wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a martyr, he wasn’t a villain or a victim. Dickie was a passive, hopeful idiot—hoping that some proximity to positivity would grant him unseen power.
He placed a chubby arm around his buddy and leaned his red head on Darryl’s shoulder before sighing like an old English bulldog on a hot summer day. There was power in proximity. There was hope in staying together. There was a fire that could be found in faith that could light the way forward in even impenetrable darkness. Dickie just had to keep believing, no matter how bad it got. No matter how bad it was or how bad he had it.
“Easy-peasy,” he spoke to Iris with a tired grin on his face, a platitude and cliché on his tongue. "Lemon squeezy.”
Darryl accepted the beer with a nod Richard's way as Iris toyed around with the gun. His eyebrow raised as she sat there with her tongue sticking out like a toddler, slotting in one bullet after the other. He couldn't say that it filled him with confidence in his decision, but she had the gun in her hand so it was in fact too late to take it back.
Richard reclined back and leaned his head against Darryl's shoulder, which accepted but felt ambivalent toward. His first instinct had been to shrug his head and arm off, but Darryl knew that given the situation that would have been more than a little callous. They were on a death island and Dick was feeling fragile—he assumed—so he let him have the moment.
That said it didn't actually look too difficult. Iris was getting it done pretty quickly and she was apparently concussed so realistically Darryl should have been able to also get it done once it became his turn.
Darryl took a sip from the can as he continued to watch Iris.
He did have one lingering concern in the back of his mind regarding the gun. It was a simple one really although when he thought about it he made every situation they found themselves in many times more complicated.
But Darryl didn't know that if it came down to it he could pull the trigger.
Richard reclined back and leaned his head against Darryl's shoulder, which accepted but felt ambivalent toward. His first instinct had been to shrug his head and arm off, but Darryl knew that given the situation that would have been more than a little callous. They were on a death island and Dick was feeling fragile—he assumed—so he let him have the moment.
That said it didn't actually look too difficult. Iris was getting it done pretty quickly and she was apparently concussed so realistically Darryl should have been able to also get it done once it became his turn.
Darryl took a sip from the can as he continued to watch Iris.
He did have one lingering concern in the back of his mind regarding the gun. It was a simple one really although when he thought about it he made every situation they found themselves in many times more complicated.
But Darryl didn't know that if it came down to it he could pull the trigger.
"Easy-peasy," Iris agreed in a soft voice, lifting the gun with one hand once everything had clicked into place. It was both heavier and lighter in her palm than she'd expected it to be. Heavier than it had looked in Richard's hand for sure, but she'd always read characters in books commenting on how the gun was heavier than they expected.
She'd thought it would feel more substantial, somehow. It really was just a hunk of metal. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger as she turned the pistol over to examine the way it fit in her palm.
"It's not so bad, actually," Iris said, flexing her fingers slightly to adjust her grip. "We could probably-"
Practice with it, she'd been going to say, but it was lost in the crack of the gun and her own shriek of surprise when her finger squeezed just a tad too tightly on the trigger.
She'd thought it would feel more substantial, somehow. It really was just a hunk of metal. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger as she turned the pistol over to examine the way it fit in her palm.
"It's not so bad, actually," Iris said, flexing her fingers slightly to adjust her grip. "We could probably-"
Practice with it, she'd been going to say, but it was lost in the crack of the gun and her own shriek of surprise when her finger squeezed just a tad too tightly on the trigger.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Dickie, as always, responded with responsibility. Responsibility he claimed with the power he grasped due to privilege and position just as much as personality. A white knight with a sword facing against an unbeatable and evil terrorist dragon capable of shooting flames at any time. An all-American boy with all-American heroism. Washington crossing the Delaware. Davey Crocket defending the Alamo. John McCain refusing early release in Vietnam. Welles Crowther, the man with the red bandana, storming into the burning and falling Twin Towers over and over again.
“Shit! Fuckin—geddown!!”
With all his strength and with Darryl already in his grasp, he wrapped his arms around his friend and tackled him to the ground. A barrier was made with the broadness of Richard’s back, the only thing he thought was that they were finally all under attack. A chubby human-shield.
“Shit! Fuckin—geddown!!”
With all his strength and with Darryl already in his grasp, he wrapped his arms around his friend and tackled him to the ground. A barrier was made with the broadness of Richard’s back, the only thing he thought was that they were finally all under attack. A chubby human-shield.
"Fuck!" Darryl yelled ducking out of instinct.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Darryl yelled again as Dick tackled him like he was the president and someone had taken a shot from the grassy knoll.
Darryl met the cold hard floor with his warm soft face and momentarily saw stars. He couldn't remember the last time he had been hit that hard but he figured it would have probably been back in Boston when he'd gotten lippy with a big bear of an older boy named Chris and caught a paw to the head for his troubles. Chris had ended up going to Oregon to play offensive tackle so a swipe from him had that weight behind it. But he was getting sidetracked.
"Uhhh," He said, voice muffled by Richard's bulk. "I think we're all good?"
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Darryl yelled again as Dick tackled him like he was the president and someone had taken a shot from the grassy knoll.
Darryl met the cold hard floor with his warm soft face and momentarily saw stars. He couldn't remember the last time he had been hit that hard but he figured it would have probably been back in Boston when he'd gotten lippy with a big bear of an older boy named Chris and caught a paw to the head for his troubles. Chris had ended up going to Oregon to play offensive tackle so a swipe from him had that weight behind it. But he was getting sidetracked.
"Uhhh," He said, voice muffled by Richard's bulk. "I think we're all good?"
All of the bubbles in Iris's head, real or imagined, evaporated with the gunshot. She jerked back, dropping the gun in shock; the noise of it clattering to the floor was lost in the ringing in her ears.
Cracks had appeared in the listening station's single window, spiderwebbing out from the almost perfect hole that had just punched through the glass. Even with fuzzy vision, Iris could see through it to the small tunnel that now torpedoed through the snow piled up outside.
"Oh-" A few blinks more, and her vision blurred further. Tears of pain, because her head had started throbbing again with a vengeance, but mostly of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm- I'm sorry-"
Cracks had appeared in the listening station's single window, spiderwebbing out from the almost perfect hole that had just punched through the glass. Even with fuzzy vision, Iris could see through it to the small tunnel that now torpedoed through the snow piled up outside.
"Oh-" A few blinks more, and her vision blurred further. Tears of pain, because her head had started throbbing again with a vengeance, but mostly of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm- I'm sorry-"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
“It’s fine, it’s okay, don’t worry, it’s fine, okay, don’t worry,” he mumbled under his breath like he was saying prayers. The repetition was for his ringing ears. Dickie worked his way up and freed Darryl from his crushing cover. His pale young freckled face looked paler and younger and somehow more freckled than it did a few seconds before. Richard scurried and picked up the gun off the floor and gripped it desperately like he used to do with action-figures. The blazing hot barrel didn’t conjure the same feelings as Ben10 used to in his hand.
It wasn’t a toy. Dick was silly for playing games. House with the homies. Cops and robbers. Knights and dragons.
“It’s fine, it’s okay, don’t worry, we’re good, it’s fine, it’s okay, don’t worry” repetition for ringing ears. “I think we should go,” Dickie didn’t like how unsure he sounded. “My ankle feels better,” he lied and that made him feel worse and so he adjusted, “better than yesterday.”
He nodded.
“I’d rather be a moving target than a sitting duck.”
It wasn’t a toy. Dick was silly for playing games. House with the homies. Cops and robbers. Knights and dragons.
“It’s fine, it’s okay, don’t worry, we’re good, it’s fine, it’s okay, don’t worry” repetition for ringing ears. “I think we should go,” Dickie didn’t like how unsure he sounded. “My ankle feels better,” he lied and that made him feel worse and so he adjusted, “better than yesterday.”
He nodded.
“I’d rather be a moving target than a sitting duck.”
"Yeah sure, all good," Darryl muttered, the sentiment of the words not reflected in his tone. He wheezed like a reinflating chew toy as Richard's weight was removed from his own body and gratefully took down a full breath. With hurried steps, Dick moved straight to the abandoned gun and gathered it up. Meanwhile, Darryl looked around the room, no one appeared to be hurt, given he hadn't been graced with any new holes and Iris wasn't sat in a blood pool. The sole window of the building had, however, eaten shit. The bullet cut a perfect hole into it and continued unperturbed and unopposed by the built-up snow. Given the newly developed air hole in the window, Darryl wasn't sure their current location would remain viable because it looked like a lot of snow was piled up just outside.
"Yeah," Darryl said, turning his attention to Dickie. "That sounds good, you said Chloe was setting something up right?"
Darryl still didn't have any hope for the plan as it had been outlined to him but it wasn't untrue that they needed to move. He looked around to find his bag and to his disappointment saw his can of beer lying on its side against one wall of the listening station. Its liquid innards slowly leaking out onto the floor. Darryl felt strangely upset about it, about the moment they had lost but said nothing of it.
Instead, he just gathered his bag and began to stand up, wincing as a dull throbbing pain began to emanate from his ribs.
"Yeah," Darryl said, turning his attention to Dickie. "That sounds good, you said Chloe was setting something up right?"
Darryl still didn't have any hope for the plan as it had been outlined to him but it wasn't untrue that they needed to move. He looked around to find his bag and to his disappointment saw his can of beer lying on its side against one wall of the listening station. Its liquid innards slowly leaking out onto the floor. Darryl felt strangely upset about it, about the moment they had lost but said nothing of it.
Instead, he just gathered his bag and began to stand up, wincing as a dull throbbing pain began to emanate from his ribs.
"Y-yeah," Iris agreed, voice tiny. "Yeah."
She kept her head down, not looking at either of the boys as she grabbed her bag and zipped it with trembling hands. The back of her head was throbbing again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm gonna," she started to say, but her voice only came out in a whisper. Or a whimper.
Whimper. Wimp. Too much of a wimp to even deal with the stupid mistake she'd just made. Idiot.
"I'm gonna- go wait outside," Iris said, forcing herself to speak at a normal volume. Her voice wobbled though, and she rushed out before it could do more than that.
Dusk had fallen and was rapidly fading into night now. Iris stood there for a minute and thought about running off into it so that she wouldn't have to look Richard and Darryl in the face after doing something so dangerous and dumb.
But she stayed put. One errant finger twitch had been enough, apparently. Her legs wouldn't move unless she willed them to, and she didn't have the will.
She didn't want to go meet up with Chloe. Not when this was the reason. They should stay close to the research station, because that was where they'd told Marshall they would be, and she didn't want to tell either him or Chloe that they'd had to abandon their safe place because Iris shot out the window like a butterfingered moron.
She didn't say any of that, either. She waited for Richard and Darryl to join her outside, and she kept her head down and stayed quiet as she trudged along after them to the next destination.
((Iris Waite continued in Shawn's Marvelous Medicine))
She kept her head down, not looking at either of the boys as she grabbed her bag and zipped it with trembling hands. The back of her head was throbbing again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm gonna," she started to say, but her voice only came out in a whisper. Or a whimper.
Whimper. Wimp. Too much of a wimp to even deal with the stupid mistake she'd just made. Idiot.
"I'm gonna- go wait outside," Iris said, forcing herself to speak at a normal volume. Her voice wobbled though, and she rushed out before it could do more than that.
Dusk had fallen and was rapidly fading into night now. Iris stood there for a minute and thought about running off into it so that she wouldn't have to look Richard and Darryl in the face after doing something so dangerous and dumb.
But she stayed put. One errant finger twitch had been enough, apparently. Her legs wouldn't move unless she willed them to, and she didn't have the will.
She didn't want to go meet up with Chloe. Not when this was the reason. They should stay close to the research station, because that was where they'd told Marshall they would be, and she didn't want to tell either him or Chloe that they'd had to abandon their safe place because Iris shot out the window like a butterfingered moron.
She didn't say any of that, either. She waited for Richard and Darryl to join her outside, and she kept her head down and stayed quiet as she trudged along after them to the next destination.
((Iris Waite continued in Shawn's Marvelous Medicine))
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Dickie’s eyes found his shoes as Iris exited the room. He didn’t know how to make things better. Dick couldn’t control his own confidence out here, what was he supposed to do with hers? She wasn’t confident back home in Salem, why would she be confident out in Survival of the Fittest? Richard trusted Iris. He also trusted in his own ability to see people for what they were. Dicky trusted a liar to lie to him. He trusted a snake to bite. He trusted a thief to steal. He trusted a sweet scaredy-cat like Iris to put her tail between her legs the second shit got sour. He didn’t blame her, he blamed himself for failing to prevent her panic in the first place.
He wanted to be a leader, that meant he had to lead. What had he really accomplished or done to earn that position?
“It’s Chloe,” Richard stated like he was saying the sky was blue. “She’s setting up exactly jack and shit.” Dick sighed and felt his anger boil in the familiarity of talking bad about a peer to his best friend. “She’s just gathering people and hoping they have an idea that she doesn’t. Going with her is like trusting our lives with the JEM student government,” he felt a bitterness in his honesty. “We couldn’t even manage a proper fundraiser to get a venue for the homecoming dance, that’s why we held our shit in the gym. She’s not gonna have a way to get outta here.”
It was incredibly petty and childish. Dicky didn’t vote for Chloe; he didn’t want her to be Class President. Chloe had an idealism and ambition that didn’t gel with reality. Dictatorship by TikTok with an added wrinkle of Chloe being a self-appointed judge and executioner to killers like Katelyn Graves. Least if West was to be believed. There was a time when Dicky had thought that finding Chloe was important. There was still a part of him that did. The frog prince acting as a white knight, protecting his friends, and saving the princess. The problem was that everybody knew that the frog just wanted to get kissed. And people who wanted to be princes, probably didn't deserve to have crowns.
“I dunno if I can handle seeing and dealing with her.”
Dicky didn’t want Chloe to be Class President, but he had wanted her to be Homecoming Queen. He had wanted to dance with her and place his hands a little too low on her hips and maybe be lucky enough to be given a quick kiss. Big Dick had wanted to ask Chloe to the dance, but he had asked Iris out instead. Because he was a scaredy-cat, and he didn’t want to hear Chloe say no. Because he was self-centered and didn't want people to know his chubby-freckled self had been rejected by a cheerleader. Because Iris was too sweet to say anything but yes and Richard's confidence would've been destroyed if he had heard anything resembling no. It had felt important, finding Chloe and telling her how he had felt in a world that no longer existed.
But what was the point? He didn't have a crush on Chloe, he had a crush on what Chloe had the possibility of meaning. Of what they had the possibility of being. But, as said, that world no longer existed. It was incredibly petty and childish. Richard looked to the ground to avoid looking into self and found the beer can on the floor, dribbling out the last few sips of serenity he, Darryl and Iris had stolen.
“Thank you, man,” he said because it felt like was all he could say. “For sharing the beer,” for being my friend, for not pushing me off or pushing me away, for not cussing me out for spilling the last beer we'll ever drink. “We gotta figure something out,” Big Dick spoke to his friend, but also to himself. “But until we do,” was this the plan? Could it even count as such? “We stay together, and we try to stay safe.”
With how bad he had it, what more could he really say? What more could he really do?
[ Big Dick Buster Continued In: Shawn's Marvelous Medicine ]
He wanted to be a leader, that meant he had to lead. What had he really accomplished or done to earn that position?
“It’s Chloe,” Richard stated like he was saying the sky was blue. “She’s setting up exactly jack and shit.” Dick sighed and felt his anger boil in the familiarity of talking bad about a peer to his best friend. “She’s just gathering people and hoping they have an idea that she doesn’t. Going with her is like trusting our lives with the JEM student government,” he felt a bitterness in his honesty. “We couldn’t even manage a proper fundraiser to get a venue for the homecoming dance, that’s why we held our shit in the gym. She’s not gonna have a way to get outta here.”
It was incredibly petty and childish. Dicky didn’t vote for Chloe; he didn’t want her to be Class President. Chloe had an idealism and ambition that didn’t gel with reality. Dictatorship by TikTok with an added wrinkle of Chloe being a self-appointed judge and executioner to killers like Katelyn Graves. Least if West was to be believed. There was a time when Dicky had thought that finding Chloe was important. There was still a part of him that did. The frog prince acting as a white knight, protecting his friends, and saving the princess. The problem was that everybody knew that the frog just wanted to get kissed. And people who wanted to be princes, probably didn't deserve to have crowns.
“I dunno if I can handle seeing and dealing with her.”
Dicky didn’t want Chloe to be Class President, but he had wanted her to be Homecoming Queen. He had wanted to dance with her and place his hands a little too low on her hips and maybe be lucky enough to be given a quick kiss. Big Dick had wanted to ask Chloe to the dance, but he had asked Iris out instead. Because he was a scaredy-cat, and he didn’t want to hear Chloe say no. Because he was self-centered and didn't want people to know his chubby-freckled self had been rejected by a cheerleader. Because Iris was too sweet to say anything but yes and Richard's confidence would've been destroyed if he had heard anything resembling no. It had felt important, finding Chloe and telling her how he had felt in a world that no longer existed.
But what was the point? He didn't have a crush on Chloe, he had a crush on what Chloe had the possibility of meaning. Of what they had the possibility of being. But, as said, that world no longer existed. It was incredibly petty and childish. Richard looked to the ground to avoid looking into self and found the beer can on the floor, dribbling out the last few sips of serenity he, Darryl and Iris had stolen.
“Thank you, man,” he said because it felt like was all he could say. “For sharing the beer,” for being my friend, for not pushing me off or pushing me away, for not cussing me out for spilling the last beer we'll ever drink. “We gotta figure something out,” Big Dick spoke to his friend, but also to himself. “But until we do,” was this the plan? Could it even count as such? “We stay together, and we try to stay safe.”
With how bad he had it, what more could he really say? What more could he really do?
[ Big Dick Buster Continued In: Shawn's Marvelous Medicine ]
Iris responded and then made her way outside, she looked pretty upset about what had happened but Darryl didn't say anything. It wasn't because he was angry with her or anything, he didn't know what else he could say at that moment. Congratulating her on not shooting either of them wouldn't have been helpful input.
Dick also responded to his question once she was outside and out of earshot and it made Darryl wish he hadn't bothered asking.
Turned out the plan was that there wasn't a plan. Darryl wasn't impressed but he wasn't particularly surprised either. It was a bad sign if Richard felt so bad about the whole enterprise that he would openly shit-talk it to him. Chloe had nothing and Richard himself had nothing, which left them with nothing workable. They had no plan, no tactics, no real goal. Honestly, it wasn't so bad for Darryl, that had already been his situation before finding Dick and Iris, but now he actually had his friends with him. So he was up in the whole deal.
Richard not so much, he seemed to be taking everything a lot harder. Made sense to Darryl, he'd probably pinned a lot more hope onto a plan he'd been working toward for the past week.
"Well," Darryl started, weighing his words carefully. "We'll have to find her eventually. Can't be leaving teammates behind." He punctuated the statement with two hard pats on Richard's shoulder.
"We can try and figure something out on the way back," He said, stepping past Dick and towards the door. He stopped with one hand on the handle and turned to look at the forlorn can.
"Yeah the beer was nice, but you know what they say." Then he pushed the door open and stepped outside.
((Darryl Smith Jr. continued elsewhere...))
Dick also responded to his question once she was outside and out of earshot and it made Darryl wish he hadn't bothered asking.
Turned out the plan was that there wasn't a plan. Darryl wasn't impressed but he wasn't particularly surprised either. It was a bad sign if Richard felt so bad about the whole enterprise that he would openly shit-talk it to him. Chloe had nothing and Richard himself had nothing, which left them with nothing workable. They had no plan, no tactics, no real goal. Honestly, it wasn't so bad for Darryl, that had already been his situation before finding Dick and Iris, but now he actually had his friends with him. So he was up in the whole deal.
Richard not so much, he seemed to be taking everything a lot harder. Made sense to Darryl, he'd probably pinned a lot more hope onto a plan he'd been working toward for the past week.
"Well," Darryl started, weighing his words carefully. "We'll have to find her eventually. Can't be leaving teammates behind." He punctuated the statement with two hard pats on Richard's shoulder.
"We can try and figure something out on the way back," He said, stepping past Dick and towards the door. He stopped with one hand on the handle and turned to look at the forlorn can.
"Yeah the beer was nice, but you know what they say." Then he pushed the door open and stepped outside.
((Darryl Smith Jr. continued elsewhere...))