There were spots of color in the snow. Black, pale blue, and bright red.
S082 ANGELO LEE: START
Angelo hadn't been wearing gloves or a hat or anything when he got on the bus. He didn't know off the top of his head how quickly you got frostbite if you just sat out in the snow. Right now his fingers stung with cold, which was an okay sign; it was when things stopped hurting that you were losing feeling altogether and shit was getting really bad.
His fingers stung, but the left side of his face was a mess of hot, throbbing pain underneath his hands. The wet warmth pouring down his cheek was rapidly turning cold, threatening to freeze on his skin in the open air of the mountainside.
The laceration on his cheek wasn't that bad, comparatively. It was worse on his forehead. Underneath his hands-
Well, to put it as delicately as possible, Angelo couldn't tell right in this moment if he still had a fucking eye under there anymore.
A short trail led to where he was now kneeling in the snow, both hands clamped over one side of his face, shivering with shock and cold and pain. Two trails, really: his own trudging footsteps and the weaving line of the heavy blade he'd been dragging along like he was the goddamn Pyramid Head of the mountain. The khanda laid next him now, half-buried in the snow where he'd dropped it, one edge of its heavy blade gleaming dark red just like the drops pattering the snow around him.
His parents had always gone into histrionics about how he was going to get his head bashed in one of these days at LARP, even after he'd explained over and over that all the weapons were made of foam. Edged weapons were generally worse than blunt force ones for that kind of thing, in his opinion. You could split someone's skull with an axe and it'd be more of a sure thing than a hammer.
He could almost hear his mom shrieking when he'd swung the sword.
Blind Justice
Open! (CW: eye trauma)
Blind Justice
"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."
Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. One after the other. Over and over and over again. The cold snow wrapped a hateful knot around her canvas sneakers, soaking her socks and creating a tingle in her toes. Her steps provided a rhythm and kept her blood flowing. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Over and over again. Forward! Forward! Forward! Anything to keep her mind off the current situation. Any song but this song of suffering...
“You’re cold as ice,” a hoarse and raspy voice half-whispered and sang, “willing to sacrifice,” she huffed and puffed and took a quick sharp breath, “*boom* *pssh* *boom* *boom* *pssh* c-c-cold as ice…”
“Bitch I’m cold as ice and everybody knows it,” pool cue, “game for my life, I’d be silly if I throws it,” left foot, “if I were to die, then on ten toes I stand,” right foot, “tell my family everything I’m not made me everything I am—”
Stop. Stare. Scream.
“You’re cold as ice,” a hoarse and raspy voice half-whispered and sang, “willing to sacrifice,” she huffed and puffed and took a quick sharp breath, “*boom* *pssh* *boom* *boom* *pssh* c-c-cold as ice…”
[ Zora Morrison V8 Start ]
“Bitch I’m cold as ice and everybody knows it,” pool cue, “game for my life, I’d be silly if I throws it,” left foot, “if I were to die, then on ten toes I stand,” right foot, “tell my family everything I’m not made me everything I am—”
Stop. Stare. Scream.
Zora's scream pierced through Angelo like- like- shit, he couldn't think of what it was like. It was like someone shrieking at the top of their lungs when your whole head was already pain. Like getting hit in the face again with the sharp, heavy edge of a blade. He jerked, spine going straight for a few seconds, and exhaled in a long wheeze as the haze enveloping him cleared and the hurt in everything spiked.
He pressed his hands more firmly over his face. He licked his lips and regretted it, both because that was a stupid thing to do when they were already chapped from the cold, and because now he tasted blood where it had run down by the corner of his mouth.
"Hey," he creaked out to Zora. One visible eye fixated on her, the pupil blown so wide it almost seemed black. Everything around her was blindingly white in one half of his view. Everything in the other half was black and red and hot and pulsing. "Don't. Thanks."
He pressed his hands more firmly over his face. He licked his lips and regretted it, both because that was a stupid thing to do when they were already chapped from the cold, and because now he tasted blood where it had run down by the corner of his mouth.
"Hey," he creaked out to Zora. One visible eye fixated on her, the pupil blown so wide it almost seemed black. Everything around her was blindingly white in one half of his view. Everything in the other half was black and red and hot and pulsing. "Don't. Thanks."
"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."
Hearing someone scream in real, genuine terror wasn't something that John could say he'd ever really done. There were horror movies, sure, but they were always watched in a controlled environment. No matter how much money the studio spent on CGI or 3D effects, everyone knew the monsters or slashers weren't really going to come out of the screen and murder them. They were fictional beings confined to people's television sets and movie theaters. Hearing someone scream in or at a horror movie was a fairly normal occurrence, all things considered.
If that was the case, what was he supposed to do when he was really in a horror movie? What was he supposed to do when he heard a godawful shriek on an island where his classmates were the slashers? Apparently, John was on the same wavelength as every disposable horror movie character ever made.
Tiny knife in hand, he rushed through the snow and the wilderness towards the source of the scream, disregarding any notions of getting far away from there like his more rational brain suggested.
((S023: John Davis - GAME START))
After a few long minutes, he came upon the sight of two of his fellow classmates, a boy laying on the ground and a girl with a pool cue looking like she stumbled upon the crime of the century. The boy looked vaguely familiar, but John couldn't put a name to him. He'd probably remember it when he looked at his face. All he was getting now was a view of his back.
He recognized the girl, one Zora Morrison, mostly because he could actually see her face. John knew she did rapping, but that was about it. He still had no context of what the situation was, so he scanned the area briefly. A wicked looking sword caught his eye, laying next to the kneeling boy. He similarly noticed the blood etched in the snow all around him. Before he could stop himself, three words escaped his mind and exited his lips, dripping with bewilderment.
"What happened here?"
If that was the case, what was he supposed to do when he was really in a horror movie? What was he supposed to do when he heard a godawful shriek on an island where his classmates were the slashers? Apparently, John was on the same wavelength as every disposable horror movie character ever made.
Tiny knife in hand, he rushed through the snow and the wilderness towards the source of the scream, disregarding any notions of getting far away from there like his more rational brain suggested.
((S023: John Davis - GAME START))
After a few long minutes, he came upon the sight of two of his fellow classmates, a boy laying on the ground and a girl with a pool cue looking like she stumbled upon the crime of the century. The boy looked vaguely familiar, but John couldn't put a name to him. He'd probably remember it when he looked at his face. All he was getting now was a view of his back.
He recognized the girl, one Zora Morrison, mostly because he could actually see her face. John knew she did rapping, but that was about it. He still had no context of what the situation was, so he scanned the area briefly. A wicked looking sword caught his eye, laying next to the kneeling boy. He similarly noticed the blood etched in the snow all around him. Before he could stop himself, three words escaped his mind and exited his lips, dripping with bewilderment.
"What happened here?"
Zora’s breaths were large and exaggerated, she hyper-ventilated and shook from her shoulders to her snow-soaked ankles. Still, in times of chaos she sought control. Another presence, a big barrel-chested ginger military geek named John, appeared on the scene. It didn’t make her happy but she found being upset uplifting in its familiarity. John was another classmate and that was that. So was Angelo and that meant that Zora's heart could only be moved so much. She didn’t like any of her classmates much. She thought most of them were uninteresting and uninspiring, stupid and stunted. They didn't like her either. In a dark, insecure and rarely acknowledged part of her mind she wondered if this was a chicken-egg situation. The answer she found made her frown. She felt all her small in that moment and she struggled to confront the shallowness of her soul. She wasn’t a murderer, that was psycho white people shit—school shooter incel activity.
She didn't want conflict, she also didn't want conversation. If she was gonna die shivering and suffering Zora preferred it to be in a solitary silence. She knew better than to think what she preferred counted for much. The shock of the situation subsided and she settled into a solid stance, gripping the pool cue like it was Gandalf’s staff. She had to be grounded. She twisted the stick until it was rooted in the snowy soil.
John poised a question, Zora couldn’t help but respond quickly and with a sly sarcasm…
“I…,” the casualness of a roast felt insulating but Zora settled on an observation, “I think he did this to hisself.”
She blinked. Could someone be so stupid? So unlucky to fuck themselves up in the first few moments of a life or death crisis? Apparently.
Angelo was exhibit A.
She didn't want conflict, she also didn't want conversation. If she was gonna die shivering and suffering Zora preferred it to be in a solitary silence. She knew better than to think what she preferred counted for much. The shock of the situation subsided and she settled into a solid stance, gripping the pool cue like it was Gandalf’s staff. She had to be grounded. She twisted the stick until it was rooted in the snowy soil.
John poised a question, Zora couldn’t help but respond quickly and with a sly sarcasm…
“I…,” the casualness of a roast felt insulating but Zora settled on an observation, “I think he did this to hisself.”
She blinked. Could someone be so stupid? So unlucky to fuck themselves up in the first few moments of a life or death crisis? Apparently.
Angelo was exhibit A.
"I'm right here," Angelo rasped at the two of them, though mainly at Zora. He was still in too much shock and pain to do much of anything, but feeling a little indignant was at least on that list. He'd take the dumb questions over more screaming, though.
"...Yeah. I did it." Utter stupidity, whether he'd been trying to do it or not. He wasn't sure what he'd been trying to do. Thinking about it made his head hurt more.
He still couldn't bring himself to remove his hands from his face to search his bag for the first-aid kit, but he was becoming more aware of the rest of his body again now. The rigid exclamation point that his spine had straightened into slumped again. Fuck, the knees of his jeans were getting soaked through too. He needed to move.
"Um. Help, please. With. You know."
"...Yeah. I did it." Utter stupidity, whether he'd been trying to do it or not. He wasn't sure what he'd been trying to do. Thinking about it made his head hurt more.
He still couldn't bring himself to remove his hands from his face to search his bag for the first-aid kit, but he was becoming more aware of the rest of his body again now. The rigid exclamation point that his spine had straightened into slumped again. Fuck, the knees of his jeans were getting soaked through too. He needed to move.
"Um. Help, please. With. You know."
"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."
Hearing that the boy did whatever he had done to himself both clicked all the puzzle pieces into place and introduced new ones that had to be sorted out. What kind of an idiot would swing a sword towards his own head? Really though, it didn't matter at the current moment. What mattered was making sure that he was, if not alright, not too seriously injured, and hopefully get him to a state where he could be alright later.
Putting his knife into his hoodie pocket, John approached the kneeling boy, kicking the sword's handle and knocking it aside before kneeling down to the left of him.
"Hey, uh, nice to meet you. Name's John. That's not really important now, though. Look, I'm gonna need you to put your arm around my shoulder and I'll lift you. Think you can do that?"
At the same time, John wrapped his right arm around the boy's ribs, hooking his hand under the boy's right arm.
"When you put your arm around me, I'll lift you with my right arm. I can help you stand for as long as you need me to, alright?"
He looked at Zora. "Hey, Zora, you think you could be of any assistance over here? Maybe get a rag ready or something to clean up the blood? He needs to be patched up and I can't really do that if I'm hauling him."
Putting his knife into his hoodie pocket, John approached the kneeling boy, kicking the sword's handle and knocking it aside before kneeling down to the left of him.
"Hey, uh, nice to meet you. Name's John. That's not really important now, though. Look, I'm gonna need you to put your arm around my shoulder and I'll lift you. Think you can do that?"
At the same time, John wrapped his right arm around the boy's ribs, hooking his hand under the boy's right arm.
"When you put your arm around me, I'll lift you with my right arm. I can help you stand for as long as you need me to, alright?"
He looked at Zora. "Hey, Zora, you think you could be of any assistance over here? Maybe get a rag ready or something to clean up the blood? He needs to be patched up and I can't really do that if I'm hauling him."
“I’m not a goddamn doctor,” Zora snapped, “what the fuck do you expect me to do? Shiiiiieeeeet!”
She grimaced at the situation. Hadn’t Angelo’s Mom told him not to play with sharp objects? Like “it’s all fun and games until you poke an eye out” and all that other ‘see-Spot-run’ bullshit. Where was Angelo on scissors day in Miss Johansson’s first grade class? Zora had gotten in trouble for spinning her safety scissors on her index finger like a Harlem Globetrotter. “House” and “doctor” were the games they used to play, but out here it was real.
It wasn’t fun and games, it was just poking out eyes.
Zora settled into her body and stood in the heat that radiated from her ribs due to the previous force of her scream. She shook and she shivered just as much due to the weather as due to her anxiety and adrenaline. It felt like she was on a razor’s edge and Zora could only feel the temptation of dipping her toe over. She didn’t like people, she didn’t trust people, she wasn’t going to waste her time and energy helping folks who would see her as nothing but a battered Black body in a few day’s time. Yet when she looked at Angelo’s crumpled form there was a cruel appraisal of her own heart and soul that rang deep and forced her blood to run cold. She didn’t see his battered Brown body as worth much at all.
“Why don’t we just take his shit and leave?”
She blinked. Zo answered her own question with the sinking of her stomach.
“Kidding,” she heaved off her duffel bag with a dramatic shoulder shrug and then knelt over it to begin searching for her first aid kit, “but put him down and quit moving him around moron. You don’t haul the hurt. We can hurt him more by moving him around. That's what they tell you in health class. Sit fuckin still. Don't move the body”
The olive metal box in hand, Zora inched her way to the two boys. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. One after the other. Over and over and over again.
She grimaced at the situation. Hadn’t Angelo’s Mom told him not to play with sharp objects? Like “it’s all fun and games until you poke an eye out” and all that other ‘see-Spot-run’ bullshit. Where was Angelo on scissors day in Miss Johansson’s first grade class? Zora had gotten in trouble for spinning her safety scissors on her index finger like a Harlem Globetrotter. “House” and “doctor” were the games they used to play, but out here it was real.
It wasn’t fun and games, it was just poking out eyes.
Zora settled into her body and stood in the heat that radiated from her ribs due to the previous force of her scream. She shook and she shivered just as much due to the weather as due to her anxiety and adrenaline. It felt like she was on a razor’s edge and Zora could only feel the temptation of dipping her toe over. She didn’t like people, she didn’t trust people, she wasn’t going to waste her time and energy helping folks who would see her as nothing but a battered Black body in a few day’s time. Yet when she looked at Angelo’s crumpled form there was a cruel appraisal of her own heart and soul that rang deep and forced her blood to run cold. She didn’t see his battered Brown body as worth much at all.
“Why don’t we just take his shit and leave?”
She blinked. Zo answered her own question with the sinking of her stomach.
“Kidding,” she heaved off her duffel bag with a dramatic shoulder shrug and then knelt over it to begin searching for her first aid kit, “but put him down and quit moving him around moron. You don’t haul the hurt. We can hurt him more by moving him around. That's what they tell you in health class. Sit fuckin still. Don't move the body”
The olive metal box in hand, Zora inched her way to the two boys. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. One after the other. Over and over and over again.
"I am literally right here," Angelo huffed at Zora, indignation overcoming the shock a little bit more. Like come on, he knew he maybe only had half a face right now, but she could talk to it, you know? Both his hands were occupied.
Speaking of. He hissed a little as John jostled him, but he managed to plant his legs enough not to topple over when Zora ordered that to stop. "If you guys could make up your minds," he said through gritted teeth, though more from the effort than frustration. "That'd be great."
Slowly, he peeled his right hand away from his face. His thumb and the lower edge of his palm were smeared with blood, but it was mostly what had escaped the other hand, still sealed over his - what remained of his - eye. "Okay," he mumbled between deep breaths, "this is gonna be gnarly."
When he pulled his left hand away from his face, the cold hit him all over again. It fucking stung, and the thought of it freezing the blood on his cheek, on his sliced-open eyelid, on his fingers, left him forcing down nausea on top of the pain.
Did it still count as attempted suicide if you were just too fucking stupid? Had he been stupid, or had he meant it? Was he already editing the memory in his mind, sanding down the edges of his actions into something more embarrassing but less devastating? Questions that didn't have any answers except the ones he made up.
"Ah, shit. Fuck." All Angelo could do was keep gasping in breaths of stinging air and exhaling swear words.
Speaking of. He hissed a little as John jostled him, but he managed to plant his legs enough not to topple over when Zora ordered that to stop. "If you guys could make up your minds," he said through gritted teeth, though more from the effort than frustration. "That'd be great."
Slowly, he peeled his right hand away from his face. His thumb and the lower edge of his palm were smeared with blood, but it was mostly what had escaped the other hand, still sealed over his - what remained of his - eye. "Okay," he mumbled between deep breaths, "this is gonna be gnarly."
When he pulled his left hand away from his face, the cold hit him all over again. It fucking stung, and the thought of it freezing the blood on his cheek, on his sliced-open eyelid, on his fingers, left him forcing down nausea on top of the pain.
Did it still count as attempted suicide if you were just too fucking stupid? Had he been stupid, or had he meant it? Was he already editing the memory in his mind, sanding down the edges of his actions into something more embarrassing but less devastating? Questions that didn't have any answers except the ones he made up.
"Ah, shit. Fuck." All Angelo could do was keep gasping in breaths of stinging air and exhaling swear words.
"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."
"Well, it's either we pick him up and treat him standing, or we set him down on the ground where the snow'll melt into his clothes and get him wet, which'll lead to him freezing to death. Since I don't want him freezing to death under our care, it's important that he's off the ground," John explained rather testily.
"And for the love of Christ Zora, we can't just leave him here! That's tantamount to killing him outright!"
John knew he should've expected to hear something akin to that. It was Survival of the Fittest. Kids from their class would be fighting each other to the death to escape with their lives, they wouldn't want to use some of their valuable time and supplies to help a guy who'd gouged his own eye out on the first day of the whole ordeal.
Still, he could not in good conscience just leave him here to bleed out or freeze in the snow. No matter how dumb this guy was, he still needed their help, and John was going to try his absolute best to make sure that he doesn't die now from blood loss or later from some awful infection.
"Look man," John still didn't know his name, "we've got you, okay? Just try to be as still as you can while Zora does her stuff."
"And for the love of Christ Zora, we can't just leave him here! That's tantamount to killing him outright!"
John knew he should've expected to hear something akin to that. It was Survival of the Fittest. Kids from their class would be fighting each other to the death to escape with their lives, they wouldn't want to use some of their valuable time and supplies to help a guy who'd gouged his own eye out on the first day of the whole ordeal.
Still, he could not in good conscience just leave him here to bleed out or freeze in the snow. No matter how dumb this guy was, he still needed their help, and John was going to try his absolute best to make sure that he doesn't die now from blood loss or later from some awful infection.
"Look man," John still didn't know his name, "we've got you, okay? Just try to be as still as you can while Zora does her stuff."
Angelo’s response provoked a responsibility and then a revulsion in Zora’s heart. ‘I’m right here!’—sure, whatever, but looking at him meant looking at it. A grizzly and nasty cut that went from forehead to cheek and ran black-red and deep. Once she looked at it she couldn’t look away. She still wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at their situation. The bloody reminder that they were all in the same boat out here in ways they hadn't been over there. That there was a justice and equality out here that was absent back home. And that was the root of the responsibility placed on Zo's shoulders…and the revulsion that followed.The blood on Angelo’s face was the trickling of water on a dam destined to burst. Self inflicted or not, blood just begot more blood. Zora rejected her duty to stop the flood.
Still as much as she wished it to be so, she wasn’t so cold no matter how violently she shivered.
“Okay, okay, okay, I fuckin’ get it,” she grunted, “you’re the good guys, I’m the asshole. Fine.”
Zora grimaced and moaned but when she reached the boys she cracked open her first aid kit and began to get to work on Angelo’s face all the same. Dabbing away with antiseptic wipes and wiping away with her own palm and wrist. She was thankful her track jacket and shoes were already red as her palms took on the stains of Angelo's sword.
Still as much as she wished it to be so, she wasn’t so cold no matter how violently she shivered.
“Okay, okay, okay, I fuckin’ get it,” she grunted, “you’re the good guys, I’m the asshole. Fine.”
Zora grimaced and moaned but when she reached the boys she cracked open her first aid kit and began to get to work on Angelo’s face all the same. Dabbing away with antiseptic wipes and wiping away with her own palm and wrist. She was thankful her track jacket and shoes were already red as her palms took on the stains of Angelo's sword.
You can be an asshole all you want, just do it to my face, was what Angelo wanted to say, but what came out instead was a weak "Fuck!" when Zora started applying antiseptic to the gash he'd carved into said face. He gritted his teeth and tried to do as John said, white-knuckling a hold on John's shoulder to keep still.
He had some choice words for John too about the whole acting-like-Angelo-can't-even-hear-us deal, but John was at least coming down on his side and not asking, "Hey what if we roll him into a ditch and leave?" right in front of him. Fortunately, he had time to think the words over while Zora went to work on him. It was hard to tell exactly how much time had passed, with no real way to track it except noting the snow that started to fall around them, the way his muscles grew colder and stiffer as minutes ticked by. No sun to watch right now, little change in the light.
It was a relief when the blood was cleaned away and the bandages went on, at least. A protective layer between Angelo's raw flesh and the elements. Great moment for him to come up with some extremely lame Dungeons & Dragons-based humor about the whole situation, probably, but nothing was coming to him except pain and vaguely-lessened irritation.
"How do I look?" He asked instead with a shaky attempt at levity, and resisted the urge to blow a puff of misty breath into Zora's face she was no longer so immediately poised to claw his own face back open. He wasn't going to entirely discount the possibility that she'd gouge out what was left of his eye for a slight, what with her attitude so far. "...Thanks. Also."
He had some choice words for John too about the whole acting-like-Angelo-can't-even-hear-us deal, but John was at least coming down on his side and not asking, "Hey what if we roll him into a ditch and leave?" right in front of him. Fortunately, he had time to think the words over while Zora went to work on him. It was hard to tell exactly how much time had passed, with no real way to track it except noting the snow that started to fall around them, the way his muscles grew colder and stiffer as minutes ticked by. No sun to watch right now, little change in the light.
It was a relief when the blood was cleaned away and the bandages went on, at least. A protective layer between Angelo's raw flesh and the elements. Great moment for him to come up with some extremely lame Dungeons & Dragons-based humor about the whole situation, probably, but nothing was coming to him except pain and vaguely-lessened irritation.
"How do I look?" He asked instead with a shaky attempt at levity, and resisted the urge to blow a puff of misty breath into Zora's face she was no longer so immediately poised to claw his own face back open. He wasn't going to entirely discount the possibility that she'd gouge out what was left of his eye for a slight, what with her attitude so far. "...Thanks. Also."
"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."
"How do you look? Still bad, but you're better off than before, that's for sure," John stated plainly, the levity soaring over his head like a rocket. His arm was really starting to get sore from holding Eye Guy up, but he could probably keep it up for as long as he needed to. It was his duty to help out.
"Hey, whenever you feel like you'll be capable of walking around on your own, just give me the word, alright?" he asked Eye Guy. "Oh, and I still don't know your name by the way. It'd probably be a good thing to know."
He turned to face Zora. "Yeah, thanks for patching him up. You did good. I can spare you some bandages from my own pack if you'd like. Help you make up for using yours."
Even if Zora had displayed... a less-than-admirable desire to leave Eye Guy to freeze to death, which was fairly understandable in a death arena, she still stepped up to the plate and did what she could and what needed to be done. She could have easily walked away from the whole ordeal, which, again, is totally understandable. Yet she stayed, and not only did she stay, she used her own valuable and limited supplies to do it. She deserved credit and compensation, and John was up for a little giving.
"Hey, whenever you feel like you'll be capable of walking around on your own, just give me the word, alright?" he asked Eye Guy. "Oh, and I still don't know your name by the way. It'd probably be a good thing to know."
He turned to face Zora. "Yeah, thanks for patching him up. You did good. I can spare you some bandages from my own pack if you'd like. Help you make up for using yours."
Even if Zora had displayed... a less-than-admirable desire to leave Eye Guy to freeze to death, which was fairly understandable in a death arena, she still stepped up to the plate and did what she could and what needed to be done. She could have easily walked away from the whole ordeal, which, again, is totally understandable. Yet she stayed, and not only did she stay, she used her own valuable and limited supplies to do it. She deserved credit and compensation, and John was up for a little giving.
“You ain’t better than me,” she said icily, “I’m just as capable of charity as you are. I don’t need your compensation.”
What was this asshole’s deal, huh? Zora didn’t trust anybody who was so friendly so soon…or really anyone at all. John wanted her to know that he was good and giving and empathetic and Christlike—and get the fuck outta here! She saw the truth beneath the muscles and the performative kindness! John was willing to give up bandages and wraps the same reason Zora was…that shit was given to ‘em for free. It didn’t cost him anything.
How giving would anybody be out here if they had to really give something up? Zora knew the answer already. It didn’t take a full day to recognize sunshine.
“You look good,” she said in passing to Angelo, “like a mummy pirate.”
The vast whiteness of the field surrounding them made her feel smaller than usual and as she shivered she scrunched up her shoulders and became more and more compact. They were in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t even an island—they were on a fuckin’ mountain. Even the environment was hostile. She exhaled sharply and then spat on the ground.
“This is fucked.”
What was this asshole’s deal, huh? Zora didn’t trust anybody who was so friendly so soon…or really anyone at all. John wanted her to know that he was good and giving and empathetic and Christlike—and get the fuck outta here! She saw the truth beneath the muscles and the performative kindness! John was willing to give up bandages and wraps the same reason Zora was…that shit was given to ‘em for free. It didn’t cost him anything.
How giving would anybody be out here if they had to really give something up? Zora knew the answer already. It didn’t take a full day to recognize sunshine.
“You look good,” she said in passing to Angelo, “like a mummy pirate.”
The vast whiteness of the field surrounding them made her feel smaller than usual and as she shivered she scrunched up her shoulders and became more and more compact. They were in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t even an island—they were on a fuckin’ mountain. Even the environment was hostile. She exhaled sharply and then spat on the ground.
“This is fucked.”
"...Huh? Oh, yeah- it's Angelo." Angelo, like- he hadn't really thought about people not knowing his name? Just because it wasn't super common, but maybe he had also become biased from years of spending time with a big extended family that consisted of both blood relatives and people they'd known so long that they got to be labeled family. Everyone knew everyone's name going like three generations back.
Now he was kind of second-guessing whether John's name was actually John, though. Zora he was sure on, there was no mistaking her. It felt weird to be doing introductions now when the two of them had seen the inside of his face already, so he was just going to hope that John/Not-John namedropped himself somehow soon instead of asking.
Zora stated the obvious, but Angelo found himself starting to nod in agreement before the movement made his head throb and he stopped. "Y-yeah, this is-" Now that the injury had been taken care of, as best it could be, Angelo was newly aware of how fucking cold he was. He squeezed John's shoulder tighter to try to compensate for the way he himself was shaking. "Can we get inside? There's gotta be a- a house around here somewhere, right?"
Now he was kind of second-guessing whether John's name was actually John, though. Zora he was sure on, there was no mistaking her. It felt weird to be doing introductions now when the two of them had seen the inside of his face already, so he was just going to hope that John/Not-John namedropped himself somehow soon instead of asking.
Zora stated the obvious, but Angelo found himself starting to nod in agreement before the movement made his head throb and he stopped. "Y-yeah, this is-" Now that the injury had been taken care of, as best it could be, Angelo was newly aware of how fucking cold he was. He squeezed John's shoulder tighter to try to compensate for the way he himself was shaking. "Can we get inside? There's gotta be a- a house around here somewhere, right?"
"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."