((Ilario Fiametta III & Rhory Anne Broderick continued from The Ground Won't Break To Save Your Fall))
She shouldn't have left the cigarettes.
It was dark now, but the dark hardly mattered. Her nicotine-robbed eyeballs pulsed out painful highbeam light so that even pitch black would be too bright. Long distracted pain crawled its way up to her forehead and throbbed out sheets of cold sweat. Every speck and spark of sensory input sent her senses snarling. Every part of her from head to mangled hand revolted against her. Every step was harder, every hiss and moan and fed-up scream was harder to keep down.
Everything was fucking terrible.
She forced her legs forward. It was all she could do. In fact, it was all she'd done for miles. The boy had led them straight through the day. They only stopped when her legs decided for them. She'd hoped piling all the bags on him would slow him. When that ploy turned out to be a miserable failure, she began to make a habit of calling for mercy (or, in her words, for "slowing the fuck down"). It always took a few tries. He'd taken on a sudden vagueness as soon as they'd left the ferris wheel. For the most part, he was silent, but when he spoke there was a dreamlike film over his voice that threaded up through his not-quite-focused eyes. She wondered if her earlier assault was the root, if her blows had fogged his fevered little skull. She wondered if it made his mania more or less unsettling.
She went for a moment to call him back. It wasn't worth the energy. She bit down instead.
She'd had the thin end of a twig clamped in her mouth for miles. Soggy bark broke off between her teeth and the dry parts threatened to ignite against her dry lips but there was no safe way to remove it. It was her pin. She'd fucking explode if there wasn't at least some weak mockery of cigarettes to keep her nerves from self-destructing.
This shit wasn't what a fifteen-year-old her had been promised. That first Marl had been a stick full of Audrey Hepburn with the long drag. Sophia Lauren with the sex-soaked gaze and the smoldering between her fingers, a fire kept stoked by nothing but the friction of her lips and the warmth between her legs. Katharine, all smoke and class, old-world glamour and hazy femininity and with a stare so full of sex and power it could melt the film that caught it.
None of that filled her now. Her bones were hollowed with fatigue and draped with limp muscle. Without blood and smoke to keep her shape she was a pathetic, hunched thing, barely upright enough to trail behind her silent captive-captor-companion.
She was Katharine Hepburn, alright. With the tremors. She was Bogart with the failing body. She was James Dean in the early grave. She was all of the Old Hollywood tragedy and none of the flash or allure. She'd molded herself after long-rotting idols and expected to keep from rotting herself. She'd wasted half her life drugging herself on caffeine, nicotine and film reels. She'd known nothing of reality before the island. She'd never let the smoke out of her lungs long enough to feel the cold.
As she peered ahead past the shrinking silhouette leading her and the ugly bright star-pricks that lit their march, she wondered how she'd ever fooled herself into thinking there was such a thing as glamour.
She called ahead through the bark. "Hey. We're stopping here."
This Will Eat You Alive
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Claire Lambert continued from So Close))
In the quest for safety, there was one location Claire had thought of that made more sense than just about anything else. The wreckage of the cell phone tower was near-perfect. It was defensible, secluded, and bereft of valuable materials that might draw scavengers. This meant that she might be able to hold out there, maybe even until the end of this, in whatever form it took. She'd be able to see any new rescue boats, and the view would prove equally valuable in catching advance warning of any players heading her way. She could make it into her own little fortress, at least, until it was declared off limits.
There was only one big disadvantage. It was fairly serious, though.
"J.J."
This was where he'd caught up with her, where he had begun the pursuit that had separated her from Julian Avery, that had driven her across the island, to those docks and that cramped bait shop where she'd had to take a life. The memories weren't pleasant, a mix of terror and anger, but practicality and a drive to live outweighed the vague discomfort she'd felt throughout most of her ascent. The only worry now was that someone else would have had the same idea. She couldn't trust her life to someone else's goodwill, not this late in the game. She had to be smart and resourceful. She had to be the best she could be. Her parents deserved that.
It was night when things started to go wrong. She was nearing the tower, making her way quietly up the slope. Her movements were slow; while her balance was decent, it was hindered slightly by the pistol she still clasped in her hands. She was being careful not to fall, not to make undo noise. Nobody was going to get the drop on her, and she certainly wasn't going to die in some accident. She was sure she was being cautious.
This was why the voice startled her so much, at least in part. She'd just turned a corner, when it cut through the dark, addressing someone else. It was close. Too close. Claire turned to her left, and saw a figure silhouetted. Instantly, the gun was raised, pointed, ready. The voice was loosely familiar. Something about it promised trouble.
"Who's there?" she called. "Don't move."
"Be careful. You know there's at least one more person nearby. Don't drop your guard, not for a second."
"Who's with you?"
In the quest for safety, there was one location Claire had thought of that made more sense than just about anything else. The wreckage of the cell phone tower was near-perfect. It was defensible, secluded, and bereft of valuable materials that might draw scavengers. This meant that she might be able to hold out there, maybe even until the end of this, in whatever form it took. She'd be able to see any new rescue boats, and the view would prove equally valuable in catching advance warning of any players heading her way. She could make it into her own little fortress, at least, until it was declared off limits.
There was only one big disadvantage. It was fairly serious, though.
"J.J."
This was where he'd caught up with her, where he had begun the pursuit that had separated her from Julian Avery, that had driven her across the island, to those docks and that cramped bait shop where she'd had to take a life. The memories weren't pleasant, a mix of terror and anger, but practicality and a drive to live outweighed the vague discomfort she'd felt throughout most of her ascent. The only worry now was that someone else would have had the same idea. She couldn't trust her life to someone else's goodwill, not this late in the game. She had to be smart and resourceful. She had to be the best she could be. Her parents deserved that.
It was night when things started to go wrong. She was nearing the tower, making her way quietly up the slope. Her movements were slow; while her balance was decent, it was hindered slightly by the pistol she still clasped in her hands. She was being careful not to fall, not to make undo noise. Nobody was going to get the drop on her, and she certainly wasn't going to die in some accident. She was sure she was being cautious.
This was why the voice startled her so much, at least in part. She'd just turned a corner, when it cut through the dark, addressing someone else. It was close. Too close. Claire turned to her left, and saw a figure silhouetted. Instantly, the gun was raised, pointed, ready. The voice was loosely familiar. Something about it promised trouble.
"Who's there?" she called. "Don't move."
"Be careful. You know there's at least one more person nearby. Don't drop your guard, not for a second."
"Who's with you?"
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ifnotwinter*
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
Ilario -- drifted.
His feet moved mechanically over the earth and detritus below him, stumbling occasionally when vertigo assaulted his senses but otherwise steady, carrying him forwards. He had long since ceased to be fully aware of his body, only conscious of his limbs when they brushed too hard against a stone or tree and spiked pain through his mind. He had long since discovered that he could retreat to a quiet place in his mind and his physical form would keep going; a momentous and wonderful discovery. Inside his head he whispered through endless green rooms, heard his father's voice a thousand times in everything from praise to fury, prayed and was answered in ways he couldn't quite remember or grasp.
Sometimes he would be rudely awakened from his heaven by the sound of Rhory's voice, usually when he went off-course. For a time he followed her, and then when it became clear that she was slower he moved ahead. Still, he kept a portion of his senses dedicated to tracking her and knowing where she was. The guns were heavy against his body and he knew he could not hesitate to use them...but neither could he afford to accidentally injure her or miss a threat. He had come this far. The suffering would pass soon enough, if he proved worthy through the trials.
Her voice cut through his quiet world once more. Reluctantly Ilario allowed his surroundings to come to the forefront once more, staggering slightly as previously ignored aches and pains made themselves known. They were stopping? He could keep going, he knew well enough, but perhaps she couldn't. That was understandable. He would stop. Even as he begun to turn he thought in the part of his mind that was still a teenager that maybe he needed a rest after all.
And then the second voice rang out.
He ignored the first warning, dropping to his knees in a fluid crouch. He shed the bags - they were noisy and crashed through the undergrowth, but they weighed him down and when freed of their weight his hands could ever so delicately grasp the thick stock of the shotgun.
He raised it, finger finding the trigger and exploring its unfamiliar curves as he stared through the trees. The girl, whoever she was, he didn't think she was sure where he was. Her vision should be as impaired as his. But she was closer to Rhory and he didn't know if she had weapons.
His heart beat faster. His hand clenched on the gun as it kept him rooted to the real world, out of the slow fog enveloping his mind for the first time in what felt like eons.
He wouldn't let her die now.
His feet moved mechanically over the earth and detritus below him, stumbling occasionally when vertigo assaulted his senses but otherwise steady, carrying him forwards. He had long since ceased to be fully aware of his body, only conscious of his limbs when they brushed too hard against a stone or tree and spiked pain through his mind. He had long since discovered that he could retreat to a quiet place in his mind and his physical form would keep going; a momentous and wonderful discovery. Inside his head he whispered through endless green rooms, heard his father's voice a thousand times in everything from praise to fury, prayed and was answered in ways he couldn't quite remember or grasp.
Sometimes he would be rudely awakened from his heaven by the sound of Rhory's voice, usually when he went off-course. For a time he followed her, and then when it became clear that she was slower he moved ahead. Still, he kept a portion of his senses dedicated to tracking her and knowing where she was. The guns were heavy against his body and he knew he could not hesitate to use them...but neither could he afford to accidentally injure her or miss a threat. He had come this far. The suffering would pass soon enough, if he proved worthy through the trials.
Her voice cut through his quiet world once more. Reluctantly Ilario allowed his surroundings to come to the forefront once more, staggering slightly as previously ignored aches and pains made themselves known. They were stopping? He could keep going, he knew well enough, but perhaps she couldn't. That was understandable. He would stop. Even as he begun to turn he thought in the part of his mind that was still a teenager that maybe he needed a rest after all.
And then the second voice rang out.
He ignored the first warning, dropping to his knees in a fluid crouch. He shed the bags - they were noisy and crashed through the undergrowth, but they weighed him down and when freed of their weight his hands could ever so delicately grasp the thick stock of the shotgun.
He raised it, finger finding the trigger and exploring its unfamiliar curves as he stared through the trees. The girl, whoever she was, he didn't think she was sure where he was. Her vision should be as impaired as his. But she was closer to Rhory and he didn't know if she had weapons.
His heart beat faster. His hand clenched on the gun as it kept him rooted to the real world, out of the slow fog enveloping his mind for the first time in what felt like eons.
He wouldn't let her die now.
She froze.
No, that wasn't right. Everything froze. Sometime between the voice hitting her and the white gleam clawing at the corner of her eye the temperature dropped fast and sudden. It was the only way to explain the stillness. There was no way her muscle could still have the strength to cling to her bone so tightly without the aid of ice. Her lungs were frosted shut and she could feel her lips blue. Even the tremors stopped. She was feeling the cold now, and without the smoke there was nothing to thaw her.
Then, the questions gusted through, and everything creaked back into motion. This wasn't a deep freeze. It was an ice storm.
She lifted her arms before she spoke. She'd seen enough John Wayne movies to know that's what you did. More than that, she needed the girl's gaze away from her eyes. She didn't think she could see them, but she couldn't risk them being followed. Not as they scanned for Fiametta's figure up ahead. She couldn't give him away and risk them both. Not now, not when she finally had him where she needed him. He still deserved so much more pain than a bullet.
But he wasn't there. Her desperate stare searched the trees for several long moments, straining in the nothing. He was gone. He wasn't going to save her. She wasn't a part of their deal.
She ignored the dull hollow sting and snapped her eyes back to the gleam. No time to let it sink in. This was good. This was for the better.
"Name's Louise." She nodded her head towards the now-empty space. "Over there's my good friend Thelma." She searched for the dark thing's eyes and tried to lock hers to them.
She let the twig-arette drop before she continued. Enough with the bullshit. The next part needed to be clear.
"If you wanna talk, put the fuckin' gun down. I'm unarmed."
No, that wasn't right. Everything froze. Sometime between the voice hitting her and the white gleam clawing at the corner of her eye the temperature dropped fast and sudden. It was the only way to explain the stillness. There was no way her muscle could still have the strength to cling to her bone so tightly without the aid of ice. Her lungs were frosted shut and she could feel her lips blue. Even the tremors stopped. She was feeling the cold now, and without the smoke there was nothing to thaw her.
Then, the questions gusted through, and everything creaked back into motion. This wasn't a deep freeze. It was an ice storm.
She lifted her arms before she spoke. She'd seen enough John Wayne movies to know that's what you did. More than that, she needed the girl's gaze away from her eyes. She didn't think she could see them, but she couldn't risk them being followed. Not as they scanned for Fiametta's figure up ahead. She couldn't give him away and risk them both. Not now, not when she finally had him where she needed him. He still deserved so much more pain than a bullet.
But he wasn't there. Her desperate stare searched the trees for several long moments, straining in the nothing. He was gone. He wasn't going to save her. She wasn't a part of their deal.
She ignored the dull hollow sting and snapped her eyes back to the gleam. No time to let it sink in. This was good. This was for the better.
"Name's Louise." She nodded her head towards the now-empty space. "Over there's my good friend Thelma." She searched for the dark thing's eyes and tried to lock hers to them.
She let the twig-arette drop before she continued. Enough with the bullshit. The next part needed to be clear.
"If you wanna talk, put the fuckin' gun down. I'm unarmed."
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The girl decided to try to be all witty. She also seemed to think Claire was a total idiot. That was frustrating, just a little. She'd raised her arms, but that meat absolutely nothing, and she was trying a really obvious ploy to get Claire to disarm.
"No," Claire said. "If you're unarmed, we won't have any issues, gun or no. If you're lying, or your partner is trying something, I'm in serious trouble if my hands are ever empty."
She tried to make sure the other girl really wasn't holding anything. The dark wasn't helping at all. Something was up, though. The lack of a name meant that the girl wanted to hide her identity. That meant she had almost certainly killed someone, maybe multiple people. That, or she had something else she didn't want known. Her height and build were all wrong for Hayley Kelly, but there were plenty of other killers out there. More than that, she could just be hiding behind the really scary person.
"It doesn't matter. She's clearly trying something."
"So, how about you tell me who you two are, and we can go our separate ways once I'm sure you won't shoot me in the back?"
Even if what they said satisfied her, she'd be backing off very, very carefully after this. Something was definitely wrong here, and not just in a little way.
"No," Claire said. "If you're unarmed, we won't have any issues, gun or no. If you're lying, or your partner is trying something, I'm in serious trouble if my hands are ever empty."
She tried to make sure the other girl really wasn't holding anything. The dark wasn't helping at all. Something was up, though. The lack of a name meant that the girl wanted to hide her identity. That meant she had almost certainly killed someone, maybe multiple people. That, or she had something else she didn't want known. Her height and build were all wrong for Hayley Kelly, but there were plenty of other killers out there. More than that, she could just be hiding behind the really scary person.
"It doesn't matter. She's clearly trying something."
"So, how about you tell me who you two are, and we can go our separate ways once I'm sure you won't shoot me in the back?"
Even if what they said satisfied her, she'd be backing off very, very carefully after this. Something was definitely wrong here, and not just in a little way.
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The girl was clearly delusional, clearly lying. Leaving in any way but with the utmost caution was likely to be dangerous, regardless of what she said.
The brew of fear and anger that had been swirling in her chest erupted suddenly, shooting out between her clenched teeth in something between a laugh and a snarl.
"Are you fucking blind? I don't have a partner. I don't have a gun. I don't even have a goddamn hand to shoot one with." She tried to move her right hand for emphasis. Only the joint of her thumb obeyed, producing a thin, weak crinkle. The rest stung dully. For a flash of a moment, she wondered what color the bloated flesh was now, what new kinds of decay were encrusting themselves on its surface. A violent stab of nausea made her stop wondering.
She took a breath.
"Listen, bitch. I'm halfway dead already." She struggled to keep her voice steady. The anger was still there, and the fear, but the weakness was overtaking them. Her dry lips produced pathetic, pleading sounds that made her feel sick to say. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be weak. She'd sacrificed her hand and her humanity for it. She'd killed to seal her promise.
Another breath, and then the words that broke that promise. "I'm not a threat."
" I'm just a scared," She wasn't strong. "-dying," She never had been. "-cripple," She'd just mistaken desperation for strength. "And I don't need you to finish the job for me."
She wasn't sure what was driving her voice now. It wasn't the fear or the anger or even the desperation. In her throat, it just felt like empty breath.
"So put the gun down and let's just both walk away."
"Are you fucking blind? I don't have a partner. I don't have a gun. I don't even have a goddamn hand to shoot one with." She tried to move her right hand for emphasis. Only the joint of her thumb obeyed, producing a thin, weak crinkle. The rest stung dully. For a flash of a moment, she wondered what color the bloated flesh was now, what new kinds of decay were encrusting themselves on its surface. A violent stab of nausea made her stop wondering.
She took a breath.
"Listen, bitch. I'm halfway dead already." She struggled to keep her voice steady. The anger was still there, and the fear, but the weakness was overtaking them. Her dry lips produced pathetic, pleading sounds that made her feel sick to say. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be weak. She'd sacrificed her hand and her humanity for it. She'd killed to seal her promise.
Another breath, and then the words that broke that promise. "I'm not a threat."
" I'm just a scared," She wasn't strong. "-dying," She never had been. "-cripple," She'd just mistaken desperation for strength. "And I don't need you to finish the job for me."
She wasn't sure what was driving her voice now. It wasn't the fear or the anger or even the desperation. In her throat, it just felt like empty breath.
"So put the gun down and let's just both walk away."
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ifnotwinter*
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
This wasn't right.
Something wasn't -- Ilario shifted his grip, trigger sliding under dry and dirty fingers with the nails chipped down. Something wasn't right. They were speaking words which slid around him so that he understood only the important things, understood that for now they were not fighting -- but they wouldn't stay like that. They couldn't. That was what this island was about. Soon it would happen. And when it did, Ilario would be there.
They were ignoring him. Good. He forced himself to breathe through the fluttering of panic in his diaphragm, adjusted his grip again. It would be okay. It had to be. His other hand came up to caress the shotgun lightly, checking for safeties. Wouldn't do for such a mistake to cost Rhory's life. Nothing could hurt her now. He had vowed it. He had seen his path, oh, and it had been so long in coming but now he had his trial by fire and he was burning with the need to fulfill it.
He could strike now -- but no, he thought, no. Waiting had saved Rhory, saved him when it all could have been over before it had even begun. He needed to wait now. Soon one would move. And he would know. Soon there would be a sign, please Lord, soon.
His legs were cramping. He forced himself to breathe. There were pills locked away in the discarded baggage, but they could wait. Not many left now. Should have been more, but they had slipped away along with memories and senses and his tenuous grasp of the world. They would wait too. Everything could wait. For one moment more.
His index finger played over the trigger.
He corrected his grip.
Soon.
Something wasn't -- Ilario shifted his grip, trigger sliding under dry and dirty fingers with the nails chipped down. Something wasn't right. They were speaking words which slid around him so that he understood only the important things, understood that for now they were not fighting -- but they wouldn't stay like that. They couldn't. That was what this island was about. Soon it would happen. And when it did, Ilario would be there.
They were ignoring him. Good. He forced himself to breathe through the fluttering of panic in his diaphragm, adjusted his grip again. It would be okay. It had to be. His other hand came up to caress the shotgun lightly, checking for safeties. Wouldn't do for such a mistake to cost Rhory's life. Nothing could hurt her now. He had vowed it. He had seen his path, oh, and it had been so long in coming but now he had his trial by fire and he was burning with the need to fulfill it.
He could strike now -- but no, he thought, no. Waiting had saved Rhory, saved him when it all could have been over before it had even begun. He needed to wait now. Soon one would move. And he would know. Soon there would be a sign, please Lord, soon.
His legs were cramping. He forced himself to breathe. There were pills locked away in the discarded baggage, but they could wait. Not many left now. Should have been more, but they had slipped away along with memories and senses and his tenuous grasp of the world. They would wait too. Everything could wait. For one moment more.
His index finger played over the trigger.
He corrected his grip.
Soon.
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Lies. Panic. Hard to tell the difference, sometimes, but something was very wrong. The girl was offering as her only proof the fact that Claire couldn't see a weapon on her or someone else nearby. She was insisting on this stupid plan, claiming that Claire should put her gun down and leave. The phrasing was atrocious enough: put her gun down? What, on the ground? More than that, the girl was very insistent on this going down exactly according to her plan.
The desperation was pretty convincing, though. That, and the pain behind it, was all that was giving Claire pause. Even there, though, there were elements of an untruth that she could pick out. The girl wasn't totally scared. She was defiant, full of rude names and odd demands. At this point, Claire couldn't say what was truth and what was falsehood. She had to be careful, though, if she didn't want to get caught.
The girl was a killer, that much was certain. Why else the refusal to identify herself? She wasn't all that subtle, so she probably wasn't one of the top tier ones, but she could still be a huge threat.
If this was a routine, the confusion might be a part of it. People tended to slow down and stall out when they couldn't understand what was happening. That that was her strategy was a distinct possibility.
"Simplify. Get her out of your hair in a way that doesn't leave you open."
That was it. Get this encounter over as quickly as possible.
"Time for you to go," she said. "Whatever happened to your hand, you can still walk. Turn around and walk away now. If you're unarmed and have no partner, like you say, you really don't have any leverage at all. I don't see why I should be the one to leave."
The desperation was pretty convincing, though. That, and the pain behind it, was all that was giving Claire pause. Even there, though, there were elements of an untruth that she could pick out. The girl wasn't totally scared. She was defiant, full of rude names and odd demands. At this point, Claire couldn't say what was truth and what was falsehood. She had to be careful, though, if she didn't want to get caught.
The girl was a killer, that much was certain. Why else the refusal to identify herself? She wasn't all that subtle, so she probably wasn't one of the top tier ones, but she could still be a huge threat.
If this was a routine, the confusion might be a part of it. People tended to slow down and stall out when they couldn't understand what was happening. That that was her strategy was a distinct possibility.
"Simplify. Get her out of your hair in a way that doesn't leave you open."
That was it. Get this encounter over as quickly as possible.
"Time for you to go," she said. "Whatever happened to your hand, you can still walk. Turn around and walk away now. If you're unarmed and have no partner, like you say, you really don't have any leverage at all. I don't see why I should be the one to leave."
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
There. A compromise, backed by logic and weaponry. And, if the girl wasn't willing to trust Claire on this, well, maybe she would come to understand Claire's own hesitation to drop her guard.
[tbe]
Claire and Rhory share nasty words, Rhory backs down, and both girls walk away. Ilario catches up with Rhory and everybody heads north.
((Claire Lambert & Ilario Fiametta III continued in The Worse Things That We'll Do))
((Rhory Anne Broderick continued elsewhere))
Claire and Rhory share nasty words, Rhory backs down, and both girls walk away. Ilario catches up with Rhory and everybody heads north.
((Claire Lambert & Ilario Fiametta III continued in The Worse Things That We'll Do))
((Rhory Anne Broderick continued elsewhere))