((Lori Martin continued from Just Dropped In To See What Condition My Condition is In ))
Lori ran out to the waterfall, wobbling and stumbling in her owl costume now and then as she hit snags and rocks. The water rushed loudly as she arrived at the spot. It was beautiful and scenic, and the view of the island was gorgeous in the mid-day mist, which was left of the previous day's rain. But she didn't notice any of that. It was dark within her costume and she was panicked. After that last encounter, she'd spent the day in hiding in the thick brush. It was safe by herself, but being alone with her thoughts and nothing to look at made her reflect on her life, and she stewed.
She'd also run through her water since she'd given some of her other bottles away. Though she didn't have means of purification, water from the waterfall was a much better bet than more stagnant water. Lori stumbled on a rock and fell, landing with her wings planted in the dirt just in front of the river. She took her head off, placed it near her bag and dunked her head in the water. The humidity on the island was the real killer -- human murderers aside -- and it was a welcome, but temporary relief. She wiped her face with her wings and started drinking water strait from the rushing waters with her head down.
Whatever she'd been doing up until now was working, since she was still alive, but it was working only just barely. Lori blinked and saw her eyes looking back at her as she drank. She wondered where Madison was, and assumed she was doing just fine. Madison was strong and even though she was misunderstood, she had a good heart.
Mercy was dead, the first cheerleader to go. Of all the cheerleaders to not have around anymore, Mercy wouldn't have been Lori's first pick. Sure she hung out with idiots and was a bit of a goody-two-shoes, but being poisoned? What sort of monster would do that?
Hoo-hooo's there?
Day 4, open
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 2554
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Hoot.
Michael stood there in the brush, watching from the mist. He was maybe fifteen feet away, though he was a little bit downhill from Lori's position. He had the gun in his hand. Safety off, as always.
He'd found The Owl.
The Owl was Lori Martin, the grumpy mean orange cheerleader. He'd always been kind of scared of her back at school. She seemed like the kind of person who'd stab you if you looked at them wrong. Now, she was The Owl. It was charming and disturbingly unhinged.
He smiled lightly.
If she tried anything like Nia had, he could shoot her, probably, he guessed.
Mostly though, in the present moment, what he needed most was a friend. The Owl was his friend, kind of. He hoped Lori would let him be her friend, or at least let him be whatever the thing he called himself was now.
"Well owl be damned." He called out.
Michael stood there in the brush, watching from the mist. He was maybe fifteen feet away, though he was a little bit downhill from Lori's position. He had the gun in his hand. Safety off, as always.
He'd found The Owl.
The Owl was Lori Martin, the grumpy mean orange cheerleader. He'd always been kind of scared of her back at school. She seemed like the kind of person who'd stab you if you looked at them wrong. Now, she was The Owl. It was charming and disturbingly unhinged.
He smiled lightly.
If she tried anything like Nia had, he could shoot her, probably, he guessed.
Mostly though, in the present moment, what he needed most was a friend. The Owl was his friend, kind of. He hoped Lori would let him be her friend, or at least let him be whatever the thing he called himself was now.
"Well owl be damned." He called out.
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
-
Ruggahissy
- Posts: 2554
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori sighed and looked at herself in the water. She looked so different than how she was used to looking. Normally she had on her face of makeup, which was expertly applied. She did that because she wanted to look prettier, because she knew that she wasn't pretty on her own, and it was hard standing next to the other girls at cheer without being pretty. Some people were just born lucky, and that wasn't her, but she wanted so badly to be lucky.
Suddenly someone called out to her.
"Who -- who's there?!" she said, falling backwards onto her butt away from the stream. She picked up her head and scrambled backwards until her back hit a rock.
Her fingers pushed into the plush head, even from behind the covering of the wings they were inside of. A few strands of hair had fallen out of her high pony tail and framed her face in whisps.
"I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have too!" she said, hoping maybe it would scare off someone who didn't have a good weapon.
But it also so happened that the stranger had made a play on words. Lori was actually not much for jokes at school, she didn't think she was very funny and she found most jokes her peers made stupid. However, she did like to participate in absurd strings of puns. It made her feel included when she could contribute to the jokes that the group would perpetuate. She was kind of good at it, she thought, even if people rarely congratulated her for them.
"This is a warning. I'm talon' you, don't wing it!"
Suddenly someone called out to her.
"Who -- who's there?!" she said, falling backwards onto her butt away from the stream. She picked up her head and scrambled backwards until her back hit a rock.
Her fingers pushed into the plush head, even from behind the covering of the wings they were inside of. A few strands of hair had fallen out of her high pony tail and framed her face in whisps.
"I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have too!" she said, hoping maybe it would scare off someone who didn't have a good weapon.
But it also so happened that the stranger had made a play on words. Lori was actually not much for jokes at school, she didn't think she was very funny and she found most jokes her peers made stupid. However, she did like to participate in absurd strings of puns. It made her feel included when she could contribute to the jokes that the group would perpetuate. She was kind of good at it, she thought, even if people rarely congratulated her for them.
"This is a warning. I'm talon' you, don't wing it!"
Aw shit, he'd spooked her. It was like a scene in a nature documentary where like, a wildebeest or something was drinking from a watering hole and then a particularly unstealthy lion tried to sneak up on it.
Michael was relatively benevolent as far as lions went, he thought.
Owlori threatened him defensively; said she'd kill him if she had to. He knew it wasn't true. He'd seen her in panic mode yesterday. He'd seen her make the choice between fight and flight. She'd chosen flight.
....hehehehe flight hehehehehe
Owlori was reciprocating the puns! Good! Yes!
Michael felt the warm and fuzzy feeling.
"What a HOOT!"
Okay, okay, okay. He needed to humanize himself. He needed to seem vulnerable. He needed to seem like he was giving ground. He needed to not actually give any ground.
He thought about his wristband.
Yup, oof, right in the heart. Okay. A slight frown formed on his face, sympathetic and sheepish. His lip quivered. He felt small and he wanted to hug himself.
"I - uh - don't worry! I won't hurt you! I'm armed, though - uh... sorry, I'm doing this on the fly!"
He took a few steps forward, out of the void and into Owlori's view. Now that he was closer, he could see she was no longer orange. She looked nice without makeup, he thought.
He knew anyone would look nice to him right now. He knew he was just grasping at straws. He knew he was an opportunist.
He knew he was running out of chances to feel like he mattered to someone in a way other than them wanting to kill him or them wanting him to kill them.
He knew he was running out of chances to stop himself from going completely insane.
He looked at Owlori, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. His voice was soft.
"This is real trippy, us running into each other out here."
Michael was relatively benevolent as far as lions went, he thought.
Owlori threatened him defensively; said she'd kill him if she had to. He knew it wasn't true. He'd seen her in panic mode yesterday. He'd seen her make the choice between fight and flight. She'd chosen flight.
....hehehehe flight hehehehehe
Owlori was reciprocating the puns! Good! Yes!
Michael felt the warm and fuzzy feeling.
"What a HOOT!"
Okay, okay, okay. He needed to humanize himself. He needed to seem vulnerable. He needed to seem like he was giving ground. He needed to not actually give any ground.
He thought about his wristband.
Yup, oof, right in the heart. Okay. A slight frown formed on his face, sympathetic and sheepish. His lip quivered. He felt small and he wanted to hug himself.
"I - uh - don't worry! I won't hurt you! I'm armed, though - uh... sorry, I'm doing this on the fly!"
He took a few steps forward, out of the void and into Owlori's view. Now that he was closer, he could see she was no longer orange. She looked nice without makeup, he thought.
He knew anyone would look nice to him right now. He knew he was just grasping at straws. He knew he was an opportunist.
He knew he was running out of chances to feel like he mattered to someone in a way other than them wanting to kill him or them wanting him to kill them.
He knew he was running out of chances to stop himself from going completely insane.
He looked at Owlori, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. His voice was soft.
"This is real trippy, us running into each other out here."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 2554
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
The voice responded with more wordplay. He wasn't scared off by her, which meant that he probably had a weapon or just didn't believe her for some reason. But there were no bullets, and he was choosing to interact with her in a friendly way. Maybe it would be alright? Maybe it was someone who would give her a chance. It was kind of fun, she sheepishly admitted to herself.
"Owl-right, but this is pretty peck-uliar," she said.
Then Michael swooped out and Lori wasn't feeling so great about her chances anymore. He'd threatened to shoot her back at the commissary and she learned from the announcements that he hadn't killed that boy she'd bumped in to, but he had killed a girl. To boot, he'd won something for it.
"Motherflocker," she said in surprise, trying to scoot back even more agains the rock, though there was no more space to close. Even worse, he'd made a reference to having drank her spiked water. He looked to be uninjured, but she didn't know if he was upset about the LSD.
"You look fine," she said defensively. He looked like shit, but it was a way to say the spiked water hadn't had any long-term affect. "And you drank it so it's your own fault." It was stupid to argue with a person holding a weapon who had used it before, but Lori only cared about absolving herself. So she did not think.
"Owl-right, but this is pretty peck-uliar," she said.
Then Michael swooped out and Lori wasn't feeling so great about her chances anymore. He'd threatened to shoot her back at the commissary and she learned from the announcements that he hadn't killed that boy she'd bumped in to, but he had killed a girl. To boot, he'd won something for it.
"Motherflocker," she said in surprise, trying to scoot back even more agains the rock, though there was no more space to close. Even worse, he'd made a reference to having drank her spiked water. He looked to be uninjured, but she didn't know if he was upset about the LSD.
"You look fine," she said defensively. He looked like shit, but it was a way to say the spiked water hadn't had any long-term affect. "And you drank it so it's your own fault." It was stupid to argue with a person holding a weapon who had used it before, but Lori only cared about absolving herself. So she did not think.
Owlori seemed to have been spooked even further when Michael revealed his identity. He couldn't blame her, really. He hadn't been in a great state of mind yesterday. He still wasn't, but he was getting better at hiding it.
Plus, he was allegedly really great at murder. He'd have been more concerned if she hadn't been scared.
However! Owlori had also responded to Michael's identity with a pun, which was good and meant she still felt relatively comfortable with joking around with him.
Then, she got defensive about the LSD. This seemed closer to the Lori Michael remembered.
He nodded his head. "Hey, hey, it's okay; you're right. I knew it was spiked."
"I drank it because I thought you put poison in it," he did not say.
"Uh... if it helps, if I was gonna kill you, I'd have done it back at the commissary," he did say. "Is it alright if I sit down? I - I can leave, if you want, but it's been a rough day, and..." he trailed off and unconsciously adjusted his glasses. "...I dunno; I'm running out of bird puns. This is the nicest I've felt in a while though, I think."
Plus, he was allegedly really great at murder. He'd have been more concerned if she hadn't been scared.
However! Owlori had also responded to Michael's identity with a pun, which was good and meant she still felt relatively comfortable with joking around with him.
Then, she got defensive about the LSD. This seemed closer to the Lori Michael remembered.
He nodded his head. "Hey, hey, it's okay; you're right. I knew it was spiked."
"I drank it because I thought you put poison in it," he did not say.
"Uh... if it helps, if I was gonna kill you, I'd have done it back at the commissary," he did say. "Is it alright if I sit down? I - I can leave, if you want, but it's been a rough day, and..." he trailed off and unconsciously adjusted his glasses. "...I dunno; I'm running out of bird puns. This is the nicest I've felt in a while though, I think."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
"She is lying to you, Michael. You look terrible," the voice came from the trees, and was shortly followed by a rustling and the emergence of a very nasty-looking point that was evidently capable of inflicting horrible damage. For the moment, the point remained ready, but searched for the opportune target; the right moment to soar.
Min-jae had arrived, and the shell of Claudeson Bademosi followed closely behind.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Inhibition))
"Liars, all of us,'' he continued, coming to a stop a few feet away from the two of them. "I feel nice, you look fine, everything is going to be okay, or even God will watch over you — how many lies must we spread before words lose all meaning and we are all simply spouting untruths?"
Having heard their voices through the woods, Claudeson had listened for a few moments. The two had engaged in an unusual game of wordplay, one that months or even years before, he would have met with amusement. In their current state, it seemed rather quaint. Michael had acted in much the same manner as he, if the announcement was to be believed. Not only that, he had been gifted a prize for doing so. What a fallacy that was. To be rewarded for removing people from the universe was a concept so foul that it elicited nothing but a scowl. Many people deserved to be saved from the hell that they currently lived in, but Michael Froese was not one of them. He was guilty, as guilty as Claudeson himself, and was not a good person.
Given the opportunity, he would not help him find release.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Saying nothing further to Michael, Claudeson looked over at Lori, still half-clad in an unusual costume. It appeared to be that of their school mascot, which was a ridiculous juxtaposition of the situation, considering that Lori was a cheerleader and Claudeson imagined would have never been caught dead even socializing with Reueben, the erstwhile owner of the suit. Reuben was no longer part of the world, either. Had Lori murdered him for it? Claudeson could not recall. He'd heard Reuben's name, but barely anything else. He had been too fixated upon Tyrell.
Tyrell, who had done this to him.
No, that was wrong — God had done this to him. Tyrell had helped, but it was the concept, the big lie. His mother and father had done this to him, told him nothing but untruths to manipulate him into believing in falsehood.
So many lies.
"Michael and I are guilty of much; of lies, of deceit, of—," he swallowed and cut himself off. Claudeson couldn't say it, so he just kept on going, "— of much. What of you, Lori? Did you poison him?"
Min-jae stood at the ready. If she was worthy, he would not hesitate.
Min-jae had arrived, and the shell of Claudeson Bademosi followed closely behind.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Inhibition))
"Liars, all of us,'' he continued, coming to a stop a few feet away from the two of them. "I feel nice, you look fine, everything is going to be okay, or even God will watch over you — how many lies must we spread before words lose all meaning and we are all simply spouting untruths?"
Having heard their voices through the woods, Claudeson had listened for a few moments. The two had engaged in an unusual game of wordplay, one that months or even years before, he would have met with amusement. In their current state, it seemed rather quaint. Michael had acted in much the same manner as he, if the announcement was to be believed. Not only that, he had been gifted a prize for doing so. What a fallacy that was. To be rewarded for removing people from the universe was a concept so foul that it elicited nothing but a scowl. Many people deserved to be saved from the hell that they currently lived in, but Michael Froese was not one of them. He was guilty, as guilty as Claudeson himself, and was not a good person.
Given the opportunity, he would not help him find release.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Saying nothing further to Michael, Claudeson looked over at Lori, still half-clad in an unusual costume. It appeared to be that of their school mascot, which was a ridiculous juxtaposition of the situation, considering that Lori was a cheerleader and Claudeson imagined would have never been caught dead even socializing with Reueben, the erstwhile owner of the suit. Reuben was no longer part of the world, either. Had Lori murdered him for it? Claudeson could not recall. He'd heard Reuben's name, but barely anything else. He had been too fixated upon Tyrell.
Tyrell, who had done this to him.
No, that was wrong — God had done this to him. Tyrell had helped, but it was the concept, the big lie. His mother and father had done this to him, told him nothing but untruths to manipulate him into believing in falsehood.
So many lies.
"Michael and I are guilty of much; of lies, of deceit, of—," he swallowed and cut himself off. Claudeson couldn't say it, so he just kept on going, "— of much. What of you, Lori? Did you poison him?"
Min-jae stood at the ready. If she was worthy, he would not hesitate.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 2554
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori blinked a few times. The tension dissipated somewhat. He said that she was right. Well, she was usually right, but people didn't typically admit it to her. Her owl shoulders lowered a few inches, gradually. Lori swallowed and chewed on her lower lip, aware of the slight breeze pushing towards them from the waterfall.
She nodded curtly when he asked to sit down and regarded him cautiously.
"It's a free country. Or not. I don't know where we are," she replied.
Lori adjusted herself to be at a more natural angle than when she had been trying to merge with the rock and sat cross-legged. She wasn't used to interacting this way, and she didn't really know this person that well.
Then another person appeared, saying that they were liars, she and Michael together. She wasn't sure which statement of Michael's was referring to. Maybe him saying he'd had a rough day, or that he'd run out of bird puns, or maybe that he'd have killed her before if he was going to kill her. It was pretty rude to say he looked terrible, though.
"Hey, fuck off," she said plainly, since what he'd said was pretty rude. He came closer, which is when she saw that he had a weapon too. Lori nervously edged closer to Michael, who she felt was at minimum anti-being killed with a crossbow and therefore they were currently aligned.
He started talking about how he and Michael were bad, but then he switched to Lori and she forgot her fear for a moment, replaced by anger again.
"Does he look poisoned to you?" she shot back.
She nodded curtly when he asked to sit down and regarded him cautiously.
"It's a free country. Or not. I don't know where we are," she replied.
Lori adjusted herself to be at a more natural angle than when she had been trying to merge with the rock and sat cross-legged. She wasn't used to interacting this way, and she didn't really know this person that well.
Then another person appeared, saying that they were liars, she and Michael together. She wasn't sure which statement of Michael's was referring to. Maybe him saying he'd had a rough day, or that he'd run out of bird puns, or maybe that he'd have killed her before if he was going to kill her. It was pretty rude to say he looked terrible, though.
"Hey, fuck off," she said plainly, since what he'd said was pretty rude. He came closer, which is when she saw that he had a weapon too. Lori nervously edged closer to Michael, who she felt was at minimum anti-being killed with a crossbow and therefore they were currently aligned.
He started talking about how he and Michael were bad, but then he switched to Lori and she forgot her fear for a moment, replaced by anger again.
"Does he look poisoned to you?" she shot back.
And then the forest told Michael he looked terrible.
He was no longer having a nice time. Lori told the forest to fuck off. He was firmly on team Lori for this one.
Crossbow. Claudeson. Son of Claude. Son of God. Son of fraud, as he now seemed to believe. Crisis of faith.
Killer. Claude had killed Bryan. Claude had killed Bryan after they'd had a philosophical discussion. Claude was trying to have a philosophical conversation with Michael and Lori.
Claude looked goddamn crazy.
Claude talked about guilt; called Michael a liar. It was true, but it wasn't true about the Michael that existed in this specific point in time. He hadn't lied to Lori at all. Claude asked Lori if she was guilty of poisoning Michael. The crossbow seemed to be aimed at her, not at Michael. Claude cared more about Lori's potential guilt than he did about either Michael's known guilt or the fact that Michael could shoot him. Claude had killed Bryan, and Michael knew from Morgan's story that Bryan had been trying to be heroic; he'd tried to help Morgan.
Ohhhh.
He was killing people who he thought were good people. He wasn't afraid of death. He didn't kill Michael. He wasn't killing murderers. He'd said a bunch of nihilistic stuff when walking out of the bushes. Killing for love. Mercy killer.
...Angel of mercy.
Michael'd been there, done that. Boy had he ever.
Claude didn't seem to be giving Lori a choice, though. Claude was the one who chose if people died. Judge, jury, executioner.
Michael + self-righteousness - fleeting moments of lucidity = Claude's present state
An oversimplification, but accurate enough, Michael hoped.
He wondered who Claude's breaking point had been.
He had to out-crazy the crazy. He was good at it. It was time to be scary Michael. His face neutralized. He stared into Claudeson's eyes. He tried to think of a good quote or song lyric that he could start with.
Oh, he had a good one. His voice lowered in tone, though it had an air of nonchalance to it.
"Ain't no saints in the animal kingdom, Claude; only breakfast and dinner," he paused. "I know what you're doing. You think you're giving her a way out. You think you're helping her," his lip curled in contempt. Nonchalance gone. "You didn't even ask Bryan if he was okay with dying, did you? At least give Lori some goddamn agency. She deserves a choice. Crossbow's one bolt at a time, yeah? If you shoot her, I will shoot you. If you shoot me, she will shoot you. Either all of us walk away from this alive or only either me or Lori walk away from this alive. Claude, you know you've got work to do for people who actually want it. You choose to die right now, you'll be letting them all down," he paused for dramatic effect. "Is that want you want? Yes or no."
He was no longer having a nice time. Lori told the forest to fuck off. He was firmly on team Lori for this one.
Crossbow. Claudeson. Son of Claude. Son of God. Son of fraud, as he now seemed to believe. Crisis of faith.
Killer. Claude had killed Bryan. Claude had killed Bryan after they'd had a philosophical discussion. Claude was trying to have a philosophical conversation with Michael and Lori.
Claude looked goddamn crazy.
Claude talked about guilt; called Michael a liar. It was true, but it wasn't true about the Michael that existed in this specific point in time. He hadn't lied to Lori at all. Claude asked Lori if she was guilty of poisoning Michael. The crossbow seemed to be aimed at her, not at Michael. Claude cared more about Lori's potential guilt than he did about either Michael's known guilt or the fact that Michael could shoot him. Claude had killed Bryan, and Michael knew from Morgan's story that Bryan had been trying to be heroic; he'd tried to help Morgan.
Ohhhh.
He was killing people who he thought were good people. He wasn't afraid of death. He didn't kill Michael. He wasn't killing murderers. He'd said a bunch of nihilistic stuff when walking out of the bushes. Killing for love. Mercy killer.
...Angel of mercy.
Michael'd been there, done that. Boy had he ever.
Claude didn't seem to be giving Lori a choice, though. Claude was the one who chose if people died. Judge, jury, executioner.
Michael + self-righteousness - fleeting moments of lucidity = Claude's present state
An oversimplification, but accurate enough, Michael hoped.
He wondered who Claude's breaking point had been.
He had to out-crazy the crazy. He was good at it. It was time to be scary Michael. His face neutralized. He stared into Claudeson's eyes. He tried to think of a good quote or song lyric that he could start with.
Oh, he had a good one. His voice lowered in tone, though it had an air of nonchalance to it.
"Ain't no saints in the animal kingdom, Claude; only breakfast and dinner," he paused. "I know what you're doing. You think you're giving her a way out. You think you're helping her," his lip curled in contempt. Nonchalance gone. "You didn't even ask Bryan if he was okay with dying, did you? At least give Lori some goddamn agency. She deserves a choice. Crossbow's one bolt at a time, yeah? If you shoot her, I will shoot you. If you shoot me, she will shoot you. Either all of us walk away from this alive or only either me or Lori walk away from this alive. Claude, you know you've got work to do for people who actually want it. You choose to die right now, you'll be letting them all down," he paused for dramatic effect. "Is that want you want? Yes or no."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
"Yes, he does look poisoned to me," Claudeson disdainfully looked at the girl in the mascot suit, not quite pointing Min-jae in her direction. Not yet, anyway. "He is sick, poisoned deep down, within his soul. I can see the darkness within him. He is an abomination wearing the suit of a person."
It was as clear as the taint that had overtaken his own heart.
"My only question is whether or not you did that to him. Why would he ask you that, Lori? Why would he assume that you would poison him?"
Claudeson met Michael's eyes as soon as the thin boy started to speak, and at no point within Michael's diatribe did he look at the boy with anything less than pure revulsion. This was someone who had abandoned all sense of decorum, who was flipping personas back and forth quicker than he could keep track. Claudeson saw the casual shift of his expression, and it filled him with even more disgust. His words meant nothing to him. Michael meant nothing to him — except that he did, he was guilty. Claudeson's eyes widened as he remembered the name that Michael was guilty of killing. Memories were hazy, thoughts barely came through, but it all came back to him.
Clutching her body, sobbing.
Seeing her, laying on the ground like a discarded piece of trash.
Murdered for an award.
"You are wrong. You know nothing, Michael," he spat at the boy, meeting his gaze with an intensity and a hatred that he had never felt before. Min-jae still lurked casually in Lori's direction, but taking the weight of the crossbow in his left hand, he reached around his back and withdrew the pistol that he had tucked into the back of his jeans. Unlike the crossbow, he pointed the pistol squarely at Michael.
"You know nothing," he repeated, matching the boy's sneer. "About Bryan, about me. You speak of agency? What agency do we have here, Michael? Hm?"
Claudeson thumbed the safety off.
"We forfeited all of our agency the second that our bus disappeared in the night and we all woke up here. Our agency to make our own choices has ended, Michael. We are not in control of our own actions. We are," he exhaled through his broken nose, an awful wheezing sound. Clenching his teeth, he continued.
"We are but rats in someone's cage. No more, no less. I could have shot you both here before you had a chance to know I was here. But I require answers."
He looked now to Lori.
"From both of you."
He waited expectantly, eyes going back to Michael; obviously the dangerous one here. They didn't deserve it. They did not deserve release — Michael obviously deserved to suffer, to feel the same things that Camila had felt before she died. He deserved to feel as bad as Claudeson had felt, to feel every single agony that the world could thrust upon him before he died.
Claudeson would not kill him. But he would make him suffer, oh heaven above, he would make him suffer.
The thought made him scoff, something very deep within his heart devastated at the casual dismissal of reason; of his teachings, of his faith. It cried out silently in the void that encompassed where his soul had once been. The only question he had now was whether or not Lori deserved to live as well.
It was as clear as the taint that had overtaken his own heart.
"My only question is whether or not you did that to him. Why would he ask you that, Lori? Why would he assume that you would poison him?"
Claudeson met Michael's eyes as soon as the thin boy started to speak, and at no point within Michael's diatribe did he look at the boy with anything less than pure revulsion. This was someone who had abandoned all sense of decorum, who was flipping personas back and forth quicker than he could keep track. Claudeson saw the casual shift of his expression, and it filled him with even more disgust. His words meant nothing to him. Michael meant nothing to him — except that he did, he was guilty. Claudeson's eyes widened as he remembered the name that Michael was guilty of killing. Memories were hazy, thoughts barely came through, but it all came back to him.
Clutching her body, sobbing.
Seeing her, laying on the ground like a discarded piece of trash.
Murdered for an award.
"You are wrong. You know nothing, Michael," he spat at the boy, meeting his gaze with an intensity and a hatred that he had never felt before. Min-jae still lurked casually in Lori's direction, but taking the weight of the crossbow in his left hand, he reached around his back and withdrew the pistol that he had tucked into the back of his jeans. Unlike the crossbow, he pointed the pistol squarely at Michael.
"You know nothing," he repeated, matching the boy's sneer. "About Bryan, about me. You speak of agency? What agency do we have here, Michael? Hm?"
Claudeson thumbed the safety off.
"We forfeited all of our agency the second that our bus disappeared in the night and we all woke up here. Our agency to make our own choices has ended, Michael. We are not in control of our own actions. We are," he exhaled through his broken nose, an awful wheezing sound. Clenching his teeth, he continued.
"We are but rats in someone's cage. No more, no less. I could have shot you both here before you had a chance to know I was here. But I require answers."
He looked now to Lori.
"From both of you."
He waited expectantly, eyes going back to Michael; obviously the dangerous one here. They didn't deserve it. They did not deserve release — Michael obviously deserved to suffer, to feel the same things that Camila had felt before she died. He deserved to feel as bad as Claudeson had felt, to feel every single agony that the world could thrust upon him before he died.
Claudeson would not kill him. But he would make him suffer, oh heaven above, he would make him suffer.
The thought made him scoff, something very deep within his heart devastated at the casual dismissal of reason; of his teachings, of his faith. It cried out silently in the void that encompassed where his soul had once been. The only question he had now was whether or not Lori deserved to live as well.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1284
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: The Black Lodge
- Contact:
Violet, stepping through the woods. Up a great big hill.
Long steps.
Because she needs to keep moving. She doesn't have a choice in the matter. It's all to avoid something worse. Eternal torment. One step ahead. Long steps. Up a great big hill. It's only necessary to keep moving on up, and up, and up. Up a great big hill. Long steps, she is taking. Holding her gun, freshly loaded. Long, long. One foot, then another. Swordbreaker hooked through her belt. Crossbow, fastened on a long loop fashioned from torn out pieces of her t-shirt, dangling heavy from around her neck. Long steps. Long neck, slouched over with the weight. Bolts stuffed in her pocket, points upward. Damp, but no longer wet. Cloaked in her own black robe, a specter haunting the hill, taking long steps. Because she needs to keep moving. After all, she doesn't have a choice in the matter. The cymbal ring of crashing water against rocks, above her. Long, long.
Violet crests the hill. Long steps, still. Gusts of wind pick up the back of her robe and flutter it about. Wind, drying her in the drizzling rain. Damp, but no longer. Three figures, in the distance. None of them human. Violet isn't either. Not yet. She sees ahead of her a long journey before she can finally regrow that skin. She moves closer, taking big steps to avoid wet leaves. Long steps. Across a great big hill. Close enough now to hear their voices over the water. To pick up fragments of their speeches, their epistles, their testament. Long, long winded. The second she flicked off the safety, she could take aim and fire, and she was reasonably sure by now that she would hit something. From a long, long way away.
But something about the way one of them speaks. Claudeson. It resonates with her. He has also murdered, and he also speaks of a necessity. Something necessary, underlying all of their actions. None of them have any choice in the matter. Violet is on a similar frequency. It's long. Long, long. Dark red waves like the trim on her robe or the dried blood on her clothes. Her hood is down, a mass of long brown tangled hair fallen 'round her shoulders. She is arrived. A long, long journey, up a great big hill. Violet, stepping into the world.
She walks out from the trees to the riverbank like a ghost,
[Violet Schmidt continued from Sun Giant.]
raises her gun, and fires her words.
"Owls like to eat rats."
Long steps.
Because she needs to keep moving. She doesn't have a choice in the matter. It's all to avoid something worse. Eternal torment. One step ahead. Long steps. Up a great big hill. It's only necessary to keep moving on up, and up, and up. Up a great big hill. Long steps, she is taking. Holding her gun, freshly loaded. Long, long. One foot, then another. Swordbreaker hooked through her belt. Crossbow, fastened on a long loop fashioned from torn out pieces of her t-shirt, dangling heavy from around her neck. Long steps. Long neck, slouched over with the weight. Bolts stuffed in her pocket, points upward. Damp, but no longer wet. Cloaked in her own black robe, a specter haunting the hill, taking long steps. Because she needs to keep moving. After all, she doesn't have a choice in the matter. The cymbal ring of crashing water against rocks, above her. Long, long.
Violet crests the hill. Long steps, still. Gusts of wind pick up the back of her robe and flutter it about. Wind, drying her in the drizzling rain. Damp, but no longer. Three figures, in the distance. None of them human. Violet isn't either. Not yet. She sees ahead of her a long journey before she can finally regrow that skin. She moves closer, taking big steps to avoid wet leaves. Long steps. Across a great big hill. Close enough now to hear their voices over the water. To pick up fragments of their speeches, their epistles, their testament. Long, long winded. The second she flicked off the safety, she could take aim and fire, and she was reasonably sure by now that she would hit something. From a long, long way away.
But something about the way one of them speaks. Claudeson. It resonates with her. He has also murdered, and he also speaks of a necessity. Something necessary, underlying all of their actions. None of them have any choice in the matter. Violet is on a similar frequency. It's long. Long, long. Dark red waves like the trim on her robe or the dried blood on her clothes. Her hood is down, a mass of long brown tangled hair fallen 'round her shoulders. She is arrived. A long, long journey, up a great big hill. Violet, stepping into the world.
She walks out from the trees to the riverbank like a ghost,
[Violet Schmidt continued from Sun Giant.]
raises her gun, and fires her words.
"Owls like to eat rats."
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 2554
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori looked blankly between Michael and Claudeson, trying to sort through the various layers of philosophy and metaphor. What she did gather from Michael was that Claudeson had killed Bryan, which she either hadn't paid attention to or had forgotten among the many names.
Lori squinted and looked at Michael as he admonished Claudeson for not giving her enough choices and then threatening him if he tried to bring harm to them. Retroactively, Lori realized what Claudeson had meant now that Michael had elaborated.
"Woah, what you're going to shoot me for NOT killing people?!" she exclaimed, flapping her wings a bit. "If it means you'll leave us alone then whatever, I poisoned the fuck out of him. That's a ghost right now."
She got quiet when he pulled out another weapon, a gun. How many weapons did this asshole have, and why couldn't she get even one? She held her breath and looked at the person who had suddenly become her partner in the situation. More than that, he'd even defended her, and indicated he'd go through some risk for her. For her? No one had ever done something like that for her. Even Madison had never really put anything on the line for her and would only occasionally come to her defense. Lori felt grateful for the gesture, maybe she'd been wrong about the skinny weirdo.
So now she couldn't let Claudeson hurt him or her.
Her chance came when everyone was suddenly distracted by the appearance of Violet.
"Owls like to eat rats," the girl said.
"Hey Claudeson, get hent" she said, chucking the large owl mascot head at the boy while he was distracted. She followed soon after, taking a running dive, aimed to take him out at the middle.
Lori squinted and looked at Michael as he admonished Claudeson for not giving her enough choices and then threatening him if he tried to bring harm to them. Retroactively, Lori realized what Claudeson had meant now that Michael had elaborated.
"Woah, what you're going to shoot me for NOT killing people?!" she exclaimed, flapping her wings a bit. "If it means you'll leave us alone then whatever, I poisoned the fuck out of him. That's a ghost right now."
She got quiet when he pulled out another weapon, a gun. How many weapons did this asshole have, and why couldn't she get even one? She held her breath and looked at the person who had suddenly become her partner in the situation. More than that, he'd even defended her, and indicated he'd go through some risk for her. For her? No one had ever done something like that for her. Even Madison had never really put anything on the line for her and would only occasionally come to her defense. Lori felt grateful for the gesture, maybe she'd been wrong about the skinny weirdo.
So now she couldn't let Claudeson hurt him or her.
Her chance came when everyone was suddenly distracted by the appearance of Violet.
"Owls like to eat rats," the girl said.
"Hey Claudeson, get hent" she said, chucking the large owl mascot head at the boy while he was distracted. She followed soon after, taking a running dive, aimed to take him out at the middle.
And then Claude called Michael an abomination.
...
:'(
Michael had always been this way, he was pretty sure. Nobody had corrupted him. The people weren't what changed. Their environment was what had changed.
And then Claude pointed a gun at him. He flinched back a bit. He hadn't been expecting that.
What did Michael know about agency? He knew everything about agency. He knew this island was the freest he'd ever been. He knew it was the freest any of them had ever been. There were no consequences anymore. They were all free to finally embrace how fucked up they were inside.
They may have been pretty much dead already, but that didn't mean they didn't get to make choices. Claude said he could have shot them from the bushes, but he didn't shoot them from the bushes. That was a choice! Why didn't he get that?
Michael let him monologue. He glared at him the whole way through. He liked Lori's response. He smiled bitterly, inhaled and opened his mouth to his own retort.
"Owls like to eat rats."
The universe intervened, as was tradition. The girl's wild hair reminded him of Beryl. She was strapped to the nines with weapons. He liked her robe.
...Was this his ghost friend? Was this ghost Beryl saving him?
Michael stared at her. He felt like he was melting in slow-motion, but it was a good kind of melting.
He recognized her face now, kind of. Violet Schmidt. The girl who had exploded Kyle's head.
"Fuck yeah, Violet! That's lit! See Claude, she gets it-" he was cut off when Lori made a pun and flew into Claude. Michael dropped to the ground. No bullets had been fired yet, he was pretty sure, and he rolled behind a conveniently-placed boulder. He didn't know where Lori and Claude were or what they were doing to each other, so he focused on Violet.
"I dig that style! I have a robe too! Yours is cooler, though! If you're gonna shoot anyone, shoot Claude! He doesn't like owls or robes, I'm pretty sure," his voice hushed. "Lori, that was pretty fucking cool. Get in cover, though, maybe. Girl blew Kyle's head off; like, literally, he didn't have much head left."
...
:'(
Michael had always been this way, he was pretty sure. Nobody had corrupted him. The people weren't what changed. Their environment was what had changed.
And then Claude pointed a gun at him. He flinched back a bit. He hadn't been expecting that.
What did Michael know about agency? He knew everything about agency. He knew this island was the freest he'd ever been. He knew it was the freest any of them had ever been. There were no consequences anymore. They were all free to finally embrace how fucked up they were inside.
They may have been pretty much dead already, but that didn't mean they didn't get to make choices. Claude said he could have shot them from the bushes, but he didn't shoot them from the bushes. That was a choice! Why didn't he get that?
Michael let him monologue. He glared at him the whole way through. He liked Lori's response. He smiled bitterly, inhaled and opened his mouth to his own retort.
"Owls like to eat rats."
The universe intervened, as was tradition. The girl's wild hair reminded him of Beryl. She was strapped to the nines with weapons. He liked her robe.
...Was this his ghost friend? Was this ghost Beryl saving him?
Michael stared at her. He felt like he was melting in slow-motion, but it was a good kind of melting.
He recognized her face now, kind of. Violet Schmidt. The girl who had exploded Kyle's head.
"Fuck yeah, Violet! That's lit! See Claude, she gets it-" he was cut off when Lori made a pun and flew into Claude. Michael dropped to the ground. No bullets had been fired yet, he was pretty sure, and he rolled behind a conveniently-placed boulder. He didn't know where Lori and Claude were or what they were doing to each other, so he focused on Violet.
"I dig that style! I have a robe too! Yours is cooler, though! If you're gonna shoot anyone, shoot Claude! He doesn't like owls or robes, I'm pretty sure," his voice hushed. "Lori, that was pretty fucking cool. Get in cover, though, maybe. Girl blew Kyle's head off; like, literally, he didn't have much head left."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
Claudeson squinted his eyes in confusion at Michael and Lori's assumptions regarding his mission and his morals. Just because Lori had not murdered anyone made no difference in his eyes. He was far more interested in the quality of her character. He desired to know — his lips curled into a sneer as the thought passed through his mind — about their interior. What drove her, what was her base instincts? How was it that she passed through this world and did the things that she did?
What was the flavour of her soul?
His lips could taste the salty residue of sweat, rain water and probably the remnants of someone's blood. Perhaps Bryan's, perhaps his own. As he narrowed his eyes at Lori, Claudeson took one quick look at Michael, and then — to his surprise — at the second robed figure that joined them. This was intriguing. The figure stated a fact; owls were in fact a natural predator of the rat. Interesting. Claudeson was about to open his mouth to retort when Lori shouted something at him, and with no warning —
The owl head came fast, it came furiously, and it bopped him squarely in the face, sending him stumbling backwards. With only a moment to react, he felt hands shoving him backwards. His pack fell off of his back, and as the sharp pain ran through his nose; re-aggravating the old injury, Claudeson hit the ground hard, grunting in pain. Only allowing a moment to pass after he hit the ground, he scrambled over towards a large set of rocks, opposite from where he'd seen Michael flee.
He made it without incident.
"Lori! You have not answered me! What kind of person are you?"
Claudeson knew. He knew, deep down within him.
Michael was broken. Corrupt. An abomination of a human being. The robed figure; he didn't recognize, but they seemed as broken as Michael. As damaged or as shaken as he knew his own mind to be. Which left Lori. Sullen, unhappy, always-moping Lori. Never wanted, always around. This was another shattered remnant of a human being; he could sense it.
Still, the weapons remained at the ready.
These people may have been shattered, but they were dangerous. Michael may not have deserved release, but if he came for Claudeson, he would regret it.
What was the flavour of her soul?
His lips could taste the salty residue of sweat, rain water and probably the remnants of someone's blood. Perhaps Bryan's, perhaps his own. As he narrowed his eyes at Lori, Claudeson took one quick look at Michael, and then — to his surprise — at the second robed figure that joined them. This was intriguing. The figure stated a fact; owls were in fact a natural predator of the rat. Interesting. Claudeson was about to open his mouth to retort when Lori shouted something at him, and with no warning —
The owl head came fast, it came furiously, and it bopped him squarely in the face, sending him stumbling backwards. With only a moment to react, he felt hands shoving him backwards. His pack fell off of his back, and as the sharp pain ran through his nose; re-aggravating the old injury, Claudeson hit the ground hard, grunting in pain. Only allowing a moment to pass after he hit the ground, he scrambled over towards a large set of rocks, opposite from where he'd seen Michael flee.
He made it without incident.
"Lori! You have not answered me! What kind of person are you?"
Claudeson knew. He knew, deep down within him.
Michael was broken. Corrupt. An abomination of a human being. The robed figure; he didn't recognize, but they seemed as broken as Michael. As damaged or as shaken as he knew his own mind to be. Which left Lori. Sullen, unhappy, always-moping Lori. Never wanted, always around. This was another shattered remnant of a human being; he could sense it.
Still, the weapons remained at the ready.
These people may have been shattered, but they were dangerous. Michael may not have deserved release, but if he came for Claudeson, he would regret it.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1284
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: The Black Lodge
- Contact:
Violet stood and watched what happened. Claudeson, backed up behind some rocks. Lori, charging him there. Michael, also behind a rock, celebrating her name, cheering for her. He was misguided, of course. Was he? He seemed cautious enough, advising Lori hide from Violet's gun. He brought up Kyle, and Violet almost saw fit to bring up what was sticking out of Michael's own bag, but decided that she wasn't able to tell what it was enough to make any judgments about what Michael had done. It did interest her, though. An idea sprung into her head. A foul idea, but an idea nonetheless.
She wanted to promise to Michael that she wouldn't shoot anyone, or at least to tell him that she didn't want to. There were no current plans for it, at least. But that didn't mean that the world couldn't go, at any moment, absolutely topsy-turvy and nutty. Violet might need to kill them. All of them. Or just one. She didn't want to, but it might be necessary. She might need to kill Michael, or Lori, or Claudeson. The lump was hard to swallow, but not impossible.
Especially not Michael's lump. He had something interesting. She started taking steps in his direction, backpedaling away from Claudeson, gun still raised in his general direction. Turning her back to him would be tantamount to suicide. She could not die. She needed to live. Necessity. Michael.
A bit of herself returned, and suddenly Violet felt a little scared.
"Let me sit with you," she said to Michael, "I don't want to, um, get involved over there, uh, yeah."
Long steps, backwards. Moving behind a small boulder. She could see over it, anyhow. Not much cover, against her. Once it was in front of her, she crouched next to it. Close enough that she could duck behind it if she needed to, but far away enough from Michael that he wouldn't be able to touch her without her noticing first. He was also slightly in front of her. No moving without her seeing. This was just necessary.
Sorry.
She wanted to promise to Michael that she wouldn't shoot anyone, or at least to tell him that she didn't want to. There were no current plans for it, at least. But that didn't mean that the world couldn't go, at any moment, absolutely topsy-turvy and nutty. Violet might need to kill them. All of them. Or just one. She didn't want to, but it might be necessary. She might need to kill Michael, or Lori, or Claudeson. The lump was hard to swallow, but not impossible.
Especially not Michael's lump. He had something interesting. She started taking steps in his direction, backpedaling away from Claudeson, gun still raised in his general direction. Turning her back to him would be tantamount to suicide. She could not die. She needed to live. Necessity. Michael.
A bit of herself returned, and suddenly Violet felt a little scared.
"Let me sit with you," she said to Michael, "I don't want to, um, get involved over there, uh, yeah."
Long steps, backwards. Moving behind a small boulder. She could see over it, anyhow. Not much cover, against her. Once it was in front of her, she crouched next to it. Close enough that she could duck behind it if she needed to, but far away enough from Michael that he wouldn't be able to touch her without her noticing first. He was also slightly in front of her. No moving without her seeing. This was just necessary.
Sorry.