((Katelynne Kirkpatrick continued from Kids Run Through the City // Marionette))
There was two bodies in the rice paddy. By the rice paddy, really.
One looked like a girl, but the face was blown clean off. So violent.
Nearby was one that looked like a boy, but the body was even more disfigured like it'd been stewing out here in the sun and heat for a good while. Poor thing. Wonder what happened, though.
The boy's hands were folded over, so there must've been someone else out here trying their best to give a sendoff.
Katelynne did the same to the other body, crossing one arm over the other.
It was starting to get dark, but Katelynne didn't care. She was tired, but didn't care. Hungry. Didn't care.
Took a good swig out of the canteen. She'd found a fast moving brook earlier today and tried her best to clean it out with several cycles of dumping water in and out. No bleach, no salt, no matches to try and boil it. But at the same time, what was the worst that could happen, she get cholera?
Didn't care either way. Wished it didn't taste like metal, maybe.
For this moment in time, all she cared about was the two bodies in front of her.
Quinnspiracy Theory
Day 4 evening into night, open but be mindful that plot is happening (oh shit!!!)
"... You thought you were better than me, Princess?"
"We are too similar of thought. One and the same, with my memories alone. For exceedingly obvious meta narrative reasons... I still, however, must say that you cannot make assertions about the me you are infinitely privy to, not without proof."
"As in: you are going so far as to require proving your own being to what is functionally yourself in so many words."
"Doubt is proof of existence as good as any other."
"You cannot doubt without being, true... So. What was the question again?"
"How can you say I thought I was better than you? More noble of purpose, or creed, if not more noble of origin?"
"Let us put your continued decrying of your own honest heritage aside. More noble of creed, you say. You always sought to carry yourself with the utmost of mindfulness to circumstance, correct?"
"That would be correct."
"And you considered this perspective universal, and treated all others with it in such a way that they were excluded from your outlook and perspective on the totality of your sphere of being."
"As would only be proper."
"And you never shared with me this truth about yourself. You excluded me, as you did any other."
"Indeed. As you say it, it must be."
"Therefore, you held against me the same sort of exclusionary means of thought that you held against any other, being that I was never in any way differentiated from said multitude of others?"
"I... See, Violet, it could well be that I did treat you differently."
"How so?"
"I never told you about my arrogance and my ego, my cynical rejection of others, such that you would be protected from it. That it would never burden you as it did me."
"Ah. Yes, that could be true. And would be an excellent counterargument. It fits in with the general way you treated me. Keeping things from me."
"How could you know? The breadth of what I chose to not allow you be part of."
"Instinct, perhaps."
"As in?"
"As in... Even through the shroud, I knew I had reason enough to go. And I chose to stay."
"... Oh. Oh, dear Violet, how I wish I could hold you right now... But unfortunately, as it were, I cannot hold a metaphysical concept. Given that you are merely an extension of myself and my own warped perception of you, this palpable distance and all these worlds and words between us strike me as particularly pathetic and lonely."
((Princess McQuillan continued from Lately Kiss My Ass Lately))
Neither of the bodies were Tristan. Nor Sapphire. Piles of flesh bereft of truly intimate, meaningful- in some dilute way- familiarity. Names came to mind, and memories, but somehow void, secondhand like textbook script. That left her to feel primarily prickly. Restless, as she stalked with her infinitely soft tread through the treeline. It could have been, perhaps, the sourness percolating over her tongue, saliva long gone bad for want of toothbrush and mint. It wasn't the corpses, funnily enough. They were rank, but in a way so distinctly off-putting it almost seemed to not stick. She could ignore the rot outside better than the one within. Cover up the rest with makeup, even if only a bit. The rain was abated now, so she could at least manage to plump up the slowly sinking shadows in her face with a bit of color.
Evening was starting to fall, but Princess had been hiding within the deeper forest, alone with her thoughts for long enough that she actually needed a pained moment to reacquaint herself with starlight.
The silhouette meandering near the bodies became familiar, crystallized from vague human blob to a name and face. She'd abandoned Megan long ago, threatened by such a dangerous thing as a fond heart. It could have ripped her from her quest- but no, she'd managed to do that on her own behalf already.
Fuck everything- emphatically, her entire mind reverberated with the melodrama of her own curse. She hadn't much earned the right to a friend but she sure as hell wanted one.
"Hi. It's me." A stunningly witty verbal repertoire. Delivered with all the larger-than-life persona of a swatted gnat drunkenly spiraling to earth. Princess was astonished, earnest as she carefully broke clear from the treeline. As in front of her friend as was possible, the bodies between them. Princess would have waved a white flag if she'd had one- she settled for her hands empty, up in the air as she stepped forward in a slowing shamble.
The smile was almost vanished all-together, shy of being a random broken line on her face. But it was the first honest one she'd smiled in... a long time. A long, long time.
"Didn't we buy that coat together?" Princess was sedate, almost reduced to whispering when they were close enough. Princess shyly, weakly clasped her hands in front of her, palm to palm and elbows girlishly crooked, recalling and discarding all the lessons of projecting importance she'd learned ever. "I always adored it. I- well. In hindsight," Princess grinned in place of a giggle and mostly failed at even that, "we didn't go out often enough. I took you for granted, as a friend. Possibly because you were one of the few girls in school I didn't nurse a repressed lust for."
The answer to the age old question 'who writes this bullshit' was Princess McQuillan, in all the antipodal relevance of her name's pedigree.
"Abel." She vaguely recognized the boy, slowly ripening as his face was. "I- I'm sorry, if you two were closer than you let on. I don't, uh, recognize the girl." She was a bit too fallen apart at the seams.
"We are too similar of thought. One and the same, with my memories alone. For exceedingly obvious meta narrative reasons... I still, however, must say that you cannot make assertions about the me you are infinitely privy to, not without proof."
"As in: you are going so far as to require proving your own being to what is functionally yourself in so many words."
"Doubt is proof of existence as good as any other."
"You cannot doubt without being, true... So. What was the question again?"
"How can you say I thought I was better than you? More noble of purpose, or creed, if not more noble of origin?"
"Let us put your continued decrying of your own honest heritage aside. More noble of creed, you say. You always sought to carry yourself with the utmost of mindfulness to circumstance, correct?"
"That would be correct."
"And you considered this perspective universal, and treated all others with it in such a way that they were excluded from your outlook and perspective on the totality of your sphere of being."
"As would only be proper."
"And you never shared with me this truth about yourself. You excluded me, as you did any other."
"Indeed. As you say it, it must be."
"Therefore, you held against me the same sort of exclusionary means of thought that you held against any other, being that I was never in any way differentiated from said multitude of others?"
"I... See, Violet, it could well be that I did treat you differently."
"How so?"
"I never told you about my arrogance and my ego, my cynical rejection of others, such that you would be protected from it. That it would never burden you as it did me."
"Ah. Yes, that could be true. And would be an excellent counterargument. It fits in with the general way you treated me. Keeping things from me."
"How could you know? The breadth of what I chose to not allow you be part of."
"Instinct, perhaps."
"As in?"
"As in... Even through the shroud, I knew I had reason enough to go. And I chose to stay."
"... Oh. Oh, dear Violet, how I wish I could hold you right now... But unfortunately, as it were, I cannot hold a metaphysical concept. Given that you are merely an extension of myself and my own warped perception of you, this palpable distance and all these worlds and words between us strike me as particularly pathetic and lonely."
((Princess McQuillan continued from Lately Kiss My Ass Lately))
Neither of the bodies were Tristan. Nor Sapphire. Piles of flesh bereft of truly intimate, meaningful- in some dilute way- familiarity. Names came to mind, and memories, but somehow void, secondhand like textbook script. That left her to feel primarily prickly. Restless, as she stalked with her infinitely soft tread through the treeline. It could have been, perhaps, the sourness percolating over her tongue, saliva long gone bad for want of toothbrush and mint. It wasn't the corpses, funnily enough. They were rank, but in a way so distinctly off-putting it almost seemed to not stick. She could ignore the rot outside better than the one within. Cover up the rest with makeup, even if only a bit. The rain was abated now, so she could at least manage to plump up the slowly sinking shadows in her face with a bit of color.
Evening was starting to fall, but Princess had been hiding within the deeper forest, alone with her thoughts for long enough that she actually needed a pained moment to reacquaint herself with starlight.
The silhouette meandering near the bodies became familiar, crystallized from vague human blob to a name and face. She'd abandoned Megan long ago, threatened by such a dangerous thing as a fond heart. It could have ripped her from her quest- but no, she'd managed to do that on her own behalf already.
Fuck everything- emphatically, her entire mind reverberated with the melodrama of her own curse. She hadn't much earned the right to a friend but she sure as hell wanted one.
"Hi. It's me." A stunningly witty verbal repertoire. Delivered with all the larger-than-life persona of a swatted gnat drunkenly spiraling to earth. Princess was astonished, earnest as she carefully broke clear from the treeline. As in front of her friend as was possible, the bodies between them. Princess would have waved a white flag if she'd had one- she settled for her hands empty, up in the air as she stepped forward in a slowing shamble.
The smile was almost vanished all-together, shy of being a random broken line on her face. But it was the first honest one she'd smiled in... a long time. A long, long time.
"Didn't we buy that coat together?" Princess was sedate, almost reduced to whispering when they were close enough. Princess shyly, weakly clasped her hands in front of her, palm to palm and elbows girlishly crooked, recalling and discarding all the lessons of projecting importance she'd learned ever. "I always adored it. I- well. In hindsight," Princess grinned in place of a giggle and mostly failed at even that, "we didn't go out often enough. I took you for granted, as a friend. Possibly because you were one of the few girls in school I didn't nurse a repressed lust for."
The answer to the age old question 'who writes this bullshit' was Princess McQuillan, in all the antipodal relevance of her name's pedigree.
"Abel." She vaguely recognized the boy, slowly ripening as his face was. "I- I'm sorry, if you two were closer than you let on. I don't, uh, recognize the girl." She was a bit too fallen apart at the seams.
A figure stepped out of the treeline. Katelynne immediately perked up like a deer, ready to hiss and bolt at the first sign of danger.
In the departing sunset was a form that didn't belong to a Quinn, but rather a Princess.
It really was a small world. Smaller, now, thinking about it.
Perhaps had they impromptu rendezvous-ed earlier, Katelynne would've sprung forth into a great big bear hug despite Princess's protests. Or perhaps just holding hands would've been satisfactory.
But she couldn't. Everything felt disingenuous. Especially after everything that's happened the last week. Especially in front of two people who probably never got that proper sort of skinship since being imprisoned here. Especially because of what happened to Violet.
Instead Katelynne just replied back with a "Hey" and a half smile, but a genuine one. Threw a half-hearted parade wave too, for good measure. But she still lurched over the dead probably-girl.
Oh, the cardigan. Katelynne looked it back over as Princess went into some spiel, but whatever it was went through one ear and out the other. The days had been so crazy and she'd gone without a mirror for so long she'd have believed you if you told her she was running around in her birthday suit.
There was a hole in the stitching under her left sleeve. Huh. Wonder when that hap-
-Wait, close with who? The boy? Katelynne sprang back up and rebuffed the scandelous accusations, her palms facing and shaking at Princess. "Oh, n-n-no. I don't know either of 'em. Someone else must've positioned him, but I was just doin' the same for her, whoever she was. Thought it was only fair."
Katelynne capped the canteen and tossed it in the small pile with the yearbook and other supplies she was able to salvage from what Quinn didn't nab. And she just stayed in place, shifting her feet back and forth on the still damp ground and brushing the stringy hair out of her eyes and back over her ear.
"I'm glad you're, uhm.... how are you holdin' up?"
In the departing sunset was a form that didn't belong to a Quinn, but rather a Princess.
It really was a small world. Smaller, now, thinking about it.
Perhaps had they impromptu rendezvous-ed earlier, Katelynne would've sprung forth into a great big bear hug despite Princess's protests. Or perhaps just holding hands would've been satisfactory.
But she couldn't. Everything felt disingenuous. Especially after everything that's happened the last week. Especially in front of two people who probably never got that proper sort of skinship since being imprisoned here. Especially because of what happened to Violet.
Instead Katelynne just replied back with a "Hey" and a half smile, but a genuine one. Threw a half-hearted parade wave too, for good measure. But she still lurched over the dead probably-girl.
Oh, the cardigan. Katelynne looked it back over as Princess went into some spiel, but whatever it was went through one ear and out the other. The days had been so crazy and she'd gone without a mirror for so long she'd have believed you if you told her she was running around in her birthday suit.
There was a hole in the stitching under her left sleeve. Huh. Wonder when that hap-
-Wait, close with who? The boy? Katelynne sprang back up and rebuffed the scandelous accusations, her palms facing and shaking at Princess. "Oh, n-n-no. I don't know either of 'em. Someone else must've positioned him, but I was just doin' the same for her, whoever she was. Thought it was only fair."
Katelynne capped the canteen and tossed it in the small pile with the yearbook and other supplies she was able to salvage from what Quinn didn't nab. And she just stayed in place, shifting her feet back and forth on the still damp ground and brushing the stringy hair out of her eyes and back over her ear.
"I'm glad you're, uhm.... how are you holdin' up?"
Heavens, she was still so effortlessly adorable even when her heart clearly wasn't beating at full. Princess carefully sidestepped the growing insect colony that was many some pounds worth of flesh, and joined her friend on her side of the divide. Only belatedly did she notice how her feet sunk a bit into the moisture of the earth, sponge-like suckling following her tread.
"You still have it in you, then. To do that much for our dearly departed." Dearly departed, who the hell was she kidding inclusive of herself, 'dearly departed'? Every corpse, including the one she tried so desperately to humanize with her internal monologue, was just a poorly chosen narrative device to try and convince herself she still had skin in the game. As the saying went.
Princess, more than anything, reflected most immediately on Katelynne's canteen. Petty, but pertinent. Princess' fallow breath was also a particularly cotton-mouth one- she was disturbingly close to running herself out of clean bottles.
"Wish I could lie, but. Not so well." Her tongue briefly explored her bottom lip. Like sandpaper makeouts.
Katelynne was many things. Not a particularly good writer, and not particularly aware. Somehow that had made her captivating to attach the self to, in her own dumb way. Things could change. Princess wondered by how much.
"I met Claudeson and heard him out for all his piousness- wherever he's disposed of that, after becoming a murderer. Teresa also tried to rob us. The remainder of everyone else I've met who I can even bother to remember remain seemingly innocent? At least." They were close enough now that Princess could connect them, flesh and bone. One hand came up, but only dared hover so close near the wet pile of dog fur that had Katelynne's distinctive hair shade of autumn. Touch even the shoulder, even lightly, and Princess somehow felt the gesture might have been inappropriate, might have been casus belli.
"I'd hope you've fared better. And I'd expect my hopes dashed like ship on rocks." Princess sighed softly, braced herself for the inevitable outpouring of reasons to disbelieve in humanity- atop all the many she'd been cursed with at birth, so on.
"You still have it in you, then. To do that much for our dearly departed." Dearly departed, who the hell was she kidding inclusive of herself, 'dearly departed'? Every corpse, including the one she tried so desperately to humanize with her internal monologue, was just a poorly chosen narrative device to try and convince herself she still had skin in the game. As the saying went.
Princess, more than anything, reflected most immediately on Katelynne's canteen. Petty, but pertinent. Princess' fallow breath was also a particularly cotton-mouth one- she was disturbingly close to running herself out of clean bottles.
"Wish I could lie, but. Not so well." Her tongue briefly explored her bottom lip. Like sandpaper makeouts.
Katelynne was many things. Not a particularly good writer, and not particularly aware. Somehow that had made her captivating to attach the self to, in her own dumb way. Things could change. Princess wondered by how much.
"I met Claudeson and heard him out for all his piousness- wherever he's disposed of that, after becoming a murderer. Teresa also tried to rob us. The remainder of everyone else I've met who I can even bother to remember remain seemingly innocent? At least." They were close enough now that Princess could connect them, flesh and bone. One hand came up, but only dared hover so close near the wet pile of dog fur that had Katelynne's distinctive hair shade of autumn. Touch even the shoulder, even lightly, and Princess somehow felt the gesture might have been inappropriate, might have been casus belli.
"I'd hope you've fared better. And I'd expect my hopes dashed like ship on rocks." Princess sighed softly, braced herself for the inevitable outpouring of reasons to disbelieve in humanity- atop all the many she'd been cursed with at birth, so on.
It was only just now dawning on Katelynne how much she missed Princess, or at least never really considered the very probable fact she would never see that aloof but gentle face or listen to that funny way of speaking ever again.
...Well, "funny" wasn't the right word. Didn't mean to sound like she was making fun, like how one particularly stringent English teacher back in 6th grade tried to "fix" Katelynne's speaking. Or at least that's how it felt like at the time, like using "ain't" maybe a little too liberally was a huge deal when it ain't.
Princess's was more like... dunno, charmingly antiquated, if Katelynne had to put a word on it? Like from another time, more poetry behind every word choice. It was soothing in a way, though Katelynne could never really place why that was. Especially now, the one thing that gave her a momentary sense of relief since the abduction.
Katelynne tried her best to listen along to Princess's experience, head nodding up and down in affirmation of words reaching her at the appropriate times. Sounds like she's been having about as great of a time as Katelynne was. But now she really felt awful at the implication that she never got to see Violet.
And then it was Katelynne's turn. "You got about five hours?" she chuckled, her frown morphing into a smile and back just as quick.
Katelynne's hand hesitantly reached out and joined Princess's, clasping and stroking the backside with her thumb. So warm. Like they were back in Chattanooga again.
"I've been better, ain't gonna lie. Ran into Quinn three times but somehow I'm still kicking, so I guess that's something. Ran into Garren and Yuka and Angie and Lib-... Liberty..."
The hand loosened, letting go of Princess and dropping to Katelynne's side as she stared at the bodies on the ground again.
"...I was with Liberty for a bit. But she got to her while we were sleeping... I... I only made it out because I hid under a bed, but Liberty, she, uhm... Quinn... Quinn... Quinn a-a-attacked her and a-an-an-and pinned it... p-p-pinned her up on a d-d-door an-an-and-"
The wavering of her voice, the sniffling of her nose, and the emergence of tears were lost to her until this point. The backside of her hand drew across her eyes and made a futile effort to bat the tears away.
Keep it in. Be a big girl. You can do this.
She couldn't.
...Well, "funny" wasn't the right word. Didn't mean to sound like she was making fun, like how one particularly stringent English teacher back in 6th grade tried to "fix" Katelynne's speaking. Or at least that's how it felt like at the time, like using "ain't" maybe a little too liberally was a huge deal when it ain't.
Princess's was more like... dunno, charmingly antiquated, if Katelynne had to put a word on it? Like from another time, more poetry behind every word choice. It was soothing in a way, though Katelynne could never really place why that was. Especially now, the one thing that gave her a momentary sense of relief since the abduction.
Katelynne tried her best to listen along to Princess's experience, head nodding up and down in affirmation of words reaching her at the appropriate times. Sounds like she's been having about as great of a time as Katelynne was. But now she really felt awful at the implication that she never got to see Violet.
And then it was Katelynne's turn. "You got about five hours?" she chuckled, her frown morphing into a smile and back just as quick.
Katelynne's hand hesitantly reached out and joined Princess's, clasping and stroking the backside with her thumb. So warm. Like they were back in Chattanooga again.
"I've been better, ain't gonna lie. Ran into Quinn three times but somehow I'm still kicking, so I guess that's something. Ran into Garren and Yuka and Angie and Lib-... Liberty..."
The hand loosened, letting go of Princess and dropping to Katelynne's side as she stared at the bodies on the ground again.
"...I was with Liberty for a bit. But she got to her while we were sleeping... I... I only made it out because I hid under a bed, but Liberty, she, uhm... Quinn... Quinn... Quinn a-a-attacked her and a-an-an-and pinned it... p-p-pinned her up on a d-d-door an-an-and-"
The wavering of her voice, the sniffling of her nose, and the emergence of tears were lost to her until this point. The backside of her hand drew across her eyes and made a futile effort to bat the tears away.
Keep it in. Be a big girl. You can do this.
She couldn't.
Hurt to watch. Somehow, the bleeding arrhythmia Violet had carved into the wall of her heart with her passing seemed dull. From the pale- a true first time confrontation with the evils of their one way trip to finality. The price was not their lives, but their hearts. The true pain would come long before any of them drew their last breath.
Princess could have cried herself, but the corners of her eyes could stopper on demand. Another charlatan theater trick.
Katelynne's trembles were promptly contained in a cage of arms, two wrapping around her back. Princess stooped ever so slightly as they embraced, lightly swabbing away some of the tears with the most delicate of headbutting. No way to stem the flow, of course. But the moment of closeness had to count for something. Here they remained, wet cheek and dry.
"Hell is empty, after all. We live among it's demons." Mumbled under her breath, the words palpable so little was the space between them. Paraphrased too. Princess didn't remember the exact line- she rarely did.
"They-" Quinn, Teresa, all the other names of those who declared themselves above reproach, above respect. "They steal from us, Kate. From all of us. They think they are better than us, that they have more value than our lives, than our dignity." Her voice cracked, weakly, sliding the wrong way on the octave. She hated how much it sounded like a flute exploding into a million pieces.
"You can't blame yourself, you mustn't." That at least, Princess could assert with conviction. Some. Not a lot. The waver of her voice could have powered violins. "Only one person committed a sin, and destroyed two innocents with it." The hug only loosened a bit.
Princess could have cried herself, but the corners of her eyes could stopper on demand. Another charlatan theater trick.
Katelynne's trembles were promptly contained in a cage of arms, two wrapping around her back. Princess stooped ever so slightly as they embraced, lightly swabbing away some of the tears with the most delicate of headbutting. No way to stem the flow, of course. But the moment of closeness had to count for something. Here they remained, wet cheek and dry.
"Hell is empty, after all. We live among it's demons." Mumbled under her breath, the words palpable so little was the space between them. Paraphrased too. Princess didn't remember the exact line- she rarely did.
"They-" Quinn, Teresa, all the other names of those who declared themselves above reproach, above respect. "They steal from us, Kate. From all of us. They think they are better than us, that they have more value than our lives, than our dignity." Her voice cracked, weakly, sliding the wrong way on the octave. She hated how much it sounded like a flute exploding into a million pieces.
"You can't blame yourself, you mustn't." That at least, Princess could assert with conviction. Some. Not a lot. The waver of her voice could have powered violins. "Only one person committed a sin, and destroyed two innocents with it." The hug only loosened a bit.
Katelynne heard, but she wasn't listening.
She let Liberty die. Just watched her die. Just ran and hid like the yellow-belly she was.
She was an awful person. No better than Quinn or anyone else who made that choice. She didn't deserve to be wrapped in Princess's motherly embrace.
"...Sorry... I'm sorry...," she said to Princess in between gulps of air. To the two bodies putrifying in front of them. To Liberty. To Garren. To Violet.
She let Liberty die. Just watched her die. Just ran and hid like the yellow-belly she was.
She was an awful person. No better than Quinn or anyone else who made that choice. She didn't deserve to be wrapped in Princess's motherly embrace.
"...Sorry... I'm sorry...," she said to Princess in between gulps of air. To the two bodies putrifying in front of them. To Liberty. To Garren. To Violet.
Princess felt no compulsion to accept the offered apology. It was coming from the wrong person.
Time passed away like the swiftest death march of their hapless loved ones. Princess' motherly pretensions continued, a stilted staccato of charmingly awkward conversation and frigid silence. Neither of them could be faulted when there was only so much to talk about, and when so little of it mattered.
There had been shelter to be found, a particularly deep-rooted, sadly drooping colossus of a tree that grew on a dry patch at the base of the paddies, conveniently the furthest place possible from any of the corpses that seemingly littered the marshy expanse like so many weeds. Princess had tread carefully, with pajamas lifted to the knee such that her clothes remained dry even splashing through the deepest of muck. She swore once she'd stepped on something smooth and round, like the curve of a bowl. Skull-shape. She hadn't dared to glance down and double check what it was she'd disturbed from its rest.
Princess picked at the corner of her eye until the dusky eyeliner set there began to smudge. She restlessly dabbed at the flaw until it vanished- knowing, somehow, without seeing her own handiwork reflected back at her. She watched Katelynne, for the hundredth time since the first stars had started to glare down from the horizon at a loss for something to say.
They needed to sleep soon, probably. Princess was mulling on a proper way to introduce the topic.
Or the other one, but the thought of proposing any concept as nebulous as 'peace' or 'justice' seemed artistically decrepit, voided by default. To play the hero, one had to be on the right side of history. History was being written around them, as they spoke. Princess couldn't claim a mandate of what was unknowable to their earthbound and mortal eye.
"... We need to talk."
Or perhaps daring to be in the wrong was the beginning of being truly right.
Time passed away like the swiftest death march of their hapless loved ones. Princess' motherly pretensions continued, a stilted staccato of charmingly awkward conversation and frigid silence. Neither of them could be faulted when there was only so much to talk about, and when so little of it mattered.
There had been shelter to be found, a particularly deep-rooted, sadly drooping colossus of a tree that grew on a dry patch at the base of the paddies, conveniently the furthest place possible from any of the corpses that seemingly littered the marshy expanse like so many weeds. Princess had tread carefully, with pajamas lifted to the knee such that her clothes remained dry even splashing through the deepest of muck. She swore once she'd stepped on something smooth and round, like the curve of a bowl. Skull-shape. She hadn't dared to glance down and double check what it was she'd disturbed from its rest.
Princess picked at the corner of her eye until the dusky eyeliner set there began to smudge. She restlessly dabbed at the flaw until it vanished- knowing, somehow, without seeing her own handiwork reflected back at her. She watched Katelynne, for the hundredth time since the first stars had started to glare down from the horizon at a loss for something to say.
They needed to sleep soon, probably. Princess was mulling on a proper way to introduce the topic.
Or the other one, but the thought of proposing any concept as nebulous as 'peace' or 'justice' seemed artistically decrepit, voided by default. To play the hero, one had to be on the right side of history. History was being written around them, as they spoke. Princess couldn't claim a mandate of what was unknowable to their earthbound and mortal eye.
"... We need to talk."
Or perhaps daring to be in the wrong was the beginning of being truly right.
Katelynne didn't look up from the pages of the yearbook, the one physical solace she still had mostly due to the enticing mystery of its enigmatic origins and its relevancy. But her head stopped scanning the glossy, barely illuminated photos of the red-haired girl.
"I know." She sighed and closed the book, fingernails tapping on the dirtied and stained front cover.
"I know we do."
"I know." She sighed and closed the book, fingernails tapping on the dirtied and stained front cover.
"I know we do."
(( Marco Volker continued from Being Real Handy at Disarming people.))
Performing self-triage was not fun. It was not a good hurt, and contrary to popular belief, removing bullets was hard. It was still inside him, he hadn’t pulled it out. It was way too deep in his right cheek and he was not gonna risk it by fucking something like that up and cutting an artery accidentally or something. He would not give the satisfaction of dying by Ariana’s hand. So here he was. One set of stitches, one new set of undies, and one ruined pair of overpriced $200 dollar fake leather jeans bought from Hot Topic to stick it to the man through consumerism later, Marco was clanking his way through this swampy old rice field.
Yeah, because of his inability to do a good first aid, he was now stuck limping around with a bullet in his ass. Poor lil tink-tink. I got hips that jingle jangle jingle. Clanky butt. He was exaggerating, but trying to find ways to laugh about this was doing him good in keeping him from absolutely seething over what had happened.
Ariana’s last memory would be of her shooting him in the ass, and not him absolutely destroying her by ripping her arm off. She’s probably gonna be bragging about it in hell incessantly like some boomer talking about the last time he was relevant in life when he played high school football.
Whatever. He’s going through this fucking nasty ass area to lose those other dweebs whom are probably distraught at the loss of their queen. Beta ass fucks got off lucky.
Marco wanted to find a place to stop and eat seeing as he actually had food now, but he didn’t want anyone to catch up to him. He needed to find a good spot to lay low until morning. Marco heard voices a ways up.
He didn’t recognize them, but they both were female so they were new people, probably.
Could it be Sierra and Willow? Marco picked up the pace to find out. Oh if it was them this night would end on a GREAT note. Marco moved closer to the voices then-
“Oh. Damnit, I thought you guys were someone else.” They were new people. He expected trouble, as he always did now. He could’ve turned around and walked away all awkward like, but he didn’t know what they had on them and didn’t want another bullet in the butt. So he just stood there, black bloc’d out, fanged teeth, red glowing eye, and graffiti’d chainsaw, now stained, all awkwardly.
He didn’t know where to go from here.
Performing self-triage was not fun. It was not a good hurt, and contrary to popular belief, removing bullets was hard. It was still inside him, he hadn’t pulled it out. It was way too deep in his right cheek and he was not gonna risk it by fucking something like that up and cutting an artery accidentally or something. He would not give the satisfaction of dying by Ariana’s hand. So here he was. One set of stitches, one new set of undies, and one ruined pair of overpriced $200 dollar fake leather jeans bought from Hot Topic to stick it to the man through consumerism later, Marco was clanking his way through this swampy old rice field.
Yeah, because of his inability to do a good first aid, he was now stuck limping around with a bullet in his ass. Poor lil tink-tink. I got hips that jingle jangle jingle. Clanky butt. He was exaggerating, but trying to find ways to laugh about this was doing him good in keeping him from absolutely seething over what had happened.
Ariana’s last memory would be of her shooting him in the ass, and not him absolutely destroying her by ripping her arm off. She’s probably gonna be bragging about it in hell incessantly like some boomer talking about the last time he was relevant in life when he played high school football.
Whatever. He’s going through this fucking nasty ass area to lose those other dweebs whom are probably distraught at the loss of their queen. Beta ass fucks got off lucky.
Marco wanted to find a place to stop and eat seeing as he actually had food now, but he didn’t want anyone to catch up to him. He needed to find a good spot to lay low until morning. Marco heard voices a ways up.
He didn’t recognize them, but they both were female so they were new people, probably.
Could it be Sierra and Willow? Marco picked up the pace to find out. Oh if it was them this night would end on a GREAT note. Marco moved closer to the voices then-
“Oh. Damnit, I thought you guys were someone else.” They were new people. He expected trouble, as he always did now. He could’ve turned around and walked away all awkward like, but he didn’t know what they had on them and didn’t want another bullet in the butt. So he just stood there, black bloc’d out, fanged teeth, red glowing eye, and graffiti’d chainsaw, now stained, all awkwardly.
He didn’t know where to go from here.
`Speak with your own voice and be as unique as you possibly can`.
The girl Katelynne's eyes seemed to idle onto was beautiful in a way. A ghostly afterimage. Katelynne had explained the origins of the book, implied the fates of all recorded within without ever having to say it aloud. Textual proof that history repeated itself- that Princess was walking the same path some scared idiots scant years prior had. She did not know whether she yet lived up to their legacy or not- she had never been particularly compelled to watch snuff porn, no matter how contemporary and relevant. There was no romance to Survival of the Fittest, as a viewer. Nor as a participant.
Princess had submitted her own senior quote already. `I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom`. An ironic echo to have as her epitaph, she supposed.
The yearbook was closed, the distraction sealed away into the afterlife where it belonged. Still, Princess idled for a moment. Silence draped them both, and Princess wordlessly shrugged off her damp jacket, removing it's oppressive heaviness. Funny that she looked a bit better, livelier, in what could charitably be described as sleepover clothes, thin and flimsy.
Her delaying tactic cutely continued: she glanced around with a halfhearted swivel of the neck, searching for a branch to hang the coat, hoping to ward off the stench of mildew from settling too deeply.
She recognized him, as he emerged from around the wrap of the tree's wilting bark like a night terror. Gauche, as he was wont. The plastic vampire fangs muffled his voice more than they enhanced his visage- probably more a fact than mere opinion. She'd never cared much for his aesthetic in Drama Club, his loudness natch. She memorized his name because she had to, not because she particularly wanted to.
The spots of blood staining the leather, however, could have been more than props. There were two Marcos- a fact Princess had been trying to keep from dwelling on, given that she liked at least one of those Marcos and that both of them had already claimed a human life. Princess contemplated, but only for a moment. Quick to the draw, she liked that. Portended well for her future, if she could at least act like her old self for any isolated moment in time.
"Marco, you look like hell."
He was a murderer, yes, but Princess supposed her audience didn't matter much. Onto this island all the children of their graduating class were potentially evil. Morality was no less than substance and action- as it always was, in the narrative of the story where the heroine triumphed. Princess, Katelynne, whoever it was who would walk this fraught path to some unknown form of actualization, would have to figure the details out as they went along. The final chapter of their lives, yet unwritten.
Marco was more likely than not an enemy, but he had yet to raise his weapon.
"Alright, I'll just..." A deep, troubled breath. "Say this now and put it on the record so I can stand by it. However either of you react." Her gaze wandered between them as she stood tall, crossed her arms. Trying to paint the portrait of dignity, albeit with children's watercolors. She'd linger on Katelynne longer, though. She was easier to look at. "I believe a stand must be taken. For selfish or selfless reasons, don't ask me, I don't know. I may be full of it, it certainly wouldn't be the first time."
She contemplated the chainsaw in all it's brutal modernism- stylized to be less impressive than a cartoon, and all the more vilely deadly for it.
"Certain members of our class have crossed acceptable thresholds. They must be held accountable- by death." Saying it wasn't as hard as she'd imagined it would be. She almost sounded convinced- in a dry, office clerk sort of way. Princess wondered what that meant. "Our lives are all forfeit, to be sure. But evil still exists on this island, uncaring about our dignity. Inflicting onto us harm that can never be taken back, or undone. That cannot be forgiven, and should not be."
The girl Katelynne's eyes seemed to idle onto was beautiful in a way. A ghostly afterimage. Katelynne had explained the origins of the book, implied the fates of all recorded within without ever having to say it aloud. Textual proof that history repeated itself- that Princess was walking the same path some scared idiots scant years prior had. She did not know whether she yet lived up to their legacy or not- she had never been particularly compelled to watch snuff porn, no matter how contemporary and relevant. There was no romance to Survival of the Fittest, as a viewer. Nor as a participant.
Princess had submitted her own senior quote already. `I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom`. An ironic echo to have as her epitaph, she supposed.
The yearbook was closed, the distraction sealed away into the afterlife where it belonged. Still, Princess idled for a moment. Silence draped them both, and Princess wordlessly shrugged off her damp jacket, removing it's oppressive heaviness. Funny that she looked a bit better, livelier, in what could charitably be described as sleepover clothes, thin and flimsy.
Her delaying tactic cutely continued: she glanced around with a halfhearted swivel of the neck, searching for a branch to hang the coat, hoping to ward off the stench of mildew from settling too deeply.
She recognized him, as he emerged from around the wrap of the tree's wilting bark like a night terror. Gauche, as he was wont. The plastic vampire fangs muffled his voice more than they enhanced his visage- probably more a fact than mere opinion. She'd never cared much for his aesthetic in Drama Club, his loudness natch. She memorized his name because she had to, not because she particularly wanted to.
The spots of blood staining the leather, however, could have been more than props. There were two Marcos- a fact Princess had been trying to keep from dwelling on, given that she liked at least one of those Marcos and that both of them had already claimed a human life. Princess contemplated, but only for a moment. Quick to the draw, she liked that. Portended well for her future, if she could at least act like her old self for any isolated moment in time.
"Marco, you look like hell."
He was a murderer, yes, but Princess supposed her audience didn't matter much. Onto this island all the children of their graduating class were potentially evil. Morality was no less than substance and action- as it always was, in the narrative of the story where the heroine triumphed. Princess, Katelynne, whoever it was who would walk this fraught path to some unknown form of actualization, would have to figure the details out as they went along. The final chapter of their lives, yet unwritten.
Marco was more likely than not an enemy, but he had yet to raise his weapon.
"Alright, I'll just..." A deep, troubled breath. "Say this now and put it on the record so I can stand by it. However either of you react." Her gaze wandered between them as she stood tall, crossed her arms. Trying to paint the portrait of dignity, albeit with children's watercolors. She'd linger on Katelynne longer, though. She was easier to look at. "I believe a stand must be taken. For selfish or selfless reasons, don't ask me, I don't know. I may be full of it, it certainly wouldn't be the first time."
She contemplated the chainsaw in all it's brutal modernism- stylized to be less impressive than a cartoon, and all the more vilely deadly for it.
"Certain members of our class have crossed acceptable thresholds. They must be held accountable- by death." Saying it wasn't as hard as she'd imagined it would be. She almost sounded convinced- in a dry, office clerk sort of way. Princess wondered what that meant. "Our lives are all forfeit, to be sure. But evil still exists on this island, uncaring about our dignity. Inflicting onto us harm that can never be taken back, or undone. That cannot be forgiven, and should not be."
And like that, the pow wow suddenly grew to three with the Marco jump scare.
The chainsaw. One eye. Blood. Oh God. He really was another murderer, wasn't he? They had to go. They had to go now. They-
Princess shot him down, just like that. Her disciplinary diss calmed Katelynne down a bit, funnily enough. Enough for her to consider that he wasn't actively trying to kill them. Though he literally had blood on his hands.
But if she was nonplussed about his sudden appearance, Katelynne would to. Try to be, at least. God knows she already has one serial killer after her; they don't need two.
She gave him an awkward half-wave from her seat underneath the tree before listening to Princess, parsing her flowery language as best she could.
After Princess was done, Katelynne paused to process her thoughts before contributing.
"I.... I don't know. I really don't."
Head shake. Sigh.
"I get what you're sayin', and... I agree. But I... I wish you weren't right."
Her spine suddenly felt so chilly. Quinn. Marco, right there. Kelly. Even Nona... other Marco. All people who made the choice to kill the same kids they all went to school with for the past four years. The same kids who went to football games and pep rallys and festivals and dances with them. Just like that. That was the reality of the world they were in now. It was past the point of closing your eyes and plugging your ears now.
"But... what are we s'posed to do? We ain't got nothing between us girls." She glanced over at Marco, considering changing that last word. Eh.
"We're just sitting ducks out here."
The chainsaw. One eye. Blood. Oh God. He really was another murderer, wasn't he? They had to go. They had to go now. They-
Princess shot him down, just like that. Her disciplinary diss calmed Katelynne down a bit, funnily enough. Enough for her to consider that he wasn't actively trying to kill them. Though he literally had blood on his hands.
But if she was nonplussed about his sudden appearance, Katelynne would to. Try to be, at least. God knows she already has one serial killer after her; they don't need two.
She gave him an awkward half-wave from her seat underneath the tree before listening to Princess, parsing her flowery language as best she could.
After Princess was done, Katelynne paused to process her thoughts before contributing.
"I.... I don't know. I really don't."
Head shake. Sigh.
"I get what you're sayin', and... I agree. But I... I wish you weren't right."
Her spine suddenly felt so chilly. Quinn. Marco, right there. Kelly. Even Nona... other Marco. All people who made the choice to kill the same kids they all went to school with for the past four years. The same kids who went to football games and pep rallys and festivals and dances with them. Just like that. That was the reality of the world they were in now. It was past the point of closing your eyes and plugging your ears now.
"But... what are we s'posed to do? We ain't got nothing between us girls." She glanced over at Marco, considering changing that last word. Eh.
"We're just sitting ducks out here."
-
MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1284
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
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- Contact:
Fuck.
Fuuuuuuck.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Why did Julien have to be so goddamn slow?
[Lucas Diaz continued from Zero Sum.]
He knew exactly why. Dressed the goddamn wound himself! Didn't make it any less excruciating to walk so slowly. Every root, under foot, a hill to climb over. Every patch of wet leaves a fucking ice rink crossed on tip-toes. Every snapped branch ringing out that much longer, every crunched leaf that much... crunchier. The weight of his weapons was a little much, now. He'd taken to carrying the crowbar, putting the keyblade through the straps of his bag, the rod pressing against the small of his back forcing him upright. Posture was never his area of expertise. Was it anyone's? It was just a thing that people did. Why did Lucas think it was a thing that people could, with work, get good at, when in reality you either knew it or you didn't? You either knew how to be a person or you did not. It took a stupid video game sword to remind Lucas that he was absolute garbage. Or maybe that was the last of the Prozac leaving his body.
Every so often, they'd exchange words, or Julien would ask for Lucas' help, and he'd oblige. He brought Julien along because he wanted company, and to make sure he didn't add another number on to Erika's kill-count. Why, then, did Lucas feel like the burden? Julien deserved someone who could help him out more. Someone who was a better support. A better conversation partner. He had to keep a conscious lid on anything he could say that would potentially be taken as a sign that Lucas was maybe not the best person to have Julien's back. Did he really actually say that Julien had nice legs? Did he actually really ask Sven for the light-saber? Did he really shout 'Clout Gang' at a group of people that could have killed him?
Lucas couldn't afford another fuck-up. He had a goal. He had a reason to live. Any more fuck-ups, and he could lose that.
As day passed on into night and the rain stopped, Lucas realized that it had been a long time since the two of them stopped and ate. He didn't even know exactly where they were, but it was woodsy. They'd have passed by the village, assuming they went in a straight line. Past the village, but not to the water. So, nearby, they'd find either the zoo buildings, or the temple, or the lake, or some cliffs, or something that suggested the end of the world.
Instead, they found the rice paddies. The smell of wet death rushed to Lucas' nose as he stepped out of the brush and into the wide open space. He gagged, leaning down and hunching over in case he needed to throw up. Nothing came out. Jesus. He rose back to full height, bracing himself against the weight of the keyswordthing and grimacing at everything he saw out there, bobbing up and down in the water, the aftermath of untold battles and stories, a backdrop on which countless more lives would be taken, liters more blood spilled, a field that Lucas was forced to cross on the way to his destiny oh hey look
it's some people.
Lucas took his glasses off, breathed on the lenses, and rubbed them on his shirt before returning them to his face. It didn't make them that much cleaner, but he could see now who was there, under a tree not too far away. The horse furby girl whose name he did not know and absolutely would spell or pronounce wrong if he tried. Marco, who basically looked like he was literally falling apart, one of god knows how many—he was reminded of Spongebob: "Are there any more Marco's in this house that I should know about? Mreow." And of course, Princess, who tried too hard, basically all the time.
These people could kill him. These people could save his life.
He turned over his shoulder and looked at Julien, pointing over at the tree just to make sure he could see.
Hell, why not infantilize him a little more?
"You see the people over there?" Lucas asked, "I think we should go over and say hi. Princess and Katelynne haven't killed anyone, so they're probably okay, and they might need help dealing with Marco."
His line of sight was brought back down to Julien's wound, and Lucas winced.
"Actually, maybe stay over here until I know if it's okay. I'll, like, turn and wave at you. Just don't hurt yourself."
With that, Lucas turned back around and started to walk across the rice paddies, crossing one of the dirt banks over to the tree. He needed to make himself known, somehow, but he couldn't figure out how. A revival of "clout gang" was off the table. Absolutely forbidden. But he couldn't juse say "yo" or "hey" or something absolutely unoriginal and lame, like that. That wasn't his burgeoningly heroic brand, at all. Lucas drew a blank. His ear to the world, he listened for something worth making an entrance out of.
He found it in the group he was approaching. Princess, taking a stand against those who had done evil. Katelynne, distraught, wondering aloud what the two of them could accomplish on their own. Marco, just kind of listening, a dumbfuck dumbstruck by the idea that, hey, maybe someone still had some virtue, here. Lucas' opening was perfect. Deep breaths, now.
Inhale.
dontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdont
Exhale.
"Don't give up hope," he said, a little too loud, a bit too firm for how little he actually had to say.
"There's, uh, there's still good people out there that haven't fallen to them. People who agree that some have taken things too far. Earlier today, I was walking in the woods when I saw two people trying to help someone who had been shot, someone they had no reason to save other than because it was the right thing to do. Julien, over there, can attest to that. "
He waved Julien over, then turned back to the trio.
"Good still has a chance," Lucas said. He was surprised to find that he meant it.
Fuuuuuuck.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Why did Julien have to be so goddamn slow?
[Lucas Diaz continued from Zero Sum.]
He knew exactly why. Dressed the goddamn wound himself! Didn't make it any less excruciating to walk so slowly. Every root, under foot, a hill to climb over. Every patch of wet leaves a fucking ice rink crossed on tip-toes. Every snapped branch ringing out that much longer, every crunched leaf that much... crunchier. The weight of his weapons was a little much, now. He'd taken to carrying the crowbar, putting the keyblade through the straps of his bag, the rod pressing against the small of his back forcing him upright. Posture was never his area of expertise. Was it anyone's? It was just a thing that people did. Why did Lucas think it was a thing that people could, with work, get good at, when in reality you either knew it or you didn't? You either knew how to be a person or you did not. It took a stupid video game sword to remind Lucas that he was absolute garbage. Or maybe that was the last of the Prozac leaving his body.
Every so often, they'd exchange words, or Julien would ask for Lucas' help, and he'd oblige. He brought Julien along because he wanted company, and to make sure he didn't add another number on to Erika's kill-count. Why, then, did Lucas feel like the burden? Julien deserved someone who could help him out more. Someone who was a better support. A better conversation partner. He had to keep a conscious lid on anything he could say that would potentially be taken as a sign that Lucas was maybe not the best person to have Julien's back. Did he really actually say that Julien had nice legs? Did he actually really ask Sven for the light-saber? Did he really shout 'Clout Gang' at a group of people that could have killed him?
Lucas couldn't afford another fuck-up. He had a goal. He had a reason to live. Any more fuck-ups, and he could lose that.
As day passed on into night and the rain stopped, Lucas realized that it had been a long time since the two of them stopped and ate. He didn't even know exactly where they were, but it was woodsy. They'd have passed by the village, assuming they went in a straight line. Past the village, but not to the water. So, nearby, they'd find either the zoo buildings, or the temple, or the lake, or some cliffs, or something that suggested the end of the world.
Instead, they found the rice paddies. The smell of wet death rushed to Lucas' nose as he stepped out of the brush and into the wide open space. He gagged, leaning down and hunching over in case he needed to throw up. Nothing came out. Jesus. He rose back to full height, bracing himself against the weight of the keyswordthing and grimacing at everything he saw out there, bobbing up and down in the water, the aftermath of untold battles and stories, a backdrop on which countless more lives would be taken, liters more blood spilled, a field that Lucas was forced to cross on the way to his destiny oh hey look
it's some people.
Lucas took his glasses off, breathed on the lenses, and rubbed them on his shirt before returning them to his face. It didn't make them that much cleaner, but he could see now who was there, under a tree not too far away. The horse furby girl whose name he did not know and absolutely would spell or pronounce wrong if he tried. Marco, who basically looked like he was literally falling apart, one of god knows how many—he was reminded of Spongebob: "Are there any more Marco's in this house that I should know about? Mreow." And of course, Princess, who tried too hard, basically all the time.
These people could kill him. These people could save his life.
He turned over his shoulder and looked at Julien, pointing over at the tree just to make sure he could see.
Hell, why not infantilize him a little more?
"You see the people over there?" Lucas asked, "I think we should go over and say hi. Princess and Katelynne haven't killed anyone, so they're probably okay, and they might need help dealing with Marco."
His line of sight was brought back down to Julien's wound, and Lucas winced.
"Actually, maybe stay over here until I know if it's okay. I'll, like, turn and wave at you. Just don't hurt yourself."
With that, Lucas turned back around and started to walk across the rice paddies, crossing one of the dirt banks over to the tree. He needed to make himself known, somehow, but he couldn't figure out how. A revival of "clout gang" was off the table. Absolutely forbidden. But he couldn't juse say "yo" or "hey" or something absolutely unoriginal and lame, like that. That wasn't his burgeoningly heroic brand, at all. Lucas drew a blank. His ear to the world, he listened for something worth making an entrance out of.
He found it in the group he was approaching. Princess, taking a stand against those who had done evil. Katelynne, distraught, wondering aloud what the two of them could accomplish on their own. Marco, just kind of listening, a dumbfuck dumbstruck by the idea that, hey, maybe someone still had some virtue, here. Lucas' opening was perfect. Deep breaths, now.
Inhale.
dontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdont
Exhale.
"Don't give up hope," he said, a little too loud, a bit too firm for how little he actually had to say.
"There's, uh, there's still good people out there that haven't fallen to them. People who agree that some have taken things too far. Earlier today, I was walking in the woods when I saw two people trying to help someone who had been shot, someone they had no reason to save other than because it was the right thing to do. Julien, over there, can attest to that. "
He waved Julien over, then turned back to the trio.
"Good still has a chance," Lucas said. He was surprised to find that he meant it.
/ 
- 
/ 
- 
- 
- 
- 
- Marco raised his eyebrow at that line. That was... a first. Marco was expecting a lot of different reactions, but not the one he’d gotten. No shit like trying to posture up, or freaking out, or blaming him over shit like it was his fault everyone got kidnapped in the first place, just a simple statement. He looked like hell. Heh. He looked at himself, then back at Princess.
“I know. I crawled out of there.”
Admittedly that sounded cooler in his head. He thought he was vibing on Bane’s whole molded by the darkness thing, but he wasn’t feeling it to be honest.
Marco stood and listened as she spoke again. She talked about taking a stand. Holding people accountable for their actions. Playing but not really playing. Marco was standing right there as Princess said that, but it seemed like she really didn’t care.
Marco didn’t mind. She was stating everything up front, without all the cheeky passive aggressive side eye bullshit he’d come to expect from everyone else.
He stood by and listened as Katelynne with a y joined in. She agreed but seemed unsure of it all. They didn’t have much on them to fight with, that was true.
This was a bit of a dilemma they were in. They wanted to fight back, but neither had the equipment to do so. Marco wondered how they’d have reacted to him if they were packing. He wondered if it’d be like Queen Ariana and her beta bitch suitor gang again.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t have much- anything really, when I started. I had to work my way up.” Marco had to start from the very bottom and fight his way to his spot. If they possibly had the same mindset, he wouldn’t mind seeing what he could do.
“You mind if I sit here too?”
Marco turned his head as another voice joined in.
He was armed. Marco felt a little more on edge, but not much. What he said sounded pretty fucking pretentious.
“Shit, where was that good when I needed it?”
“I know. I crawled out of there.”
Admittedly that sounded cooler in his head. He thought he was vibing on Bane’s whole molded by the darkness thing, but he wasn’t feeling it to be honest.
Marco stood and listened as she spoke again. She talked about taking a stand. Holding people accountable for their actions. Playing but not really playing. Marco was standing right there as Princess said that, but it seemed like she really didn’t care.
Marco didn’t mind. She was stating everything up front, without all the cheeky passive aggressive side eye bullshit he’d come to expect from everyone else.
He stood by and listened as Katelynne with a y joined in. She agreed but seemed unsure of it all. They didn’t have much on them to fight with, that was true.
This was a bit of a dilemma they were in. They wanted to fight back, but neither had the equipment to do so. Marco wondered how they’d have reacted to him if they were packing. He wondered if it’d be like Queen Ariana and her beta bitch suitor gang again.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t have much- anything really, when I started. I had to work my way up.” Marco had to start from the very bottom and fight his way to his spot. If they possibly had the same mindset, he wouldn’t mind seeing what he could do.
“You mind if I sit here too?”
Marco turned his head as another voice joined in.
He was armed. Marco felt a little more on edge, but not much. What he said sounded pretty fucking pretentious.
“Shit, where was that good when I needed it?”
"Wherever it is, there's likely not enough of it."
Princess had nodded at Lucas when he'd shown- brief tilt of the head, but polite enough given circumstances. Not given to talking or being talked at- respectable in its own way, easy to dismiss in all the other ways. He'd lurked Photo Club on his own time, sometimes vanishing, sometimes not. A story not worth browsing the pages of. He had Julien as company- Julien, plus bloodied bandaging. Julien was worth a moment of recollection. She'd committed to him her own morality, had all but twisted the promise ring's silver onto her finger in the brief moments they'd spoken. Two days ago? Maybe one. Hard to tell how time passed anymore- fast to befuddle, slow to torture. They'd both lost things in the interim. Maybe the weight of their words were similarly forfeit.
She remembered Teresa then, how their exchange had been so void of meaning, yet had somehow seemed the most relevant conversation of Princess' numbered days.
"It's good to hear there are still some charitable souls out there, I suppose. But I think morality as a concept slips away. Lost to ambiguity. It's-... I'm- genuinely, honestly unsure. At some point someone tried to rob me and my friends. There was a moment I could have killed her. And then, a different moment where she could have killed me. I don't know why either of us walked away."
Princess finally gestured at Marco, a soft palm toward the ground. An invitation to sit that she herself also took, back against the tree's breadth, carefully squatting to her ankles. Some part of her still mindfully loathed the idea of dirtying her worthless pajamas any more than they already were.
"Not a fan of ambiguity," Princess pressed her fingers to her lips like a cage, as if trying to muffle her own ranting, casting a shield over it to obscure it from prying eyes and ears. "I'm sure this will surprise none of you, but for the longest time I was the shining heroine and most everyone else were the sycophants who didn't understand my brilliance, who would be made to surely comprehend, someday."
Like Marco said- surprisingly astute, considering his less than keen sensibilities in most regards. Build the self up. They had all been put onto a level playing field- allowed to rewrite themselves. Words might have been proven meaningless, but they could be redefined. New roles to play. A place for all of them- a place for the uncertain heroes with nothing but their own quavering spines. A place for the ones already fighting back. A place for the ones pointing the gun and pulling the trigger. Even Marco, then. Sitting here with blood on his hands, sharing a moment that could change them all, for the better, the worse, the more needlessly pretentious.
"One thing I'm sure of: hard as it is to knowingly do good and be good, there is definite evil. Humans are petty, humans are frail, inevitably someone might kill someone in passion, but. Four, five, however many kills, that's truly heinous no matter how it's spun. We agree on that much." Princess felt a certain heat warming her cold body- embarrassment. She'd only just realized she was doing that monologue thing she was incidentally good at.
"It's something to latch onto, at least. However ill-equipped any of us are to do anything about it. Kate? You're right, we're probably helpless. But that life-long ill omen's never stopped me before."
Princess had nodded at Lucas when he'd shown- brief tilt of the head, but polite enough given circumstances. Not given to talking or being talked at- respectable in its own way, easy to dismiss in all the other ways. He'd lurked Photo Club on his own time, sometimes vanishing, sometimes not. A story not worth browsing the pages of. He had Julien as company- Julien, plus bloodied bandaging. Julien was worth a moment of recollection. She'd committed to him her own morality, had all but twisted the promise ring's silver onto her finger in the brief moments they'd spoken. Two days ago? Maybe one. Hard to tell how time passed anymore- fast to befuddle, slow to torture. They'd both lost things in the interim. Maybe the weight of their words were similarly forfeit.
She remembered Teresa then, how their exchange had been so void of meaning, yet had somehow seemed the most relevant conversation of Princess' numbered days.
"It's good to hear there are still some charitable souls out there, I suppose. But I think morality as a concept slips away. Lost to ambiguity. It's-... I'm- genuinely, honestly unsure. At some point someone tried to rob me and my friends. There was a moment I could have killed her. And then, a different moment where she could have killed me. I don't know why either of us walked away."
Princess finally gestured at Marco, a soft palm toward the ground. An invitation to sit that she herself also took, back against the tree's breadth, carefully squatting to her ankles. Some part of her still mindfully loathed the idea of dirtying her worthless pajamas any more than they already were.
"Not a fan of ambiguity," Princess pressed her fingers to her lips like a cage, as if trying to muffle her own ranting, casting a shield over it to obscure it from prying eyes and ears. "I'm sure this will surprise none of you, but for the longest time I was the shining heroine and most everyone else were the sycophants who didn't understand my brilliance, who would be made to surely comprehend, someday."
Like Marco said- surprisingly astute, considering his less than keen sensibilities in most regards. Build the self up. They had all been put onto a level playing field- allowed to rewrite themselves. Words might have been proven meaningless, but they could be redefined. New roles to play. A place for all of them- a place for the uncertain heroes with nothing but their own quavering spines. A place for the ones already fighting back. A place for the ones pointing the gun and pulling the trigger. Even Marco, then. Sitting here with blood on his hands, sharing a moment that could change them all, for the better, the worse, the more needlessly pretentious.
"One thing I'm sure of: hard as it is to knowingly do good and be good, there is definite evil. Humans are petty, humans are frail, inevitably someone might kill someone in passion, but. Four, five, however many kills, that's truly heinous no matter how it's spun. We agree on that much." Princess felt a certain heat warming her cold body- embarrassment. She'd only just realized she was doing that monologue thing she was incidentally good at.
"It's something to latch onto, at least. However ill-equipped any of us are to do anything about it. Kate? You're right, we're probably helpless. But that life-long ill omen's never stopped me before."