((Parker_Green - Day 3 - 02:30 Local Time - Entering from no garren))
The most dangerous thing to leave Parker alone with was himself.
He squinted at the watch that hung around his wrist, trying to make out the faint glow of the hands through the gloom that blanketed everything, the thick clouds that hung above the island blotting out the light that the moon might have provided. It had been an hour and a half since Garren had woken him up for his turn on guard duty, and he'd been spending that time thinking, as he sat near the entrance to their hastily constructed shelter. The few pieces of metal they'd found that had once been used in sculptures or to hold up signs now served as a skeleton to which an assortment of canvas, wood and leaves had been wrapped around, the structure tapering down on one end to keep it from becoming a wind tunnel.
If it had been under other circumstances, he might have found a little pride in the fact that it had survived the stormy night, but there were more pressing things to focus on. Like the three bags sitting behind him, marked B017, B052 & B084, all containing around a day's supplies. Maybe a little more.
The question had never been if he was going to steal from them, the question had been how he'd get away with it, and how much he would take. Now that the first of those quandaries had been neatly addressed, as he peered back over his shoulder at the even more impenetrable blackness where Aoi and Garren were sleeping, it had come time to figure out the last part.
The obvious answer was just to take everything, but as he'd sat and waited for Garren to settle down for the night and sleep, he'd figured out the obvious flaw in that plan. Leaving the both of them with nothing left them with something that was dangerous, a common goal, a reason to work together. Parker needed to avoid that, one person's word against his own was a question of trust, two people's words against his own was a lost cause. Plus, two motivated people hunting him down would only add to the reasons to look over his shoulder.
Fortunately, the terrorists had provided him with just the vehicle to spark conflict between the two of them, in the extra duffelbag that they'd all been given. It had no clear indicator of ownership, just "Property of SOTF" stencilled on it in clear, white lettering. If he put enough in that bag to give them something, without it being enough to reasonably share between them, suddenly Parker wasn't the only enemy to contend with.
He looked down at his watch again, the minute hand had crept a nearly imperceptible amount forwards, just off of the number 6 mark.
It was go time.
Parker moved quietly and deliberately as he brought the bags in front of him, cringing at the sound of the zipper opening, even as the rain patter on the roof drowned it out. He couldn't afford to take too long with this, getting caught in the action would be disastrous, and yet he had to balance that with not being so loud he'd be caught. Everything disappeared into the maw of Parker's bag, he'd take the time to sort out whether he needed a second copy of the laughable survival guide or a third flashlight later, even their original bags with their designated numbers and letters went in.
The only things left were carefully selected. One empty bottle, one full bottle, a first aid kit, one loaf of bread, one ration bar and a map. It was around half a day's supplies, he judged. Enough to get one of them to some place else on the island. He placed it by the entrance, leaving it open so that the both of them would clearly see what was inside it when dawn broke, and the two of them woke up.
Parker stood up, and got himself ready, tightening the strap on his newly refilled bag. He angled the peak of his cap down, pressing it against the rims of his glasses, before flicking his hood up over the top of it.
He walked into the darkness.
((Parker_Green - Day 3 - 02:36 Local Time - In Transit to Name by name))
Applied Prisoners Dilemma
Private (for now?)
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Frozen Smoke
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Applied Prisoners Dilemma
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
((Garren Mortimer continued from no garren there will be no cbt on my murder island))
When he was a kid, like, a ten, eleven, twelve year-old, Garren wore watches all the goddamn time. It was the sorta thing kids just did, latch onto one thing with all their heart, with only a shaky rationale behind it. Maybe it was because they combined the aesthetic stylings of a bracelet with the practical purposes of, well, a clock. He didn’t know, he couldn’t fuckin’ remember how his brain had worked as a preteen.
Anyway. Watches every minute of every day, watches in class, watches in the shower, he’d worn his watch to bed one night and woken up with an uncomfortable red ring around his wrist. He was some kinda prodigal watch connoisseur, if your idea of style was ‘it’s black with orange highlights, which is cool’.
It had been, like many things in Garren’s life, a Reddit post that had been the end of all that. Someone bragging about the watch they’d gotten for their birthday. Listing off all its fancy-pants functions; waterproof, shockproof, fucking ice proof, the whole shebang. Garren had rolled his eyes, typed ‘>buying a watch when phones exist’ into the textbox, slapped ‘Enter’, and that had been that. He’d let the world know about his factual disdain for watches, and soon enough, that lie became a reality. Just another front, another piece of the stupid, ugly mask he’d welded to his own face.
Anyway, again. Garren didn’t wear watches anymore, and for most of his life, he’d been a moron with no long term planning and a self-sabotaging persona. These two facts were known. And if he’d had either of those things, he would have realised as his eyes cracked open that it had about 3 hours had passed since Parker’s grand heist, and that there was something seriously not right about that fact, right off the bat.
Instead, he spent a good long while staring up at the corrugated iron roof of their ramshackle shelter, listening to the rain tap tap tap against it, wind whistling through the gaps in the reused art pieces, the spare clothes he was using as a blanket doing almost nothing to stop the chill from reaching him.
It was surprisingly pleasant, though, despite all that. He’d slept better than he had any right to, even with the breaks for guard duty, and having to piss in the pitch black and in the rain, and with what he was absolutely fucking certain had been a tiger just two feet away from him. He’d been right, in a sense. But a shittily painted tiger on a tattered piece of canvas probably wasn’t gonna rip his dick off and maul his face.
Slowly, Garren pushed himself up, careful not to lean against the wall of their shelter in case the whole thing collapsed in on itself. He glanced to his left, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Aoi was still asleep, breathing softly. The spot that Parker had claimed for himself, however, was totally empty. No bags, no clothes. Certainly no human being. Garren narrowed his eyes.
“Yo, Parker!” he said, stretching, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. “Did you, like, spend all night on watch or something?”
Nothing. Garren was starting to get seriously concerned, because some shit was definitely up.
“Parker?”
Silence, once again. There was always a chance that he’d just fuckin’ fallen asleep whilst on watch, face first in some muddy puddle, and even though Garren’s gut instinct was telling him the truth was way worse than that, he’d neve know if he didn’t check. Shedding the covers off of himself, he crept to the entrance of the shelter, peering out. The light was still low, hindered by the tree cover and the rain and the dark grey sky, but he could still see the general vicinity around where they’d made camp.
And all he could see was trees and pretentious-ass art pieces, and a total lack of the backstabbing shitheel formerly known as Parker Green.
He hurried back inside, roughly jostling Aoi’s shoulder.
“Wake the fuck up, Aoi,” Garren hissed. “Parker’s fucking gone.”
When he was a kid, like, a ten, eleven, twelve year-old, Garren wore watches all the goddamn time. It was the sorta thing kids just did, latch onto one thing with all their heart, with only a shaky rationale behind it. Maybe it was because they combined the aesthetic stylings of a bracelet with the practical purposes of, well, a clock. He didn’t know, he couldn’t fuckin’ remember how his brain had worked as a preteen.
Anyway. Watches every minute of every day, watches in class, watches in the shower, he’d worn his watch to bed one night and woken up with an uncomfortable red ring around his wrist. He was some kinda prodigal watch connoisseur, if your idea of style was ‘it’s black with orange highlights, which is cool’.
It had been, like many things in Garren’s life, a Reddit post that had been the end of all that. Someone bragging about the watch they’d gotten for their birthday. Listing off all its fancy-pants functions; waterproof, shockproof, fucking ice proof, the whole shebang. Garren had rolled his eyes, typed ‘>buying a watch when phones exist’ into the textbox, slapped ‘Enter’, and that had been that. He’d let the world know about his factual disdain for watches, and soon enough, that lie became a reality. Just another front, another piece of the stupid, ugly mask he’d welded to his own face.
Anyway, again. Garren didn’t wear watches anymore, and for most of his life, he’d been a moron with no long term planning and a self-sabotaging persona. These two facts were known. And if he’d had either of those things, he would have realised as his eyes cracked open that it had about 3 hours had passed since Parker’s grand heist, and that there was something seriously not right about that fact, right off the bat.
Instead, he spent a good long while staring up at the corrugated iron roof of their ramshackle shelter, listening to the rain tap tap tap against it, wind whistling through the gaps in the reused art pieces, the spare clothes he was using as a blanket doing almost nothing to stop the chill from reaching him.
It was surprisingly pleasant, though, despite all that. He’d slept better than he had any right to, even with the breaks for guard duty, and having to piss in the pitch black and in the rain, and with what he was absolutely fucking certain had been a tiger just two feet away from him. He’d been right, in a sense. But a shittily painted tiger on a tattered piece of canvas probably wasn’t gonna rip his dick off and maul his face.
Slowly, Garren pushed himself up, careful not to lean against the wall of their shelter in case the whole thing collapsed in on itself. He glanced to his left, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Aoi was still asleep, breathing softly. The spot that Parker had claimed for himself, however, was totally empty. No bags, no clothes. Certainly no human being. Garren narrowed his eyes.
“Yo, Parker!” he said, stretching, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. “Did you, like, spend all night on watch or something?”
Nothing. Garren was starting to get seriously concerned, because some shit was definitely up.
“Parker?”
Silence, once again. There was always a chance that he’d just fuckin’ fallen asleep whilst on watch, face first in some muddy puddle, and even though Garren’s gut instinct was telling him the truth was way worse than that, he’d neve know if he didn’t check. Shedding the covers off of himself, he crept to the entrance of the shelter, peering out. The light was still low, hindered by the tree cover and the rain and the dark grey sky, but he could still see the general vicinity around where they’d made camp.
And all he could see was trees and pretentious-ass art pieces, and a total lack of the backstabbing shitheel formerly known as Parker Green.
He hurried back inside, roughly jostling Aoi’s shoulder.
“Wake the fuck up, Aoi,” Garren hissed. “Parker’s fucking gone.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
((Aoi still stuck on an island absolutely and dreadfully devoid of--wait, what do you mean cbt doesn't stand for cognitive behavioral therapy?))
Times like these, Aoi was paranoid. More paranoid than he'd ever been, which was certainly some kind of achievement. He only ever called it paranoia in polite company, however. Which these were not.
When Aoi's watch was over, when he'd woken up Garren and slipped into the makeshift shelter they had constructed, he hadn't closed his eyes. He'd narrowed them, opened them, narrowed them. He'd pinched himself, fingered his way through conciertos, anything to keep himself awake. And he'd listened. He couldn't look--not without Garren seeing that he hadn't fallen asleep--but any betrayals could surely be deduced from the sound of a bag moving, a blade unsheathing, the mushy crunch of soil shifting under feet. And so he had waited.
And Garren didn't do a thing. For...well, Aoi wasn't sure exactly how long. Time moved strangely when you were doing nothing but laying on the floor, staring at a mass of canvas and wood, nothing to track it against. You start bargaining with yourself: okay, that felt like two hours, surely an hour has passed now, if Garren was going to make a move he surely would've done so already, you can go to sleep Aoi. Unless an hour actually feels like four hours, in which case--and so on, ad nauseam, et cetera, et cetera. After awhile, even when you tell yourself you have to stay awake just in case, some part of your brain starts grumbling, insisting that it's probably fine. And Garren still hadn't done anything at that point.
So Aoi had allowed himself to drift off.
---
All brains take awhile to come online, even one like Aoi's. You don't expect the computer to start running simulations the second after you press the on button, after all. So when he woke up to Garren shaking his shoulder, saying something about Parker having gone, it had been kind of hard to grasp the importance of it all. "Slow down. I can't. What are you talking about? It's not--you shouldn't--give me a couple minutes. I need--before you start talking to me."
Times like these, Aoi was paranoid. More paranoid than he'd ever been, which was certainly some kind of achievement. He only ever called it paranoia in polite company, however. Which these were not.
When Aoi's watch was over, when he'd woken up Garren and slipped into the makeshift shelter they had constructed, he hadn't closed his eyes. He'd narrowed them, opened them, narrowed them. He'd pinched himself, fingered his way through conciertos, anything to keep himself awake. And he'd listened. He couldn't look--not without Garren seeing that he hadn't fallen asleep--but any betrayals could surely be deduced from the sound of a bag moving, a blade unsheathing, the mushy crunch of soil shifting under feet. And so he had waited.
And Garren didn't do a thing. For...well, Aoi wasn't sure exactly how long. Time moved strangely when you were doing nothing but laying on the floor, staring at a mass of canvas and wood, nothing to track it against. You start bargaining with yourself: okay, that felt like two hours, surely an hour has passed now, if Garren was going to make a move he surely would've done so already, you can go to sleep Aoi. Unless an hour actually feels like four hours, in which case--and so on, ad nauseam, et cetera, et cetera. After awhile, even when you tell yourself you have to stay awake just in case, some part of your brain starts grumbling, insisting that it's probably fine. And Garren still hadn't done anything at that point.
So Aoi had allowed himself to drift off.
---
All brains take awhile to come online, even one like Aoi's. You don't expect the computer to start running simulations the second after you press the on button, after all. So when he woke up to Garren shaking his shoulder, saying something about Parker having gone, it had been kind of hard to grasp the importance of it all. "Slow down. I can't. What are you talking about? It's not--you shouldn't--give me a couple minutes. I need--before you start talking to me."
Garren stared down at Aoi, scarcely able to believe himself. Their erstwhile ally had just up and fucked off, without even a ‘goodbye’ or a ‘hope you two have a lovely morning’. His belongings, that had a few hours prior been lying next to his shitty excuse for a bed, had now totally vanished, and he couldn’t see hide nor hair of Aoi’s shit either. Parker had, obviously, planned all of this out; he’d gotten on their good side, buddied up with them both, suggested the shelter to keep them all safe, then ran off with their stuff without a second thought.
And Aoi wanted five more minutes to lie in.
“Sure! Sure, I’ll wait, why the fuck not?! Lets just sit tight and wait for Parker to come back, he’s probably just gone off to piss, and taken all of our bags with him for safekeeping! Is that the sorta… 200 IQ play your goddamn galaxy brain thinks he’s doing?”
Garren really could not be bothered with keeping the anger and frustration out of his voice, as he turned away from Aoi and started to pace in front of him. It took him one rotation - and about 5 steps overall - before he managed to properly notice the bag lying at the entrance to their shelter. He rushed over to it, looking desperately inside of it, hoping it wasn’t entirely empty.
He could have fucking cried. Sometimes, ‘nothing’ was absolutely more than ‘something’. It was cruel, oh-so cruel, all that had been left behind. There was enough in the bag for one person to survive until they found somebody willing to give them aid. There was, of course, more than one person currently in the shelter.
“We have one bag, Aoi,” Garren spat, grabbing the bag and holding it up, making sure there was no way for Mr. Goddamn Sleepyhead to miss it. “One fucking bag! And there’s just enough shit in it for one of us to survive for a day, at fucking best.”
He stepped closer to Aoi again, holding the index finger of his free hand up.
“One person. One day.”
What the shit was he gonna do now? Fucking forget about trying to help people, he would barely be able to save himself like this. He guessed he was never gonna get away from being the universe’s plaything, some stupid cosmic joke that, like, all the gods and aliens and catgirls hidden away in Area 51 pointed and laughed at, all ‘Hey look at this smooth brained virgin, he’s trying to do something good with his pathetic little life, lets fuck him up again!’
Idiot.
“Get the fuck up right now, Mishima, or I’m taking this goddamn bag and leaving.”
Would Aoi call his bluff? Was it even a bluff at all? He didn’t even know the answer himself. Some heroic leader he was turning out to be.
And Aoi wanted five more minutes to lie in.
“Sure! Sure, I’ll wait, why the fuck not?! Lets just sit tight and wait for Parker to come back, he’s probably just gone off to piss, and taken all of our bags with him for safekeeping! Is that the sorta… 200 IQ play your goddamn galaxy brain thinks he’s doing?”
Garren really could not be bothered with keeping the anger and frustration out of his voice, as he turned away from Aoi and started to pace in front of him. It took him one rotation - and about 5 steps overall - before he managed to properly notice the bag lying at the entrance to their shelter. He rushed over to it, looking desperately inside of it, hoping it wasn’t entirely empty.
He could have fucking cried. Sometimes, ‘nothing’ was absolutely more than ‘something’. It was cruel, oh-so cruel, all that had been left behind. There was enough in the bag for one person to survive until they found somebody willing to give them aid. There was, of course, more than one person currently in the shelter.
“We have one bag, Aoi,” Garren spat, grabbing the bag and holding it up, making sure there was no way for Mr. Goddamn Sleepyhead to miss it. “One fucking bag! And there’s just enough shit in it for one of us to survive for a day, at fucking best.”
He stepped closer to Aoi again, holding the index finger of his free hand up.
“One person. One day.”
What the shit was he gonna do now? Fucking forget about trying to help people, he would barely be able to save himself like this. He guessed he was never gonna get away from being the universe’s plaything, some stupid cosmic joke that, like, all the gods and aliens and catgirls hidden away in Area 51 pointed and laughed at, all ‘Hey look at this smooth brained virgin, he’s trying to do something good with his pathetic little life, lets fuck him up again!’
Idiot.
“Get the fuck up right now, Mishima, or I’m taking this goddamn bag and leaving.”
Would Aoi call his bluff? Was it even a bluff at all? He didn’t even know the answer himself. Some heroic leader he was turning out to be.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Shut up, Garren. You're being very unreasonable right now. Freaking out wasn't going to help matters. Telling Aoi to just get up like that wasn't going to make him get up any faster. Then again, Garren never had been...okay, Aoi's brain is online now.
"..."
Well. That was a lot to comprehend. Aoi's survival had just taken a big hit, it seemed. And to think that he'd exhausted himself being paranoid of Garren.
The idiot was going to kill himself.
Aoi pulled himself to his feet. His glare probably wasn't exactly intimidating.
Aoi swallowed. The panic hadn't hit him yet. It didn't feel entirely real, what had just happened.
"Sure. So that you can wander around and try to make it on yourself. Yeah, go ahead there."
"..."
Well. That was a lot to comprehend. Aoi's survival had just taken a big hit, it seemed. And to think that he'd exhausted himself being paranoid of Garren.
The idiot was going to kill himself.
Aoi pulled himself to his feet. His glare probably wasn't exactly intimidating.
Aoi swallowed. The panic hadn't hit him yet. It didn't feel entirely real, what had just happened.
"Sure. So that you can wander around and try to make it on yourself. Yeah, go ahead there."
Garren returned Aoi’s glare, one hand wrapped tightly around the strap of the bag, the other balled into a fist. He stared the other boy down, two very un-intimidating young men with very un-intimidating expressions on their faces, the pickaroon missing from Garren’s hand removing even more weight from the equation. There was a long, protracted silence, hanging in the air between them.
He really did consider it, just for a moment. Just yoinking the bag and cheesing it, taking the meagre amount of supplies to ensure his own survival, and leaving Aoi all behind.
But eventually, Garren exhaled, head dropping and fist relaxing. He tossed the bag onto the ground between them and made a tutting noise.
“Alright, you fucking got me. I’m not gonna take the bag or anything.”
He had to think this through with some sense of logic. There were exactly zero beneficial outcomes to abandoning Aoi and taking their meagre supplies for himself. The most likely result was that he handed Aoi a death sentence, and he was already feeling sick to his stomach at that fact, thinking about hearing “Aoi Mishima died from severe starvation, and dehydration, and being mauled by savage dropbears” on the announcements, and knowing that he was to blame for it.
But there was always the off-chance that Aoi survived long enough to meet people, people who would help him and share food and supplies and shelter. And what would he tell those people? “Parker Green stole all of my supplies whilst I was sleeping,” obviously. “Garren Mortimer took everything he left us, then abandoned me for dead”?
Almost certainly. And then Garren would be back at square one, with nobody trusting him, and nobody willing to shed a tear at his inevitable passing.
“Alright. Okay, so. So this is shit, obviously.”
Part of him was disappointed that he’d let himself fall back into old, bad habits, of selfishness, that day 1 idea of killing anyone and everyone who stood in his way. But he also let himself feel proud of the fact that, once again, no matter how attractive that idea had sounded, he’d turned away from it and gone down the rougher path, but the one that would end up with him looking better at the end of it.
And times like these called for cool heads. A foreign concept for Garren, really, but he’d do his best, and a little sense of positivity would help boatloads more than berating himself.
“And, also obviously, I don’t think either of us are gonna do too well wandering off by ourselves, yeah?”
Garren folded his arms, turning away from Aoi to look outside. The rain was still pouring down, unrelenting. He thought about Parker, lumbering through the forest, the added weight of his stolen goods dragging him down, utterly soaked to the skin, and the idea buoyed his heart, just a little bit. He hoped his stupid hat fell in the mud. He hoped that he got a hole in his shoe and his sock got damp. He hoped that he tripped and fell on a root and stubbed his toe, and also there was Lego on the floor and he stepped on that as well.
“So… far as I see this whole heaping of bullshit, we’ve got two options. Either we leave as soon as possible and hope we run into people who actually wanna help us. Or we stick it out here and hope for the same. Obviously, here has shelter and relative safety, but…”
Garren turned back to face Aoi, shrugging. He wasn’t going to run off any more, but the temptation to deck the other boy, just to relieve some stress, was very very strong.
“If we stay here and run out of food, and nobody turns up, we’re neck deep in shit creek.”
He really did consider it, just for a moment. Just yoinking the bag and cheesing it, taking the meagre amount of supplies to ensure his own survival, and leaving Aoi all behind.
But eventually, Garren exhaled, head dropping and fist relaxing. He tossed the bag onto the ground between them and made a tutting noise.
“Alright, you fucking got me. I’m not gonna take the bag or anything.”
He had to think this through with some sense of logic. There were exactly zero beneficial outcomes to abandoning Aoi and taking their meagre supplies for himself. The most likely result was that he handed Aoi a death sentence, and he was already feeling sick to his stomach at that fact, thinking about hearing “Aoi Mishima died from severe starvation, and dehydration, and being mauled by savage dropbears” on the announcements, and knowing that he was to blame for it.
But there was always the off-chance that Aoi survived long enough to meet people, people who would help him and share food and supplies and shelter. And what would he tell those people? “Parker Green stole all of my supplies whilst I was sleeping,” obviously. “Garren Mortimer took everything he left us, then abandoned me for dead”?
Almost certainly. And then Garren would be back at square one, with nobody trusting him, and nobody willing to shed a tear at his inevitable passing.
“Alright. Okay, so. So this is shit, obviously.”
Part of him was disappointed that he’d let himself fall back into old, bad habits, of selfishness, that day 1 idea of killing anyone and everyone who stood in his way. But he also let himself feel proud of the fact that, once again, no matter how attractive that idea had sounded, he’d turned away from it and gone down the rougher path, but the one that would end up with him looking better at the end of it.
And times like these called for cool heads. A foreign concept for Garren, really, but he’d do his best, and a little sense of positivity would help boatloads more than berating himself.
“And, also obviously, I don’t think either of us are gonna do too well wandering off by ourselves, yeah?”
Garren folded his arms, turning away from Aoi to look outside. The rain was still pouring down, unrelenting. He thought about Parker, lumbering through the forest, the added weight of his stolen goods dragging him down, utterly soaked to the skin, and the idea buoyed his heart, just a little bit. He hoped his stupid hat fell in the mud. He hoped that he got a hole in his shoe and his sock got damp. He hoped that he tripped and fell on a root and stubbed his toe, and also there was Lego on the floor and he stepped on that as well.
“So… far as I see this whole heaping of bullshit, we’ve got two options. Either we leave as soon as possible and hope we run into people who actually wanna help us. Or we stick it out here and hope for the same. Obviously, here has shelter and relative safety, but…”
Garren turned back to face Aoi, shrugging. He wasn’t going to run off any more, but the temptation to deck the other boy, just to relieve some stress, was very very strong.
“If we stay here and run out of food, and nobody turns up, we’re neck deep in shit creek.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Aoi held his breath for a second. Even Garren probably wasn't stupid enough to actually take all the supplies in a fit of spite. He needed Aoi. That should've been obvious to him. Then again, emotion made you dumber than normal. Aoi was testament to that. This was a monumentally stupid risk, and yet, here he was.
But the moment passed, and Garren hadn't even meant it in the first place, had been trying to force Aoi to wake up. Or maybe that was all an attempt to save face, as though such a thing mattered anywhere, but especially here, of all places.
Aoi shook his head. His head felt off, like he wasn't thinking the right thoughts for this situation. It still didn't feel real that all of Aoi's supplies were gone, that his, ah, hopes and dreams had just taken such a major blow. To use Garren's metaphor...when you're already drowning in a creek full of fecal matter (which was what they were doing right now, being neck-deep in the stuff had come and gone a long time ago), you don't really notice all that much when the creek rises another couple of feet. It was the same "logic" that had made him dare Garren to walk away. What did it matter, losing the rest of your food when you were going to run out in a day or two, anyways? What did it matter, to divide hope in half over and over again? It was almost funny, more than anything.
Probably good that it felt that way, even if it wasn't entirely logical. He'd have plenty of time to despair when he was actually lying on the ground, dying. Just as long as the feeling didn't cause him to do any more stupid things.
Aoi looked at Garren, thought a moment. The island really had been good for the other boy, it seemed.
"You're right." The words tasted like vomit in his mouth. Still, better vomit than...poop. Sigh.
"That makes sense. But first. You forgot something. We need to ration. And we need to split the supplies."
Aoi raised an eyebrow, or thought he raised an eyebrow. "Not that I distrust you and all, but I think we both just saw what happened when you do give someone your trust. And besides, even if neither of us are stupid enough to screw over the both of us, it wouldn't do if we got separated and one of us was left without supplies."
And to think he was actually hoping that that eventuality wouldn't come to pass, that he was dreading being separated from Garren.
But the moment passed, and Garren hadn't even meant it in the first place, had been trying to force Aoi to wake up. Or maybe that was all an attempt to save face, as though such a thing mattered anywhere, but especially here, of all places.
Aoi shook his head. His head felt off, like he wasn't thinking the right thoughts for this situation. It still didn't feel real that all of Aoi's supplies were gone, that his, ah, hopes and dreams had just taken such a major blow. To use Garren's metaphor...when you're already drowning in a creek full of fecal matter (which was what they were doing right now, being neck-deep in the stuff had come and gone a long time ago), you don't really notice all that much when the creek rises another couple of feet. It was the same "logic" that had made him dare Garren to walk away. What did it matter, losing the rest of your food when you were going to run out in a day or two, anyways? What did it matter, to divide hope in half over and over again? It was almost funny, more than anything.
Probably good that it felt that way, even if it wasn't entirely logical. He'd have plenty of time to despair when he was actually lying on the ground, dying. Just as long as the feeling didn't cause him to do any more stupid things.
Aoi looked at Garren, thought a moment. The island really had been good for the other boy, it seemed.
"You're right." The words tasted like vomit in his mouth. Still, better vomit than...poop. Sigh.
"That makes sense. But first. You forgot something. We need to ration. And we need to split the supplies."
Aoi raised an eyebrow, or thought he raised an eyebrow. "Not that I distrust you and all, but I think we both just saw what happened when you do give someone your trust. And besides, even if neither of us are stupid enough to screw over the both of us, it wouldn't do if we got separated and one of us was left without supplies."
And to think he was actually hoping that that eventuality wouldn't come to pass, that he was dreading being separated from Garren.
Garren looked at Aoi for a moment, then made another noise of disgust, folding his arms and looking back outside at the rain. Goddamn, dude. This situation got shittier and shittier the longer it developed, huh? Aoi was right. Again. He doubted that anybody would wanna try and rob them again, considering all they had was shitty stale bread and dust, but if they ran into another Quinn situation, with someone taking potshots at them and forcing them to split and run, it’d be a real rough deal for whoever wasn’t carrying the supplies.
And if they just tried to run into someone who tried to stab ‘em on sight, then, well, what the fuck were they supposed to do in that situation? They’d gone down the wrong route, picked all the incorrect dialogue options, gotten the Bad End, reload save and try again except haha, not really, he’d be lying in the dirt with 15 bullets in his head and chest regions.
“Right, yeah. I getcha, I getcha.”
Was this what their small talk was gonna be like? Vague affirmations of each others statements, begrudgingly made because God knows they didn’t want to admit they were agreeing with the other? Better than talking about the weather, he supposed. And better, really, than he’d expected. Icey though their conversation was, Garren didn’t feel like they were anywhere close to being at each other's throats. Somehow, he’d managed to make an ally with someone who’d despised him from back at school. Sure, it had mostly been through strength in adversity, but a partnership was a partnership.
There’d be more Parkers, no doubt, and a fuckload more Quinns too. But he felt like there’d be more Aois, too. Hopefully less fucking surly and shit, though.
“But, listen, I know Parker’s obviously a dickweed, and stabbed us in the back, and that whole shit with him didn’t work out, but I’m not gonna just… stop trusting people, yeah? That kinda defeats the whole purpose of not being a piece of shit anymore, and of actually trying to…”
He searched for a moment, looking for the right words.
”Do something out here. We’ve just gotta be smarter with our trust. So no dealing with anybody who’s been on the announcements, no exceptions, and no leaving our shit where someone can run in and yoink it undisturbed. Sleep with one eye open, that sorta thing.”
Garren rolled his shoulders back, getting rid of some of the tension that had been lurking there, undealt with since his unpleasant awakening, before kneeling down and looking through their meagre remains in the bag.
“So, anyways, we can pour half of the water into the spare bottle, and split the loaf in half. There’s probably enough bandages and shit that we can both have enough, and if you think a, a, I dunno, a fuckin’ facemask is gonna be useful, be my guest, take it. The map’s obviously the big dealbreaker, so, uh… I guess whoever doesn’t end up holding onto it is gonna have to do some serious memorisation.”
He fished the ration bar out, and waved it in front of Aoi.
“I dunno what the fuck we’re gonna do with this.”
And if they just tried to run into someone who tried to stab ‘em on sight, then, well, what the fuck were they supposed to do in that situation? They’d gone down the wrong route, picked all the incorrect dialogue options, gotten the Bad End, reload save and try again except haha, not really, he’d be lying in the dirt with 15 bullets in his head and chest regions.
“Right, yeah. I getcha, I getcha.”
Was this what their small talk was gonna be like? Vague affirmations of each others statements, begrudgingly made because God knows they didn’t want to admit they were agreeing with the other? Better than talking about the weather, he supposed. And better, really, than he’d expected. Icey though their conversation was, Garren didn’t feel like they were anywhere close to being at each other's throats. Somehow, he’d managed to make an ally with someone who’d despised him from back at school. Sure, it had mostly been through strength in adversity, but a partnership was a partnership.
There’d be more Parkers, no doubt, and a fuckload more Quinns too. But he felt like there’d be more Aois, too. Hopefully less fucking surly and shit, though.
“But, listen, I know Parker’s obviously a dickweed, and stabbed us in the back, and that whole shit with him didn’t work out, but I’m not gonna just… stop trusting people, yeah? That kinda defeats the whole purpose of not being a piece of shit anymore, and of actually trying to…”
He searched for a moment, looking for the right words.
”Do something out here. We’ve just gotta be smarter with our trust. So no dealing with anybody who’s been on the announcements, no exceptions, and no leaving our shit where someone can run in and yoink it undisturbed. Sleep with one eye open, that sorta thing.”
Garren rolled his shoulders back, getting rid of some of the tension that had been lurking there, undealt with since his unpleasant awakening, before kneeling down and looking through their meagre remains in the bag.
“So, anyways, we can pour half of the water into the spare bottle, and split the loaf in half. There’s probably enough bandages and shit that we can both have enough, and if you think a, a, I dunno, a fuckin’ facemask is gonna be useful, be my guest, take it. The map’s obviously the big dealbreaker, so, uh… I guess whoever doesn’t end up holding onto it is gonna have to do some serious memorisation.”
He fished the ration bar out, and waved it in front of Aoi.
“I dunno what the fuck we’re gonna do with this.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
"But I’m not gonna just… stop trusting people, yeah? That kinda defeats the whole purpose of not being a piece of shit anymore, and of actually trying to…"
The supplies were split and packed. According to Wikipedia--and god, Aoi sure hoped that whoever had been editing that article knew their stuff--according to Wikipedia, rations during World War II went down to about a thousand calories a day. Of course, that diet needed to be sustainable over years. If you weren't worried about the long term, you could probably make do with...500 calories? 400? Even less in the camps. The body slows its metabolism when it's getting less food, which is itself something of a concern if you want to be sharp, but Aoi didn't see much choice in the matter. A loaf of bread is 1500 calories, give or take. 750 calories per person, and Aoi would rather not run out of food on day 1. All he needed to know was that it was possible. Eating this amount of food, per day--on the basis of history, at least, it was possible.
Aoi had let Garren keep the bar. Not really divisible, that, and Aoi ate less than Garren. He wanted the map, though, so he let Garren have it for now. A show of...trust, in Garren's ability to make non-stupid decisions, if not necessarily in his trustworthiness.
"...and of actually trying to...do something out here."
Aoi had thought about Parker, then, how he'd assumed Aoi and Garren to be fools, been wrong about Aoi, but gotten away with it anyways. Parker, of course, hadn't been on the announcements. Of course he hadn't. Nobody here deserved their trust, was the thing. That was the problem.
But they still had to do something. They had to be better.
Aoi and Garren. Oh boy. Not that they had any choice in the matter, so that bit was easy at least.
And hey, he'd like to imagine the looks on their faces.
...
Aoi didn't do the teamwork thing, to put it lightly. Garren's attempts to act like a team player and make Aoi part of the team...putting on airs, if you will...it grated. But it was smart. It was a good idea--here, if nowhere else, where you had no choice but to stick with someone and hope it works, even if you weren't trying to figure out a way to get as many people as possible off the island alive.
...
Figure out a way to what now?
Aoi fidgeted, forced his fingers to still. No looking at a camera, now. Don't give yourself away. Not that the enemy would notice, but you can never be sure of what they're capable of.
"Right, that's everything taken care of. If you really stretch it out, and I mean really stretch it out, we can make this last two days, so plan accordingly. Let's find civilization, I guess?"
His tone was neutral enough. Aoi still can't play the teamwork game, but he didn't have to make things worse than they have to be. No sense in that.
The supplies were split and packed. According to Wikipedia--and god, Aoi sure hoped that whoever had been editing that article knew their stuff--according to Wikipedia, rations during World War II went down to about a thousand calories a day. Of course, that diet needed to be sustainable over years. If you weren't worried about the long term, you could probably make do with...500 calories? 400? Even less in the camps. The body slows its metabolism when it's getting less food, which is itself something of a concern if you want to be sharp, but Aoi didn't see much choice in the matter. A loaf of bread is 1500 calories, give or take. 750 calories per person, and Aoi would rather not run out of food on day 1. All he needed to know was that it was possible. Eating this amount of food, per day--on the basis of history, at least, it was possible.
Aoi had let Garren keep the bar. Not really divisible, that, and Aoi ate less than Garren. He wanted the map, though, so he let Garren have it for now. A show of...trust, in Garren's ability to make non-stupid decisions, if not necessarily in his trustworthiness.
"...and of actually trying to...do something out here."
Aoi had thought about Parker, then, how he'd assumed Aoi and Garren to be fools, been wrong about Aoi, but gotten away with it anyways. Parker, of course, hadn't been on the announcements. Of course he hadn't. Nobody here deserved their trust, was the thing. That was the problem.
But they still had to do something. They had to be better.
Aoi and Garren. Oh boy. Not that they had any choice in the matter, so that bit was easy at least.
And hey, he'd like to imagine the looks on their faces.
...
Aoi didn't do the teamwork thing, to put it lightly. Garren's attempts to act like a team player and make Aoi part of the team...putting on airs, if you will...it grated. But it was smart. It was a good idea--here, if nowhere else, where you had no choice but to stick with someone and hope it works, even if you weren't trying to figure out a way to get as many people as possible off the island alive.
...
Figure out a way to what now?
Aoi fidgeted, forced his fingers to still. No looking at a camera, now. Don't give yourself away. Not that the enemy would notice, but you can never be sure of what they're capable of.
"Right, that's everything taken care of. If you really stretch it out, and I mean really stretch it out, we can make this last two days, so plan accordingly. Let's find civilization, I guess?"
His tone was neutral enough. Aoi still can't play the teamwork game, but he didn't have to make things worse than they have to be. No sense in that.
“Sure. Sure, a crust of bread for each meal ‘n all that. How hard can it be?”
Garren gave Aoi a grim smile, because they both knew that they were pushing a boulder up a hill covered in broken fucking glass (and man, it was really pissing him off right now that he couldn’t remember which Greek loser had done the original uphill-boulder-push). He stashed the ration bar into the pocket of his jeans. Just in case. You could steal his bag but you couldn’t steal his goddamn pants. Not while he was wearing them, at least.
They both seemed to be of similar minds as to why leaving the shelter was a better idea now than staying inside it. Or maybe Aoi just really wanted a change of scenery, who the fuck knew. But as far as Garren saw it, they were way more likely to find someone who’d help them if they actually went wandering the rest of the island, rather than staying cooped up in the armpit of this hipster forest art installation bullshit. And on top of that, he was pretty sure they were decently deep into the woods, here. If the announcement went off, and this place became a danger zone… well, Garren hadn’t been planning on breaking the goddamn land speed record anytime soon, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta fucking do.
“Ready to head off, then? Guess we just pick a direction and stick with it until we find somewhere we recognise.”
He paused for a second, then shrugged and gave another mirthless smile.
“And if we end up on the beach, hope that Quinn hasn’t set up a fucking sniper’s nest or whatever.”
Garren scooped the bag up and slung it over his shoulder, stepping up to the entrance of the shelter, peering out at the downpour outside. Hoo boy. This was gonna suck, no matter how you sliced it. He was just about to make a break for it, run off into the undergrowth, yelling at Aoi to follow him, when something caught his eye, something he’d seen last night on watch. Or, heard, more accurately, when the rainfall had briefly let up for a few minutes.
“Hang on a sec. Gonna grab something real quick.”
He dropped the bag to the floor again, then took a deep breath and ran out into the rain, holding his arms over his head like the world’s shittiest umbrella. A couple of minutes later and he was back, looking like something a drowned rat would baulk at, clutching something in both hands. It looked almost like a windchime, a cross-section of wood holding various metal objects tied to string. Bells, forks and spoons, nails and screws; all of it tinged with rust, but all of it making a clanging, discordant chime as he shook himself free of excess rainwater.
“Figured we could use this as a, like, makeshift alarm system,” Garren said, wiping his face with his equally damp sleeve. “When we get some stuff actually worth stealing, y’know? Once bitten, twice pissed the fuck off, you get me?”
He knelt down and tucked the artistic monstrosity into the bag, then stood up and gestured to it, a signal that Aoi could have the honours of looking after it.
“Aight. This time for real. Let’s just head straight forwards and hope for the fucking best, yeah? Let’s go!”
Garren took another deep breath, before bursting out of the shelter and straight forwards through the undergrowth. He didn’t look back to make sure Aoi was following him. He knew. Both of them needed each other.
Wow, that sounded pretty gay, huh? Ah, whatever. He’d never truly cared about that shit before, and he sure as hell had more things to give a damn about now.
((Garren Mortimer, continued in Mauerbauertraurigkeit))
…
He still wasn’t gay though. Probably.
Garren gave Aoi a grim smile, because they both knew that they were pushing a boulder up a hill covered in broken fucking glass (and man, it was really pissing him off right now that he couldn’t remember which Greek loser had done the original uphill-boulder-push). He stashed the ration bar into the pocket of his jeans. Just in case. You could steal his bag but you couldn’t steal his goddamn pants. Not while he was wearing them, at least.
They both seemed to be of similar minds as to why leaving the shelter was a better idea now than staying inside it. Or maybe Aoi just really wanted a change of scenery, who the fuck knew. But as far as Garren saw it, they were way more likely to find someone who’d help them if they actually went wandering the rest of the island, rather than staying cooped up in the armpit of this hipster forest art installation bullshit. And on top of that, he was pretty sure they were decently deep into the woods, here. If the announcement went off, and this place became a danger zone… well, Garren hadn’t been planning on breaking the goddamn land speed record anytime soon, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta fucking do.
“Ready to head off, then? Guess we just pick a direction and stick with it until we find somewhere we recognise.”
He paused for a second, then shrugged and gave another mirthless smile.
“And if we end up on the beach, hope that Quinn hasn’t set up a fucking sniper’s nest or whatever.”
Garren scooped the bag up and slung it over his shoulder, stepping up to the entrance of the shelter, peering out at the downpour outside. Hoo boy. This was gonna suck, no matter how you sliced it. He was just about to make a break for it, run off into the undergrowth, yelling at Aoi to follow him, when something caught his eye, something he’d seen last night on watch. Or, heard, more accurately, when the rainfall had briefly let up for a few minutes.
“Hang on a sec. Gonna grab something real quick.”
He dropped the bag to the floor again, then took a deep breath and ran out into the rain, holding his arms over his head like the world’s shittiest umbrella. A couple of minutes later and he was back, looking like something a drowned rat would baulk at, clutching something in both hands. It looked almost like a windchime, a cross-section of wood holding various metal objects tied to string. Bells, forks and spoons, nails and screws; all of it tinged with rust, but all of it making a clanging, discordant chime as he shook himself free of excess rainwater.
“Figured we could use this as a, like, makeshift alarm system,” Garren said, wiping his face with his equally damp sleeve. “When we get some stuff actually worth stealing, y’know? Once bitten, twice pissed the fuck off, you get me?”
He knelt down and tucked the artistic monstrosity into the bag, then stood up and gestured to it, a signal that Aoi could have the honours of looking after it.
“Aight. This time for real. Let’s just head straight forwards and hope for the fucking best, yeah? Let’s go!”
Garren took another deep breath, before bursting out of the shelter and straight forwards through the undergrowth. He didn’t look back to make sure Aoi was following him. He knew. Both of them needed each other.
Wow, that sounded pretty gay, huh? Ah, whatever. He’d never truly cared about that shit before, and he sure as hell had more things to give a damn about now.
((Garren Mortimer, continued in Mauerbauertraurigkeit))
…
He still wasn’t gay though. Probably.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Garren was doing his best.
Aoi was doing his best.
...
Mm. This wasn't realistic at all. Not if Aoi was being honest with himself. Is he being honest with himself? Hmm.
Aoi hated it when he wasn't being realistic or reasonable. What was hope but a lie you told yourself to feel better?
But then again, what was the point of giving in to despair?
Aoi hated it when the rational thing to do was unrealistic.
Here he was, walking with Garren.
((Aoi continued elsewhere))
Aoi was doing his best.
...
Mm. This wasn't realistic at all. Not if Aoi was being honest with himself. Is he being honest with himself? Hmm.
Aoi hated it when he wasn't being realistic or reasonable. What was hope but a lie you told yourself to feel better?
But then again, what was the point of giving in to despair?
Aoi hated it when the rational thing to do was unrealistic.
Here he was, walking with Garren.
((Aoi continued elsewhere))