Dance Yrself Clean

[Primrosette]

Jonathan wasn't sure what was going on and he knew that he should just stay out of what was going on. So Justin had killed Benny who was like an ex or something to Camila and Camila had asked Michael to kill her...? He honestly didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that and it seemed like Justin was now demanding that Michael should put his gun down. Jonathan was starting to get a bad feeling and he knew that he should interrupt this heated conversation.

"Uh...."

Jonathan cleared his throat once again. He was starting to get thirsty.

"So, Michael. You're saying it was an assisted suicide?"

[Kermit]

Michael didn't want to think about whether Camila had said yes or not. Luckily, the next thing Justin said distracted Michael enough that he didn't think about it.

Then Jonathan asked if Camila had been an assisted suicide.

"No," Michael lied. "Do I - do I look like a good guy to you?" he spat. His nostrils flared. Voice darkened. "This ain't a movie. Ain't no goddamn good guys. I talked her into letting me kill her. It made me feel nice, like she thought I was special. I know you came here to kill me, Justin. Give me a reason not to shoot you. Give me a good reason."

There was something burning in him. He wanted to jump at Justin. He wanted to tear off Justin's face with his fingernails. He didn't hate Justin, he just wanted to rip out Justin's throat with his teeth.

It hurt. Good hurt. Not bad hurt.

He stared at Justin's tree, eyes boring through the wood. His finger tensed around the trigger of the pistol. He was a muscle twitch away from firing. "'I don't want to die' isn't a good enough reason. Everybody dies. Nobody fucking makes it out alive, Justin. By the time anybody sees this we'll all be dead. Nothing we do here actually matters to anyone but us. We're already dead to the world. The life you're fighting for is over. Give me a reason."

Justin's answer didn't matter. Michael had no intention of killing him yet.

[MK Kilmarnock]

"Because you're wrong!"

If it wasn't the boldest thing Justin said since waking up on this island, it was at least the thing he said the most boldly. His voice raised but thankfully didn't squeak or screech as he had when asking Michael, oh so politely, to put away his gun. It felt nice to deliver something so strongly for once, that Justin hoped he could keep it up. He doubted it, as his mind had already begun to skip on the next few words. He knew what he wanted to say. The trouble was there were a few possible orders in which he could say it. He needed to decide on one. JUST one, no mix and match, nail it down and keep it. Start with thinking about what he just said.

Michael was wrong. He was wrong about...

"We're not all dead. Wuh... One. One of us gets to live." Justin recovered. "And so... so what, if I want it to be me? Does that make me a bad person? L-Like, who wouldn't want to live?" He paused. Thought about what else Michael had said. "So like, yeah, maybe I... that's not wanting to die. That counts as that." That gun was still pointed at him. Bullets couldn't go through trees so unless that pistol was magically an anti-tank gun, hiding behind the trunk was the safest thing to do. Maybe it dampened the delivery of his brave and bold speech but Justin would rather the cowardly, smart and alive than brave, stupid and dead.

"A good reason not to shoot me... because then I wouldn't ba... be able to b-bash your fucking brain out and get out of here!"

[Primrosette]

Jonathan honestly felt like he should get out of there before things got more out of hand and the fact that two murderers were wanting to kill each other. However, he didn't want to resist moving and he didn't want to get a bullet in the back. But would Michael really shoot him in the back? Jonathan wasn't really wanting to find out and he stayed where he was. He then slowly opened up his bag and he was hoping the zip wasn't too loud, getting a bottle out of it carefully. He then unscrewed the lid and he took a sip of water, letting out a relieved sigh.

He then continued to stay silent and he realized that things were getting more tense between Michael and Justin.

"....This is what they wanted, you know? The terrorists wanted to see us break one by one and they did it so easily. How long will it be before I join you guys in the game of survival. We're not human beings anymore. We're just a game and there is nothing that we can do about it. All we can do is either be good people, bad people or the people inbetween."

He stopped to take another gulp of water and he sloshed the water around in his mouth before swallowing it.

"Still, if you two want to kill each other.... Then go ahead. At least I won't have to worry about you two hurting anyone else."

Jonathan let out a small scoff, shaking his head in disbelief at how stupid this situation was.

[Kermit]

The first of Justin's reasons was technically correct, though Michael supposed it depended on one's definition of living. It didn't mesh with his definition, but it wasn't like he really felt like trying to change Justin's mind, so he decided to let him be wrong.

The second of Justin's reasons was literally the opposite of a reason for Michael to not shoot him. It was also incorrect! Even if Michael didn't shoot him, Justin wouldn't bash his brain out. Michael could outrun him. He was good at running.

Justin hated him, it sounded like. That was good. At least they agreed on something.

He wondered if Alexander's dog Montague was doing okay. He didn't like that thought. Was he crying? He was crying.

The hood went back up.

Before he could make a gameshow WRONG buzzer sound and chastise Justin for his answer, Jonathan interrupted. The terrorists wanted them to break, he said. The terrorists broke them, he said. They weren't people anymore, he said. They were just a game, he said. All they had left was being people, he said.

Then, he gave his permission for Michael and Justin to kill each other. As if they didn't already have permission.

Michael took a few steps back, further distancing himself from the other two boys.

"Mmm, so, first off," he snapped. "That's a shitty reason, Justin. If you want me to shoot you that badly, all you need to do is ask. A better answer would've been l'appel du vide; the little voice in the back of your head telling you to do the shit you know you shouldn't do. The goddamn shoulder devil. SECOND," he was glad he'd gotten that out. He knew the people watching were probably too lazy/disinterested to learn what it meant all by themselves. He cleared his throat. His voice dripped venom. He was, at the moment, pretty sure he earnestly believed in what he was about to say. His tears were mostly hidden by the hood. "Fuck y'all, I'm monologuing. Jonathan, all the terrorists did was give us guns. None of us were ever really okay. We were always broken. Deep down, we were always fucking BROKEN. The terrorists didn't do shit except give us a chance to give in."

His hands were shaking. He was talking like a crazy person with a gun. He was a crazy person with a gun. That was him. Michael Froese was a crazy person with a gun. He didn't hate being a crazy person with a gun. It made things mostly numb.

He wondered if this moment would be treated as his manifesto by the inevitable horde of misguided edgy teenagers who'd find some kind of resonance with him while watching his slow, currently four-and-a-half-day-long death. He wondered if someone would make him a fansite. He wondered if someone already had. He hoped nobody would make one. He knew someone probably would. He hoped someone had made Virgin vs. Chad memes about him and Nick. Those would be pretty funny.

"And you're right; we aren't human beings," he quickly flooped his hood down, made his hair look spiffy, and held himself in a way that made his white robe look oversized. He did a little David Byrne dance. "Same as it ever was," he said, before the hood went back up; gun back up, "the world never gave a shit about us. We were never people to anyone but ourselves. Our dreams — our goddamn life goals — those were only ever dreams. None of us ever fucking mattered. Justin, I'll fuckin' tell you why I'm not gonna shoot you," he choked, because he didn't want to admit what he was about to say was true. "- I'd rather die here on the island than anywhere else in the world. I don't want to die living in a high-rise grave. I want to die having a good time. I want to burn out, not fade away. There's no reason why we can't both get what we want. I have no reason to kill you unless you try to kill me. You don't have a reason to kill me, not really, not anymore. Ergo," he paused. "Y'know."

Broken glass, broken hearts. Pa pa power, pa pa power.

He took another few steps back. It felt nice saying it all out loud, like a great weight had been lifted.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure what would happen next.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Justin blinked. That was a lot to process; he had things he wanted to say to the beginning of Michael's ramblings that had largely become irrelevant through the middle to the end because he kept going. Things like not giving a shit about Michael's precious little Lapel of David or little voices or shoulder angels and devils. Things like actually agreeing Jonathan should shut up, because maybe everything was playing into their hand, but if 'playing the game' meant he got to go home and take a hot shower and live a quiet life working for his dad trying to forget everything and leave it all behind, then shit, he'd wear a little dancing monkey uniform, grab cymbals and do the can-can.

And Justin wondered, why was he just standing there? Well, the gun... the gun was certainly one reason, a practical and effective deterrent to keep somebody from just walking up to you and killing you. Oddly enough, despite the rambling nature of Michael's speech, it had him on the edge of his seat, hanging on to every word. He really felt that way too, knowing it was the 'wrong answer' in the game but sincerely wanting to hear what fucked up thing Michael was going to say next, because maybe it would amount to a little more than the previous thing.

None of it really meant anything to him, but it did sound interesting. Justin only took one thing away.

"So, you DO want d-... to die, is what... is what I'm hearing, huh?" He realized he'd come out from behind the tree. At least, that tree. There were plenty more. He was already trying to think of a way to trace a zig-zagged path to Michael, eliminate the gun. Maybe it was more trouble than it was worth. Maybe. "But wah-... you, you want to do it on, on-on your own terms." Or maybe he's afraid, and Michael was just making loud noises to try and make it at least one more day. Because why go on living just one more day if you didn't think you could reach all the way to the end? Why willingly put yourself through that?

Michael was either full of shit or in possession of a really confusing and broken mindset. Maybe both. Justin hadn't decided.

[Primrosette]

Jonathan remained quiet as Michael and Justin were both going on rambling and Jonathan almost vomited the water back up his throat. It didn't help that his headache was starting to become more of a nuisance and he wasn't really paying attention to the other two anymore. He put the lid back onto his bottle of water and he tucked it into his bag, zipping it back up lazily.

He rubbed his hands against his temples and he let out a frustrated-sounding groan. He honestly felt like Michael and Justin were slowly driving him nuts and he needed to back out of whatever was happening anymore. He needed to just leave and find other people that would keep him sane for as long as he could live. Unless he really wanted to go back home....

No, society wouldn't welcome him back as a killer. He wasn't going to do something stupid like that unless it was in self-defence. Self-defence was always the perfect excuse for him to use if he somehow made the other person attack him first and he knew that it was a foolish plan for him to even think about. But it was all that he had.

Jonathan peeked his head around the tree and he noticed that Justin was out in the open now and he didn't move from his spot.

He was just watching and waiting to see what would happen.

[Kermit]

Justin was out of cover. Michael still didn't fire.

"I -" his voice got quiet; morose. "- I tried dying on my own terms. Never worked." He didn't like saying that. It was too real. It was one of the few unambiguous truths still remaining in his life.

It was sad, wasn't it? He'd managed to gaslight himself out of existence. At least, he was pretty sure he'd gaslit himself. He didn't know. It was like his brain was in a constant state of superposition between possible truths.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to live. I can't go back after what I've seen. I just -" marine biology ate Beryl's face, "I'm trying to make the best out of a bad situation, is all."

He was a nihilistic murderer who hurt people as a way to hurt himself because it numbed the pain from losing Beryl and the pain he osmosed through empathy. There. The truth. At least, to him, it sounded like the truth. The truthiest truth.

His life was like a bullfight, with himself being both the matador and the bull. He'd do anything to distract himself from the weight of the dead. He'd lost his mind, but just because he'd lost it didn't mean he wanted it back.

Too true. Too much lucidity. He didn't want to think. He was tired of being sentient. It hurt too much to be sentient.

He needed to stop asking 'why?' and start asking 'why not?'.

His voice went back to its previous tone. "Listen, it doesn't matter what I'm doing or why I'm doing it. What matters is that if I was lying, I'd have shot you by now," he paused. Someone had been conspicuously silent. "What's Jonathan doing?"

[MK Kilmarnock]

Michael did have a point, there. There was a distinct lack of holes in Justin's abdomen. Hell, Michael hadn't even attempted to fire or even take a serious effort into aiming. The boy's stance with the gun was finally recognized as a defensive one, some preparation of automatic fear response in case Justin tried anything.

As the situation laid itself out now, Justin decided it would not be wise to try anything just yet. He felt bare-chested without cover of some sort but at least he didn't feel entirely naked. The pipe had been up to his chest; now it rested at his hip, with his wrist the only part of his arm still making a conscious effort to hold it up where everything else had gone slack.

Michael wasn't competition, Justin realized. He stood very little to gain from actually killing him. Oh, he'd gain Michael's gun, sure. That might make future killing a lot easier, a lot less messy and giving people lesser opportunity to refuse his advances. But without an easy means to get it, it was just something to get himself shot over -- by somebody who didn't even have any intentions of making it out of here alive, no less. It all would have been a big waste. Just one big waste...

Huh. What WAS Jonathan doing?

Justin let his gaze slide, carefully, to the boy who had gone quiet. It'd be really nice if attention would come off of him.

[Primrosette]

Jonathan noticed that the other two were now looking over at him and he knew that that was a bad thing. He didn't want their attention on him as he had actually just wanted to leave without any problems and now he wasn't sure what Michael or Justin were going to plan on doing now. As long as it didn't involve him dying because of one or both of them. He could do without the dying part and he still just wanted to search around without things getting out of hand. Was he supposed to have continued in the conversation that was more about the other two? Was he not supposed to be able to just watch and listen in on what they had been talking about? He guessed not as they were both looking at him now and it was slightly making him uncomfortable with the focus on him now.

"Hm...."

He ducked his head back and he leaned his head back against the tree in a gentle manner, wincing a little. He really didn't want to make things worse for himself and he found himself looking at the ground for a weapon. Nothing. Of course there would be nothing that he could use to defend himself with. What bad luck!

He sighed in irritation. He guessed he could try to disappear into the bushes and sneak away from the others. But he had to do it quietly.

[Kermit]

He briefly looked toward the tree Jonathan was behind. Jonathan was apparently not doing anything. Or maybe he was doing something. He was definitely making grumpy noises. Michael didn't know. Didn't matter. No thinky.

He looked back to Justin, whistling a short part of the song that is the thread title. "Y'know, I won't stop you if you go for him with the tire iron," he said, because he didn't have a reason not to say that.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Justin weakly laughed. "Y-Yuh. Yeah, you're kidding," he said, his face devoid of a smile, mirth absent in the laughter. He did have to laugh, just because of how absurd it was a thing for Michael to say. It was absurd for anybody to say, and the first time anybody had actively encouraged Justin to attack and maybe even kill somebody. He didn't feel especially encouraged with that gun still in Michael's hands. Michael wasn't the sort he could just up and trust, just like that.

But what Justin did feel comfortable in doing was taking a few steps to stoop and pick up the rock Jonathan had thrown at him earlier. He had both objects in his hands and realized the rock was in his non-dominant hand, because of course he would have favored to hold the iron. Justin switched them clumsily, reflexively looking to Michael every other second. All the eye flickering was starting to make him dizzy, but it was a small price to pay for keeping watch on the person who could do anything unexpected in an instant.

If the opportunity presented itself, Justin decided he would kill Jonathan. But Michael needed to truly be out of the way.

[Primrosette]

Jonathan was not going to stay there any longer and he crouched down as the bushes were a bit away from him. He then was holding his breath for a few seconds and then he let out a small exhale, hoping to stay calm about what he was going to do. He then crouched-walked quietly and slowly over to the bushes and several leaves. They started to rustle as he was trying to disappear behind them.

"Damn...." He whispered softly under his breath and he was wondering what the heck he was supposed to do next. "I can't really just stand up again. Those two will see me... I just need-"

Jonathan's foot knocked against something on the ground.

He glanced down and he noticed that it was a branch. He decided to take a risk and he picked it up almost instantly afterwards. Just in case, things might get out of hand. He didn't know how people were thinking on the island right now and it was honestly something that he shouldn't get too close to.

[Kermit]

Michael hadn't been joking. He'd said that for real.

He'd meant it for real.

He blinked.

...holy fuck. What the fuck was he doing? Hadn't he first called out as a way to, like, make friends?

Actually, wait, fuck that noise. There was no correct. Nobody got things right. Nobody got things wrong. They just did what they did. They existed. That was what they did. That was all they could do. Exist until they stopped existing.

He took another few steps back as Justin picked up the rock. "Jesus fucking Christ, man... I wish I was kidding," his lip quivered. His eyes were wide as saucers, though they were mostly hidden by his hood. "I-I said I was accessory to four murders, yeah? Katie Augustien, Saffron Fields, Tom Swift, Oliver Lacroix. I let Erika kill them. Same as this."

He was a fucking monster. He didn't want to think about what kinds of fucked up things he'd have done if his life had gone on normally. He didn't like thinking about it. He didn't think about it.

Two more steps back.

"Jonathan, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm sorry. Justin, if you kill him, make sure he doesn't suffer. I'm sorry."

[MK Kilmarnock]

Holy shit. He really meant it.

Justin froze on the spot, staring at Michael dumbfounded and still stuck in his squatting position with the rock cradled in his hand.

"I don't.... g... don't don't..." Justin shook his head. "I don't get it. Why don't you ju-ust kill him your... if you, if you wanted him-... do it yourself?" He had to straighten his knees sooner or later. He chose sooner and they creaked and cracked in protest from the uncomfortable positioning, but it probably would have been worse if he'd delayed any further.

He didn't want to make Jonathan suffer, and he hadn't made Mackenzie suffer but Benedict was an unfortunate case because he was never supposed to die. Justin couldn't see making anybody he killed suffer. The only person he wanted to suffer right now was Lorenzo, and even that thought was accompanied by beating him and maybe breaking his kneecaps with the tire iron. He wanted to kill him too, Justin acknowledged that, but the killing hadn't been associated with the torture. Only the beating. Logic could tie them together but not his inner desires, as strange as it sounded.

He didn't even particularly want to kill Jonathan.

But he did have to.

"The branch?" Justin asked incredulously. "That's not gonna stop... that's not gonna beat the tire iron, like it's not hard enough," Justin mumbled. He didn't say his next thought allowed, and wished he could because it was kind of funny: was Jonathan on the baseball team? It was bad for him if he wasn't, because Justin snapped his arm up and then whipped the rock in Jonathan's general direction. He followed it up by sprinting through the leaves at his target, tire iron now in both freed hands.