"Hmm. Ya know, I never really thought about it?"
The sounds of a zipper being zipped echoed from Lady Bush.
"Like... idunno. I bet Quinn has fan art, maybe Erika too. Weirdos on the internet love girls like that. 'That feel when no murder gf', that nonsense. Not that I'm jelly, though I might be. Maybe a little bit. Heh."
The characteristic cacophony of aluminum foil unfurling blasted out next, carrying for thousands of miles.
"...I think I'd be down to be remembered as a reaction image, though. Maybe even a .gif." Her lips smacked together with the hard g. "I'm sure someone out there's working around the clock to get his clickbait listicle up where Princess topping me is like, #8 or some shit."
The crinkling ceased for a second.
"Gotta admit, I kinda wouldn't mind running into someone actually playing. Like you and Reuben've been the only people I've seen to have any sort of balls. Like I ran into Meka and Val-Larry the other day and they were still going on about the power of friendship and whatever and I wanted to fucking fall asleep right there. That Communist bitch even called themselves 'martyrs' like??? Really??? We got throat tearing and poison and shit and you still think you can talk people down just like that? Come the fuck on, dude."
Lady Bush crinkled again.
"...Sorry for ramblin', I haven't really gotten to talk to anyone in the last few days. Though some of these guys... ugh, might as well just talk to a tree."
Love Love Love / Pa Pa Power
Day 6, 4 AM-ish (c o n c l u d e d)
The Party Bush was conspicuously silent for a few moments, then rustled a bit as the moonlight reflected on the glasses within its leafy confines visibly shifted.
"...Haha no yeah it's cool or whatever I get it."
A second of silence. The moonlight shifted again.
"Pretty much everyone else that I've tried to talk to during the past two days other than you - and Lori, I guess - has either threatened to kill me or told me to shut up (classic Jonathan). I dunno, like, most of the peeps I hang with are killers. I've been shenaniganning around with like, Erika, Nia, Claude, Violet, Justin, and Quinn, and like, Erika was a pretty good listener, but that's it. I think I maybe made her crazy though, I dunno; I said something and then she did the PTSD dog stare and then murdered four people, so like, whoops?"
The Party Bush made a "heh" noise then sniffled.
"I'm a fuckin' reaction gif goldmine," soft Gs, "gif goldmine," hard Gs. "Like, I dunno, I got like five off the top of my head. Got me talking to the camera while Jeremiah's choking to death on his own blood in the background, me shooting Camila, me stealin' her weird fuckin' dildo bear thing while Lori's owlin' around in the corner - and then she throws LSD water at me and backflips the fuck outta there, me havin' a party with Stepney's goddamn literally crucified corpse, me shooting Camila's weird dildo bear in the face - don't worry, I didn't hurt the dildo - and then me pointin' and laughin' at Quinn after I dabbed on her."
Another second of silence.
"Shit, I think that was six."
Another another second of silence.
"I dunno, part of me feels kinda like, horrified that people might be fans of my Antics, but then, like," the Party Bush paused, "it feels neat too. Maybe a little bit more than neat, y'know? Like someone likes me, I guess."
"...Haha no yeah it's cool or whatever I get it."
A second of silence. The moonlight shifted again.
"Pretty much everyone else that I've tried to talk to during the past two days other than you - and Lori, I guess - has either threatened to kill me or told me to shut up (classic Jonathan). I dunno, like, most of the peeps I hang with are killers. I've been shenaniganning around with like, Erika, Nia, Claude, Violet, Justin, and Quinn, and like, Erika was a pretty good listener, but that's it. I think I maybe made her crazy though, I dunno; I said something and then she did the PTSD dog stare and then murdered four people, so like, whoops?"
The Party Bush made a "heh" noise then sniffled.
"I'm a fuckin' reaction gif goldmine," soft Gs, "gif goldmine," hard Gs. "Like, I dunno, I got like five off the top of my head. Got me talking to the camera while Jeremiah's choking to death on his own blood in the background, me shooting Camila, me stealin' her weird fuckin' dildo bear thing while Lori's owlin' around in the corner - and then she throws LSD water at me and backflips the fuck outta there, me havin' a party with Stepney's goddamn literally crucified corpse, me shooting Camila's weird dildo bear in the face - don't worry, I didn't hurt the dildo - and then me pointin' and laughin' at Quinn after I dabbed on her."
Another second of silence.
"Shit, I think that was six."
Another another second of silence.
"I dunno, part of me feels kinda like, horrified that people might be fans of my Antics, but then, like," the Party Bush paused, "it feels neat too. Maybe a little bit more than neat, y'know? Like someone likes me, I guess."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
Lady Bush was conspicuously silent for a moment, save for the return of the aluminum rustling and zipper rips eminating from within.
"Yeah, I get it. I think? I kinda feel the same. It's a Mood."
A faint shink resonated for a moment, like metal rubbing against something.
"Like... idunno. I think doing things for the Clout is basic as hell, like the kinda people who make an ass of themselves on reality tv shows or try to be ~influencers~. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I kinda get a thrill from that idea, too. Maybe not a 'thrill' but like... validation? Something like that. Like someone cares about what the hell I'm doing... I dunno, maybe I'm just a narcissist. Maybe both of us are."
More silence. And then, Lady Bush snickered.
"Oh yeah, I saw Paloma in a catfight a few days ago with Aliya and Allen... Abe? The dude that died first, one of the baseball guys. Don't remember his name but anyway his girl was there too. There was hair pulling and everything. Kinda made me think of the kinda fights you'd see back in school, but there weren't any teachers around to break it up. I bet that's a .gif somewhere. I didn't get to see the end of it, but I guess no one died so that's great I guess. Heh."
BUSH GIRL poked her head out of the bush like a prairie dog and scanned the area in the dim light of the night. No one else was here yet. She huffed and retreated to her lair.
"Yeah, I get it. I think? I kinda feel the same. It's a Mood."
A faint shink resonated for a moment, like metal rubbing against something.
"Like... idunno. I think doing things for the Clout is basic as hell, like the kinda people who make an ass of themselves on reality tv shows or try to be ~influencers~. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I kinda get a thrill from that idea, too. Maybe not a 'thrill' but like... validation? Something like that. Like someone cares about what the hell I'm doing... I dunno, maybe I'm just a narcissist. Maybe both of us are."
More silence. And then, Lady Bush snickered.
"Oh yeah, I saw Paloma in a catfight a few days ago with Aliya and Allen... Abe? The dude that died first, one of the baseball guys. Don't remember his name but anyway his girl was there too. There was hair pulling and everything. Kinda made me think of the kinda fights you'd see back in school, but there weren't any teachers around to break it up. I bet that's a .gif somewhere. I didn't get to see the end of it, but I guess no one died so that's great I guess. Heh."
BUSH GIRL poked her head out of the bush like a prairie dog and scanned the area in the dim light of the night. No one else was here yet. She huffed and retreated to her lair.
The Party Bush rustled.
"Abel."
The Party Bush cleared his throat. The sound of fingernails tapping against metal to the beat of Get Innocuous! by LCD Soundsystem could be heard from within the bush.
"Mmm, it's like... validation and," he snapped the fingers of one of his hands, "catharsis. I did a whole big monologue 'bout it before you got here."
The Party Bush yawned. It was a great big yawn, very satisfying-sounding. The best yawn. Tremendous.
Michael Froese wasn't tired. He was the opposite. He was Wired. Self-induced yawn.
The Froese Reciprocal Yawn Empathy Litmus Test™.
He waited a few seconds, listening to hear if the yawn was Reciprocated™.
It was Reciprocated™!
There was quiet, for a moment.
The Party Bush's voice got a little bit more serious. "You, uh, mentioned Reuben thought he had a chance of getting out. Do you?" he paused. "Do you think you have a chance of getting out, I mean. Like, just curious. I can work with either answer."
"Abel."
The Party Bush cleared his throat. The sound of fingernails tapping against metal to the beat of Get Innocuous! by LCD Soundsystem could be heard from within the bush.
"Mmm, it's like... validation and," he snapped the fingers of one of his hands, "catharsis. I did a whole big monologue 'bout it before you got here."
The Party Bush yawned. It was a great big yawn, very satisfying-sounding. The best yawn. Tremendous.
Michael Froese wasn't tired. He was the opposite. He was Wired. Self-induced yawn.
The Froese Reciprocal Yawn Empathy Litmus Test™.
He waited a few seconds, listening to hear if the yawn was Reciprocated™.
It was Reciprocated™!
There was quiet, for a moment.
The Party Bush's voice got a little bit more serious. "You, uh, mentioned Reuben thought he had a chance of getting out. Do you?" he paused. "Do you think you have a chance of getting out, I mean. Like, just curious. I can work with either answer."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
"It'd be nice."
Lady Bush snorted and retorted. Her leaves and branches shuffled around.
"Like... idunno. I don't think Lady Luck's on my side and that's all I kinda have. Not saying I wanna give up or nothing, but... just being prismatic."
Another sniffle.
"Idunno how much you fuck with Prince, but I look at it like that 1999 song. Ya know, 'we could all die any day, but before I let that happen I'll dance my life away'?... Gram'ma loved that song; she'd always get straight up turnt to it."
Another chuckle, but this one slipped away half-heartedly into the warm summer night.
"But yeah... yeah. I don't think Reuben and I were completely on the same page about what the hell we were doing. I just want to dance; he just wanted to survive. He got all up in my face like he had morals like that fucking matters anymore, and then... well, you know. Didn't plan on offing him, but that's how the shit biscuit bakes sometimes."
Lady Bush cleared her throat.
"...Anyway. So like... how about you? Luck sounds like she's kinda banking on you if you keep running into killers and living to tell the tale."
Lady Bush snorted and retorted. Her leaves and branches shuffled around.
"Like... idunno. I don't think Lady Luck's on my side and that's all I kinda have. Not saying I wanna give up or nothing, but... just being prismatic."
Another sniffle.
"Idunno how much you fuck with Prince, but I look at it like that 1999 song. Ya know, 'we could all die any day, but before I let that happen I'll dance my life away'?... Gram'ma loved that song; she'd always get straight up turnt to it."
Another chuckle, but this one slipped away half-heartedly into the warm summer night.
"But yeah... yeah. I don't think Reuben and I were completely on the same page about what the hell we were doing. I just want to dance; he just wanted to survive. He got all up in my face like he had morals like that fucking matters anymore, and then... well, you know. Didn't plan on offing him, but that's how the shit biscuit bakes sometimes."
Lady Bush cleared her throat.
"...Anyway. So like... how about you? Luck sounds like she's kinda banking on you if you keep running into killers and living to tell the tale."
"I wish she wasn't," the Party Bush shot back.
Quiet pseudolaughter.
"Sorry, it's just -" he paused, "- I've seen way too much, and it's like," the bush rustled and made a short whistling noise, "I can't go back home. I can't. Like, I can't look at my own hands without thinking about what they'd look like without skin — that's something that happened, by the way; I accidentally ripped like all of the skin off of somebody's arm — and it's like... yeah. I dunno. If I'm the one who makes it home, it sure as hell won't be on purpose."
The Party Bush inhaled softly.
"Some dance to remember; some dance to forget. I'm dancing to forget, I guess. Dancing myself clean — and it's like, I have no reason not to do bad things here, if that makes sense? Like you said, the whole concept of morality is obsolete now — like, everyone still alive is definitely indirectly responsible for at least one death by now — and I'm like, fuck it, y'know, why not? I want to feel something other than tired at least once before I die."
A weary exhalation.
"When you've got nothing left to burn, set yourself on fire."
A bittersweet exhalation. Rustling. An actual laugh, probably. He got that from a song.
"Sorry 'bout bringing the mood down, I dunno. Quinn's a shitty therapist," he hummed softly. "Present company, the best that you can find, I guess. Whatever you need, I'm here."
Quiet pseudolaughter.
"Sorry, it's just -" he paused, "- I've seen way too much, and it's like," the bush rustled and made a short whistling noise, "I can't go back home. I can't. Like, I can't look at my own hands without thinking about what they'd look like without skin — that's something that happened, by the way; I accidentally ripped like all of the skin off of somebody's arm — and it's like... yeah. I dunno. If I'm the one who makes it home, it sure as hell won't be on purpose."
The Party Bush inhaled softly.
"Some dance to remember; some dance to forget. I'm dancing to forget, I guess. Dancing myself clean — and it's like, I have no reason not to do bad things here, if that makes sense? Like you said, the whole concept of morality is obsolete now — like, everyone still alive is definitely indirectly responsible for at least one death by now — and I'm like, fuck it, y'know, why not? I want to feel something other than tired at least once before I die."
A weary exhalation.
"When you've got nothing left to burn, set yourself on fire."
A bittersweet exhalation. Rustling. An actual laugh, probably. He got that from a song.
"Sorry 'bout bringing the mood down, I dunno. Quinn's a shitty therapist," he hummed softly. "Present company, the best that you can find, I guess. Whatever you need, I'm here."
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
Lady Bush laughed with the Party Bush.
"...Yeah. Ditto. I just appreciate you're not like Jonathan. Because fuck 'em."
More rustling, and BUSH GIRL revealed herself to the quiet, slightly breezy dark world past the bush shield once again. Like, way too quiet. She grumbled and clicked her teeth.
"Idunno, Mikhail. Kinda thinking this is a bust. Though, like, if you wanna hang a bit more I'm down to clown. Or whatever. I ain't got no plans after this. Right now, anyway."
"...Yeah. Ditto. I just appreciate you're not like Jonathan. Because fuck 'em."
More rustling, and BUSH GIRL revealed herself to the quiet, slightly breezy dark world past the bush shield once again. Like, way too quiet. She grumbled and clicked her teeth.
"Idunno, Mikhail. Kinda thinking this is a bust. Though, like, if you wanna hang a bit more I'm down to clown. Or whatever. I ain't got no plans after this. Right now, anyway."
The Party Bush rustled once more. A metallic moonlight glint moved around within.
"Da."
The bush was silent for a few seconds.
Down to clown. Clown. John Wayne Gacy was a literal clown. Thanks Violet. Clowns were ruined forever now. Ants were probably still eating Kyle's brain.
Michael didn't want to clown. He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry and be alone and watch the world go by because that was what he was comfortable with. He didn't want to have an internal narrative. He wanted to know the internal narratives of everyone else.
Too bad. It was too late for that. He'd made his decision when he'd let Not-Sammy fake-die. He'd made his decision when he'd shot into the ceiling instead of through the door. He'd made his decision when he'd let Quinn live.
He'd made his decision several times now, he supposed. The first was when he'd chosen to -
- when he'd chosen to fall in love with Beryl. It had been a choice, had it not? In the woods on the first day, he'd known it was her. He'd pretended not to know, but he'd known. He knew he'd known. An excuse. She'd only ever been an excuse. Another way to hurt himself. Another way for him to try and feel like anybody but himself.
It hadn't worked. It never fucking worked.
He was who he was. He wished he wasn't, but he was. He felt empathy for everyone but himself.
He wanted to be forgotten. He wanted people to like him. He wanted not to have to keep existing. He wanted to make people happy. He wanted to live. He wanted to die.
Deep down, at the bottom of it all, he was pretty sure what he wanted most of all was no more tears. He wanted everyone to be okay. Mercy killer.
If he and Camila had existed in a vacuum, he wouldn't have felt bad about killing her, he was pretty sure. She'd been in pain, he'd helped her. Simple as that.
The island was almost a vacuum. In the end, nothing that happened would have any lasting effect on anybody off of the island.
Anybody except the people watching them on the internet. They were the problem. They were always watching everyone. They were always judging everyone. They were always dehumanizing everyone. They were the one thing standing between him and being himself. They were the one thing standing between him and feeling okay.
They were never going away.
Quiet pseudolaughter.
Michael rose from the bush. The pistol hung limply at his side. He raised an eyebrow at Teresa and shrugged. "Yeah I'm down to clown I guess. Hold on a sec," he paused, pulled his cult robe out, and wormed his way inside, "found this down in the village. I know where we can find a bunch more, if you want one. I dunno; like I said, I'm cool with whatever."
He briefly glanced to the side and sniffled. "I think Jonathan's dead maybe. I dunno. I was vibing and then he popped out of the woods and yelled at me so I left him with Justin, so like... yeah," he looked back to Teresa. "What's your story with him? Sounds like he could get around."
He already had a pretty good idea of what the story was. Jonathan had mentioned chilling with Meka, Teresa had mentioned chilling with Meka; he could fill in the blanks. Still though, like, why not ask?
Asking 'why not?' instead of 'why?'. That was important. He needed to remember to do that. He needed to internalize it. He was internalizing it. Teresa was helping him internalize it.
"Da."
The bush was silent for a few seconds.
Down to clown. Clown. John Wayne Gacy was a literal clown. Thanks Violet. Clowns were ruined forever now. Ants were probably still eating Kyle's brain.
Michael didn't want to clown. He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry and be alone and watch the world go by because that was what he was comfortable with. He didn't want to have an internal narrative. He wanted to know the internal narratives of everyone else.
Too bad. It was too late for that. He'd made his decision when he'd let Not-Sammy fake-die. He'd made his decision when he'd shot into the ceiling instead of through the door. He'd made his decision when he'd let Quinn live.
He'd made his decision several times now, he supposed. The first was when he'd chosen to -
- when he'd chosen to fall in love with Beryl. It had been a choice, had it not? In the woods on the first day, he'd known it was her. He'd pretended not to know, but he'd known. He knew he'd known. An excuse. She'd only ever been an excuse. Another way to hurt himself. Another way for him to try and feel like anybody but himself.
It hadn't worked. It never fucking worked.
He was who he was. He wished he wasn't, but he was. He felt empathy for everyone but himself.
He wanted to be forgotten. He wanted people to like him. He wanted not to have to keep existing. He wanted to make people happy. He wanted to live. He wanted to die.
Deep down, at the bottom of it all, he was pretty sure what he wanted most of all was no more tears. He wanted everyone to be okay. Mercy killer.
If he and Camila had existed in a vacuum, he wouldn't have felt bad about killing her, he was pretty sure. She'd been in pain, he'd helped her. Simple as that.
The island was almost a vacuum. In the end, nothing that happened would have any lasting effect on anybody off of the island.
Anybody except the people watching them on the internet. They were the problem. They were always watching everyone. They were always judging everyone. They were always dehumanizing everyone. They were the one thing standing between him and being himself. They were the one thing standing between him and feeling okay.
They were never going away.
Quiet pseudolaughter.
Michael rose from the bush. The pistol hung limply at his side. He raised an eyebrow at Teresa and shrugged. "Yeah I'm down to clown I guess. Hold on a sec," he paused, pulled his cult robe out, and wormed his way inside, "found this down in the village. I know where we can find a bunch more, if you want one. I dunno; like I said, I'm cool with whatever."
He briefly glanced to the side and sniffled. "I think Jonathan's dead maybe. I dunno. I was vibing and then he popped out of the woods and yelled at me so I left him with Justin, so like... yeah," he looked back to Teresa. "What's your story with him? Sounds like he could get around."
He already had a pretty good idea of what the story was. Jonathan had mentioned chilling with Meka, Teresa had mentioned chilling with Meka; he could fill in the blanks. Still though, like, why not ask?
Asking 'why not?' instead of 'why?'. That was important. He needed to remember to do that. He needed to internalize it. He was internalizing it. Teresa was helping him internalize it.
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
"Jonathan, nah... nothing that exciting. Worked on him for a bit but then he got mad at me and Val and stormed out like a little bitch. That's about it." She shrugged, visibly stashing away the knife again as Michael approached since like the last thing she needed was another miscommunication breakdown (thanks, Reuben).
"This, though..." A sharktoothy grin emerged as she eyed over the robe, the smooth yet somehow grubby texture caressing her fingers as they ran up and down every single fiber.
Her nothing eyes glinted and met with Michael's after her hands were finished. "Show me."
"This, though..." A sharktoothy grin emerged as she eyed over the robe, the smooth yet somehow grubby texture caressing her fingers as they ran up and down every single fiber.
Her nothing eyes glinted and met with Michael's after her hands were finished. "Show me."
Mmm so yeah the Jonathan story was pretty much what he expected, though somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Michael noted that Teresa mentioned having 'worked' on Jonathan. He watched as she put her knife away, which was cool he guessed but it wasn't like he was gonna put his gun away any time soon and then she said something and - OH NO HE WAS BEING GRABBED AND TERESA WAS GRABBING HIM WHY WAS SHE GRABBING HIM HE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT WAS HAPPENING AND SHE WAS LOOKING INTO HIS EYES AND-
"Show me."
-WHAT NO WHAT WAS GOING ON HE DIDN'T LIKE THIS ONE BIT - oh she was feeling the robe, wasn't she? She was talking about the robes. Okay. Thank fucking god. For a second there, he'd thought she was coming on to him, which was like... actually terrifying. 13/10 on the yikes scale. It was scarier than almost being murdered by several people.
It was scarier than murdering Camila.
Well. Huh. Kay.
He felt his muscles tangibly untense, which was a surprise because he hadn't noticed them tense up. He blinked.
"Dank, aight. It's, uh, down in the village, so, uhhhhhhh," he adjusted his glasses, "follow me, I guess?"
He made a little snappy fingergun and then winked, before turning around and shuffling off into the woods. He beckoned for Teresa to follow him.
Only then did he remember that the house he'd found the robes in was the same as the one where he'd found Camila's corpse.
((continued in Low Times))
"Show me."
-WHAT NO WHAT WAS GOING ON HE DIDN'T LIKE THIS ONE BIT - oh she was feeling the robe, wasn't she? She was talking about the robes. Okay. Thank fucking god. For a second there, he'd thought she was coming on to him, which was like... actually terrifying. 13/10 on the yikes scale. It was scarier than almost being murdered by several people.
It was scarier than murdering Camila.
Well. Huh. Kay.
He felt his muscles tangibly untense, which was a surprise because he hadn't noticed them tense up. He blinked.
"Dank, aight. It's, uh, down in the village, so, uhhhhhhh," he adjusted his glasses, "follow me, I guess?"
He made a little snappy fingergun and then winked, before turning around and shuffling off into the woods. He beckoned for Teresa to follow him.
Only then did he remember that the house he'd found the robes in was the same as the one where he'd found Camila's corpse.
((continued in Low Times))
none of you can prove im in v8
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
She followed behind, stopping momentarily to face the camera and flash a peace sign with a cheeky wink.
((END OF ACT 2))
((END OF ACT 2))