((Colm Forsyth, start))
An electric crackling from somewhere jolted Colm into consciousness.
Colm took a deep breath -- exhaling out the nose, the sort of breath that brings life back into a body while trying to fight through a haze of drowsiness -- and shot up in bed.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw blurry a watercolor of the room he was in, illuminated by the light of the window. He was laying in a bed in what looked like hospital room, and he would have thought maybe the bus they were on had been in an accident and all of the stuff with their teachers and those people had been a brain trauma dream, but this place was very clearly abandoned.
Blotches of brown stained the ceiling, the bedsheet he was on was musty, the floor was covered in dust. His heart began beating at a hummingbird's pace.
Where am I?
Where is everyone else?
Am I -- Do I --
One thing at a time. Problems are solved when you take them piece by piece.
He took slower, big breaths and hugged himself. The fabric of his coat sunk under the tight grip of fingers as he tried to self-soothe and also stay warm.
One thing at a time.
How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
I really hope no one thinks that about me he thought grimly.
Colm noticed that there was a bag between his legs. He moved to drag the thing up towards him and found that his leg hurt. The bag was heavy -- they must have thrown it onto him without thinking about it and bruised his leg.
"Cheers," he mumbled. "What a fuckin mess. I was pure minding my business, sitting on a bus, getting car sick like is the time-honoured tradition and now I'm here. I guess this is a becoming a fuckin' tradition by now too," he sighed.
He winced and brought the duffle up into his lap.
Inside, his mind began racing without clear thoughts but with a general feeling of panic. However, to the outside observer it would just appear that Colm was looking down, with a slight frown.
These days of dishonourable peace
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Ruggahissy
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Catche Jagger
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((Betty Quinn continued from Duet))
It hadn’t taken too much wandering toward the northwest for Quinn to come across the area which her map noted as being a “Research Station.” Here, she had determined, would be a worthwhile place to search for supplies and possible improvised weapons.
A more thorough search of her bag under the light of day had revealed her assigned weapon to be a ouija board, and though Quinn was not one to treat the more mysterious inner workings of the universe with derision and cynicism, she unfortunately could not foresee much use for the board beyond as something she might be able to trade with a particularly superstitious classmate. In addition, her dark gloves had been marked by some of Oakley’s blood, and if she wanted to avoid frightening her classmates, or giving them the wrong impression of her intentions, she would need to be sure to clean them in short order.
Quinn let out a slow sigh, her breath wavering slightly as the cloud of vapor passed from her lips. Such was to be her lot, awful work under awful circumstances.
She quietly entered one of the station’s buildings, not entirely confident it was best to announce her presence without prompting. However, as she passed through the entrance hall, she heard a voice emanating from one of the rooms. Though she grew tense for a moment, the slight accent allowed her to quickly identify the source, if not the precise words.
For a moment, Quinn considered Colm. Though she couldn’t rightly see the state he was in, she knew him to be an amicable sort, certainly not the type to get into trouble without extreme pressure. Not like Oakley.
“Hello? It’s Betty. Betty Quinn.” She spoke up, not moving closer to the doorway or revealing herself, allowing him to feel like he wasn’t at a disadvantage. She also made sure to shove her hands into her pockets, though the blood would not be so easily seen on the dark material.
It hadn’t taken too much wandering toward the northwest for Quinn to come across the area which her map noted as being a “Research Station.” Here, she had determined, would be a worthwhile place to search for supplies and possible improvised weapons.
A more thorough search of her bag under the light of day had revealed her assigned weapon to be a ouija board, and though Quinn was not one to treat the more mysterious inner workings of the universe with derision and cynicism, she unfortunately could not foresee much use for the board beyond as something she might be able to trade with a particularly superstitious classmate. In addition, her dark gloves had been marked by some of Oakley’s blood, and if she wanted to avoid frightening her classmates, or giving them the wrong impression of her intentions, she would need to be sure to clean them in short order.
Quinn let out a slow sigh, her breath wavering slightly as the cloud of vapor passed from her lips. Such was to be her lot, awful work under awful circumstances.
She quietly entered one of the station’s buildings, not entirely confident it was best to announce her presence without prompting. However, as she passed through the entrance hall, she heard a voice emanating from one of the rooms. Though she grew tense for a moment, the slight accent allowed her to quickly identify the source, if not the precise words.
For a moment, Quinn considered Colm. Though she couldn’t rightly see the state he was in, she knew him to be an amicable sort, certainly not the type to get into trouble without extreme pressure. Not like Oakley.
“Hello? It’s Betty. Betty Quinn.” She spoke up, not moving closer to the doorway or revealing herself, allowing him to feel like he wasn’t at a disadvantage. She also made sure to shove her hands into her pockets, though the blood would not be so easily seen on the dark material.
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Ruggahissy
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Colm cupped his chin, then moved his hand down to feel the collar around his neck. His heart sped up and he moved his hand up to his face, squeezing his cheeks inward in his grasp like someone squishing a child's face. His brows were set in a deep furrow.
He took another deep breath, bit on the end of his left thumb, and started to unzip the bag.
As the tab came down, he was both hopeful and terrified of what might be inside.
Then he heard a voice and looked up.
"Oh," he said gently.
The presence of another person helped break through the panic since he now had another person to consider.
He picked up the item from inside his bag, which was a big rod with an axe/hammer, and looked pretty fearsome.
Shit.
Colm was keenly aware of how he was perceived. When he would go out alone on hiking trails, if he'd come upon a woman with a dog or something he could see them tense up. He would then purposefully camp it up a little, which did seem to normally put girls more at ease.
I better be a little swishier than typical or she's gonna think I'm gonna fee-fi-fo-fum her with this thing.
"Oh, hey girlfriend," he tried to say casually with his index finger on his chin. "Well, I've been better.... and you've Quinn better?"
He took another deep breath, bit on the end of his left thumb, and started to unzip the bag.
As the tab came down, he was both hopeful and terrified of what might be inside.
Then he heard a voice and looked up.
"Oh," he said gently.
The presence of another person helped break through the panic since he now had another person to consider.
He picked up the item from inside his bag, which was a big rod with an axe/hammer, and looked pretty fearsome.
Shit.
Colm was keenly aware of how he was perceived. When he would go out alone on hiking trails, if he'd come upon a woman with a dog or something he could see them tense up. He would then purposefully camp it up a little, which did seem to normally put girls more at ease.
I better be a little swishier than typical or she's gonna think I'm gonna fee-fi-fo-fum her with this thing.
"Oh, hey girlfriend," he tried to say casually with his index finger on his chin. "Well, I've been better.... and you've Quinn better?"
((DeMarcus Miller, Start))
DeMarcus didn't make plans. Whether it was one-pumping kids on Fortnite or sending out Tweets reminding psycho left-wingers about biological truths, he operated on instinct and adhered to whatever the circumstances dictated. Consequences were something nebulous and the future was ethereal and not worth considering.
So when DeMarcus opened up his little gift bag from the terrorists (Antifa, it was probably a fucking op like everything always was when the left was running out of stupid people to con) and saw the big, intimidating, and sexy handgun, he knew one thing instinctually: He wasn't gonna be someone to fuck with.
The handgun, a Desert Eagle that he had immediately loaded up with the fat .50 AE cartridges, hadn't left his right hand since he had woken up. It made it hard to peek at the map he had been provided, but he managed. As far as he was concerned, the big boy was his new best friend, and you didn't stick your friends in a dark-ass bag. As he tromped along the path toward his chosen destination, his index finger stroked the side of the weapon, as if he was reassuring it that it would be used in due time.
Visiting the infirmary was another not-plan. It was close by, according to the map, and dimly he had thought he could find some drugs or a knife or something to throw into his pack with the rest of his supplies. Also, he was getting cold and the idea of being indoors held a lot of appeal. He could gather and warm himself, maybe set up a little gun range and take a couple test shots.
He arrived at the building right when someone else slipped in. He raised the pistol and dropped it when the door shut behind them. He froze on the spot, watching the door until he was sure no one else was coming or going. A breeze picked up and the air bit into him. He pulled one flap of his flannel against it, wondering briefly why he hadn't buttoned it up.
"Come on, get the fuck out of there." He muttered while he stared at the closed door. His eyes went down to the handgun, then back to the door. He sniffed, sucking back a trickle of snot.
DeMarcus didn't make plans. Whether it was one-pumping kids on Fortnite or sending out Tweets reminding psycho left-wingers about biological truths, he operated on instinct and adhered to whatever the circumstances dictated. Consequences were something nebulous and the future was ethereal and not worth considering.
So when DeMarcus opened up his little gift bag from the terrorists (Antifa, it was probably a fucking op like everything always was when the left was running out of stupid people to con) and saw the big, intimidating, and sexy handgun, he knew one thing instinctually: He wasn't gonna be someone to fuck with.
The handgun, a Desert Eagle that he had immediately loaded up with the fat .50 AE cartridges, hadn't left his right hand since he had woken up. It made it hard to peek at the map he had been provided, but he managed. As far as he was concerned, the big boy was his new best friend, and you didn't stick your friends in a dark-ass bag. As he tromped along the path toward his chosen destination, his index finger stroked the side of the weapon, as if he was reassuring it that it would be used in due time.
Visiting the infirmary was another not-plan. It was close by, according to the map, and dimly he had thought he could find some drugs or a knife or something to throw into his pack with the rest of his supplies. Also, he was getting cold and the idea of being indoors held a lot of appeal. He could gather and warm himself, maybe set up a little gun range and take a couple test shots.
He arrived at the building right when someone else slipped in. He raised the pistol and dropped it when the door shut behind them. He froze on the spot, watching the door until he was sure no one else was coming or going. A breeze picked up and the air bit into him. He pulled one flap of his flannel against it, wondering briefly why he hadn't buttoned it up.
"Come on, get the fuck out of there." He muttered while he stared at the closed door. His eyes went down to the handgun, then back to the door. He sniffed, sucking back a trickle of snot.
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Catche Jagger
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Quinn’s head snapped to attention and she stepped more clearly into view of the room Colm was inhabiting, as though she had only then realized that he was there. She smiled politely at his strange old man pun, appreciating the attempted levity, but also finding his demeanor to be a bit strange given their circumstances.
People coped with stress and trauma in different ways, she reminded herself, and it remained entirely possible that lame jokes were Colm’s method of choice. Besides, her assessment of Colm from back at school remained valid. He lacked the obvious warning signs that would predispose him to escalating the situation: no well-known issues with mental health, no similar history of trauma, though there was some talk of him being a bit bossy, there was nothing to indicate notable tendencies towards aggression or manipulation.
In short, he was safe, the sort of person that had potential to even do good here.
“I suppose you could say that. I might not have the same way with words.” Quinn acknowledged, stepping into the room properly and giving Colm a more proper examination. He seemed smaller than she recalled. Perhaps the absolute terror of their situation had caused him to shed a few pounds.
No, that was rude, an awful way to think of a classmate in need.
“I was just wandering here, hoping to find something useful. All they gave me was one of those silly ouija boards.” She explained further, her tone light, treating the iniquity of the weapon assignments as little more than a joke.
Perhaps that was in poor taste. Though it was certainly better than suggesting they attempt to contact Mr. Perez and Mr Ramos.
People coped with stress and trauma in different ways, she reminded herself, and it remained entirely possible that lame jokes were Colm’s method of choice. Besides, her assessment of Colm from back at school remained valid. He lacked the obvious warning signs that would predispose him to escalating the situation: no well-known issues with mental health, no similar history of trauma, though there was some talk of him being a bit bossy, there was nothing to indicate notable tendencies towards aggression or manipulation.
In short, he was safe, the sort of person that had potential to even do good here.
“I suppose you could say that. I might not have the same way with words.” Quinn acknowledged, stepping into the room properly and giving Colm a more proper examination. He seemed smaller than she recalled. Perhaps the absolute terror of their situation had caused him to shed a few pounds.
No, that was rude, an awful way to think of a classmate in need.
“I was just wandering here, hoping to find something useful. All they gave me was one of those silly ouija boards.” She explained further, her tone light, treating the iniquity of the weapon assignments as little more than a joke.
Perhaps that was in poor taste. Though it was certainly better than suggesting they attempt to contact Mr. Perez and Mr Ramos.
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Ruggahissy
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Colm saw Quinn smile at his joke and that inspired him to smile a little in return.
"Hmm," he said, acknowledging her explanation. A Ouija board wasn't exactly useful, implied by her saying she wanted to find something that was.
"We just need to think rationally," he said quietly. "We just need to look a the options and not do anything rash, the only rash that's good is rationality -- "
He stopped when something glinting caught the corner of his eye out the window.
Colm's eyes darted to the window, which was cloudy with grime. He couldn't really tell what was outside, but something winked at them with a metallic glint, then disappeared.
Colm briefly wondered if Quinn had a friend or perhaps this was a set up.
No. If it was a trap, she'd have made sure they would have been closer, so they could communicate. Was it too early to start thinking about traps and betrayals? Colm was disturbed that his thinking was already starting to twist and morph to fit the situation.
He removed the map from his bag and then started zipping it up, holding the axe hammer thing out to Quinn.
"Take that for a second from me, would you, leannan?" he said, trying to close the bag with his other hand. He squinted and looked back out the window, now unsure if he had seen anything at all.
"Did you see something?"
"Hmm," he said, acknowledging her explanation. A Ouija board wasn't exactly useful, implied by her saying she wanted to find something that was.
"We just need to think rationally," he said quietly. "We just need to look a the options and not do anything rash, the only rash that's good is rationality -- "
He stopped when something glinting caught the corner of his eye out the window.
Colm's eyes darted to the window, which was cloudy with grime. He couldn't really tell what was outside, but something winked at them with a metallic glint, then disappeared.
Colm briefly wondered if Quinn had a friend or perhaps this was a set up.
No. If it was a trap, she'd have made sure they would have been closer, so they could communicate. Was it too early to start thinking about traps and betrayals? Colm was disturbed that his thinking was already starting to twist and morph to fit the situation.
He removed the map from his bag and then started zipping it up, holding the axe hammer thing out to Quinn.
"Take that for a second from me, would you, leannan?" he said, trying to close the bag with his other hand. He squinted and looked back out the window, now unsure if he had seen anything at all.
"Did you see something?"
The breeze hadn't died down since DeMarcus had taken his post outside the infirmary. If anything, it had grown in intensity. He had wrapped his free arm around himself, which provided little shield against the cold. He hadn't had much patience to begin with and the weather was wearing away at his nerves. He bounced up and down to try to get some blood circulating and when it didn't, he let out a little growl. He felt more snot run down to his lip and without thinking he thrust his hand up to his face, mostly just smearing it into his patchy facial hair.
"Oh, fuck this." He muttered.
DeMarcus gripped the gun in both hands, leveled at the building and dipped low. He started toward the building in a gradual, shuffling step. He could have a little chat with whoever was inside, a chat that would end up with him warm and them probably out on their ass.
"Oh, fuck this." He muttered.
DeMarcus gripped the gun in both hands, leveled at the building and dipped low. He started toward the building in a gradual, shuffling step. He could have a little chat with whoever was inside, a chat that would end up with him warm and them probably out on their ass.
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Catche Jagger
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Quinn had been correct about Colm, it seemed. His response was good natured, and he even went on to indulge in a bit of wordplay. However, the words summoned the briefest reminder of the blood pooling around Oakley’s head, only for that to be interrupted by… something else.
Before Quinn could give any input on the matter, Colm had handed her something which appeared to be a large, thick axe. She was forced to take it in two hands, both to make sure it remained securely in her grip and because it was rather heavier than it had seemed. It was quite a display of trust on his part, handing her his weapon with seemingly so little thought. She thought to gently suggest a bit more caution on his part, but her attention was, like Colm’s, drawn toward the window.
It was quite difficult to make anything out through the grimy window, and for a moment she thought Colm could have made a mistake. After a moment, however, she managed to make out a form–more a silhouette than a person through the foggy window–slowly growing within its frame, getting closer.
The particulars were difficult to make out, and some part of her thought it unfair on her part that her grip tightened on Colm’s weapon. Still, this was no time for an overabundance of charity. Hard calls were necessary.
“Colm,” she whispered, “please stay out of sight, just in case. Let me check on this.” Quinn gave him a small, concerned smile, before pulling away from the window and moving towards the door to their room, hoping the boy might listen to her, and that the person outside might hear her when she spoke up.
“Is anyone out there? We have plenty of room for one or two more!” Quinn called out in a welcoming voice, a wider but more clearly disingenuous smile on her face. A failure to answer would tell her all she needed to know.
Before Quinn could give any input on the matter, Colm had handed her something which appeared to be a large, thick axe. She was forced to take it in two hands, both to make sure it remained securely in her grip and because it was rather heavier than it had seemed. It was quite a display of trust on his part, handing her his weapon with seemingly so little thought. She thought to gently suggest a bit more caution on his part, but her attention was, like Colm’s, drawn toward the window.
It was quite difficult to make anything out through the grimy window, and for a moment she thought Colm could have made a mistake. After a moment, however, she managed to make out a form–more a silhouette than a person through the foggy window–slowly growing within its frame, getting closer.
The particulars were difficult to make out, and some part of her thought it unfair on her part that her grip tightened on Colm’s weapon. Still, this was no time for an overabundance of charity. Hard calls were necessary.
“Colm,” she whispered, “please stay out of sight, just in case. Let me check on this.” Quinn gave him a small, concerned smile, before pulling away from the window and moving towards the door to their room, hoping the boy might listen to her, and that the person outside might hear her when she spoke up.
“Is anyone out there? We have plenty of room for one or two more!” Quinn called out in a welcoming voice, a wider but more clearly disingenuous smile on her face. A failure to answer would tell her all she needed to know.
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Ruggahissy
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Quinn took the axe hammer thing, which allowed Colm to pack away the rest of the his things into the bag and zip it up unencumbered. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and they immediately met the ground. He craned his head over to look back through the window along with Quinn.
Colm was winding his scarf around his neck again when she moved away, taking the weapon with her.
"H--" he started, getting out only the very first constant of "Hey!" before covering his own mouth with his left hand.
So she thought there was something out there after all.
Internally, Colm bristled. If anyone was going out to check on something, he thought he would have been best suited for it. But if there really was an unknown quantity nearby, now wasn't the time to argue about who should go out, and he didn't want to try and wrest the weapon from her.
Truly, she had the confidence of self only a theater kid could posess.
He took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully through his nose. Colm looked around the room quickly, trying to see if anything might be useful.
She now called out to see if anyone was there -- there was still the possibility that it was nothing, or an animal or something outside.
Colm moved over to the curtains that hung over the window. He removed the bar from over the window and slid the rings off one of the ends, keeping them together with his thick fingers so that they wouldn't clank together much. When he was done, he had a metal rod that was about three feet long. It wasn't much, but it wasn't nothing.
He waited, with the horrible dread of uncertainty pulling at his heart.
Colm was winding his scarf around his neck again when she moved away, taking the weapon with her.
"H--" he started, getting out only the very first constant of "Hey!" before covering his own mouth with his left hand.
So she thought there was something out there after all.
Internally, Colm bristled. If anyone was going out to check on something, he thought he would have been best suited for it. But if there really was an unknown quantity nearby, now wasn't the time to argue about who should go out, and he didn't want to try and wrest the weapon from her.
Truly, she had the confidence of self only a theater kid could posess.
He took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully through his nose. Colm looked around the room quickly, trying to see if anything might be useful.
She now called out to see if anyone was there -- there was still the possibility that it was nothing, or an animal or something outside.
Colm moved over to the curtains that hung over the window. He removed the bar from over the window and slid the rings off one of the ends, keeping them together with his thick fingers so that they wouldn't clank together much. When he was done, he had a metal rod that was about three feet long. It wasn't much, but it wasn't nothing.
He waited, with the horrible dread of uncertainty pulling at his heart.
The idea that whoever was in the building would see him on approach, let alone pre-empt him by saying something, was something that had had never occurred to DeMarcus. That they said something positive was even more confounding to the scenario he had made up in his head and deflated some of his false bravado. It was enough that he stopped dead in his tracks, gun still aimed but wavering, shoulders still hunched but relaxing.
"Yeah, there's somebody out here! Who all's in there?" He called out, with far less acid than he had been intending. As if recognizing this, he straightened and growled "I got a big fucking gun and I'm shooting whoever it is if I don't like what I hear!"
He nodded to himself, congratulating himself on his recovery.
"Yeah, there's somebody out here! Who all's in there?" He called out, with far less acid than he had been intending. As if recognizing this, he straightened and growled "I got a big fucking gun and I'm shooting whoever it is if I don't like what I hear!"
He nodded to himself, congratulating himself on his recovery.
(Dominiqua Ashmore, continued from Homecoming)
Dominiqua, along with Fred, made her way to the Research Station in hopes of finding the infirmary, where they can hopefully rest and Fred can get his ankle treated.
"Okay, that looks like the place up ahead," she said to Fred, "It won't be much longer now."
The pair shuffled their way towards the infirmary. The cold had been taxing on the two, especially Fred, who looked like he really needed to sit down. It would be nice to get a break from the cold, and maybe test out one of these field rations. Dominiqua was feeling a bit hungry.
As they neared the building, she noticed a figure outside the entrance. It looked like DeMarcus Miller. Not someone she particularly liked. And it looked like he was armed! He was shouting at someone to come out and threatened to shoot.
"Oh crap!," Dominiqua whispered in surprise. She turned her head to Fred.
"What should we do?"
Dominiqua, along with Fred, made her way to the Research Station in hopes of finding the infirmary, where they can hopefully rest and Fred can get his ankle treated.
"Okay, that looks like the place up ahead," she said to Fred, "It won't be much longer now."
The pair shuffled their way towards the infirmary. The cold had been taxing on the two, especially Fred, who looked like he really needed to sit down. It would be nice to get a break from the cold, and maybe test out one of these field rations. Dominiqua was feeling a bit hungry.
As they neared the building, she noticed a figure outside the entrance. It looked like DeMarcus Miller. Not someone she particularly liked. And it looked like he was armed! He was shouting at someone to come out and threatened to shoot.
"Oh crap!," Dominiqua whispered in surprise. She turned her head to Fred.
"What should we do?"
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Catche Jagger
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Quinn could not discern who the person outside was from their voice alone, which told her that this was someone she wasn’t particularly close with, but little else. Regardless, any relief that might have come with a proper response to her call was immediately wiped away by the threat of what followed.
For her part, it did not matter much whether or not their mystery guest had a gun or not, beyond the risk of dealing with them. The willingness to throw out such a threat in a dire situation like this one, further when presented with nothing but welcoming arms, indicated a personality with no regard for the harm their actions or words could do unto others.
A deep, frustrated sigh passed from her lips. Quinn had hoped for some reprieve here with Colm, but for another person like Oakley, a danger to their class, to arrive so shortly after she’d finished her prior business, seemed almost cruel.
Another glance at the weapon in her hands. No matter how it was used to dispatch the newcomer when he entered the room, it would result in something gruesome and horrific to behold. Quinn had steeled herself to do what was necessary, but poor Colm would likely be traumatized by what he would witness. Hopefully she would be provided the chance to help him process it. He didn’t deserve any of this.
“Oh! It’s just Colm and Betty. Betty Quinn I mean.” She replied after a moment, her voice never faltering as she continued.
“I’m sorry if I startled you! It’s just… Colm’s been having some trouble coming back from the gas. Could you help? Please?”
Drawing her lips together in a thin line, Quinn breathed steadily through her nose as she attempted to visualize what would come next. She had read that it was through visualizing success that one finds proper actualization.
She found it difficult to picture the scene in her mind without a better sense of the outsider’s height and build, and so she found herself defaulting to Oakley again. Focusing, she could see herself by the doorway, positioned hopefully just out of sight of any entrant. Once the boy’s form passed into the building, she would throw all her might behind a swing into his neck.
That was all she needed to do. The sequence repeated in her mind with each breath.
For her part, it did not matter much whether or not their mystery guest had a gun or not, beyond the risk of dealing with them. The willingness to throw out such a threat in a dire situation like this one, further when presented with nothing but welcoming arms, indicated a personality with no regard for the harm their actions or words could do unto others.
A deep, frustrated sigh passed from her lips. Quinn had hoped for some reprieve here with Colm, but for another person like Oakley, a danger to their class, to arrive so shortly after she’d finished her prior business, seemed almost cruel.
Another glance at the weapon in her hands. No matter how it was used to dispatch the newcomer when he entered the room, it would result in something gruesome and horrific to behold. Quinn had steeled herself to do what was necessary, but poor Colm would likely be traumatized by what he would witness. Hopefully she would be provided the chance to help him process it. He didn’t deserve any of this.
“Oh! It’s just Colm and Betty. Betty Quinn I mean.” She replied after a moment, her voice never faltering as she continued.
“I’m sorry if I startled you! It’s just… Colm’s been having some trouble coming back from the gas. Could you help? Please?”
Drawing her lips together in a thin line, Quinn breathed steadily through her nose as she attempted to visualize what would come next. She had read that it was through visualizing success that one finds proper actualization.
She found it difficult to picture the scene in her mind without a better sense of the outsider’s height and build, and so she found herself defaulting to Oakley again. Focusing, she could see herself by the doorway, positioned hopefully just out of sight of any entrant. Once the boy’s form passed into the building, she would throw all her might behind a swing into his neck.
That was all she needed to do. The sequence repeated in her mind with each breath.
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Ruggahissy
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"I don't -- I'm not sure who --" he whispered.
The voice had responded back that it both had a gun, and was going to shoot them if it felt like it.
Colm noticed suddenly that his breathing had picked up significantly again.
Fuckin'... this was so fuckin much to deal with after just waking the fuck up. Like, he had just woken up and, well, if there was any way to forget about the problems you had, it was to introduce a brand-new problem every two minutes.
Colm noticed that his hands were shaking. He tightened his grip on the curtain rod to hide the trembling.
Quinn had his weapon, but he'd let her have it. Yes, she was a girl and she was smaller than him, so clearly he'd allowed her to take the better weapon because she was at a greater disadvantage right now. That's exactly what it was, and they could have a more in-depth talk about it after the situation had evened back out, he told himself.
Now, Quinn called out to the person and at first it seemed like things were going in the right direction, but within a moment he realised what she was trying to do.
"Leannan. Honey," he whispered. It was said fondly, like he cared deeply for her, and it was said like a warning. "You shouldn't... do things unless you have to. Not until..."
She wanted to lure the person to them so she could kill them first before they could attack. If the person truly had a gun and was really willing to shoot them, letting them waltz up wasn't a risk they could take. She would be right to take preemptive steps. But he still had to at least try to avoid a gruesome outcome.
"Yeah, it's just me an her," he called out after Quinn. "Not doing too well. Bad reaction to the drugs or something. I've had EXPLOSIVE diarrhoea in here. It's everywhere. Walls. Floor. Ceiling maybe? I'd advise skipping this building, at least for right now," he said, waving his arms around for emphasis, even though the person he was trying to scare away couldn't even see him.
The voice had responded back that it both had a gun, and was going to shoot them if it felt like it.
Colm noticed suddenly that his breathing had picked up significantly again.
Fuckin'... this was so fuckin much to deal with after just waking the fuck up. Like, he had just woken up and, well, if there was any way to forget about the problems you had, it was to introduce a brand-new problem every two minutes.
Colm noticed that his hands were shaking. He tightened his grip on the curtain rod to hide the trembling.
Quinn had his weapon, but he'd let her have it. Yes, she was a girl and she was smaller than him, so clearly he'd allowed her to take the better weapon because she was at a greater disadvantage right now. That's exactly what it was, and they could have a more in-depth talk about it after the situation had evened back out, he told himself.
Now, Quinn called out to the person and at first it seemed like things were going in the right direction, but within a moment he realised what she was trying to do.
"Leannan. Honey," he whispered. It was said fondly, like he cared deeply for her, and it was said like a warning. "You shouldn't... do things unless you have to. Not until..."
She wanted to lure the person to them so she could kill them first before they could attack. If the person truly had a gun and was really willing to shoot them, letting them waltz up wasn't a risk they could take. She would be right to take preemptive steps. But he still had to at least try to avoid a gruesome outcome.
"Yeah, it's just me an her," he called out after Quinn. "Not doing too well. Bad reaction to the drugs or something. I've had EXPLOSIVE diarrhoea in here. It's everywhere. Walls. Floor. Ceiling maybe? I'd advise skipping this building, at least for right now," he said, waving his arms around for emphasis, even though the person he was trying to scare away couldn't even see him.
Names were shouted out. DeMarcus narrowed his eyes, running through his very shallow mental file cabinet he had on the people he shared the school with every day.
"Am I supposed to know who y'all are?" He said back.
He also stood his ground, a physical reflection of what he wanted to say next to the boy in there that was supposedly still in night-night. He wanted to declare something to the effect of "How the fuck is that my problem," or something more compassionate like, "Take his shit before he wakes up!"
But then the boy in question helpfully informed him that he may have had a potty emergency. In graphic and frankly, hysterical detail. He wrinkled his nose and he tilted his head. The barrel of the Desert Eagle dropped an inch.
"Are y'all fucking with me?"
"Am I supposed to know who y'all are?" He said back.
He also stood his ground, a physical reflection of what he wanted to say next to the boy in there that was supposedly still in night-night. He wanted to declare something to the effect of "How the fuck is that my problem," or something more compassionate like, "Take his shit before he wakes up!"
But then the boy in question helpfully informed him that he may have had a potty emergency. In graphic and frankly, hysterical detail. He wrinkled his nose and he tilted his head. The barrel of the Desert Eagle dropped an inch.
"Are y'all fucking with me?"
DeMarcus kept shouting towards whoever was inside the infirmary. There was no telling whether this would end peacefully or with shots being fired. Dominiqua felt that she had to do something. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to treat Fred’s ankle.
“Wait here,” she whispered to Fred.
She left Fred’s side as she tried to discreetly walk up towards DeMarcus. The snow was making it hard to be as quiet as possible, as with every step, the snow crunched beneath her feet.
Once she was about six feet away from DeMarcus, she raised her arms above her head.
“Uh, hey,” Dominiqua said, “My friend and I need a place to rest. Could you put the gun down?”
“Wait here,” she whispered to Fred.
She left Fred’s side as she tried to discreetly walk up towards DeMarcus. The snow was making it hard to be as quiet as possible, as with every step, the snow crunched beneath her feet.
Once she was about six feet away from DeMarcus, she raised her arms above her head.
“Uh, hey,” Dominiqua said, “My friend and I need a place to rest. Could you put the gun down?”