[Kyle 'K.' Emerson continued from The Hunt is On]
More and more K. felt like a wandering Dark Souls invader, trying to find the host in a cleared out Painted World. Since leaving the bar, K.'s only interactions with others had been walking dutifully away whenever he heard gunfire (a shot rang out nearly the second he left the bar, sending him toward the periphery of the village) and spying from a far distance at outdoor goings-on. He decided to head for the mine for its remote location and the proverbial dead-endness of the place. Proverbial and literal. One could wind their way up the mountain up to the hot spring from there, sure, but it was pretty much the end of the road if you didn't want to climb. He spent the night in the broken shell of a wooden building, waiting for it to cave-in, sleeping only an hour and a half, falling in when the light came to drive the darkness from the sky.
K. was very disappointed to be woken up the next morning. The announcements didn't interest him much. His name wasn't there, and he didn't really pay much attention to anybody else's. He ate breakfast from his rations and then wondered if he ought to be skipping it. There really wasn't all too much in his supplies. That must be the same for everyone. Extrinsic motivation.
The changing room building was his first stop on the day's walking tour. For that was K.'s strategy, his plan, to walk the island back and forth as long as possible. If he avoided staying in one place then he would avoid others. It was staying at the bar for so long that was why people kept showing. Nobody could get him in the spaces between places. When he was there, it was almost like he didn't even exist.
K. didn't bother trying the shower. It would be patently ridiculous if the terrorists had given them running water. Instead he sat in the room with the worker's clothes, debating what to try on. If he was a Dark Souls guy—and K. had barely tried the game himself, instead opting to watch it on live stream—then he would need new armor. The biggening of the stats. Make bigger. Increase. There's the word.
He put a large jacket over his shoulders. It was dusty and hard, an anonymously stiff material. Much better than the crappy mall-brand field coat. He took it as an extra layer, though, wearing it over the first jacket, which had been totally insufficient during the last night's chill. His boots were fine—everything on the ground had a half eaten toe or a split sole or some other deformity.
The helmet was next. He picked a white hard-hat with a broken headlamp strapped over the brim—this color would make K. identifiable in some cases, sure, but against the snow, it was a good choice for camouflage. Maybe. It wouldn't hurt to get another hat, right? There was a yellow one, there. Construction worker type. And a green one—K. didn't even know they made those. Then he found a blue hat, and a red hat, and even a black hat, which made him chuckle. Whitehats and blackhats.
Soon enough K. had rounded up as many hats as he could find. He laid them all out on a row on the bench in the main clothing bay, and began to evaluate them for quality. He picked one out of the roster, one of the many yellow helmets, and brought his mace down on it as hard as he could.
It shattered. Well, part of it shattered, flying off to the far corners of the room, and part of it flattened. K. frowned. This wasn't good. He needed the hat to withstand the full force of an impact, and then the full force of another impact. How would he fare if he had to replace his helmet after every blow? It needed to last. It needed to be strong.
So it was that K. Emerson stood with his mace, cracking helmets in the changing room, working his way down the row like imitation Gallagher.
Wurlitzer Jukebox
Open - Day 2
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MethodicalSlacker
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- [[Janice Cresner continued from Puppet Girl]]
Well, the good thing was that it wasn't a school day. That meant she could sleep as long as she wanted to. Even though she was at first disappointed with the lack of a real weapon she'd been assigned to, at first, she appreciated the sleeping bag even moreso after the first night. It was very comfortable and she felt lucky to have it.
She at first tried sleeping outside in the nature, hidden between bushes, as she thought that would be the smart thing to do, but then once dawn hit, she decided to move inside, since despite the sleeping bag being comfortable it felt even more comfortable inside a room. It smelled like Tana in here, but it made her sleep tighter.
She was awoken by the announcements, listened to them and fell asleep again, making them feel like a dream to her. Graves killed people, she killed people, people were dead, whatever, was she in the Caves? No. Move on, let her sleep more. She was awoken again by the sound of someone cracking something. It wasn't a particularly loud noise, but it was a weird and scary enough noise as to wake her up instantly.
She escaped her cocoon sleeping bag and grabbed her knife. Then she stood up, and moved out of the shower area, closing in to where the noise came from.
Well, the good thing was that it wasn't a school day. That meant she could sleep as long as she wanted to. Even though she was at first disappointed with the lack of a real weapon she'd been assigned to, at first, she appreciated the sleeping bag even moreso after the first night. It was very comfortable and she felt lucky to have it.
She at first tried sleeping outside in the nature, hidden between bushes, as she thought that would be the smart thing to do, but then once dawn hit, she decided to move inside, since despite the sleeping bag being comfortable it felt even more comfortable inside a room. It smelled like Tana in here, but it made her sleep tighter.
She was awoken by the announcements, listened to them and fell asleep again, making them feel like a dream to her. Graves killed people, she killed people, people were dead, whatever, was she in the Caves? No. Move on, let her sleep more. She was awoken again by the sound of someone cracking something. It wasn't a particularly loud noise, but it was a weird and scary enough noise as to wake her up instantly.
She escaped her cocoon sleeping bag and grabbed her knife. Then she stood up, and moved out of the shower area, closing in to where the noise came from.
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BlizzardeyeWonder
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- Location: the shadow realm
[Meena Lalita Kumar continued from Shattered Moon]
She he she couldn't use her middle name as a new name because that was also pretty feminine he walked into the cabin hall... thingy, leaving the door open for Ren to follow.
His bag was open, the shotgun in reach. The safety was off. The chamber was empty.
He hadn't said anything to Ren, even as they insisted on babysitting him across the island. Nominally, Meena was the one following them. Yet, he got the impression that should he veer off the charted course, Ren would follow him. Maybe try to coax him out of doing anything stupid, if they thought he was contemplating something stupid. Was he that easy to read? Apparently. He didn't like that. He would have liked to sew his eyes and mouth shut so that nobody could see what he was thinking.
So, he hoped he looked dispassionate enough as he observed the scene in front of him. It was strange, maybe, but it didn't invoke any particular feelings in Meena, so keeping his face straight should have been no problem. It wasn't even particularly funny. All he had to do was not-
His train of thought derailed with the crack of a blunt weapon against a head.
-flinch.
She he she couldn't use her middle name as a new name because that was also pretty feminine he walked into the cabin hall... thingy, leaving the door open for Ren to follow.
His bag was open, the shotgun in reach. The safety was off. The chamber was empty.
He hadn't said anything to Ren, even as they insisted on babysitting him across the island. Nominally, Meena was the one following them. Yet, he got the impression that should he veer off the charted course, Ren would follow him. Maybe try to coax him out of doing anything stupid, if they thought he was contemplating something stupid. Was he that easy to read? Apparently. He didn't like that. He would have liked to sew his eyes and mouth shut so that nobody could see what he was thinking.
So, he hoped he looked dispassionate enough as he observed the scene in front of him. It was strange, maybe, but it didn't invoke any particular feelings in Meena, so keeping his face straight should have been no problem. It wasn't even particularly funny. All he had to do was not-
His train of thought derailed with the crack of a blunt weapon against a head.
-flinch.
[Ren Vu continued from Shattered Moon]
The church, and the graveyard behind it, empty; a street's worth of houses, empty (or, at least, empty of people willing to respond to Ren's calls); and now they had worked their way over to a handful of buildings that, according to the map, guarded the entrance to a mine.
The search had exhausted Ren. Something about the cookie-cutter houses, about knocking on the same door over and over, about repeating the routine of identifying themself and their lack of hostile intent and then immediately throwing themself to the side and ducking into a fetal position before waiting; about being greeted with silence, every time*--somehow, the terrifyingly decrepit wooden buildings behind the chain-link fence had seemed almost welcoming. They had expected Meena to ask them to stop, at some point. They didn't want to test his patience. And yet he had said nothing; Ren had blinked first, and still had nothing to reward Meena's patience.
It hadn't been entirely useless, of course. Some reasonable conclusions: the inhabitants of the island had been neither particularly rich nor particularly poor. They had primarily spoken in two languages, judging from the street signs. One of those languages was English; the other was unknown, but Spanish, Vietnamese, and Greek could be ruled out. Actually, anything that wasn't written in the Latin alphabet could be ruled out as well, and it didn't look like a romance language. Also, none of Ren's friends were hiding out in those houses, unless they had been afraid to answer Ren, which meant...nothing, really. They probably weren't there, but they might have been. They could have decided that making themselves known to Ren wasn't worth the risk, or they might not have. It wasn't useless information, but the gaps it left could contain anything.
They still would have written down the name of the street they had searched, had they found anything to write with. They had paper now; the ancient flyers, creased and fragile in Ren's hands, had been carefully placed in their backpack. Nothing else at the church had been worth taking; that there hadn't been a single pen or pencil in sight or reach utterly baffled Ren. Some of the flyers had been annotated; dates crossed out and replaced with new ones, words underlined, etc. Surely pens had not been a rare occurrence at the church. But what could have driven the terrorists (and Ren was certain this was their doing; how else to explain the absence of bibles in the church, which was arguably even more bizarre?) to sweep the island so thoroughly of pens and pencils?
Ren wasn't one to rue the absence of clear-cut answers, or the presence of multiple possibly-correct answers. But there was a difference between a productive uncertainty and an overwhelming one.
---
They had been lost in thought for far too long--Meena had slipped ahead of them, entered the building first. They hastened to follow, close on his heels; they saw him jump, heard the crunchy hollow smack.
It took them several seconds to realize that their head was turned away; that they were staring at a point on the ground about a meter behind them; that they had begun to raise their hands. It took them several more to turn their head and look.
Meena was still standing. Ren's flinch reaction had been worse than his by far.
"What just happened?"
______________________
*Do not reference Sisyphus. It's embarrassingly obvious and unnecessary; to namedrop him would be demonstrate a weak will besides. Don't you dare do it.
The church, and the graveyard behind it, empty; a street's worth of houses, empty (or, at least, empty of people willing to respond to Ren's calls); and now they had worked their way over to a handful of buildings that, according to the map, guarded the entrance to a mine.
The search had exhausted Ren. Something about the cookie-cutter houses, about knocking on the same door over and over, about repeating the routine of identifying themself and their lack of hostile intent and then immediately throwing themself to the side and ducking into a fetal position before waiting; about being greeted with silence, every time*--somehow, the terrifyingly decrepit wooden buildings behind the chain-link fence had seemed almost welcoming. They had expected Meena to ask them to stop, at some point. They didn't want to test his patience. And yet he had said nothing; Ren had blinked first, and still had nothing to reward Meena's patience.
It hadn't been entirely useless, of course. Some reasonable conclusions: the inhabitants of the island had been neither particularly rich nor particularly poor. They had primarily spoken in two languages, judging from the street signs. One of those languages was English; the other was unknown, but Spanish, Vietnamese, and Greek could be ruled out. Actually, anything that wasn't written in the Latin alphabet could be ruled out as well, and it didn't look like a romance language. Also, none of Ren's friends were hiding out in those houses, unless they had been afraid to answer Ren, which meant...nothing, really. They probably weren't there, but they might have been. They could have decided that making themselves known to Ren wasn't worth the risk, or they might not have. It wasn't useless information, but the gaps it left could contain anything.
They still would have written down the name of the street they had searched, had they found anything to write with. They had paper now; the ancient flyers, creased and fragile in Ren's hands, had been carefully placed in their backpack. Nothing else at the church had been worth taking; that there hadn't been a single pen or pencil in sight or reach utterly baffled Ren. Some of the flyers had been annotated; dates crossed out and replaced with new ones, words underlined, etc. Surely pens had not been a rare occurrence at the church. But what could have driven the terrorists (and Ren was certain this was their doing; how else to explain the absence of bibles in the church, which was arguably even more bizarre?) to sweep the island so thoroughly of pens and pencils?
Ren wasn't one to rue the absence of clear-cut answers, or the presence of multiple possibly-correct answers. But there was a difference between a productive uncertainty and an overwhelming one.
---
They had been lost in thought for far too long--Meena had slipped ahead of them, entered the building first. They hastened to follow, close on his heels; they saw him jump, heard the crunchy hollow smack.
It took them several seconds to realize that their head was turned away; that they were staring at a point on the ground about a meter behind them; that they had begun to raise their hands. It took them several more to turn their head and look.
Meena was still standing. Ren's flinch reaction had been worse than his by far.
"What just happened?"
______________________
*Do not reference Sisyphus. It's embarrassingly obvious and unnecessary; to namedrop him would be demonstrate a weak will besides. Don't you dare do it.
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MethodicalSlacker
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K. looked up from his work. There was Meena, and behind, there was Ren. The former was armed. The latter could not be clearly enough seen.
"Hi!" he said. K. could hear his voice bounce back. "Weird question, but do hard hats have an expiration date?"
He moved down the line and smashed another hat. This was a red one, and it was one K. had hoped to keep. He whistled disappointment as the plastic pieces shrapnelled across the room.
"I'm starting to think they might," he said, "I thought they were supposed to be...sturdier than that."
"Hi!" he said. K. could hear his voice bounce back. "Weird question, but do hard hats have an expiration date?"
He moved down the line and smashed another hat. This was a red one, and it was one K. had hoped to keep. He whistled disappointment as the plastic pieces shrapnelled across the room.
"I'm starting to think they might," he said, "I thought they were supposed to be...sturdier than that."
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BlizzardeyeWonder
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((obtained permission from RC to skip ahead in turn order))
Meena's eye landed on someone or something else, moving slightly in the doorway. His gaze lingered for a second too long on that general area to make his diplomatic silence not seem rude, but whatever. If worst came to worst, Meena had a gun he wasn't gonna shoot with.
Another crack, and more flying plastic. A red shard landed by Meena's feet, and he picked it up, looked it over. It was the size and approximate shape of a paring knife's blade, and though probably not nearly as sharp, it was just sharp enough to make his mind itch nervously like it did with all sharp things. His fingers parted, and the plastic dropped back to the floor, without causing so much as a cut to anyone or anything. Thank goodness. How unfortunate. Maybe Meena should keep it around in case there were any softened vegetables in need of chopping or peeling.
"Maybe they were shitty to begin with," he suggested.
Meena's eye landed on someone or something else, moving slightly in the doorway. His gaze lingered for a second too long on that general area to make his diplomatic silence not seem rude, but whatever. If worst came to worst, Meena had a gun he wasn't gonna shoot with.
Another crack, and more flying plastic. A red shard landed by Meena's feet, and he picked it up, looked it over. It was the size and approximate shape of a paring knife's blade, and though probably not nearly as sharp, it was just sharp enough to make his mind itch nervously like it did with all sharp things. His fingers parted, and the plastic dropped back to the floor, without causing so much as a cut to anyone or anything. Thank goodness. How unfortunate. Maybe Meena should keep it around in case there were any softened vegetables in need of chopping or peeling.
"Maybe they were shitty to begin with," he suggested.
Ren craned their neck and bounced up into tip-toe, but they still couldn't really see over or around Meena all that well. Meena was small, but so was Ren. Or maybe they were just bad at parsing what their eyes were telling them.
Then Meena ducked down for a second, and Ren could see--the sound had been K. He'd been bonking hard hats with a mace.
"Maybe both?" they said, their tone thoughtful; academic, even, for they allowed themself to be academically absorbed in answering the question. They would only have so many chances to indulge their hyperfixations over the next several days, after all. "You are using the weapon specifically designed for smacking armor, though. A helmet might still be useful against a blade, I think, expired shit or no."
They frowned. Back to business: they'd indulged enough for the day. "Anyways, we're looking for specific people right now. Are you up to exchange information?"
Then Meena ducked down for a second, and Ren could see--the sound had been K. He'd been bonking hard hats with a mace.
"Maybe both?" they said, their tone thoughtful; academic, even, for they allowed themself to be academically absorbed in answering the question. They would only have so many chances to indulge their hyperfixations over the next several days, after all. "You are using the weapon specifically designed for smacking armor, though. A helmet might still be useful against a blade, I think, expired shit or no."
They frowned. Back to business: they'd indulged enough for the day. "Anyways, we're looking for specific people right now. Are you up to exchange information?"
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Both," K. repeated, "both is right. Probably."
He relented, leaving the next hard-hat in line, spared, momentarily, from the fate of its brethren. K. exhaled, puffed out his cheeks, and his shoulders slumped. It was a good thing he wouldn't have to clean this mess up. And he supposed it would make sense if it just was that the mace was too good. Look at that, what happens when great minds come together.
Often, they're cold.
"I could be," K. said, "but I must say up front, you know, just being honest, I've only seen like three other people since I woke up. Probably part of the reason why I'm still here. That, and, well, this, but I haven't had to use it yet."
He put his free hand on his side and tapped out a paradiddle with his index and middle fingers.
"Anything in it for me if I spill?"
He relented, leaving the next hard-hat in line, spared, momentarily, from the fate of its brethren. K. exhaled, puffed out his cheeks, and his shoulders slumped. It was a good thing he wouldn't have to clean this mess up. And he supposed it would make sense if it just was that the mace was too good. Look at that, what happens when great minds come together.
Often, they're cold.
"I could be," K. said, "but I must say up front, you know, just being honest, I've only seen like three other people since I woke up. Probably part of the reason why I'm still here. That, and, well, this, but I haven't had to use it yet."
He put his free hand on his side and tapped out a paradiddle with his index and middle fingers.
"Anything in it for me if I spill?"
Janice wasn't sure whether it was a smart idea to enter the other room. Maybe it was better to escape from a window.
Maybe it wasn't that smart to wield a bloodied knife.
She could explain herself. Could she explain herself? It was self-defense. It really was. Piper was a psycho. Tana was a psycho, too. Everyone knew that.
She already felt her classmates hating her. Despite her not having done anything. Anything, wrong. No. Fuck them, she did nothing wrong. She didn't need to explain herself. Screw the haters.
There were people waiting outside the building, she could sense it.
Step out of the shower rooms, get shot. Escape through a window, get shot.
The options!
She needed a gun. Why didn't she win the gun-prize? Wasn't killing two people enough?
Now that there's light outside, she could try to find a coffee machine in the building. The hand that is holding her knife is shaking.
She stepped towards the voices.
Maybe it wasn't that smart to wield a bloodied knife.
She could explain herself. Could she explain herself? It was self-defense. It really was. Piper was a psycho. Tana was a psycho, too. Everyone knew that.
She already felt her classmates hating her. Despite her not having done anything. Anything, wrong. No. Fuck them, she did nothing wrong. She didn't need to explain herself. Screw the haters.
There were people waiting outside the building, she could sense it.
Step out of the shower rooms, get shot. Escape through a window, get shot.
The options!
She needed a gun. Why didn't she win the gun-prize? Wasn't killing two people enough?
Now that there's light outside, she could try to find a coffee machine in the building. The hand that is holding her knife is shaking.
She stepped towards the voices.
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BlizzardeyeWonder
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Meena stepped further into the room, and he fully intended for Ren to handle negotiations with hardhat guy, he really did - at first.
But first, know that there was precious little reward for living in society other than being crushed in the vice grip of innumerable impersonal systems. There was no joy in such an existence, no meaning either. The systems were built up over the years until nobody alive truly understood them, not even the ones pulling the levers, the ones whose fingers did the crushing. Those were the people who were rewarded, often for merely being born in the right place at the right time. But wait, rewarded with what? Everyone knows wealth and power, abstract and concrete, were meaningless, right? They brought you joy, but it was hollow joy.
Then again, Meena had never encountered a joy that wasn't hollow, meaningless. Writing, tabletop games, sending and receiving dumb memes from Ren, it was all too fleeting. Maybe other people could digest it, but like cotton candy, it melted in the mouth and provided no lasting sustenance to Meena. It felt like he'd lived his life since middle school in a banquet hall where nothing was being served but all of the raw ingredients that irritated Meena's tongue and stomach, and cotton candy.
So could you blame him for wondering what the reward was for being born into the sort of power that ruined other people's lives? They must be happier, they had to be. If they weren't, and it was just a different, bougie flavour of cotton candy, as nutritionally fulfilling as edible gold, nothing was lost.
Well, Meena didn't exactly have any of that, except for a few little things. He knew the names and faces of just enough of his math classmates, after all. He recognized when someone he saw was trying to not be seen. He could be heartless enough to postpone Ren's desperate quest for this.
He turned his head. The most direct he could force his gaze to be was to stare into the shower rooms, though.
"Hello, Janice."
But first, know that there was precious little reward for living in society other than being crushed in the vice grip of innumerable impersonal systems. There was no joy in such an existence, no meaning either. The systems were built up over the years until nobody alive truly understood them, not even the ones pulling the levers, the ones whose fingers did the crushing. Those were the people who were rewarded, often for merely being born in the right place at the right time. But wait, rewarded with what? Everyone knows wealth and power, abstract and concrete, were meaningless, right? They brought you joy, but it was hollow joy.
Then again, Meena had never encountered a joy that wasn't hollow, meaningless. Writing, tabletop games, sending and receiving dumb memes from Ren, it was all too fleeting. Maybe other people could digest it, but like cotton candy, it melted in the mouth and provided no lasting sustenance to Meena. It felt like he'd lived his life since middle school in a banquet hall where nothing was being served but all of the raw ingredients that irritated Meena's tongue and stomach, and cotton candy.
So could you blame him for wondering what the reward was for being born into the sort of power that ruined other people's lives? They must be happier, they had to be. If they weren't, and it was just a different, bougie flavour of cotton candy, as nutritionally fulfilling as edible gold, nothing was lost.
Well, Meena didn't exactly have any of that, except for a few little things. He knew the names and faces of just enough of his math classmates, after all. He recognized when someone he saw was trying to not be seen. He could be heartless enough to postpone Ren's desperate quest for this.
He turned his head. The most direct he could force his gaze to be was to stare into the shower rooms, though.
"Hello, Janice."
Ren's hand snaked into their jacket, where it remained. They would wait to draw--they didn't have a clear line of sight to Janice anyways.
They couldn't see her, in fact. They tried to follow Meena's gaze, telescoping their head around, but they just--couldn't--
It didn't matter. "Meena," they said, their voice surprisingly steady. "Please get behind me."
They couldn't see her, in fact. They tried to follow Meena's gaze, telescoping their head around, but they just--couldn't--
It didn't matter. "Meena," they said, their voice surprisingly steady. "Please get behind me."
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MethodicalSlacker
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K. didn't hear an answer to his question. The attention of the two across the room was drawn somewhere else, and K. tried to follow their line of sight. Ren looked like they were going to pull out a weapon—Meena didn't seem to have one. K. lifted the mace into Batter-Up position, ready to strike if someone came barreling into the room. But for the moment, nobody did. A girl came forward from a door on the other end of the room, someone K. felt like he should recognize, but couldn't. Armed with a knife, streaked red. K. had the advantage on range, so he didn't worry. If anything, seeing her made him relax—at least she didn't have a gun, right?
But that name was familiar—Janice? Didn't she play violin? He'd seen her around, if that was the same Janice. Were there multiple Janices? That wasn't especially familiar, no, he didn't remember a second Janice. This must be the one. He didn't want to say anything and make it worse, reignite any lingering Orchestra/Band resentment.
So he stayed put, and stayed quiet. If she recognized him, she could say something. Instead, he'd just raise an eyebrow and hunch his shoulders, as if to dare her to take another step closer.
Try me, loser. Go ahead. Fuck around and find out.
Putting her down, making an imaginary version of Janice in his head—it was all he could do to psyche himself up, to prepare for his first swing, whenever he'd have to take it.
But that name was familiar—Janice? Didn't she play violin? He'd seen her around, if that was the same Janice. Were there multiple Janices? That wasn't especially familiar, no, he didn't remember a second Janice. This must be the one. He didn't want to say anything and make it worse, reignite any lingering Orchestra/Band resentment.
So he stayed put, and stayed quiet. If she recognized him, she could say something. Instead, he'd just raise an eyebrow and hunch his shoulders, as if to dare her to take another step closer.
Try me, loser. Go ahead. Fuck around and find out.
Putting her down, making an imaginary version of Janice in his head—it was all he could do to psyche himself up, to prepare for his first swing, whenever he'd have to take it.
The room was filled. Well, not really filled, it was only three other people. How many were lingering outside?
She shouldn‘t have stepped in here. Wrong decision. Janice was never of a claustrophobic person but now she felt as if the room was shrinking. Calculating the running route in her head.
Mace in K.‘s hand. Broken helmets on the floor.
„What happened here? What‘s with the helmets?“
Forgetting to focus on the humans in the room, she added quickly, out of instinct, adding the comment that came out of reflex due to being raised up as a human with social skills for several years.
„Good morning, by the way. Did you sleep well?“
Etiquette. Would that save her head from
being crushed?
She shouldn‘t have stepped in here. Wrong decision. Janice was never of a claustrophobic person but now she felt as if the room was shrinking. Calculating the running route in her head.
Mace in K.‘s hand. Broken helmets on the floor.
„What happened here? What‘s with the helmets?“
Forgetting to focus on the humans in the room, she added quickly, out of instinct, adding the comment that came out of reflex due to being raised up as a human with social skills for several years.
„Good morning, by the way. Did you sleep well?“
Etiquette. Would that save her head from
being crushed?
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BlizzardeyeWonder
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Meena raised an eyebrow at Ren. Aside from that little, selfless bit of their reaction, he got everything he wanted out of his words, right? Everyone was on edge, there were weapons drawn at the sight, and the moment Janice stepped in, she went full pacification mode. Meena did that. His words did that. He desperately wanted to take the credit for it, even though he wasn't 100% satisfied.
It was just that one little thing that Ren did that irked him. Get behind me he also had a fucking gun. Who did Ren think they were protecting? Did Ren think they were protecting? Maybe they were also suicidal and wanted to go out defending someone and thus a huge hypocrite for not wanting Meena to die on his own terms. Ha, ha. He expected no less from the bastards he called friends, or should have - no, he definitely did expect no less. Even from the nice ones. Especially the nice ones.
So he stepped back, giving Ren ample room to run headlong into danger if there were going to, but he didn't "get behind" them, not really. This, he hoped they'd recognize as a mercy, as he drew the shotgun and one of its shells out of his bag and pressed the shell through the loading gate.
It was just that one little thing that Ren did that irked him. Get behind me he also had a fucking gun. Who did Ren think they were protecting? Did Ren think they were protecting? Maybe they were also suicidal and wanted to go out defending someone and thus a huge hypocrite for not wanting Meena to die on his own terms. Ha, ha. He expected no less from the bastards he called friends, or should have - no, he definitely did expect no less. Even from the nice ones. Especially the nice ones.
So he stepped back, giving Ren ample room to run headlong into danger if there were going to, but he didn't "get behind" them, not really. This, he hoped they'd recognize as a mercy, as he drew the shotgun and one of its shells out of his bag and pressed the shell through the loading gate.
Ren had braced themself for Meena's argument, or refusal; more likely, he would have simply ignored them. He had always been stubborn, and besides, nobody ends up with a death wish without some conviction. For Meena to step back now made absolutely no sense--but still, gift horses and mouths. Not that Ren actually believed that Meena's reversal wasn't worth close examination, but there would be time later to think about it.
They could see Janice easily now, without Meena in their way. It was Janice, then. Two-kills-to-her-name Janice, the only player with two kills (other than Kitty, of course), which made her easy to place despite their lack of prior interaction.
Ren frowned. They outnumbered her. They had two guns and a baseball bat between each other; even against a killer, that should've been plenty. Still.
The gun would stay in their pocket for now, but it itched in Ren's hand. "Well enough. Look, I'll cut to the chase. How does it feel to try to sleep, knowing that you've killed?"
They could see Janice easily now, without Meena in their way. It was Janice, then. Two-kills-to-her-name Janice, the only player with two kills (other than Kitty, of course), which made her easy to place despite their lack of prior interaction.
Ren frowned. They outnumbered her. They had two guns and a baseball bat between each other; even against a killer, that should've been plenty. Still.
The gun would stay in their pocket for now, but it itched in Ren's hand. "Well enough. Look, I'll cut to the chase. How does it feel to try to sleep, knowing that you've killed?"