((Norbert from Fort Hunting Lodge))
A plane.
Weird.
Norbert couldn't claim to be an expert in aeronautics so he wasn't sure what type of plane this was. Much smaller than any jet he'd ever seen.
It did get his gears turning though. There was literally zero chance that any of the machinery was functional, given that it was partway buried and had only-god-knew how much water damage, but he didn't need machinery per se. Pieces would do fine. Well. They might. It was worth checking out at least.
No luck with collars yet. Did he need to start hanging around danger zones? Damn.
Damn. He really didn't want to hang around danger zones.
Norbert peered into the wreck's interior, trying to stay mindful of the water and not get his shoes soaked.
Recycle
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ViolentMedic
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((Mônica “Molly” Oliveira continued from This Christmas.))
Another day. More deaths. Micah was gone, too. Everyone that Molly and Lúcio had met that first day had died.
Molly really didn’t really want to think about the ‘what ifs.’ What if no-one came to rescue them? What if they were really stuck here until only one was left? What if Lúcio tried to hug a killer, and got himself killed? What happened if the game didn’t stop, and they kept surviving? Until they were the last two? What then?
She was walking ahead again as she considered that. Because like it or not, the game was kind of like homework. You could ignore it until the last night, but you had to get it done once you hit a certain point. That or fail the class, and… well, this was more serious than that.
There was a ruined plane in the surf. It felt natural to walk towards it, and when they got closer, Molly still ahead, she saw Norbert leaning in and looking at it.
Alright. Norbert was a cool guy. He dressed like an insane person, but that was way better than being covered in blood. Optimistic, motivational. Maybe he had a plan. A plan that wasn’t just hide in a hole or chase killers or sit next to a body until he froze to death or any of the things that just hadn’t worked so far.
Molly glanced back at Lúcio, but then looked back and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Hey! Coach!”
Another day. More deaths. Micah was gone, too. Everyone that Molly and Lúcio had met that first day had died.
Molly really didn’t really want to think about the ‘what ifs.’ What if no-one came to rescue them? What if they were really stuck here until only one was left? What if Lúcio tried to hug a killer, and got himself killed? What happened if the game didn’t stop, and they kept surviving? Until they were the last two? What then?
She was walking ahead again as she considered that. Because like it or not, the game was kind of like homework. You could ignore it until the last night, but you had to get it done once you hit a certain point. That or fail the class, and… well, this was more serious than that.
There was a ruined plane in the surf. It felt natural to walk towards it, and when they got closer, Molly still ahead, she saw Norbert leaning in and looking at it.
Alright. Norbert was a cool guy. He dressed like an insane person, but that was way better than being covered in blood. Optimistic, motivational. Maybe he had a plan. A plan that wasn’t just hide in a hole or chase killers or sit next to a body until he froze to death or any of the things that just hadn’t worked so far.
Molly glanced back at Lúcio, but then looked back and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Hey! Coach!”
Norbert, as he leaned forward, carefully shifting his footing to mind both his balance and his bad leg, spied what looked to be a piece of loose metal within the interior, and was near-instantly struck by the realisation that this was likely a terrible place to be searching. Water, saltwater. Anything within the wreck was likely to be corroded and brittle. Near useless.
He was trying to decide whether climbing across would even be worth the time and energy when a voice called out from behind, startling him. He jumped, had to plant a foot hard to avoid stumbling, and twisted his knee painfully. He had to catch himself from falling with his hand, and his other arm windmilled precariously for a second before he managed to get everything back under control.
Norbert took a breath, straightened, and gingerly turned around, pushing away his frustration. Nobody's fault, no need to get pissy. Especially since if they called him Coach... yup sure enough it was Molly, one of the cheerleaders, good people, and that was her brother with her too, who was also good people.
No need to push any negativity aside, that evaporated as he smiled. "Hey! Came to see the bird?"
He was trying to decide whether climbing across would even be worth the time and energy when a voice called out from behind, startling him. He jumped, had to plant a foot hard to avoid stumbling, and twisted his knee painfully. He had to catch himself from falling with his hand, and his other arm windmilled precariously for a second before he managed to get everything back under control.
Norbert took a breath, straightened, and gingerly turned around, pushing away his frustration. Nobody's fault, no need to get pissy. Especially since if they called him Coach... yup sure enough it was Molly, one of the cheerleaders, good people, and that was her brother with her too, who was also good people.
No need to push any negativity aside, that evaporated as he smiled. "Hey! Came to see the bird?"
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VoltTurtle
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((Lúcio trailed behind Molly on the beach.))
Back at home, Lúcio had been all smiles all the time. Even on the first day, he had been smiling. He wasn't anymore. Everyone they had encountered on the first day was dead and gone, except for him and his sister. He had lost friends, peers, and enemies alike. People were dropping like flies, and it was getting harder and harder for him to see the good in his classmates. Were they all always capable of this? Whose fault was it really, when they were killing each other in spite of the possibility of rescue?
Ever since they had woken up, a sinking feeling had started to come over him. Maybe rescue wasn't coming, or even if it was, maybe he wouldn't be there to see it. Maybe Molly wouldn't be there to see it, and he didn't want to live in that world without his sister. If only one of them could live, he'd choose her in a heartbeat.
Lúcio didn't say anything when he finally caught up behind Molly, only giving a customary wave to Norbert. He let Molly take the wheel on this one, instead looking out upon the ocean, lost in thought.
Back at home, Lúcio had been all smiles all the time. Even on the first day, he had been smiling. He wasn't anymore. Everyone they had encountered on the first day was dead and gone, except for him and his sister. He had lost friends, peers, and enemies alike. People were dropping like flies, and it was getting harder and harder for him to see the good in his classmates. Were they all always capable of this? Whose fault was it really, when they were killing each other in spite of the possibility of rescue?
Ever since they had woken up, a sinking feeling had started to come over him. Maybe rescue wasn't coming, or even if it was, maybe he wouldn't be there to see it. Maybe Molly wouldn't be there to see it, and he didn't want to live in that world without his sister. If only one of them could live, he'd choose her in a heartbeat.
Lúcio didn't say anything when he finally caught up behind Molly, only giving a customary wave to Norbert. He let Molly take the wheel on this one, instead looking out upon the ocean, lost in thought.
((Trinity Ashmore continued from Road Taken))
‘Downed’ was a positively pleasant description of this plane, compared to the reality of the situation. In her mind, when she’d read the word ‘downed’, she’d been imagining an aircraft out of fuel and come to rest on the sand, still intact but forced into an emergency landing. Maybe there was some rust on the undercarriage from exposure, perhaps one wing had dipped into the surf, but nothing more than that.
This, right in front of her? This was ruined. It was a wreck. It was already half-submerged, nose pointing up as though it was about to be fired from a slingshot, tail hidden beneath the surface. In another few years, give or take, the waves would claim what remained of this husk, and drag it underwater to its final resting point. If there was anything left worth salvaging from the plane, the window to do so was awfully small. And she knew full well that was a very large ‘if’.
Not the most auspicious of starts. But wait! It got even worse from there! Because her luck had, of course, finally run out, and at the worst possible moment too, right when she had finally reached her destination. It could never just be one person, could it? Three people back at the plant. Two people at the listening station. And now another three here at the plane. It wasn’t the most disagreeable collection of her classmates she could have found - Lucio was perfectly tolerable and had a rare talent for being able to reign in his specific brand of sunshine when the circumstances called for it, Norbert had been gifted an unfortunate name but his self-motivation and discipline was something to be admired, and Molly was… well, two out of three wasn’t bad by any means.
Still though. Trinity scowled at them all, from behind the boulder she was using as cover. The past couple of nights had been somewhat lonely, yes, but there was no-one, nobody at all, no-one left, who she desperately needed to seek out in order to scratch that itch. It was nothing more than baseline human instinct, that desire to not be alone. It was something she had to try and suppress, now, especially given she knew there was only one goddamn person on this island she could put her full, unwavering trust in.
She sighed, still peering out from around the boulder. It wasn’t too far from here to the plane, but the group was right up against it, close enough to look directly inside. Chances of her being able to sneak over to conduct her own investigation were slim-to-nil. She didn’t particularly want to remain cooped up behind this rock though; time was wasting, and if anybody stumbled upon her here, she’d have a lot of explaining to do. And that wouldn’t do anything to salve her sudden sour mood.
Fuck it. Maybe they would all be too preoccupied with talking to one another to actually notice her. Trinity clambered to her feet, using the face of the boulder to push herself upwards, and as she did, her toe wedged itself between the rock and the ground.
“Shit!”
She stumbled forwards, thrusting out the polearm to break her fall, head digging into the sand, kicking up a spray of grit and loose pebbles. She breathed out, harsh and heavy, hugging onto the sasumata for dear life for a moment, before pulling herself up with it, standing up straight again.
Well, they would almost certainly have caught wind of her after that display.
Trinity brushed sand off of her coat, and looked up at the group. All of a sudden, in the face of civilisation, after having slept in bushes and thickets and snowy, dirty undergrowth, she felt like an utter mess. She could feel stones in both shoes, dried mud on her skin, damp patches almost everywhere. She didn’t want to imagine how dreadful her hair looked like right now.
“Hi.”
‘Downed’ was a positively pleasant description of this plane, compared to the reality of the situation. In her mind, when she’d read the word ‘downed’, she’d been imagining an aircraft out of fuel and come to rest on the sand, still intact but forced into an emergency landing. Maybe there was some rust on the undercarriage from exposure, perhaps one wing had dipped into the surf, but nothing more than that.
This, right in front of her? This was ruined. It was a wreck. It was already half-submerged, nose pointing up as though it was about to be fired from a slingshot, tail hidden beneath the surface. In another few years, give or take, the waves would claim what remained of this husk, and drag it underwater to its final resting point. If there was anything left worth salvaging from the plane, the window to do so was awfully small. And she knew full well that was a very large ‘if’.
Not the most auspicious of starts. But wait! It got even worse from there! Because her luck had, of course, finally run out, and at the worst possible moment too, right when she had finally reached her destination. It could never just be one person, could it? Three people back at the plant. Two people at the listening station. And now another three here at the plane. It wasn’t the most disagreeable collection of her classmates she could have found - Lucio was perfectly tolerable and had a rare talent for being able to reign in his specific brand of sunshine when the circumstances called for it, Norbert had been gifted an unfortunate name but his self-motivation and discipline was something to be admired, and Molly was… well, two out of three wasn’t bad by any means.
Still though. Trinity scowled at them all, from behind the boulder she was using as cover. The past couple of nights had been somewhat lonely, yes, but there was no-one, nobody at all, no-one left, who she desperately needed to seek out in order to scratch that itch. It was nothing more than baseline human instinct, that desire to not be alone. It was something she had to try and suppress, now, especially given she knew there was only one goddamn person on this island she could put her full, unwavering trust in.
She sighed, still peering out from around the boulder. It wasn’t too far from here to the plane, but the group was right up against it, close enough to look directly inside. Chances of her being able to sneak over to conduct her own investigation were slim-to-nil. She didn’t particularly want to remain cooped up behind this rock though; time was wasting, and if anybody stumbled upon her here, she’d have a lot of explaining to do. And that wouldn’t do anything to salve her sudden sour mood.
Fuck it. Maybe they would all be too preoccupied with talking to one another to actually notice her. Trinity clambered to her feet, using the face of the boulder to push herself upwards, and as she did, her toe wedged itself between the rock and the ground.
“Shit!”
She stumbled forwards, thrusting out the polearm to break her fall, head digging into the sand, kicking up a spray of grit and loose pebbles. She breathed out, harsh and heavy, hugging onto the sasumata for dear life for a moment, before pulling herself up with it, standing up straight again.
Well, they would almost certainly have caught wind of her after that display.
Trinity brushed sand off of her coat, and looked up at the group. All of a sudden, in the face of civilisation, after having slept in bushes and thickets and snowy, dirty undergrowth, she felt like an utter mess. She could feel stones in both shoes, dried mud on her skin, damp patches almost everywhere. She didn’t want to imagine how dreadful her hair looked like right now.
“Hi.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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ViolentMedic
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“I guess? It’s here, so why not? Anything useful there?”
Molly took a few more steps ahead, glancing back at Lúcio. He hadn’t said anything. No cheery comments, nothing about anything. Maybe he was having the same thoughts she was. At some point, the optimism had to run out, didn’t it?
Well, that didn’t remove the need to do something. If anything, it made it stronger. Because if Lúcio was running out of optimism, it meant the island was about to fall to shit.
She jogged over to the plane to have a look for herself, in time for Trinity to come sliding out of nowhere and making a big mess in the sand. Molly turned quick, lifting the sword a couple of inches… but no. It was just Trinity. She hadn’t been on the announcements. And anyone would hide in circumstances like this.
“Hey! Doing okay over there?”
Molly took a few more steps ahead, glancing back at Lúcio. He hadn’t said anything. No cheery comments, nothing about anything. Maybe he was having the same thoughts she was. At some point, the optimism had to run out, didn’t it?
Well, that didn’t remove the need to do something. If anything, it made it stronger. Because if Lúcio was running out of optimism, it meant the island was about to fall to shit.
She jogged over to the plane to have a look for herself, in time for Trinity to come sliding out of nowhere and making a big mess in the sand. Molly turned quick, lifting the sword a couple of inches… but no. It was just Trinity. She hadn’t been on the announcements. And anyone would hide in circumstances like this.
“Hey! Doing okay over there?”
Norbert shrugged, ruefully shaking his head.
"I'd have to take a really good poke around and I have a feeling it'll be more trouble than it's worth."
Ah, Trinity. Norbert wasn't close to her, he wasn't sure many people were, but she—he was going to say had a decent head on her shoulders, but that wasn't quite accurate. It was more that she had smarts, just not so much the people smarts.
Darn. Maybe she was the kind of person he should have an eye out for. More thinkers, maybe he shouldn't be picky.
"I'd have to take a really good poke around and I have a feeling it'll be more trouble than it's worth."
Ah, Trinity. Norbert wasn't close to her, he wasn't sure many people were, but she—he was going to say had a decent head on her shoulders, but that wasn't quite accurate. It was more that she had smarts, just not so much the people smarts.
Darn. Maybe she was the kind of person he should have an eye out for. More thinkers, maybe he shouldn't be picky.
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VoltTurtle
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Lúcio had been the first one to notice Trinity, his gaze shooting over to her direction the moment she took her tumble. Despite that, he hadn't said anything to her before Norbert and Molly got their own greetings in. Instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, idly wondering what he would've done had it been anyone else but Trinity.
He couldn't stop thinking that maybe Matt had been right about some of what he said. Trying to talk to Shu had been a futile endeavor, and he wasn't even the most belligerent person still running around. That would be the one who Lúcio had so confidently defended, before finding out just how deep her depravity went. What would he have done if it had been Katelyn sneaking up on them?
Would fighting back even help?
Whatever. It didn't matter right now. Trinity was here, and she was fine, nothing wrong with her. A bit of a nerd, but in the fun, dorky way rather than the cringe socially awkward incel kinda way.
He gave her a customary wave, just as he did to Norbert, then looked back out at the ocean, his face expressionless as he watched the clouds roll by.
He couldn't stop thinking that maybe Matt had been right about some of what he said. Trying to talk to Shu had been a futile endeavor, and he wasn't even the most belligerent person still running around. That would be the one who Lúcio had so confidently defended, before finding out just how deep her depravity went. What would he have done if it had been Katelyn sneaking up on them?
Would fighting back even help?
Whatever. It didn't matter right now. Trinity was here, and she was fine, nothing wrong with her. A bit of a nerd, but in the fun, dorky way rather than the cringe socially awkward incel kinda way.
He gave her a customary wave, just as he did to Norbert, then looked back out at the ocean, his face expressionless as he watched the clouds roll by.
It felt like he was walking in circles.
Everything felt indistinct. Each stone on the beach was the same. It made it difficult to track progress across the journey—in estimation, almost a full day's worth of time, including the occasional rest. He had never become accustomed to idleness—the minutes on the clock always reminded him of the good times he had wasted as a child.
The past had always haunted him. As he combed the beach, he felt like a paleontologist, searching for bones among the ocean waves.
S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED FROM "A Matter of Faith"
Alexander felt the pressure of time on his shoulders. It reminded him of his eighth-grade Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System test in Mathematics. He had not studied, even though, in his right mind, he had known it was the best choice—but, for some reason, he had not chosen the rational course of action. He could not explain why.
Soon, the teacher placed it on his desk. He just stared at the paper. His pencil was in his hand, held firm, and pointed towards the assignment, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to put it to paper. He just couldn't. The minutes went on and on and stretched for what seemed like forever, each one's end punctuated by the tick-tock of the clock's hands.
Soon, everyone else finished and took leave of their desks. Alexander remained. He just sat there and did nothing, staring daggers at the assignment. Then, without thinking, he placed his pencil down, stood up, and left. His paper was still blank. Even the fields for his name and the date were left unanswered—even though he knew every answer.
Just as it had back then, time and torpor weighed on him—each step was another field to mark. But, this time, he was determined to move forward. So, though each step was torture, he took one, after another, after another, again and again, until he saw a large structure and specks in the distance. Then, he moved towards them until the shapes crystallized.
It didn't take long for him to recognize them. The large structure was, of course, an airplane. Alexander, despite the distance, could tell it was a four-passenger craft. It was in ruins—rusted and destroyed; their captors would never have left such an easy means of escape within their grasp. He wondered, though, if, in their haste, they had left anything.
In comparison to the structure, the other specks seemed positively insignificant. But, as Alexander moved towards the plane, they shifted from amorphous spots into human forms. He recognized them, if only just; Lúcio Oliveira and Mônica Oliveira, two siblings, both modal elements of the student body, Trinity Ashmore, and, last, Norbert Nielson.
Alexander recognized the latter most prominently. The two had some shared interests—the other boy enjoyed robotics, not dissimilar from him—but little else in common. That type of so-called infectious positivity seemed a veritable plague to him. All interaction with him was vaguely unpleasant, but the other boy might have had some knowledge to share.
They appeared to be talking about something. Alexander didn't care about that. Anything they had to say would have automatically been smaller in scale—the qualms of ants and bugs—compared to his concern: the bigger picture. They were, at the moment, a means to an end, a way to get directions, and nothing more.
"I apologize for the interruption," he said—though he did not feel sorry—and then paused as his eyes moved across the group. Nobody seemed outright hostile. "However, I would like to ask something. Have any of you seen someone?" He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and before they asked, he answered.
"Ingrid Wilde—or, rather, what remains of her."
Everything felt indistinct. Each stone on the beach was the same. It made it difficult to track progress across the journey—in estimation, almost a full day's worth of time, including the occasional rest. He had never become accustomed to idleness—the minutes on the clock always reminded him of the good times he had wasted as a child.
The past had always haunted him. As he combed the beach, he felt like a paleontologist, searching for bones among the ocean waves.
S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED FROM "A Matter of Faith"
Alexander felt the pressure of time on his shoulders. It reminded him of his eighth-grade Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System test in Mathematics. He had not studied, even though, in his right mind, he had known it was the best choice—but, for some reason, he had not chosen the rational course of action. He could not explain why.
Soon, the teacher placed it on his desk. He just stared at the paper. His pencil was in his hand, held firm, and pointed towards the assignment, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to put it to paper. He just couldn't. The minutes went on and on and stretched for what seemed like forever, each one's end punctuated by the tick-tock of the clock's hands.
Soon, everyone else finished and took leave of their desks. Alexander remained. He just sat there and did nothing, staring daggers at the assignment. Then, without thinking, he placed his pencil down, stood up, and left. His paper was still blank. Even the fields for his name and the date were left unanswered—even though he knew every answer.
Just as it had back then, time and torpor weighed on him—each step was another field to mark. But, this time, he was determined to move forward. So, though each step was torture, he took one, after another, after another, again and again, until he saw a large structure and specks in the distance. Then, he moved towards them until the shapes crystallized.
It didn't take long for him to recognize them. The large structure was, of course, an airplane. Alexander, despite the distance, could tell it was a four-passenger craft. It was in ruins—rusted and destroyed; their captors would never have left such an easy means of escape within their grasp. He wondered, though, if, in their haste, they had left anything.
In comparison to the structure, the other specks seemed positively insignificant. But, as Alexander moved towards the plane, they shifted from amorphous spots into human forms. He recognized them, if only just; Lúcio Oliveira and Mônica Oliveira, two siblings, both modal elements of the student body, Trinity Ashmore, and, last, Norbert Nielson.
Alexander recognized the latter most prominently. The two had some shared interests—the other boy enjoyed robotics, not dissimilar from him—but little else in common. That type of so-called infectious positivity seemed a veritable plague to him. All interaction with him was vaguely unpleasant, but the other boy might have had some knowledge to share.
They appeared to be talking about something. Alexander didn't care about that. Anything they had to say would have automatically been smaller in scale—the qualms of ants and bugs—compared to his concern: the bigger picture. They were, at the moment, a means to an end, a way to get directions, and nothing more.
"I apologize for the interruption," he said—though he did not feel sorry—and then paused as his eyes moved across the group. Nobody seemed outright hostile. "However, I would like to ask something. Have any of you seen someone?" He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and before they asked, he answered.
"Ingrid Wilde—or, rather, what remains of her."
“I’m…”
Not looking for small talk? Just interested in the plane? Not about to trust any of you, because I know any of you could be a killer, no matter what the announcements say?
“Fine.”
Mmm. Not true, of course. But the number of people who lied using those exact same words surely outweighed those who told the truth by their thousands. And, arguably, if she wanted this over and done with as quickly and painlessly as possible, it would be beneficial to give them as little insight into her thoughts as possible. It had already caused Callie to freak out because she couldn’t handle the knowledge that they were all being fed a stream of lies. She didn’t want a freakout on a much grander - and more violent - scale.
“I just tripped, is all. I’ve been wandering through the woods for the past day. Must be groggy.”
Keep it short, snappy, to the point. Don’t give them any room to question her, or what she was doing here. Stamp her authority on this beach, and get onto the next point, sharp.
“Have any of you investigated the-”
Ugh. Another person had decided to make their presence known, someone else she would have to maneuver around and placate. She hoped for a brief, bright moment that Alexander would be as limited a conversationalist as Norbert and Lucio, content to give a wave and then ignore her for the ocean or the great rusting husk that dominated the shoreline.
No such luck, of course. It matched her general feelings towards Alexander, she supposed; promising on all counts until the last, infuriating slip-up. He was hardworking and studious, the sort of person you could rely on to assign a task and leave to their own devices, knowing they would put their head down and focus on it until it was completely done. He was smart. He was efficient.
And his outlook towards the future was unbearably rotten.
It boggled the mind, honestly, why one would push themselves to work as hard as they could when they didn’t believe there was any hope for the future. It stood as such a mirror opposite to Trinity’s beliefs, that by working hard she would secure a comfortable life for herself and that everything she did was a means to secure a better future, that it overrode all the other positive feelings she had towards him.
“No,” was all she gave him. Because really, it covered everything he was asking for. He didn’t need to know anything else about who she had seen and what she had done.
But even as she turned back to face the plane, her curiosity had already been well and truly piqued. She took a moment, then looked back across at him, over her shoulder, frowning.
“Wait, why exactly are you trying to find a dead body so badly? It’s not about to get up and start moving again, either. Surely it won’t be so hard to find.”
Not looking for small talk? Just interested in the plane? Not about to trust any of you, because I know any of you could be a killer, no matter what the announcements say?
“Fine.”
Mmm. Not true, of course. But the number of people who lied using those exact same words surely outweighed those who told the truth by their thousands. And, arguably, if she wanted this over and done with as quickly and painlessly as possible, it would be beneficial to give them as little insight into her thoughts as possible. It had already caused Callie to freak out because she couldn’t handle the knowledge that they were all being fed a stream of lies. She didn’t want a freakout on a much grander - and more violent - scale.
“I just tripped, is all. I’ve been wandering through the woods for the past day. Must be groggy.”
Keep it short, snappy, to the point. Don’t give them any room to question her, or what she was doing here. Stamp her authority on this beach, and get onto the next point, sharp.
“Have any of you investigated the-”
Ugh. Another person had decided to make their presence known, someone else she would have to maneuver around and placate. She hoped for a brief, bright moment that Alexander would be as limited a conversationalist as Norbert and Lucio, content to give a wave and then ignore her for the ocean or the great rusting husk that dominated the shoreline.
No such luck, of course. It matched her general feelings towards Alexander, she supposed; promising on all counts until the last, infuriating slip-up. He was hardworking and studious, the sort of person you could rely on to assign a task and leave to their own devices, knowing they would put their head down and focus on it until it was completely done. He was smart. He was efficient.
And his outlook towards the future was unbearably rotten.
It boggled the mind, honestly, why one would push themselves to work as hard as they could when they didn’t believe there was any hope for the future. It stood as such a mirror opposite to Trinity’s beliefs, that by working hard she would secure a comfortable life for herself and that everything she did was a means to secure a better future, that it overrode all the other positive feelings she had towards him.
“No,” was all she gave him. Because really, it covered everything he was asking for. He didn’t need to know anything else about who she had seen and what she had done.
But even as she turned back to face the plane, her curiosity had already been well and truly piqued. She took a moment, then looked back across at him, over her shoulder, frowning.
“Wait, why exactly are you trying to find a dead body so badly? It’s not about to get up and start moving again, either. Surely it won’t be so hard to find.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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ViolentMedic
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“Oh.” Molly huffed. “Fair enough. Was worth asking about?”
Lúcio was still silent. It was actually starting to freak her out a bit. But it wasn’t totally unfamiliar?
She couldn’t remember Lúcio being so down in the dumps since they’d moved out of Boston when they were in 5th grade. Molly had adjusted quicker, and gotten a bit of a leg up in making new friends and moving on with her life. He’d caught up eventually. He always did. But it was the first time she’d made friends before he did. The first time she hadn’t just been ‘Lúcio’s sister.’
Trinity was good. Groggy from the woods. That made sense. Molly perked up at the word ‘investigated,’ just in time for Alexander to interrupt, asking about Ingrid Wilde. Ingrid… Ingrid… oh.
“She tried to swim away, didn’t she? ...She’s probably in the ocean?” Molly tucked her arms behind her back, tilting her head. “Why do you want to find the body? If it’s for burial, maybe leaving it in the ocean would be best. ...That’s a nice place to be, isn’t it?”
She turned back towards Trinity.
“Investigated what?”
If there was something to be investigated… then maybe she had to try. Maybe she had to do something, anything, besides wait here hoping someone did something first.
Lúcio was still silent. It was actually starting to freak her out a bit. But it wasn’t totally unfamiliar?
She couldn’t remember Lúcio being so down in the dumps since they’d moved out of Boston when they were in 5th grade. Molly had adjusted quicker, and gotten a bit of a leg up in making new friends and moving on with her life. He’d caught up eventually. He always did. But it was the first time she’d made friends before he did. The first time she hadn’t just been ‘Lúcio’s sister.’
Trinity was good. Groggy from the woods. That made sense. Molly perked up at the word ‘investigated,’ just in time for Alexander to interrupt, asking about Ingrid Wilde. Ingrid… Ingrid… oh.
“She tried to swim away, didn’t she? ...She’s probably in the ocean?” Molly tucked her arms behind her back, tilting her head. “Why do you want to find the body? If it’s for burial, maybe leaving it in the ocean would be best. ...That’s a nice place to be, isn’t it?”
She turned back towards Trinity.
“Investigated what?”
If there was something to be investigated… then maybe she had to try. Maybe she had to do something, anything, besides wait here hoping someone did something first.
You know, asking after a corpse wasn't a tremendous way to make a first impression.
Alex's arrival had set Norbert on edge. Maybe that wasn't very charitable and it was just a tipping point, with how many people had now gathered around the plane. Didn't change that his approach was offputting.
Norbert pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. He was being callous, and that only brushed how unfeeling he would have to be in the long run. He was really thinking of somebody he'd known, now dead, as little more than an object.
Getting started on numbing himself down early. He had to start making those moves.
Alex's arrival had set Norbert on edge. Maybe that wasn't very charitable and it was just a tipping point, with how many people had now gathered around the plane. Didn't change that his approach was offputting.
Norbert pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. He was being callous, and that only brushed how unfeeling he would have to be in the long run. He was really thinking of somebody he'd known, now dead, as little more than an object.
Getting started on numbing himself down early. He had to start making those moves.
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1557
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Another new arrival. Lúcio heard him approach, but didn't bother to look. It seemed that the bat signal had been raised, and now everyone and their mother was coming by to see the hero in action. Except there was no hero, not anywhere around here at least. Here there be victims hurting each other to play at something greater, no more and no less.
Waves lapped against the shore, the chorus of wind meeting water relaxing compared to the gaggle of voices behind his head. He knew when he needed to speak, and now wasn't the time. Anything that might've been worth him saying had already been pointed out by his sister.
His hands trembled, and he sniffled, trying to hide his wet and weary eyes behind his goggles and stone cold posture. Boys don't cry, his dad always told him. He needed to be strong for all his sisters, and so he did his best, always acting the part of the confident and secure one.
The truth was, though, he never knew what he was doing. Now more so than ever.
Waves lapped against the shore, the chorus of wind meeting water relaxing compared to the gaggle of voices behind his head. He knew when he needed to speak, and now wasn't the time. Anything that might've been worth him saying had already been pointed out by his sister.
His hands trembled, and he sniffled, trying to hide his wet and weary eyes behind his goggles and stone cold posture. Boys don't cry, his dad always told him. He needed to be strong for all his sisters, and so he did his best, always acting the part of the confident and secure one.
The truth was, though, he never knew what he was doing. Now more so than ever.
Alexander paused a moment. Let the others talk, spill their secrets to him. Eyes open for the glimmer of knowledge, ears open for its sound. As he listened, though, he was not idle and laid a hand against the side of the plane. The minor discomfort of the cold water, which lapped gently at his feet, aside, he was glad to get a closer view of the ruined craft.
All was clear.
The plane was, for Alexander, easy to identify once he drew near to it; it was a Partnair Cessna 182 Skylane. He had once made a model of a plane that looked almost identical. With entranced eyes, he took another look: four seats and fixed landing gear, as expected, but with a Continental O-470-U piston engine; now, his interest piqued, there was no going back.
That narrowed down the options significantly. It had to be either the 182Q Skylane or the 182R Skylane; only those two variants had that type of piston engine. From there, it was difficult to determine which one this was—the two models were very similar—but, given the size, and the way it displaced the ground, he leaned towards the heavier 182R variant.
Given its origin as a member of Partnair's fleet, its provenance was easy to trace. The company only operated for eighteen years, from 1971, the date of its creation, to 1989, the date of its demise; the company liquidated that year after the deadly crash of Partnair Flight 394. There were no survivors. How fitting, then, that one should be here.
The aircraft's variant narrowed that further to a range from 1980 to 1989. It was only a range of nine years. Even if the guess as to the variant was wrong, that only widened it to one from 1976 to 1989. That was only thirteen years. At the latest, this plane had been here, rusting in the waves, for about thirty-two years; at the earliest, forty-five.
Had the island been abandoned that long?
Alexander's eyes narrowed. Had they found the other islands? He wasn't sure; terrorist attacks weren't his area of expertise. But, in theory, one could narrow down their location via flight logs; if anyone still had Partnair's records stored somewhere, that is, as opposed to their being, like the company that made them, lost to time.
Still, it made no difference; any help would come too late.
From what little Alexander recalled, chyrons from halcyon days, their captors released their footage on a time delay. Nobody would see them die until weeks, maybe even months, after it happened. And they wouldn't see this, either, until long after everything was said and done. By that point, whether he lived to see it or died trying, it wouldn't matter.
With all that in mind, he turned back to the others. To summarize all that they said, they knew nothing and seemed almost content with it. That remark, he thought, seemed as accurate to their words themselves as to their demeanors in general. Clueless, thoughtless, senseless—idle, foolish, same as they always were. A disappointment but not a surprise.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
"No, that's not quite right," he led. It was never a good way to start a pitch, but he needed them to understand him. "From what I can tell, the tidal movements around the island make it likely that her corpse has already washed ashore. I've already combed most of the beach, so there's only a small portion left to rule out before I find it."
To their questions, though, Alexander wondered—not because he didn't know the answer, but because he didn't know how to answer. Every word was a risk to him and them; loose lips sank ships. The terrorists may have known his intentions, but they did not, and perhaps, that was all the better for them. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them.
But, still, he felt he should give them a chance, an opportunity to take a step in the right direction. He was no wordsmith—Valentin had always been his better in that regard—but he could articulate himself well enough when composed and calm. If he wanted allies, he needed to sway them to the cause. So, with a deep breath and then a sigh, he spoke.
"I can't say, and for that, I'm sorry," Alexander said; to save face, he needed to concede that point. "But, that fact alone—that I cannot speak openly to you—should tell you enough to make an informed guess about my intentions." He paused for a moment, head tilted slightly toward a camera. "It should tell you all you need to know."
A code of silence had never felt so loud in his ears.
"Do you understand?"
All was clear.
The plane was, for Alexander, easy to identify once he drew near to it; it was a Partnair Cessna 182 Skylane. He had once made a model of a plane that looked almost identical. With entranced eyes, he took another look: four seats and fixed landing gear, as expected, but with a Continental O-470-U piston engine; now, his interest piqued, there was no going back.
That narrowed down the options significantly. It had to be either the 182Q Skylane or the 182R Skylane; only those two variants had that type of piston engine. From there, it was difficult to determine which one this was—the two models were very similar—but, given the size, and the way it displaced the ground, he leaned towards the heavier 182R variant.
Given its origin as a member of Partnair's fleet, its provenance was easy to trace. The company only operated for eighteen years, from 1971, the date of its creation, to 1989, the date of its demise; the company liquidated that year after the deadly crash of Partnair Flight 394. There were no survivors. How fitting, then, that one should be here.
The aircraft's variant narrowed that further to a range from 1980 to 1989. It was only a range of nine years. Even if the guess as to the variant was wrong, that only widened it to one from 1976 to 1989. That was only thirteen years. At the latest, this plane had been here, rusting in the waves, for about thirty-two years; at the earliest, forty-five.
Had the island been abandoned that long?
Alexander's eyes narrowed. Had they found the other islands? He wasn't sure; terrorist attacks weren't his area of expertise. But, in theory, one could narrow down their location via flight logs; if anyone still had Partnair's records stored somewhere, that is, as opposed to their being, like the company that made them, lost to time.
Still, it made no difference; any help would come too late.
From what little Alexander recalled, chyrons from halcyon days, their captors released their footage on a time delay. Nobody would see them die until weeks, maybe even months, after it happened. And they wouldn't see this, either, until long after everything was said and done. By that point, whether he lived to see it or died trying, it wouldn't matter.
With all that in mind, he turned back to the others. To summarize all that they said, they knew nothing and seemed almost content with it. That remark, he thought, seemed as accurate to their words themselves as to their demeanors in general. Clueless, thoughtless, senseless—idle, foolish, same as they always were. A disappointment but not a surprise.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
"No, that's not quite right," he led. It was never a good way to start a pitch, but he needed them to understand him. "From what I can tell, the tidal movements around the island make it likely that her corpse has already washed ashore. I've already combed most of the beach, so there's only a small portion left to rule out before I find it."
To their questions, though, Alexander wondered—not because he didn't know the answer, but because he didn't know how to answer. Every word was a risk to him and them; loose lips sank ships. The terrorists may have known his intentions, but they did not, and perhaps, that was all the better for them. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them.
But, still, he felt he should give them a chance, an opportunity to take a step in the right direction. He was no wordsmith—Valentin had always been his better in that regard—but he could articulate himself well enough when composed and calm. If he wanted allies, he needed to sway them to the cause. So, with a deep breath and then a sigh, he spoke.
"I can't say, and for that, I'm sorry," Alexander said; to save face, he needed to concede that point. "But, that fact alone—that I cannot speak openly to you—should tell you enough to make an informed guess about my intentions." He paused for a moment, head tilted slightly toward a camera. "It should tell you all you need to know."
A code of silence had never felt so loud in his ears.
"Do you understand?"
Trinity’s eyes narrowed. She kept them trained, laser-focused, on Alexander, even once he had finished his little spiel.
Would it be hypocritical to judge him for being as vague as he possibly could with his plans and motives, when she herself had just been championing the virtues of doing so? Objectively, by that criteria alone, yes it was. And it was obvious, to her at least, why exactly he was keeping everything under wraps. Whatever he needed Ingrid - or more bluntly, her remains - for, it could not be shared with those who were observing their every move.
An escape plan, then. Or a pipe dream to dismantle this whole operation from the inside out. Something heroic and noble, in other words; at least, if you took everything he was saying at face value.
Not in a million fucking years.
There was something distinctly off-putting about Alexander’s entire approach to this. Perhaps it was just his general personality and attitude, already putting Trinity on edge and making her much less inclined to be agreeable towards him. But even leaving that to one side, he had still introduced himself by saying he was searching for a dead girl, and refusing to give any further information as to why. Maybe he did have some sort of plan that would let everybody on this beach get off of the island alive, maybe it was perfectly feasible and would work out if she lent him some assistance.
And maybe, if she followed him to wherever he thought Ingrid might have washed up, he would smack her around the back of the head with a shillelagh, rob her blind, and leave her to bleed out. She had been very, very clear. Anybody could be a murder. Nobody could be trusted.
She wanted to respond to Molly, see whether she needed to exert any effort in scavenging the plane or if that job had already been done for her, but Alexander’s presence was impossible to ignore. She put one hand on her hip, the other holding the polearm parallel to her body, base digging into the sand.
“Well, yes, I get it,” she said, frown still firmly planted on her face. “I understand what you’re trying to imply, anyway. But you realise it’s impossible to trust you if you don’t give us even a hint of what you’re planning, right? I’m not about to latch onto whatever the hell it is you’re doing just because, what, you say your intentions are honourable.”
She sniffed. She didn’t mean for it to come across as dismissive, but she wasn’t fully concerned if it did or not.
“Besides. Like I said, I’ve not seen Ingrid, alive or dead. So I don’t know what help I’d be to you anyway.”
Would it be hypocritical to judge him for being as vague as he possibly could with his plans and motives, when she herself had just been championing the virtues of doing so? Objectively, by that criteria alone, yes it was. And it was obvious, to her at least, why exactly he was keeping everything under wraps. Whatever he needed Ingrid - or more bluntly, her remains - for, it could not be shared with those who were observing their every move.
An escape plan, then. Or a pipe dream to dismantle this whole operation from the inside out. Something heroic and noble, in other words; at least, if you took everything he was saying at face value.
Not in a million fucking years.
There was something distinctly off-putting about Alexander’s entire approach to this. Perhaps it was just his general personality and attitude, already putting Trinity on edge and making her much less inclined to be agreeable towards him. But even leaving that to one side, he had still introduced himself by saying he was searching for a dead girl, and refusing to give any further information as to why. Maybe he did have some sort of plan that would let everybody on this beach get off of the island alive, maybe it was perfectly feasible and would work out if she lent him some assistance.
And maybe, if she followed him to wherever he thought Ingrid might have washed up, he would smack her around the back of the head with a shillelagh, rob her blind, and leave her to bleed out. She had been very, very clear. Anybody could be a murder. Nobody could be trusted.
She wanted to respond to Molly, see whether she needed to exert any effort in scavenging the plane or if that job had already been done for her, but Alexander’s presence was impossible to ignore. She put one hand on her hip, the other holding the polearm parallel to her body, base digging into the sand.
“Well, yes, I get it,” she said, frown still firmly planted on her face. “I understand what you’re trying to imply, anyway. But you realise it’s impossible to trust you if you don’t give us even a hint of what you’re planning, right? I’m not about to latch onto whatever the hell it is you’re doing just because, what, you say your intentions are honourable.”
She sniffed. She didn’t mean for it to come across as dismissive, but she wasn’t fully concerned if it did or not.
“Besides. Like I said, I’ve not seen Ingrid, alive or dead. So I don’t know what help I’d be to you anyway.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017