((Shu Hawthorne continued from the hunting lodge))
Several hours had passed since the morning announcement, but Shu remained lying on top of the mold-infested, dirty mattress, clutching the shotgun in his arms like a body pillow. If he focused hard on the chill sweeping through the room and the cold touch of the metal on the shotgun enough, maybe it would stop him from crying.
He never felt like this before. He hated it. He didn't really like Przemek. He didn't really like Josh, either, or Kiera. They were all just tools, the shovels Shu used as he gardened and nourished the earth to preserve its beauty. Stuff that would be shelved or discarded after their purpose was fulfilled.
So why did his heart burn? Why was his chest on fire? He was desperate to reach into himself and tear his own heart out to stop the pain.
Maybe he'd just lie here and waste away into the dark. The wolves could have him.
That'd be nice.
Trigger Happy Havoc
day... 9(?) this is a private party regardless, sorry y'all
"We start off the day with what has become a mainstay and favorite, a bit of fratricide, when Katelyn Graves sunk her claws into her sister Ashlyn Graves. The best breakfast."
Huh.
You know, it hurt more than Salem had thought it would.
((Salem Fox continued from redesign your logo))
That was the thought that dogged Salem on his latest ping-pong trek back over to the research station. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it eventually. If anything, he'd figured he would have heard Ash's name sooner, one way or the other. Maybe she'd been playing it smart, but hearing Katelyn's name over and over had to have grated on her, either because of the spotlight or the fact that people Ash came across would make the association, or just because she didn't like being reminded that Katelyn existed.
It wasn't too much of a surprise either that when they finally collided, things ended the way they did. Salem could have said that he'd known that it would end up with one of them not walking away from it. He'd figured much the same if it had ever come down to Ashlyn and himself. He didn't think she'd have ever let him live it down if he didn't at least try.
He and Ashlyn had dated for almost two years, and sometimes Salem thought that she didn't even like him. Sometimes, that was what he had liked best about her.
So that was how he found himself hours later, wandering back into the quarters building with a curious hollowness in his chest. Was this grief, or just some kind of shock? He couldn't say. It was new either way, distinct from the thing that had plagued him in the buildup to confronting Timothy and Julia, or the other thing that had plagued him after. He couldn't decide if he wanted to dissect it or just bury it.
Someone, somewhere, was crying.
That wasn't a philosophical statement, though it was also probably true in a broader philosophical sense if he wanted to make such a statement about the general situation. Literally speaking though, Salem caught the sound of someone sobbing as he climbed the stairs to the sleeping quarters.
Also not too surprising; the basement had been more private, but he'd decided to opt for relative comfort this time. Made sense that someone else would also want to crash and have their breakdown with at least a blanket.
He followed the noise, absently swinging the rifle as he neared the room that it was coming from. The door was slightly ajar, but the slice of room inside was dark. If not for the crying, he wouldn't have suspected any signs of life.
Leaning against the doorframe, Salem raised his free hand and rapped an erratic rhythm against the door, nudging it open a little further. The door-to-door salesman routine had worked out the first two times. Third time could be the charm too, whatever that brought.
"You all good in there?" He called, hoping that whoever was within would actually play ball for a minute, instead of stonewalling like Madeleine had (rest in pieces, bitch). Even if the answer was gunfire, that was something. Good or bad, whatever lay on the other side of the door, Salem just wanted to know.
Huh.
You know, it hurt more than Salem had thought it would.
((Salem Fox continued from redesign your logo))
That was the thought that dogged Salem on his latest ping-pong trek back over to the research station. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it eventually. If anything, he'd figured he would have heard Ash's name sooner, one way or the other. Maybe she'd been playing it smart, but hearing Katelyn's name over and over had to have grated on her, either because of the spotlight or the fact that people Ash came across would make the association, or just because she didn't like being reminded that Katelyn existed.
It wasn't too much of a surprise either that when they finally collided, things ended the way they did. Salem could have said that he'd known that it would end up with one of them not walking away from it. He'd figured much the same if it had ever come down to Ashlyn and himself. He didn't think she'd have ever let him live it down if he didn't at least try.
He and Ashlyn had dated for almost two years, and sometimes Salem thought that she didn't even like him. Sometimes, that was what he had liked best about her.
So that was how he found himself hours later, wandering back into the quarters building with a curious hollowness in his chest. Was this grief, or just some kind of shock? He couldn't say. It was new either way, distinct from the thing that had plagued him in the buildup to confronting Timothy and Julia, or the other thing that had plagued him after. He couldn't decide if he wanted to dissect it or just bury it.
Someone, somewhere, was crying.
That wasn't a philosophical statement, though it was also probably true in a broader philosophical sense if he wanted to make such a statement about the general situation. Literally speaking though, Salem caught the sound of someone sobbing as he climbed the stairs to the sleeping quarters.
Also not too surprising; the basement had been more private, but he'd decided to opt for relative comfort this time. Made sense that someone else would also want to crash and have their breakdown with at least a blanket.
He followed the noise, absently swinging the rifle as he neared the room that it was coming from. The door was slightly ajar, but the slice of room inside was dark. If not for the crying, he wouldn't have suspected any signs of life.
Leaning against the doorframe, Salem raised his free hand and rapped an erratic rhythm against the door, nudging it open a little further. The door-to-door salesman routine had worked out the first two times. Third time could be the charm too, whatever that brought.
"You all good in there?" He called, hoping that whoever was within would actually play ball for a minute, instead of stonewalling like Madeleine had (rest in pieces, bitch). Even if the answer was gunfire, that was something. Good or bad, whatever lay on the other side of the door, Salem just wanted to know.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"No," Shu said, not missing a beat in between sobs to the man at the door. He remained frozen on the sorry excuse of a bed, back turned to the door as he continued to mope and stare at the wall of nothing.
"Leave me alone, unless you have business. Or plan to kill me, but let me dream first."
"Leave me alone, unless you have business. Or plan to kill me, but let me dream first."
"Fair enough," Salem responded genially to the curt answer. He eased the door open further to look into the room, adjusting his position against the frame for the optimal faux-casual lean.
With a better view in, the shape of a person on the bed resolved itself, though Salem took a moment to place the voice. "...Shu, right? I kinda forgot you were still running around," he said, tone suggesting very little in regard to whether he cared much either. His eyes remained fixed on Shu's back. The scene in front of him sharpened in his mind's eye, translating itself into a comic panel in stark black, white, and gray. The figure of Shu on the bed, the tension in his back, illuminated through the doorway and interrupted by Salem's own shadow.
Mmm, yeah. Chiaroscuro. That was the good shit.
"I can kill you if you want. That's just one of the many services I provide." Salem's tone remained light and noncommittal; his finger played on the rifle's trigger guard, but he didn't raise it to aim yet.
"What are you dreaming about?"
With a better view in, the shape of a person on the bed resolved itself, though Salem took a moment to place the voice. "...Shu, right? I kinda forgot you were still running around," he said, tone suggesting very little in regard to whether he cared much either. His eyes remained fixed on Shu's back. The scene in front of him sharpened in his mind's eye, translating itself into a comic panel in stark black, white, and gray. The figure of Shu on the bed, the tension in his back, illuminated through the doorway and interrupted by Salem's own shadow.
Mmm, yeah. Chiaroscuro. That was the good shit.
"I can kill you if you want. That's just one of the many services I provide." Salem's tone remained light and noncommittal; his finger played on the rifle's trigger guard, but he didn't raise it to aim yet.
"What are you dreaming about?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
The tone of his name sent a shiver through his ears and down his spine. He wished he were nameless, he wished he could reject the power his mother and father had over him when he came forth from the womb. If he didn't have a name, he could fade into obscurity and be forgotten and left alone even in death.
"Dunno, " Shu said. "Sinners can't dream." The ancient springs of the bed creaked and groaned as he righted himself up, turning over towards the front of the room, legs folded over the side of the mattress with the shotgun pulled up and sat right across his lap, his hands clasped on top like he was a monk interrupted during his meditation.
"Good morning, Salem. Seems you're still running around as well."
"Dunno, " Shu said. "Sinners can't dream." The ancient springs of the bed creaked and groaned as he righted himself up, turning over towards the front of the room, legs folded over the side of the mattress with the shotgun pulled up and sat right across his lap, his hands clasped on top like he was a monk interrupted during his meditation.
"Good morning, Salem. Seems you're still running around as well."
"Seems like it," Salem agreed breezily. "I guess that by itself doesn't win any prizes, though." Humblebrag.
He rested his head against the doorframe as well, watching Shu watching him. "What kind of sin disqualifies you from dreaming, huh? Or is it more of an all-crimes-are-equal sort of deal?"
Come to think of it, had he dreamed in the last week or so?
If he had, were they really dreams? Or memories?
He rested his head against the doorframe as well, watching Shu watching him. "What kind of sin disqualifies you from dreaming, huh? Or is it more of an all-crimes-are-equal sort of deal?"
Come to think of it, had he dreamed in the last week or so?
If he had, were they really dreams? Or memories?
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Shu paused, raising the back of his hand to swipe across his reddened eyes, flinching as the old bandages brushed against his skin. He was still scared to take them off and see what would be left underneath, or gone. If you didn't know, you'd never know.
"Dunno," he finally replied, "we're just bystanders, not executioners. None of us really have the right to call what's a sin and what's not. But we know."
A faint smile appeared in the darkness and disappeared in the same split second as Shu looked away from Salem and let his head hang down towards the floor.
"Ignore me. Just bored, maybe tired."
"Dunno," he finally replied, "we're just bystanders, not executioners. None of us really have the right to call what's a sin and what's not. But we know."
A faint smile appeared in the darkness and disappeared in the same split second as Shu looked away from Salem and let his head hang down towards the floor.
"Ignore me. Just bored, maybe tired."
"Mm. That's an interesting way to look at it, I guess." Salem finally pushed away from the doorframe and strode into the room, kicking the door closed with his heel. The thud of it closing was loud, and the interior of the room fell dim again without the light coming in from the hallway.
"Me, I think that the whole 'judge, jury, and executioner' routine is played out. But we are the ones here in the middle of it, you know?" He shrugged at Shu with one shoulder as he reached into the pocket of his coat.
He came to a stop at the edge of the bed in front of Shu and withdrew the revolver. He let it dangle from his fingers for a minute, head tilting to the side again as he looked Shu in the face.
"If all you wanted was to die, you've got what you need right there, so..."
Salem gave the revolver a spin; it was heavier than his other handgun and didn't twirl in his fingers as neatly. After one rotation, he gave up and clasped his hand around the grip again. His bandaged ear itched, and he shook his head a little in an effort to get rid of the feeling.
"If I'm gonna do you a favor, what do you say we play a little game and make it worth my while?"
"Me, I think that the whole 'judge, jury, and executioner' routine is played out. But we are the ones here in the middle of it, you know?" He shrugged at Shu with one shoulder as he reached into the pocket of his coat.
He came to a stop at the edge of the bed in front of Shu and withdrew the revolver. He let it dangle from his fingers for a minute, head tilting to the side again as he looked Shu in the face.
"If all you wanted was to die, you've got what you need right there, so..."
Salem gave the revolver a spin; it was heavier than his other handgun and didn't twirl in his fingers as neatly. After one rotation, he gave up and clasped his hand around the grip again. His bandaged ear itched, and he shook his head a little in an effort to get rid of the feeling.
"If I'm gonna do you a favor, what do you say we play a little game and make it worth my while?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"How kind of you," said Shu as he watched Salem play with the gun like he were a cat pawing at a piece of string. A day or two ago, Shu would've shoo'd him out, but something about the faint glint of the revolver and the ecstasy dripping off the corner of Salem's lips, well.
"Hope you're not talking about Candyland."
"Hope you're not talking about Candyland."
"Nah, board games are a drag. I'm out here newly single and ready to mingle, and you could stand to lighten up a bit, so we need something exciting." Salem flashed a smile that almost reached his eyes. There was a cold twist in his stomach, but it passed.
He extended his arm so that he was holding the revolver horizontal over the mattress next to Shu and then dropped it. Somewhat disappointingly, it just plopped into the blankets and didn't bounce. Half-shrugging to himself, Salem reached back into his coat pocket and withdrew a handful of the hefty bullets that went with the gun.
He shuffled them around a bit in his hand until he had a few situated in the spaces between his fingers, and then he showed them off to Shu like a magician preparing to do a card trick.
"Six chambers, one bullet, you know that one? Winner takes all, obviously."
He extended his arm so that he was holding the revolver horizontal over the mattress next to Shu and then dropped it. Somewhat disappointingly, it just plopped into the blankets and didn't bounce. Half-shrugging to himself, Salem reached back into his coat pocket and withdrew a handful of the hefty bullets that went with the gun.
He shuffled them around a bit in his hand until he had a few situated in the spaces between his fingers, and then he showed them off to Shu like a magician preparing to do a card trick.
"Six chambers, one bullet, you know that one? Winner takes all, obviously."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"Least it's not Monopoly, either."
Shu sniffled again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before running his fingers through his hair. He probably looked like a mess.
Shu set the shotgun down on the other side of the bed like a baby before he picked up the revolver and rolled it in his hands several times, spinning the chamber as both an inspector and a fidgeting child.
"...Sure. I'll humor you. But no cheating; I'll know if you do..." he said, pulling the trigger of the empty gun while he lazily aimed at Salem. Click.
"Also, a house rule; we spin after every trigger pull. Makes it more interesting, you'll agree."
Satisfied, even though the remnants of his tears, Shu handed the gun back. "Ladies first."
Shu sniffled again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before running his fingers through his hair. He probably looked like a mess.
Shu set the shotgun down on the other side of the bed like a baby before he picked up the revolver and rolled it in his hands several times, spinning the chamber as both an inspector and a fidgeting child.
"...Sure. I'll humor you. But no cheating; I'll know if you do..." he said, pulling the trigger of the empty gun while he lazily aimed at Salem. Click.
"Also, a house rule; we spin after every trigger pull. Makes it more interesting, you'll agree."
Satisfied, even though the remnants of his tears, Shu handed the gun back. "Ladies first."
Salem smiled again when Shu "fired" the empty gun at him. "If one of us decides to cheat, I guess it'll just come down to who's faster, right?"
He set his own rifle down and sat down on the bed opposite Shu, crossing his legs to mirror him. He took the gun back and laid all but one of the bullets on the sheets between them before loading the last one in. He spun the chambers again, glancing between the revolver and Shu's face.
He cocked the hammer and raised the gun, pressing the barrel to his own temple. The metal was cool against his skin, a little shock like splashing cold water onto his face that made him feel more awake. His ear itched again.
"Oh, yeah, this thing's got a pretty big kick, so- I'm not responsible for what happens after if it actually fires."
Salem pulled the trigger before he could make himself hesitate. His heart jumped.
Click.
He set his own rifle down and sat down on the bed opposite Shu, crossing his legs to mirror him. He took the gun back and laid all but one of the bullets on the sheets between them before loading the last one in. He spun the chambers again, glancing between the revolver and Shu's face.
He cocked the hammer and raised the gun, pressing the barrel to his own temple. The metal was cool against his skin, a little shock like splashing cold water onto his face that made him feel more awake. His ear itched again.
"Oh, yeah, this thing's got a pretty big kick, so- I'm not responsible for what happens after if it actually fires."
Salem pulled the trigger before he could make himself hesitate. His heart jumped.
Click.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Nothing.
Shu's fingers twitched at the pull of the trigger. But he did not blink, and simply stared at Salem until his turn was up and done, and the revolver traded hands. He unlocked the chamber, still with one bullet only loaded, gave it a spin, and reset.
His turn. He raised the gun to the side of his head and pressed the muzzle into the side of his head. He smirked to no one in particular as a finger pulled the trigger.
Click.
Shu's fingers twitched at the pull of the trigger. But he did not blink, and simply stared at Salem until his turn was up and done, and the revolver traded hands. He unlocked the chamber, still with one bullet only loaded, gave it a spin, and reset.
His turn. He raised the gun to the side of his head and pressed the muzzle into the side of his head. He smirked to no one in particular as a finger pulled the trigger.
Click.
Technically, the odds were always in your favor. No countdown. 16.6% of the time, every time, you got a bullet to the head. Salem's heart rate didn't steady. He'd never been a fan of roller coasters, but maybe this was what people got out of it.
He took the gun back from Shu and copied his previous movements. Open, spin, close, aim, fire.
Click.
"You know, theoretically we could be at this forever," he said, voice soft. Soft felt appropriate. Soft for the inevitable bang instead of a click, soft so that there would be a quiet to shatter.
He handed the gun back to Shu.
He took the gun back from Shu and copied his previous movements. Open, spin, close, aim, fire.
Click.
"You know, theoretically we could be at this forever," he said, voice soft. Soft felt appropriate. Soft for the inevitable bang instead of a click, soft so that there would be a quiet to shatter.
He handed the gun back to Shu.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"One in six is high odds. It'll be over quick enough."
Open, spin, close, aim, fire. Shu's fingers moved along like a robot, no hesitation this time.
Click.
But Shu didn't immediately hand the gun back. He wrapped both his hands around it, the steel touching his skin as his thumb ran along the grooves of the chamber.
"...Can I ask you a question?" He passed the gun back.
"What's your favorite animal?"
Open, spin, close, aim, fire. Shu's fingers moved along like a robot, no hesitation this time.
Click.
But Shu didn't immediately hand the gun back. He wrapped both his hands around it, the steel touching his skin as his thumb ran along the grooves of the chamber.
"...Can I ask you a question?" He passed the gun back.
"What's your favorite animal?"