And the universe said ‘I love you’

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Formerly kept clear by the foot passage back and forth between the different halves of the island, the lower mountain pass has become a wasteland of loose rocks, potholes, and overgrown plants, making it take effort to navigate. As the former connecting path between the research station and the village on the side of the island, the lower mountain pass is still easy to follow and is wider with barriers on its steeper sides to help the people that used to make use of it. While obviously at a lower elevation than the upper mountain pass, the lower pass is still raised above other parts of the island; if one was to leave the path and follow the slopes down, they would find themselves either on the old road or in the tundra forest.

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#16

Post by backslash »

Any satisfaction Salem might have felt as Beatrice toppled over was destroyed when her own bullet ripped through his arm, tearing a chunk out of his bicep. If he'd had time to prepare, he would have tried not to scream; as it was, his shriek echoed off the mountainside before finally getting swallowed up by the empty, snowy landscape.

His grip temporarily went slack, letting the gun fall and thump into the dirt at his feet. Salem staggered back to lean against the rock wall, clapping his free hand over his bleeding arm and breathing hard.

"Bitch," he hissed at Beatrice's crumpled form. "Does that feel like you won, huh? You wanna know my story? Here's how it ends: with me alive, and you dead!"

His words, too, vanished into the quiet winter air.

He sat, gasping for breath and clutching his arm, for a long time. Finally, he staggered up, and the first thing he did was kick a spray of dirt over Beatrice. Not so much as a twitch, of course.

"I hope feeling all morally superior helps," Salem told her bitterly. He'd have added "in hell" or something, like Jacob had shouted at him, but he'd never believed in an afterlife. Mythology had always been California's thing, and Salem estimated that was about 85% academic and aesthetic fascination, 15% self-delusion for the sake of comfort, if she'd ever believed any of that was real at all.

It had always made the most sense to Salem that there was nothing after death. It had always made the here and now feel like it actually mattered.

He opened and closed his fingers a few times to make sure that they were actually still working. They were, even though his whole upper arm was throbbing with pain. The bigger pain (in the ass, as it were) was going to be trying to actually lift and flex his arm, now. Oh, and the cold crawling in through yet another tear in his coat.

Teeth gritted in annoyance, Salem bent to pick his gun back up and replace it in his pocket. He grabbed the rest of his belongings and then pressed his left hand back over the hole in his arm before staggering up the path. The hot spring wasn't too far. He needed to take care of this, but he probably wasn't going to bleed out from it before he had a chance to sit down somewhere warm for once.

Beatrice was never going to whatever she intended to do at the hot spring, and if there really was someone there waiting for her, they weren't going to see her. But Salem was going to get that hot bath.

((Salem Fox continued in the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream))
"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."
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