((Dustin Royal continued from I'll Huff and I'll Puff))
Well, this was no better place with tropical drinks and lovely women in scanty clothing, but at least it was presumably safer than Dustin's previous location. Nobody wanted to camp out in a swamp, right? No one could possibly be that far detached from civilization. There were probably nightmarish bugs and leeches and worse in here.
Dustin himself would have never considered the swamp as a stopping place half a week ago. That was before the tunnels, though, before the deaths and the insanity, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. It had been back when he'd still have felt reasonably sure that Maria wasn't just getting naked to distract him before slitting his throat.
Now, though, Dustin was sitting on a dry patch. It had taken him way longer than he cared to admit to move through the swamp, hopping from dry area to dry area, backtracking where necessary, but he had kept his clothes clean and his guitar dry. That was enough for now.
So there he was, sitting and fingering chords, not strumming anything just now, because even though he was pretty sure the swamp was about the safest place on the island, he'd still passed a corpse on the way and wasn't intent on this being his final resting place.
There's Always Room in the Swamp!
(George Leidman continued from Endings and Beginnings)
As part of his new mission of survival, George had realized that he would need a permanent residence of some kind once his killings began to add up. He would need somewhere where he couldn't be found easily, and where he could hear people approaching as well. A swamp fit those categories quite nicely. If he could find a raised piece of land, outside of the disgusting standing water, perhaps he could create a base of operations for storing other people's bags. If he tried carrying all the gear in his own bag, along with his new weapons, he'd be swiftly tiring himself out.
"Well..." As he tread around a large pool of disgusting water, he saw that the raised area of land he was currently on neighbored one that was occupied by none other than Dustin Royal, playing a guitar as if he hadn't a care in the world. George hadn't seen the fellow in a while, but had known him to be a relatively respectable man. Too bad he was going to be George's first victim then, as George desperately needed something a little more effective than large rocks. Anything would do, and all he needed to do to get it was walk up behind the fellow, raise one of the rocks above his head, and...Wham! That would be it. Just another casualty in this game that George was intending to win.
And so, walking slowly as to not disturb him, George slipped the rock out of the bag. Just as he envisioned, he raised the rock up in both hands, lined it up, and...
He froze. He'd been so sure of his plan up to this point, but as he loomed over Dustin, so many questions and concerns bombarded him at once. Was he willing to sacrifice his future, his dignity, and his honor just to preserve himself for however many days? How many times would he be able to do this? Could he really justify his own survival over that of others?
George's hands began to shake. The rock, dangling behind his head, almost slipped out of his fingers. If he was going to do it, he would have to do it now. Shutting his eyes, gritting his teeth, George let out a wild cry and thrust the rock down as hard as he could. Dustin had done nothing to deserve his fate. It was just chance that he had happened to be the one who George would come across. That was all. If he could blame anyone, he could blame his own terrible luck that had dropped him into this situation.
As part of his new mission of survival, George had realized that he would need a permanent residence of some kind once his killings began to add up. He would need somewhere where he couldn't be found easily, and where he could hear people approaching as well. A swamp fit those categories quite nicely. If he could find a raised piece of land, outside of the disgusting standing water, perhaps he could create a base of operations for storing other people's bags. If he tried carrying all the gear in his own bag, along with his new weapons, he'd be swiftly tiring himself out.
"Well..." As he tread around a large pool of disgusting water, he saw that the raised area of land he was currently on neighbored one that was occupied by none other than Dustin Royal, playing a guitar as if he hadn't a care in the world. George hadn't seen the fellow in a while, but had known him to be a relatively respectable man. Too bad he was going to be George's first victim then, as George desperately needed something a little more effective than large rocks. Anything would do, and all he needed to do to get it was walk up behind the fellow, raise one of the rocks above his head, and...Wham! That would be it. Just another casualty in this game that George was intending to win.
And so, walking slowly as to not disturb him, George slipped the rock out of the bag. Just as he envisioned, he raised the rock up in both hands, lined it up, and...
He froze. He'd been so sure of his plan up to this point, but as he loomed over Dustin, so many questions and concerns bombarded him at once. Was he willing to sacrifice his future, his dignity, and his honor just to preserve himself for however many days? How many times would he be able to do this? Could he really justify his own survival over that of others?
George's hands began to shake. The rock, dangling behind his head, almost slipped out of his fingers. If he was going to do it, he would have to do it now. Shutting his eyes, gritting his teeth, George let out a wild cry and thrust the rock down as hard as he could. Dustin had done nothing to deserve his fate. It was just chance that he had happened to be the one who George would come across. That was all. If he could blame anyone, he could blame his own terrible luck that had dropped him into this situation.
Dustin figured that if he pretended he didn't hear the person behind him, maybe they'd go away. He clearly wasn't a threat. The person clearly wasn't going to shoot him, or they'd have already done so. It was probably just someone nervous, trying to decide if they should approach him or not. If he spun around or startled them, then things would get problematic. As it was, they'd probably just get bored and leave. Yeah, that was it. Dustin definitely wasn't scared himself. No way.
Okay, maybe just a little glance would be fi—
Dustin didn't know if it was reflexes or dumb luck that sent him jolting to the side, but the result was that instead of braining him, the rock only cracked his shoulder. He'd have cared about this a lot more had it also not pitched off balance enough that he landed on his guitar, the beautiful instrument collapsing with a horrible splintering sound.
This fucker was going to get it now. Dustin sort of rolled away from his assailant, landing in a boggy patch, probably full of leeches and all that horrible shit he was counting on to keep him safe from other people. His right shoulder felt aflame. He couldn't feel anything below it. His left hand, though, was groping for the hilt of his sword. He'd had it on his belt. It had to be somewhere around here.
There.
Unfortunately, he'd been paying more attention to finding his weapon than he had to the person actually trying to kill him.
Okay, maybe just a little glance would be fi—
Dustin didn't know if it was reflexes or dumb luck that sent him jolting to the side, but the result was that instead of braining him, the rock only cracked his shoulder. He'd have cared about this a lot more had it also not pitched off balance enough that he landed on his guitar, the beautiful instrument collapsing with a horrible splintering sound.
This fucker was going to get it now. Dustin sort of rolled away from his assailant, landing in a boggy patch, probably full of leeches and all that horrible shit he was counting on to keep him safe from other people. His right shoulder felt aflame. He couldn't feel anything below it. His left hand, though, was groping for the hilt of his sword. He'd had it on his belt. It had to be somewhere around here.
There.
Unfortunately, he'd been paying more attention to finding his weapon than he had to the person actually trying to kill him.
He'd been sloppy, that was certain. Rather than going for the quick kill, George had delayed just long enough to attract Mr. Royal's attention. This was stupid, and Dustin had responded quickly enough to take it on the shoulder instead. He'd be feeling that one anyway, but it wasn't a kill.
Escaping from his attacker, Dustin had inadvertently gotten into the swamp water. That gave George an idea. Acting upon it, he charged at Dustin, dropping the rock as he did so. The man was attempting to draw a sword of some kind, so time was of the essence. Instead of trying to grab his hand or the sword, George instead went for the throat, intending to knock him back into the swamp water and choke the life out of him. If Dustin ended up drawing the sword, he'd have a reach advantage on him, and then things would get hairy fast. George couldn't let that happen.
Escaping from his attacker, Dustin had inadvertently gotten into the swamp water. That gave George an idea. Acting upon it, he charged at Dustin, dropping the rock as he did so. The man was attempting to draw a sword of some kind, so time was of the essence. Instead of trying to grab his hand or the sword, George instead went for the throat, intending to knock him back into the swamp water and choke the life out of him. If Dustin ended up drawing the sword, he'd have a reach advantage on him, and then things would get hairy fast. George couldn't let that happen.
The guy—Dustin recognized him as someone from school with one of those terribly generic names, Eric or Robert or Stephen or something—came right after Dustin, intent on pressing his attack. What the fuck? Somehow, since the start of the game, Dustin had imagined that his end, assuming it had to occur, would come at the hands of a jilted lover of some variety, or maybe some jealous guy. Certainly nothing this, well, random.
The boy's hands were open, grasping for Dustin's throat. The guy was too close for Dustin to get his sword free. The hands around his throat were causing him to panic. He released the hilt of the sword, clawing at the hands that were choking him. Unfortunately, his right arm was totally useless, thanks to the blow from the rock.
Strangling people is one of the least efficient and practical manners with which to dispatch them. It takes a long time, and keeps your hands completely occupied, leaving your target free to retaliate however they want. Unfortunately for Dustin, though, his options in that respect were fairly limited. He stopped trying to claw his way free, instead opting to flail at his assailant, striking out with his left hand, but his blows were weak, without any skill or finesse to them, launched from a bad angle, little more than desperate flailing.
The boy's hands were open, grasping for Dustin's throat. The guy was too close for Dustin to get his sword free. The hands around his throat were causing him to panic. He released the hilt of the sword, clawing at the hands that were choking him. Unfortunately, his right arm was totally useless, thanks to the blow from the rock.
Strangling people is one of the least efficient and practical manners with which to dispatch them. It takes a long time, and keeps your hands completely occupied, leaving your target free to retaliate however they want. Unfortunately for Dustin, though, his options in that respect were fairly limited. He stopped trying to claw his way free, instead opting to flail at his assailant, striking out with his left hand, but his blows were weak, without any skill or finesse to them, launched from a bad angle, little more than desperate flailing.
(GMing approved by KillerVole)
George had Dustin right where he wanted. More specifically, he had him down in the swamp water with his hands around his throat. All he needed to do was keep him there. Not as easy as it sounded, as Dustin was thrashing back and forth, swinging out his good arm to knock his aggressor off of him. Not that it mattered. George was tough enough to take a few hits. All that mattered was keeping the pressure on, preventing Dustin from drawing even a little breath.
As he held on with all his strength, George felt a strange tightness in his chest. He wanted to cry almost. Here he was, choking the life out of somebody, and he had somehow justified this to himself. He looked at the kid on the other end of his arms, and he saw somebody desperately fighting to survive, just like him. He had to turn away his face, and focus on nothing but squeezing. Even when the hits stopped, and the kid's arms hung limply at his side, George kept squeezing.
At least a couple more minutes passed before he finally drew up the courage to take a peek at the person he had grabbed hold of. The look on Dustin's face told him everything that he needed to know. The kid was dead, and he had killed him. It took a little bit of work to pull his hands free of Dustin's throat. The kid fell back into the water with a quiet plish, there were a few ripples, and then the body was still, bobbing up and down in the mucky water.
"I...I..." Stepping back onto the dry land, George sat for a moment and stared into space. He'd thought that it would be so easy, but then the truth of the matter hit him: he'd killed somebody, purposefully and consciously. It just seemed so easy in the movies. Indy would shrug and shoot someone dead without even blinking, and everyone calls him a hero. So why did he feel like absolute scum?
His palms were so sore now, and flexing his fingers was painful. It took a great force of will for him to even move, but he had to. The kid had a weapon, and he needed a weapon. Slowly, carefully, trying not to look at his victim's eyes, George crept out into the water again and removed Dustin's sheath and sword, outfitting his own belt with it. Forcing himself to focus on the sword's shape, he noticed that it looked distinctly foreign. As he sloshed back out of the water, he also noticed Dustin's guitar lying where he had dropped it when he was surprised. Casting a glance back at the dead man in the water, he slung the thing over his shoulder as well. He could always use it for a club or something.
"Sorry, man..." George said, and proceeded to switch out the rocks he'd carefully accrued with the contents of Dustin's bag. He wouldn't be needing them, right? George laughed at the thought, but it lacked any actual humor. He had begun a dark venture, and there was no turning back now. The announcement tomorrow would seal his fate, and there was nothing he would be able to do about it. Might as well just go with the flow and accept one's role in life. George would be sure to play his new role to the fullest.
(George Leidman continued elsewhere)
George had Dustin right where he wanted. More specifically, he had him down in the swamp water with his hands around his throat. All he needed to do was keep him there. Not as easy as it sounded, as Dustin was thrashing back and forth, swinging out his good arm to knock his aggressor off of him. Not that it mattered. George was tough enough to take a few hits. All that mattered was keeping the pressure on, preventing Dustin from drawing even a little breath.
As he held on with all his strength, George felt a strange tightness in his chest. He wanted to cry almost. Here he was, choking the life out of somebody, and he had somehow justified this to himself. He looked at the kid on the other end of his arms, and he saw somebody desperately fighting to survive, just like him. He had to turn away his face, and focus on nothing but squeezing. Even when the hits stopped, and the kid's arms hung limply at his side, George kept squeezing.
At least a couple more minutes passed before he finally drew up the courage to take a peek at the person he had grabbed hold of. The look on Dustin's face told him everything that he needed to know. The kid was dead, and he had killed him. It took a little bit of work to pull his hands free of Dustin's throat. The kid fell back into the water with a quiet plish, there were a few ripples, and then the body was still, bobbing up and down in the mucky water.
"I...I..." Stepping back onto the dry land, George sat for a moment and stared into space. He'd thought that it would be so easy, but then the truth of the matter hit him: he'd killed somebody, purposefully and consciously. It just seemed so easy in the movies. Indy would shrug and shoot someone dead without even blinking, and everyone calls him a hero. So why did he feel like absolute scum?
His palms were so sore now, and flexing his fingers was painful. It took a great force of will for him to even move, but he had to. The kid had a weapon, and he needed a weapon. Slowly, carefully, trying not to look at his victim's eyes, George crept out into the water again and removed Dustin's sheath and sword, outfitting his own belt with it. Forcing himself to focus on the sword's shape, he noticed that it looked distinctly foreign. As he sloshed back out of the water, he also noticed Dustin's guitar lying where he had dropped it when he was surprised. Casting a glance back at the dead man in the water, he slung the thing over his shoulder as well. He could always use it for a club or something.
"Sorry, man..." George said, and proceeded to switch out the rocks he'd carefully accrued with the contents of Dustin's bag. He wouldn't be needing them, right? George laughed at the thought, but it lacked any actual humor. He had begun a dark venture, and there was no turning back now. The announcement tomorrow would seal his fate, and there was nothing he would be able to do about it. Might as well just go with the flow and accept one's role in life. George would be sure to play his new role to the fullest.
(George Leidman continued elsewhere)
Dustin kept flailing desperately, trying his hardest to get free. What the fuck? This still didn't make any sense.
It didn't have to, though. He was being held under the water, and his throat was being constricted. He was being suffocated two ways. It was rather redundant. That didn't really seem amusing to him, though. He was losing coherency. He was becoming increasingly unable to focus on anything. His resistance was lessening.
Everything went black.
The strangling continued for a while, ensuring that Dustin wouldn't wake up again later.
B027, Dustin Royal: DECEASED
It didn't have to, though. He was being held under the water, and his throat was being constricted. He was being suffocated two ways. It was rather redundant. That didn't really seem amusing to him, though. He was losing coherency. He was becoming increasingly unable to focus on anything. His resistance was lessening.
Everything went black.
The strangling continued for a while, ensuring that Dustin wouldn't wake up again later.
B027, Dustin Royal: DECEASED