>> Bang.
It was the sound, Nia thought, more than the recoil, that jolted her with every press of the trigger.
Her firearm knowledge, as always, was woefully inadequate for the situation at hand, but she was vaguely aware that recreational shooters wore earplugs for a reason. The repeated explosions so close to her face could not possibly be doing much good for the continued integrity of her eardrums, but if she were to make it out of this situation alive frankly a bit of hearing damage would be the least of her problems. Such things could be dealt with.
She'd usually found the quiet welcome.
Perched on the rocks by the waterfall, positioned as hidden from potential gunfire as she could hope to be, her bags covering her flank. The space was too wide to secure, too loud between the shots and the falls themselves to set up a useful noise trap. Her head poked up from the rocks, occasionally, as she readjusted, or as she took a small bite out of the apple she'd designated as lunch, and she supposed that, theoretically, a patient and skilled opponent could shoot her in those moments. But even her taste of absolute safety hadn't been safe, not really, nothing ever was, her eyes darted every time she remembered, but there was nothing. Nothing.
Nothing except in the scope of her rifle. Not students, no. She'd seen one figure, once, human, but too risky. The wrong person might well decide that it was worth the effort to trace the bullet toward its location, if she didn't incapacitate them with the first one. And she wouldn't.
What Nia had learned in the half an hour or so she'd been here was that she was a terrible shot.
That was what practice was for, though. Wildlife was plentiful. Goats. Monkeys. A bird, once, when she felt like wasting a bullet. Most of her time had been spent waiting, repositioning, waiting again, waiting for a target to stop moving, frustration, gnashing teeth, chewing on her lip. She hated this. The two times she'd clipped a goat, seen it run away bleeding, the one time she'd actually hit a monkey center of mass and watched it fall helplessly out of a tree, those rushes of satisfaction were absolutely not worth the failures in between.
She didn't have time to become good enough at this for it to be worth it. That was the simple fact of the matter. That, and that there was nothing she hated more in the world than being forced to perform tasks she had no talent in.
The sunk cost fallacy stated that past investments justified further expenses. Once a project was begun, it was difficult to admit your time and effort was wasted and scrap the entire enterprise even when that's clearly the correct choice. Nia's knowledge of the sunk cost fallacy in this situation only went so far as to convince her she might as well take a break. She leaned against her bag, blinking rapidly, readjusting to normal vision before her eyes landed on something rather unexpected.
Intuition, maybe, or good fortune. It didn't matter. PIstol in her hand, she waited.
Mauerbauertraurigkeit
The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like—as if all your social tastebuds suddenly went numb, leaving you unable to distinguish cheap politeness from the taste of genuine affection, unable to recognize its rich and ambiguous flavors, its long and delicate maturation, or the simple fact that each tasting is double-blind. [Private]
Mauerbauertraurigkeit
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
((Aoi Mishima Continued from Applied Prisoner's Dilemma))
Aoi was a small boy. Really, a small boy. A body like his didn't need much. He'd been in the habit of skipping meals, back in school--better than sitting alone, was skipping meals, sometimes, and always better than eating in the unsanitary hellhole that was the boy's bathroom, and sometimes there were things that were more important than his body to skip meals for. Tests, homework, lab reports.
And before you ask: yes, that was still important here. It was still going to be important if he ever got off this island. The word of a group of terrorists wasn't about to change his mind. This wasn't the real world.
He wasn't going to give in, no matter how much his stomach tried to digest his insides. He was stronger than his stomach.
Where was he again?
...
He needed to go back to the woods. He didn't have a good reason for it, not one he could articulate--he remembered it was terribly important, though, but there really wasn't a good reason to, not one he could tell Garren. Not unless...unless...
...
He needed an excuse to show Garren the map. He could barely remember what was in the map, but one step at a time, now. He looked around. He was looking for something. He was looking for anythin--no, he was looking for cameras.
Waterfall. Nobody would ever believe him if he said he felt lost and wanted to check. Although...
Goddammit, his stomach really wanted to have its way with him.
There were footprints in the moss in front of him.
"Garren." He spoke softly, his voice low. He'd kept the talking to a minimum--some sense of needing to conserve himself, combined with a sense of secrecy, had kept his tongue still. This warranted speech, though. He pointed at the footprints.
"We need to see. If they...if they're bad. On the list, I mean. For food."
He couldn't think. Or he could think but he couldn't focus, like his thoughts were still there but he couldn't make sense of them. Too gnawed-upon.
Aoi was a small boy. Really, a small boy. A body like his didn't need much. He'd been in the habit of skipping meals, back in school--better than sitting alone, was skipping meals, sometimes, and always better than eating in the unsanitary hellhole that was the boy's bathroom, and sometimes there were things that were more important than his body to skip meals for. Tests, homework, lab reports.
And before you ask: yes, that was still important here. It was still going to be important if he ever got off this island. The word of a group of terrorists wasn't about to change his mind. This wasn't the real world.
He wasn't going to give in, no matter how much his stomach tried to digest his insides. He was stronger than his stomach.
Where was he again?
...
He needed to go back to the woods. He didn't have a good reason for it, not one he could articulate--he remembered it was terribly important, though, but there really wasn't a good reason to, not one he could tell Garren. Not unless...unless...
...
He needed an excuse to show Garren the map. He could barely remember what was in the map, but one step at a time, now. He looked around. He was looking for something. He was looking for anythin--no, he was looking for cameras.
Waterfall. Nobody would ever believe him if he said he felt lost and wanted to check. Although...
Goddammit, his stomach really wanted to have its way with him.
There were footprints in the moss in front of him.
"Garren." He spoke softly, his voice low. He'd kept the talking to a minimum--some sense of needing to conserve himself, combined with a sense of secrecy, had kept his tongue still. This warranted speech, though. He pointed at the footprints.
"We need to see. If they...if they're bad. On the list, I mean. For food."
He couldn't think. Or he could think but he couldn't focus, like his thoughts were still there but he couldn't make sense of them. Too gnawed-upon.
((Garren Mortimer continued from Applied Prisoners Dilemma))
They’d made it. Just about.
‘Made it’, of course, referred to the fact that they were both alive and kicking after a full day of wandering and running about in damp clothes, hunger gnawing at their insides, and only some shitty stale bread to try and sate that need. They didn’t even have that to fill their stomachs anymore, and they hadn’t bumped into anybody at all since leaving the art exhibition. With every second that passed, that ‘made it’ could very easily stop applying in the blink of an eye.
But goddamnit, the odds had been stacked so fucking high against them they were blotting out the sun, forgive him for celebrating for a hot fucking second.
They really did need to find somebody soon, though. Garren had never really gone a day hungry in his life before; he’d never mentioned it, or even really tried to think too hard about it before, because God knows that wasn’t part of his asshole brand, but he’d always been thankful for that fact. Plenty of people who weren’t lucky enough to be able to just wander into the kitchen and grab a bag of Cheetos if they were hungry, for whatever reason. Even other kids at school, no doubt.
But all that meant now was that the pangs of hunger were stabbing him real fucking hard, so unused to them was he. They needed to shake things up a little, here. Picking a direction and following it had worked to an extent, but all it had led to was this stretch of woodland overlooking the waterfall and lake below. Not exactly a hotbed of friendly activity. Garren’s plan of attack was simple; they’d check out the map, pick somewhere that looked like it’d draw a crowd, and head thatta way.
He turned to mention this to Aoi, but it seemed as though the guy had his own point to make. A literal point, no less. Cause he was… cause he was pointing, physically, with his finge-ah, forget it, you probably had to be there.
Anyway.
Garren grimaced, ran a hand through his hair, then grimaced again, wiping the layer of grease off his palm and onto his jeans. Eesh. That was another thing, wasn’t it? People weren’t just gonna be hanging out, all out in the open, were they? People were gonna be hiding and hunkering down, trying to avoid any human contact, which, yeah, he got it, people out here could be fucking batshit insane, and they’d been doing the exact same thing up until Parker had proven himself as trustworthy as the ‘Diamond 2 Smurf Vayne One-trick’ in your promo games. But having to scavenge food off of people they could see and people they couldn’t see was gonna get right on his goddamn tits.
He exhaled through his nose, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, Umaru-chan’s face stretching across his torso. All they had to go on was a set of footprints, and either the person who’d left them was long gone, or they were hiding with good reason to hide. Disturbing the camping spot of a nervous wreck with a twitchy trigger finger, or walking headfirst into some bitchass player’s ambush would be a real bullshit way to go out.
But Christ, what other choice did they have? They were running on empty and inches away from the end. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Yeah, I know,” Garren muttered. “All right. Let’s check them out. Fingers fucking crossed they’re open to negotiation.”
They’d made it. Just about.
‘Made it’, of course, referred to the fact that they were both alive and kicking after a full day of wandering and running about in damp clothes, hunger gnawing at their insides, and only some shitty stale bread to try and sate that need. They didn’t even have that to fill their stomachs anymore, and they hadn’t bumped into anybody at all since leaving the art exhibition. With every second that passed, that ‘made it’ could very easily stop applying in the blink of an eye.
But goddamnit, the odds had been stacked so fucking high against them they were blotting out the sun, forgive him for celebrating for a hot fucking second.
They really did need to find somebody soon, though. Garren had never really gone a day hungry in his life before; he’d never mentioned it, or even really tried to think too hard about it before, because God knows that wasn’t part of his asshole brand, but he’d always been thankful for that fact. Plenty of people who weren’t lucky enough to be able to just wander into the kitchen and grab a bag of Cheetos if they were hungry, for whatever reason. Even other kids at school, no doubt.
But all that meant now was that the pangs of hunger were stabbing him real fucking hard, so unused to them was he. They needed to shake things up a little, here. Picking a direction and following it had worked to an extent, but all it had led to was this stretch of woodland overlooking the waterfall and lake below. Not exactly a hotbed of friendly activity. Garren’s plan of attack was simple; they’d check out the map, pick somewhere that looked like it’d draw a crowd, and head thatta way.
He turned to mention this to Aoi, but it seemed as though the guy had his own point to make. A literal point, no less. Cause he was… cause he was pointing, physically, with his finge-ah, forget it, you probably had to be there.
Anyway.
Garren grimaced, ran a hand through his hair, then grimaced again, wiping the layer of grease off his palm and onto his jeans. Eesh. That was another thing, wasn’t it? People weren’t just gonna be hanging out, all out in the open, were they? People were gonna be hiding and hunkering down, trying to avoid any human contact, which, yeah, he got it, people out here could be fucking batshit insane, and they’d been doing the exact same thing up until Parker had proven himself as trustworthy as the ‘Diamond 2 Smurf Vayne One-trick’ in your promo games. But having to scavenge food off of people they could see and people they couldn’t see was gonna get right on his goddamn tits.
He exhaled through his nose, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, Umaru-chan’s face stretching across his torso. All they had to go on was a set of footprints, and either the person who’d left them was long gone, or they were hiding with good reason to hide. Disturbing the camping spot of a nervous wreck with a twitchy trigger finger, or walking headfirst into some bitchass player’s ambush would be a real bullshit way to go out.
But Christ, what other choice did they have? They were running on empty and inches away from the end. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Yeah, I know,” Garren muttered. “All right. Let’s check them out. Fingers fucking crossed they’re open to negotiation.”
"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
Aoi held up a hand. They didn't want to be foolish. And they were being foolish because...
Plan.
Not that this was the time to cast aspersions on Garren's ability to plan. Plans didn't really do you much good when even you couldn't make sense of them. One step at a time was all Aoi could fit in his head at the moment. God, he hoped this didn't stick. How did stupid people take feeling like this all the time? It was like driving in the fog.
At any rate, this step felt wrong.
"What happens," he said, "if they're not?"
He motioned towards his frying pan. Raised his eyebrows.
Things felt a little more right.
Plan.
Not that this was the time to cast aspersions on Garren's ability to plan. Plans didn't really do you much good when even you couldn't make sense of them. One step at a time was all Aoi could fit in his head at the moment. God, he hoped this didn't stick. How did stupid people take feeling like this all the time? It was like driving in the fog.
At any rate, this step felt wrong.
"What happens," he said, "if they're not?"
He motioned towards his frying pan. Raised his eyebrows.
Things felt a little more right.
Garren looked down at the frying pan Aoi was holding, a tool masquerading as a weapon, just like his own pickaroon hanging by his side, just like the two tools holding them were masquerading as more than they were. Ba-dum-freaking-tish. The threat was still there from both tools though. A heavy blunt object. A length of wood with a spike. Both of those things raised up just a little higher than usual communicated their points perfectly.
He sighed. He knew exactly what his stance on this matter was gonna be. Logic and reason dictated it was a poor one, especially given their current lack of any food supplies. There was around a 200% chance that Aoi “Mr.-200-IQ-Redditor-destroys-liberals-with-facts-and-logic” Mishima was gonna reject it because of that.
Fuck it, he had to try anyway. He’d acknowledged this on the first day; doing things right was pretty much always gonna take him down the hardest path.
“No,” Garren said, voice low but firm. He shook his head, and pushed the frying pan away with his free hand.
“We can’t just, like, become this pack of robbers or muggers or whatever, no matter how shitty our situation is. That’s the sorta shit people expect of the Carters, or, or one of the other meathead mouth breathers on the football team. Or, losers like us, on the first day. And, like, regardless of that, you know what the first thing that’s gonna happen after we threaten someone and steal their shit? They’re gonna fuck off, run into a big ol’ group of people, and tell them all that Garren Mortimer and Aoi Mishima are running around and mugging people. And then, sure, we’ll have food, but we’ll be back on square fucking one when it comes to how everybody’s gonna approach us. We can’t let our names get dragged through the mud again.”
He paused, scratching his chin.
“And we sure as fuck aren’t gonna try and mug somebody with a gun, cause then they’re gonna drag our lifeless goddamn bodies through the mud instead.”
He sighed. He knew exactly what his stance on this matter was gonna be. Logic and reason dictated it was a poor one, especially given their current lack of any food supplies. There was around a 200% chance that Aoi “Mr.-200-IQ-Redditor-destroys-liberals-with-facts-and-logic” Mishima was gonna reject it because of that.
Fuck it, he had to try anyway. He’d acknowledged this on the first day; doing things right was pretty much always gonna take him down the hardest path.
“No,” Garren said, voice low but firm. He shook his head, and pushed the frying pan away with his free hand.
“We can’t just, like, become this pack of robbers or muggers or whatever, no matter how shitty our situation is. That’s the sorta shit people expect of the Carters, or, or one of the other meathead mouth breathers on the football team. Or, losers like us, on the first day. And, like, regardless of that, you know what the first thing that’s gonna happen after we threaten someone and steal their shit? They’re gonna fuck off, run into a big ol’ group of people, and tell them all that Garren Mortimer and Aoi Mishima are running around and mugging people. And then, sure, we’ll have food, but we’ll be back on square fucking one when it comes to how everybody’s gonna approach us. We can’t let our names get dragged through the mud again.”
He paused, scratching his chin.
“And we sure as fuck aren’t gonna try and mug somebody with a gun, cause then they’re gonna drag our lifeless goddamn bodies through the mud instead.”
"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
Garren didn't get it. He didn't not get it in the way that Aoi would usually say people didn't get things, but still, he definitely didn't get it.
"You misunderstand me."
Good to know Aoi was still capable of remembering how to use words like "misunderstand." Not that that was a particularly fancy word or that using fancy words was even a major achievement, but it was reassuring. At least he knew he was capable of that much even when at minimum functioning capacity.
"Of course we can't be...you know...whatever you were saying. That would be. Neither of us want to fall to that level, I think. But what if we just. Don't find anyone who wants to share? It wouldn't exactly be unreasonable of them to not want to. And I don't think we should take from them. But if they deserve it. If they're Parker, or Carter. If they don't see us coming."
Aoi hoped he was making sense. He needed Garren to see sense. They both needed to get out of this alive, if either of them were going to get out of this alive. And they needed to do it without destroying the only thing holding them together.
"You misunderstand me."
Good to know Aoi was still capable of remembering how to use words like "misunderstand." Not that that was a particularly fancy word or that using fancy words was even a major achievement, but it was reassuring. At least he knew he was capable of that much even when at minimum functioning capacity.
"Of course we can't be...you know...whatever you were saying. That would be. Neither of us want to fall to that level, I think. But what if we just. Don't find anyone who wants to share? It wouldn't exactly be unreasonable of them to not want to. And I don't think we should take from them. But if they deserve it. If they're Parker, or Carter. If they don't see us coming."
Aoi hoped he was making sense. He needed Garren to see sense. They both needed to get out of this alive, if either of them were going to get out of this alive. And they needed to do it without destroying the only thing holding them together.
He was silent for a moment.
He understood Aoi’s point better now, with the extra little bit of prompting and prodding. But he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. His whole plan revolved around one thing; doing what was right and doing what was good, no matter what happened and no matter how hard it got, in the hopes that the time-worn saying of ‘what goes around comes around’ came true. Kindergarten shit, really. Don’t be a dick, people won’t be a dick to you.
But where did hurting people who hurt other people come into the equation? Surely that still meant they were doing the right thing, right? Stealing from Quinn or Erika, maybe giving them a little percussive persuasion in the process, that was taking from a murderer. You could justify that, easy peasy. But doing the same to Parker? He had put them at a disadvantage, sure. But he hadn’t killed them. Here they both were, still alive. He was a pathetic waste of space, a worthless slimy little tiny dicked bitch, and a stupid motherfucker who deserved a slap. But he’d left them enough food to live for another day and find salvation.
The Carters hadn’t even been on the announcement. Pegging them as being the bad guys before they’d even done anything was exactly what people would have been doing with him.
Garren looked at the ground, realising that he didn’t have an answer for Aoi.
“We… Let’s see who it is, yeah? Who it is and how they’re acting and whether they notice us and… take into account all the factors in front of us.”
His head came up, and he looked straight into Aoi’s eyes.
“Then we decide on how we act.”
He understood Aoi’s point better now, with the extra little bit of prompting and prodding. But he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. His whole plan revolved around one thing; doing what was right and doing what was good, no matter what happened and no matter how hard it got, in the hopes that the time-worn saying of ‘what goes around comes around’ came true. Kindergarten shit, really. Don’t be a dick, people won’t be a dick to you.
But where did hurting people who hurt other people come into the equation? Surely that still meant they were doing the right thing, right? Stealing from Quinn or Erika, maybe giving them a little percussive persuasion in the process, that was taking from a murderer. You could justify that, easy peasy. But doing the same to Parker? He had put them at a disadvantage, sure. But he hadn’t killed them. Here they both were, still alive. He was a pathetic waste of space, a worthless slimy little tiny dicked bitch, and a stupid motherfucker who deserved a slap. But he’d left them enough food to live for another day and find salvation.
The Carters hadn’t even been on the announcement. Pegging them as being the bad guys before they’d even done anything was exactly what people would have been doing with him.
Garren looked at the ground, realising that he didn’t have an answer for Aoi.
“We… Let’s see who it is, yeah? Who it is and how they’re acting and whether they notice us and… take into account all the factors in front of us.”
His head came up, and he looked straight into Aoi’s eyes.
“Then we decide on how we act.”
"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
No, no. Okay, that one was actually, without a doubt, 100% verifiably stupid. You can't just make it up on the fly when you're talking about killers, when the quantities you're working with are life and death, and while there wasn't much getting through to Aoi right now, he was pretty sure the people following along at home would be falling over themselves with laughter if Aoi Mishima got himself killed because he'd decided that it was a good idea to make a plan for a situation after entering the situation and oh no it's Wyatt Carter with a gun quick let's figure out what to--oh NO he's spotted us wait why's he put the gun down and oh shit he's charging us why are you punching yourself Aoi why are you punching yourself why are your brains smeared all over your fist Aoi and everyone at home including Aoi's parents would be slapping their knees and laughing haha Aoi you are such a nerd. And a dumb one at that.
"That's...what? No. That's suicidal. We need a plan. We don't need a plan for if they're good and want to share, and we don't need a plan if they're good and don't want to share, but if they were on the announcements, if they're a...like, Wyatt, we need to know who we need to run from, and who we might be able to steal from who deserves it, we're..."
We're doing it for the greater good, he was going to say. But the words died in his throat. Because here was someone who had instantly made all the plans they could have come up with useless. Here was someone he couldn't plan against, even if she hadn't been watching them for who knows how long.
He hadn't been surprised to hear that she had killed. Too many good reasons to. Logical reasons, too. And she was too smart not to have taken the logical choice. In a way, he would've been disappointed to not hear her pop up at least once.
It could still have been self defense. Maybe proactive self defense. Those weren't unlikely options, actually, so it wasn't just wishful thinking. He'd be a fool to assume that way, though.
"Garren. Look over there."
His voice wasn't a whisper anymore. Nothing to hide when you have nowhere to hide.
"That's...what? No. That's suicidal. We need a plan. We don't need a plan for if they're good and want to share, and we don't need a plan if they're good and don't want to share, but if they were on the announcements, if they're a...like, Wyatt, we need to know who we need to run from, and who we might be able to steal from who deserves it, we're..."
We're doing it for the greater good, he was going to say. But the words died in his throat. Because here was someone who had instantly made all the plans they could have come up with useless. Here was someone he couldn't plan against, even if she hadn't been watching them for who knows how long.
He hadn't been surprised to hear that she had killed. Too many good reasons to. Logical reasons, too. And she was too smart not to have taken the logical choice. In a way, he would've been disappointed to not hear her pop up at least once.
It could still have been self defense. Maybe proactive self defense. Those weren't unlikely options, actually, so it wasn't just wishful thinking. He'd be a fool to assume that way, though.
"Garren. Look over there."
His voice wasn't a whisper anymore. Nothing to hide when you have nowhere to hide.
Garren’s brow furrowed, and he glowered at Aoi. Alright, alright, he fucking got it, storming in on someone without a plan for any occasion was a bad idea. When you put it like “What if we walk up to Marco or Quinn and then shove our hands in our pockets as we figure out what to do as they stab us until we look like a goddamn colander”, then, yeah, it didn’t sound like a good plan anymore! He was trying, okay? All right? He was trying to think on his fucking feet with next to nothing in his bag. That would be a fucking Herculean task even without the maniacs running round with guns and knives and chainsaws.
‘You do it,’ he wanted to say. ‘You come up with the plan, then, if you’re so fucking smart’. And again and again and again, in another universe, another version of Garren would have said all of that and more.
But here, right now, in this universe, in this world, on this island, this Garren Mortimer said nothing, and just looked away. Neither of them had any idea what to do. Both of them were hungry and cold and dealing with an impossible goddamn situation. Being short with each other was to be expected. Wanting to ensure safety at any given moment, cause the slightest wrong move could mean horrible painful death, was also expected.
You had to deal with that if you wanted yourself and the people around you to survive. You had to change your standards and your expectations. This wasn’t school any more. You had to grit your teeth, grin and bear it, and push on through the stress.
In the quieter moments, at camp, at rest, Garren hoped they’d all understand the same, and they’d all be able to work together once more.
He finally opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again, almost immediately. He followed Aoi’s gaze, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach like a goddamn anchor. Never could be easy, could it? Garren wanted God to know, if He was listening, that He was a dick. Like, nothing personal or anything, he hoped He wouldn’t be super offended, but like, look at this, dude. This divine joke was fucking unfair.
“Hey, Nia,” Garren said, speaking slowly, keeping as much space between him and the girl as he could. Y’know, if Nia hadn’t gone and murdered somebody, this would have been the perfect meetup. Neither of them were conversationalists; she was mute, he spilled spaghetti all over the place whenever he tried to talk to a girl. Match made in heaven, really.
But she had killed. And she’d been rewarded for it too.
“We were… just heading off.”
He glanced at his ally.
“Right, Aoi?”
‘You do it,’ he wanted to say. ‘You come up with the plan, then, if you’re so fucking smart’. And again and again and again, in another universe, another version of Garren would have said all of that and more.
But here, right now, in this universe, in this world, on this island, this Garren Mortimer said nothing, and just looked away. Neither of them had any idea what to do. Both of them were hungry and cold and dealing with an impossible goddamn situation. Being short with each other was to be expected. Wanting to ensure safety at any given moment, cause the slightest wrong move could mean horrible painful death, was also expected.
You had to deal with that if you wanted yourself and the people around you to survive. You had to change your standards and your expectations. This wasn’t school any more. You had to grit your teeth, grin and bear it, and push on through the stress.
In the quieter moments, at camp, at rest, Garren hoped they’d all understand the same, and they’d all be able to work together once more.
He finally opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again, almost immediately. He followed Aoi’s gaze, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach like a goddamn anchor. Never could be easy, could it? Garren wanted God to know, if He was listening, that He was a dick. Like, nothing personal or anything, he hoped He wouldn’t be super offended, but like, look at this, dude. This divine joke was fucking unfair.
“Hey, Nia,” Garren said, speaking slowly, keeping as much space between him and the girl as he could. Y’know, if Nia hadn’t gone and murdered somebody, this would have been the perfect meetup. Neither of them were conversationalists; she was mute, he spilled spaghetti all over the place whenever he tried to talk to a girl. Match made in heaven, really.
But she had killed. And she’d been rewarded for it too.
“We were… just heading off.”
He glanced at his ally.
“Right, Aoi?”
"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
Interesting.
Nia thought to come down from her rock, if only for the sake of politeness, but it seemed rather disadvantageous to give up the high ground even when the difference it made was likely minimal. A quick scan of the interlopers confirmed quite easily that she had nothing to fear from them. No firearms, hardly any belongings between them. A slow, shuffling gait. Their faces pale. Hollow, perhaps. Dark circles, dry voices. Some misfortune has befallen them, she supposed. It was technically possible that they had simply been careless, that they had failed to properly ration their supplies and had ran out two or three days in, but. But.
But, she had forgotten, hadn't she? It was funny, wasn't it? How something so important could slip her mind. Careless, really. Slipping. Always slipping. She knew.
The boy who spoke to her was a mystery. No one of any importance, at least not enough that a name came to mind when she looked at him, but his companion. She knew.
The past followed her. Hand on her shoulder. The angel of death.
She had forgotten about him.
"AOI."
She had to drop the pistol to sign. She had named him years ago, a simple spelling of his three-letter name over her right eye. For his glasses. Perhaps the kindest of the epithets she had come up with over the years, though only because he was too physically dull for her to work with, and anyway he was so irritatingly prickly that he'd likely take offense to anything remotely off-color.
Aoi Mishima was not a friend, no. He was something, certainly. In much the way Parker was, though that was to give him too much credit, considering how many conversations she had had with Parker over the years. He was intelligent. He knew many things, though he was stifled the same way she was by a reliance of the theoretical over the practical, which sorely limited the amount he had to teach her, particularly considering his field of interest lay quite close to her own. Jeremiah had always seemed to like him, for reasons she could never quite understand; when they spent time together it was in a group of three, every time. It had been tolerable. Time with Jeremiah had never been worse than tolerable.
Never again. Any of it.
How dare he.
"HELLO."
They could just head off, if they wanted, truly, but.
Names on a list, added, replaced, crossed off. One by one.
She knew.
Nia thought to come down from her rock, if only for the sake of politeness, but it seemed rather disadvantageous to give up the high ground even when the difference it made was likely minimal. A quick scan of the interlopers confirmed quite easily that she had nothing to fear from them. No firearms, hardly any belongings between them. A slow, shuffling gait. Their faces pale. Hollow, perhaps. Dark circles, dry voices. Some misfortune has befallen them, she supposed. It was technically possible that they had simply been careless, that they had failed to properly ration their supplies and had ran out two or three days in, but. But.
But, she had forgotten, hadn't she? It was funny, wasn't it? How something so important could slip her mind. Careless, really. Slipping. Always slipping. She knew.
The boy who spoke to her was a mystery. No one of any importance, at least not enough that a name came to mind when she looked at him, but his companion. She knew.
The past followed her. Hand on her shoulder. The angel of death.
She had forgotten about him.
"AOI."
She had to drop the pistol to sign. She had named him years ago, a simple spelling of his three-letter name over her right eye. For his glasses. Perhaps the kindest of the epithets she had come up with over the years, though only because he was too physically dull for her to work with, and anyway he was so irritatingly prickly that he'd likely take offense to anything remotely off-color.
Aoi Mishima was not a friend, no. He was something, certainly. In much the way Parker was, though that was to give him too much credit, considering how many conversations she had had with Parker over the years. He was intelligent. He knew many things, though he was stifled the same way she was by a reliance of the theoretical over the practical, which sorely limited the amount he had to teach her, particularly considering his field of interest lay quite close to her own. Jeremiah had always seemed to like him, for reasons she could never quite understand; when they spent time together it was in a group of three, every time. It had been tolerable. Time with Jeremiah had never been worse than tolerable.
Never again. Any of it.
How dare he.
"HELLO."
They could just head off, if they wanted, truly, but.
Names on a list, added, replaced, crossed off. One by one.
She knew.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"HELLO."
In another timeline, maybe. Probably not, though. Neither of them had ever had time for somthing as useless as romance. It would've been a waste.
Of course, this wasn't coloring Aoi's opinions or anything of the sort. Yes, he knows how stupid this looks. To everyone at home, and to Garren. But this wasn't trust--or, at least, not trust in the usual sense.
"KILL--HIM--WHY?"
He was definitely out of practice, or maybe he just found it hard to hold on to anything right now. He was pretty sure he was still intelligible, though.
"YOU--DO--WHAT? WATCH--US?"
Any other situation and he would've called himself an idiot for giving her the benefit of the doubt, but he wasn't trusting her not to betray him, or even trusting her to act like herself. What he trusted was this: despite having all the time in the world to line up a shot, she hadn't put one through them yet.
One way or the other, he wasn't going to die of starvation.
In another timeline, maybe. Probably not, though. Neither of them had ever had time for somthing as useless as romance. It would've been a waste.
Of course, this wasn't coloring Aoi's opinions or anything of the sort. Yes, he knows how stupid this looks. To everyone at home, and to Garren. But this wasn't trust--or, at least, not trust in the usual sense.
"KILL--HIM--WHY?"
He was definitely out of practice, or maybe he just found it hard to hold on to anything right now. He was pretty sure he was still intelligible, though.
"YOU--DO--WHAT? WATCH--US?"
Any other situation and he would've called himself an idiot for giving her the benefit of the doubt, but he wasn't trusting her not to betray him, or even trusting her to act like herself. What he trusted was this: despite having all the time in the world to line up a shot, she hadn't put one through them yet.
One way or the other, he wasn't going to die of starvation.
Poised, in an artificial sense. Not an unfamiliar look on him. He was the sort to avoid showing weakness at all costs, one of few things he and Jeremiah had had in common. The difference was in their expression of such, Jeremiah in sullen silence, Aoi burying any perceived faults in words, excuses, noise, literal or figurative. No noise now, though. Nia supposed in his current state Aoi had neither the time nor energy to carry on a proper conversation. It was an improvement. It could be worse.
Straight to the irrelevant point, wasn't he. She could go through the motions. She could shoot him and watch him die. She could do anything she wanted.
She was curious, though. She could wait a moment longer.
"I--WANT." Her apple placed gently on her bag, freeing her hands. "NO--OTHER--REASON." Honesty would take too long.
"I--SIT. I--EAT. YOU--COME. YOU--INTRUDE. YOU--DO WHAT?" She emphasized his words in return, raising an eyebrow.
"YOU--WANT--SOMETHING?"
As if she didn't know the answer. She picked the apple up and took another bite, a crisp punctuation mark.
Straight to the irrelevant point, wasn't he. She could go through the motions. She could shoot him and watch him die. She could do anything she wanted.
She was curious, though. She could wait a moment longer.
"I--WANT." Her apple placed gently on her bag, freeing her hands. "NO--OTHER--REASON." Honesty would take too long.
"I--SIT. I--EAT. YOU--COME. YOU--INTRUDE. YOU--DO WHAT?" She emphasized his words in return, raising an eyebrow.
"YOU--WANT--SOMETHING?"
As if she didn't know the answer. She picked the apple up and took another bite, a crisp punctuation mark.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Why wasn't she bothering with an excuse? Was she trying to scare them off? But then why the offer of food? Thinking about the answers to all three of these questions hurt, but Aoi was pretty sure there was some sort of contradiction there.
He was tempted to write her off as having simply gone mad.
No, this was stupid, this sounds stupid, he knows, but hear him out. If Nia wanted them dead, she would've killed them already. What she was doing here didn't really make any sense, but he was sure of that. So she didn't want to.
Still.
...
He folded some sheets of paper in the map, handed them to Garren. "Take this."
To Nia: "MAYBE."
What was she doing?
He was tempted to write her off as having simply gone mad.
No, this was stupid, this sounds stupid, he knows, but hear him out. If Nia wanted them dead, she would've killed them already. What she was doing here didn't really make any sense, but he was sure of that. So she didn't want to.
Still.
...
He folded some sheets of paper in the map, handed them to Garren. "Take this."
To Nia: "MAYBE."
What was she doing?
Maybe.
It was infuriating, or it would be, if she cared more. For all the differences between him and Parker, Nia at least believed she could trust Aoi to act with some level of rationality. She supposed considering his current state, his alliance with an unknown quantity (she frankly couldn't imagine him willingly partnering with anyone outside of as an act of desperation), she could perhaps forgive his mistakes. She herself had made an error in judgment that would have been fatal had someone come along to take advantage of it, not too long ago. She could understand.
But she wouldn't forgive herself, either.
She could kill him. She could have killed him, before he'd noticed she was there. She could kill him right now, this moment or the next one, for any reason she wanted. Because he refused to make sense, because he had annoyed her, because he had dared to wander into her territory at all, because he hadn't dropped to his knees in prostration and offered her whatever meager possessions she still had, not that that was something she particularly wanted even if it would have been funny. It would have showed something, at least. Some need to hang onto life. Some desire. Some acknowledgement of the situation he was in.
He was desperate, yes, and still he had no sense of self-preservation. That was infuriating. Bill all over. She expected better. Why did she expect anything? What did it accomplish? She buried herself, again. She glanced at his companion. Whoever he was. He looked like he wanted to run. A flicker of intelligence, maybe.
Another bite of her apple.
"WHO--YOUR--FRIEND?" Her movements were robotic, unemotional, bored, she was bored, wasn't she, the ending had already been written and she was forced to play the scene to its conclusion regardless. She had never liked Aoi. She looked at his face and saw the expressions Jeremiah made in response to his words and she wanted to remove it. That was all it was.
"YOU--BOTH--HUNGRY?"
It was infuriating, or it would be, if she cared more. For all the differences between him and Parker, Nia at least believed she could trust Aoi to act with some level of rationality. She supposed considering his current state, his alliance with an unknown quantity (she frankly couldn't imagine him willingly partnering with anyone outside of as an act of desperation), she could perhaps forgive his mistakes. She herself had made an error in judgment that would have been fatal had someone come along to take advantage of it, not too long ago. She could understand.
But she wouldn't forgive herself, either.
She could kill him. She could have killed him, before he'd noticed she was there. She could kill him right now, this moment or the next one, for any reason she wanted. Because he refused to make sense, because he had annoyed her, because he had dared to wander into her territory at all, because he hadn't dropped to his knees in prostration and offered her whatever meager possessions she still had, not that that was something she particularly wanted even if it would have been funny. It would have showed something, at least. Some need to hang onto life. Some desire. Some acknowledgement of the situation he was in.
He was desperate, yes, and still he had no sense of self-preservation. That was infuriating. Bill all over. She expected better. Why did she expect anything? What did it accomplish? She buried herself, again. She glanced at his companion. Whoever he was. He looked like he wanted to run. A flicker of intelligence, maybe.
Another bite of her apple.
"WHO--YOUR--FRIEND?" Her movements were robotic, unemotional, bored, she was bored, wasn't she, the ending had already been written and she was forced to play the scene to its conclusion regardless. She had never liked Aoi. She looked at his face and saw the expressions Jeremiah made in response to his words and she wanted to remove it. That was all it was.
"YOU--BOTH--HUNGRY?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Nia had no reason to kill them. They had no weapons. They posed no threat. They weren't even particularly likely to survive long enough to pose a problem later on. And Nia had already been on the announcements once. Once was explainable. Two kills, three kills--that was a pattern. Patterns were bad, Aoi was pretty sure. They both liked patterns, but patterns would be bad news for Nia here.
The problem was that he couldn't really think of a reason for her to help them, either. Unless it was because Aoi was a friend. Foolish sentimentality, except having teammates was useful. Here was Aoi, with Garren. Were the extra eyes, muscles, brains, and meat shields worth the loss in food?
Aoi wasn't sure the calculations worked out in her favor, but at least it had a chance of helping Nia. No, there was no reason for Nia to bait them and kill them. She could have killed them already. Why was that important? Oh, right.
Right.
"I'm talking for his benefit," Aoi said out loud, pointing a finger at Garren. "Sorry."
The sound of his own voice spooked him slightly.
"We are very hungry, yes. Thank you for the offer. But why share?"
There was no reason for Nia to kill them. There was every need to take food when it was being offered like this. It was a calculated risk. There was only one option.
Aoi had been wrong before, though he'd hate to admit it. Not this time. He was sure of it. Aoi didn't trust people--he especially respected Nia too much to ever trust her in a situation like this--but trust was logical. Trust made sense. Any possibility which involved Nia betraying his trust didn't make sense. He was sure of it. He was sure of it.
The problem was that he couldn't really think of a reason for her to help them, either. Unless it was because Aoi was a friend. Foolish sentimentality, except having teammates was useful. Here was Aoi, with Garren. Were the extra eyes, muscles, brains, and meat shields worth the loss in food?
Aoi wasn't sure the calculations worked out in her favor, but at least it had a chance of helping Nia. No, there was no reason for Nia to bait them and kill them. She could have killed them already. Why was that important? Oh, right.
Right.
"I'm talking for his benefit," Aoi said out loud, pointing a finger at Garren. "Sorry."
The sound of his own voice spooked him slightly.
"We are very hungry, yes. Thank you for the offer. But why share?"
There was no reason for Nia to kill them. There was every need to take food when it was being offered like this. It was a calculated risk. There was only one option.
Aoi had been wrong before, though he'd hate to admit it. Not this time. He was sure of it. Aoi didn't trust people--he especially respected Nia too much to ever trust her in a situation like this--but trust was logical. Trust made sense. Any possibility which involved Nia betraying his trust didn't make sense. He was sure of it. He was sure of it.