Survival Of The Fittest

If you entered the Hunting Lodge Bar right at this point, you’d hear nothing. Not at first. But, slowly and surely you’d hear it. There were the sounds of rats scurrying about, and of the building setting, and a few noises from outside, but then you’d notice something.

It was muffled by the door to the backroom. And, at first, you’d have a hard time recognizing it. But, maybe you’d stick around for a second, and realize what it was.

A teenage girl crying and hyperventilating and whimpering, occasionally accompanied by a banging noise from the backroom.

The noise of her sobbing, although muffled, filled the silent lounge with each passing second. Maybe someone will come by, who knows? Maybe she’d appreciate it, maybe she wouldn’t. But for now, the sounds from the backroom filled the bar.

[Kyle 'K.' Emerson continued from Blood Simple]

With each step forward, the mace grew heavier. Still K. held it steady as he marched to the shabby building on the edge of town, with the flat end balanced in the palm of his hand by his waist and the pointed end by the side of his head, over his shoulder. It had been a long way around the mountain, and he was ready to sit and rest for a while. It was entirely—

"HE-E-ELP!"

—he chose to ignore that. Anyway, it was entirely possible that there was someone inside who would give him trouble, but K. thought his chances were pretty good. Unless they had a gun. And how many of them could that be?

Maybe there would be something fun inside, he thought, as he got to the door and pulled it open, and a line of rats ran out from the hallway and scurried off away across the dirt path.

"Shit," K. said to himself, "those could've been dinner."

He shook his head and stepped inside. Oh, hey, this was nice. A little eaten, sure, but as far as bars went, this was better than any K. had been to.

"You seeing this shit, Bonnie?" he said, "they even have a pool table."

K. couldn't find any cues, but the balls were still in the pockets. K. decided he'd take the cue ball, so that he'd have first dibs on the next game if the cues ever turned up. And thus he put it in his own pocket, or at least the pocket of the windbreaker, which he had on as a fourth layer of clothing over his own coat.

He couldn't find a plug for the jukebox, either, not that there was any chance there was power for it anyway. As he stepped behind the bar—

*sniffle*

—he chose to ignore that too. Behind the bar, it looked like most of the alcohol was gone? K. had never been in a bar. Maybe that was worth remembering earlier, before he decided to make a comparison. Point being that he didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe there were some in the back? K. wanted to check that room for cues anyway. He walked over to—

bang

—okay, fuck, there was no ignoring that anymore.

K. stepped backwards. He moved so that his back was against the wall, and scanned the room. It didn't look like there was anyone around, but they could be hiding. He brought his mace into ready position, which meant in both hands now, holding it further away from his body. The straps of the duffel bags dug into his shoulders; he had tied them together and put them behind his arms, between his shoulders and his elbows, like two dulled wings. K. tried to keep his own breathing hushed and low as he listened for the sounds again.

And there it was again. Fast, shallow breathing from behind the backroom door. Someone was sobbing.

K. relaxed, the duffel bags drooping lower on his back. This wasn't a trap. It would be a really stupid trap if it was. Now that shouting, earlier, that could have been a trap, but to hole yourself up in a room inaudible from outside and hope your hyperventilation drew people in? Come on, nobody would fall for that, because you'd never get them to show up in the first place. What was way more likely was that this was a person who was sad and upset, which made sense, because he would be too if he woke up inside instead of outdoors like he did. That would be freaky. He could imagine that.

Okay but, stop. You're imagining it, K., you're imagining anything behind that door. It could be a trapped animal, it could be a whole group of people, you don't know until you open the door.

"I know, I know," K. muttered. Then, he took a hand off the mace, curled it into a fist, and banged on the door.

"Hello?" he asked, "is there someone in there? Are you stuck?"

He wouldn't mention the mace. He didn't know what they had.

A few more sniffles and sobs.

Another series of clatter from behind the door.

Then silence.

The girl’s voice murmured from the other side as if she moved closer to the door.

“Who… who’s there? It’s… uh…”

Another sniffle. Another suppressed sob.

“Not stuck... I just… need…”

The voice might have sounded familiar if you spent enough time in the anime club or with the cheerleaders.

The door handle moved for a second. Then stopped, as if in hesitation. Another sniffle.

“Is… is it safe…?”

As K. had spent some time sharing relative physical location with the cheerleaders, and although most of it was spent making really loud sounds that blocked out their voices, he still recognized, faintly, the voice, though he could not put it to a face, nor a name.

"I'm the only one out here," K. said, "my name is K., Emerson. I'm the, uh, section leader for the Clarinets, in the marching band."

Silently, K. resolved to never say that out loud again.

"I have a big pointy club thing, in case anyone armed shows up, but if they have a gun, we're kind of fucked. Unless you have a gun."

Probably not.

“I… uh…”

A sniffle.

“... Have a gun… it’s a musket…I think…”

A beat. A breath. And the door opened a crack. Ashlee Donovan, the Anime Club president and a flyer on the cheer squad, peaked out, her eyes red and puffy. It was a far cry from her usual upbeat and assured personality.

She didn’t know K personally, but the marching band and the cheerleaders did work closely. From what she remembered, he maybe was slightly odd? Kind of on the quiet side of things, if anything. But he didn’t come off as the sort of person who’d…

Ashlee put that thought away. She’d been crying at the thought of her friends dying and how she was in danger for too long. But she attempted to blink out another set of warmth from her eyes.

She wasn’t an expert on guns, but it did look like she had a musket. Apparently, it was something called a “tanegashima.” The name did sound familiar, but she was drawing a blank on where she heard it before in her panic. Although she didn’t know if K could see, it was lying against the wall, next to the rest of her stuff. A few boxes had scattered here and there, partly because she knocked some of them over.

Ashlee looked K over. She attempted to smile.

“Hey K. It’s, uh, Ashlee.”

Oh, Ashlee! Yeah, K. recognized her. She was probably the most human cheerleader, because she did something that was the opposite end of the cool spectrum from cheerleading at the same time. Which meant that she must really like both of those things, to do them at once, and be known for both. It was 2021, but K. didn't trust everyone to deal well with that contradiction. He wasn't even sure that he himself could! All that he knew was that she was still pretty even when she was crying. And smiling.

And, that she had a gun.

But it wasn't a very good gun. K. could see it, even though the room was dark. Just sitting there. Not really worth taking. The mace was one thing, a blunt instrument designed as such. A front loading musket would just be a blunt instrument by I-don't-care-enough-to-figure-out-how-to-use-it that would break in a few hits, so K. didn't want to take it. Ashlee could have it. If she wanted to, she could even be his friend.

"Nice to meet you," K. said, offering his biggest smile, "I mean, you cheer, right? So I've, like, seen you."

It was his first time seeing the collar on somebody else. He had gotten somewhat used to feeling it around his neck—he'd done tighter to himself before, with his belt—and he'd looked at his reflection earlier, but on another person, it looked downright humiliating. And she was crying, too. God.

"Listen, don't get scared by all that stuff they made us watch," he tried, "I'm sure help is on the way. Do you remember if there were other cheerleaders on the trip? Maybe we could try to find them, somehow."

Then he remembered the cue ball in his pocket, and fished it out to show to Ashlee.

"We can also just sit in here. I was trying to find the pool cues, you wouldn't happen to have seen them in there? We could play a round or two, if you're up for it."

((S024: Victor Grail: GAME START))

Victor was feeling ... actually a fuck of a lot better than he should have. Maybe it was because of the two, no wait, three shots he'd had in the past half hour. Either way, Victor wasn't as mad as he had or should have been. He was just looking at the building in front of him.

Heh, fitting.

At least he put his booze away, so it wouldn't slosh anywhere. Mmm.

He opened the door.

"Hey, wassup?" Trademark smirk.

“Ah, yeah, I’m a flyer.”

Ashlee adjusted herself for a second. She took a deep breath. Right. Maybe it was time to pull herself together and fully address the situation. She had friends here–

–she pushed aside another wave–

She had friends here, and maybe they needed her. Maybe she just needed to see them. Maybe those weren’t maybes. Probably not maybes.

“Yeah, I know for a fact some of the other cheerleaders are here… like… Dani, and Ty, and Kelsey, and… A-aracelis… and Rebekah… and Molly… and Ashlyn used to be on the team too…”

She tried to remember if more were going. The cheer squad was, admittedly, an assorted lot. You had people like Dani and Rebekah… and then you have Ty, who some people were intimidated by. Maybe getting a group together in one place would be helpful. She had to also think of the Anime Club, too. People like Wendy, and Cedar, and… and…

So many people. Whether because she knew them from the same activities or she was much closer to them, perhaps both.

Ashlee was about to bring up the Anime Club and ask if K knew if anyone from the marching band were here but flinched when a few crunching noises came from outside, followed by the door slamming open. That was Victor. He was a good athlete, but he had a… reputation. Kind of arrogant, from what she heard. He was one of those people who was appreciated more for his skill rather than his personality, in a way. She had no idea what he was doing.

Yet another breath. She put on her Anime Club President voice, albeit with a bit of a waver. She could feel her limbs still trembling and she suppressed another sniff.

“Hey Victor. K and I are talking things out… we were wondering about people we needed to find, and whether there were any pool cues.”

She didn’t think Victor could actually hurt someone. At least, she hoped so.

Jeez. That was a lot of cheerleaders.

Several thoughts had to be perished. For K.'s part, he couldn't actually remember how many bandos were on the trip. Zhijuan from the trumpet section, he remembered seeing go onto the other bus. And he figured from the numbers on his clothes and bag that both buses were taken. Ingrid, from his own section. But she wasn't so consistent on being a part of the marching side of things. There was maybe also a saxophone player, but generally, there were more people on the trip who were in bands than there were people from the band.

Victor showed up before K. could answer, looking happier than he should, given the circumstances. K. waved at him with the hand holding the mace so that he'd see it and not be surprised. Victor was big, and so far looked to be unarmed. K. knew that none of them, strictly speaking, were weaponless, but also wouldn't be surprised if the big guy got something useless and had decided to just throw hands from then on. So that's why the mace was good, as long as Victor didn't try to rip it away from him.

"Ahoy," K. said, "you didn't happen to see them on your way in, right? The cues."

There was something off about Victor that made K. feel like he hadn't really been paying enough attention. Something familiar about how Victor was smiling, moving, talking. So he'd let him do more of that and then figure out what exactly it was.

K and, and Ashlee, yeah. One of the hot chicks, and ... some guy holding some ... spiked ball thingy. K started talking about some cues, or something that he had neither gotten nor cared to hear.

"Cues? Pfft. Haven't seen any." What the, was there some double entendre? He only chuckled. "Just snow and rocks and this bag on this death game."

Something seemed… off?

Victor was acting weirdly cheerful, even joking about their situation. Ashlee blinked back a few tears. She tried to compose herself.

Maybe… he was drinking? There was probably booze in the bar, after all. Did he sneak back here before K showed up, taking a few drinks while she was crying in the back? She didn’t think it was the cold. Or maybe it was the gas they used on them? It made her feel sleepy, not giddy, but things affect people differently.

Maybe he was cheerful for a di–

Ashlee shook that thought away.

“Uh… right,” she said, clapping forcefully to get herself back on track. “Is… uh… there anyone either of you… y’know… would like to find?”

Maybe it was best to stay here for now, but then again…

The way he continued to talk settled it. K. had seen this before, had even been this before on some occasions. And he got the feeling that, to an extent, he'd like to be that way again, right now, if he was able. Maybe it was just the place getting to him, but it would be nice to have a drink.

"Wait about that," K. said to Ashlee. Then he turned back and looked at—

"Listen, Victor, is it? You got a weapon, or something like that, when you started, right? What is it? Nothing personal, I just don't want to get shot in the back, you know, I could drop something, bend down, then, wham! Dead. And I just want to know that isn't going to happen, to me, alright?"

If K. was right and Victor was drunk, this would work this way; Victor would scoff at the idea of being violent given what he had with him. He'd show them the booze. K. would ask for a drink; and, depending on the answer, K. would either accept the booze or take the booze. He figured he could get all that done and leave before Ashlee figured out how to load the musket, if he had to.

As long as it wasn't a bourbon. Christ, K. hated bourbon.

K asked if he had a weapon. Shit. His head was starting to come down, although he still felt okay. He figured that it couldn't hurt to show him. Either K saw it and backed off, or K didn't, and he'd have to spend the next hour looking for his bottle. Victor just nodded as he unzipped and displayed his good friend Jim.

"This is what they gave me." He showed the Jim Beam. "Probably not helpful in getting us out, but it makes you feel good." Damn straight. At least nobody was going to kill him over this. What kind of moron would take him on over this?

Ah. She figured. Victor showing the bourbon bottle confirmed a suspicion. He had been drinking. Ashlee frowned. Sniffed. Composed herself a bit more.

“Listen… Victor. You should stay inside. It’s cold out,” she said, keeping her Anime Club President voice on.

Ashlee knew about booze. Being a cheerleader meant you were invited to all sorts of outings, like the party Dani hosted back in October. She could easily spot underage drinking. She also knew the risks.

Alcohol and winter weather wasn’t a great combo. It’d lower his body temperature while making him feel warmer. And someone could–

Keep him inside, and make sure he’s warm and safe.

On the one hand, it was good. K. wouldn't have to brain anybody. And it was probably better to not get drunk at a time like this, if you actually wanted to live. On the other;

Fuck!

K. tried not to let it show on his face but internally it was all hell broke loose in the parts of his brain and body responsible for such essential tasks as keeping it cool, staying a chill motherfucker, and not freaking out. He had really wanted that booze! Or to draw blood. Both? Mostly to get drunk. He'd have fought for a bottle of wine, because there weren't any glasses (did that really matter, in the end?). He wouldn't have for beers, because presumably, there would be some to share. But bourbon could just fuck right on out of here.

Victor could stay, though. And his bourbon. Whatever. Fuck it.

"Yeah, it's chilly out there," K. said, shrinking, "and you wouldn't really notice, being drunk and all."

To K., that sounded like an advantage.

"I'll get looking for some pool cues," said K., "I'm down to shoot pool. If no pool, shoot shit will do."

He turned then and squeezed past Ashlee to check out the back room.