Shawn never thought he'd return to the research station, not after narrowly escaping the shitstorm that occurred during his first hour on that island. But given that there was an off-chance of the town going up in flames soon, he figured it was the safest option available.
((Shawn Bellamy continued from White Rabbit))
It was around midnight when he arrived, giving the quarters and recreation building a wide berth as he sought somewhere small and relatively secluded to set-up shop.
In the end he settled on what appeared to be an infirmary of sorts, one marked by the presence of a body laying just outside. He couldn't tell whose, nor did he care to find out, the sight alone making him feel queasy. Committed as he was to winning this thing, he still wasn't used to being in the presence of death, nor had he warmed up to the idea of dealing it out himself.
At least, not directly anyway. Out of sight, out of mind.
Leaving the stiff in peace he made his way inside, checking that the coast was clear before settling in. He took care to ensure that there wouldn't be any unexpected visitors during the night, taking whatever chairs he could find and leaning them up against every entrance to the building, before then finding something like a plant pot or a metal bin and placing them atop each. Would it be enough to deter anyone determined to get inside? No, but it would be close to impossible for anyone to sneak in without making a noise, alert him to any potential intruders.
His shelter secured as best he could, he picked a hospital bed at random and settled in for the night, making do with whatever coverings he could find. It made for a nice change of pace, even if it was a bed intended for hospital patients. Certainly a lot better than another night spent outside, especially with all those disconcerting clouds hovering overhead.
Like many of his classmates, he was eventually awoken by the all-too familiar blare of a microphone, shifting out of bed and helping himself to breakfast as he listened along.
There were three names mentioned this time around that made him pause for thought, stopping mid-bite to listen closer.
Matthew had gotten his hands dirty. Twice, so it seemed. That was an interesting development, to say the least, especially when it was revealed that he'd used a gun for at least one of them. Matthew knew his way around firearms better than anyone he knew, and Shawn had zero doubt he'd be a force to reckon with. Certainly one to keep an eye out for, especially now that he was the only friend he had left in this game.
Bethany and Corbin were gone. The latter was a surprise, his chest tightening as the news sank in. The former... Less so, though no less easy to digest. Seemed she had also taken someone down with her, the Prom Queen who couldn't commit to her promises. Both of whom could've potentially lived longer had he decided to remain with Bethany, or at the very least not left her with his spear.
Well. C'est la vie. Or not, in their case. Saved him the trouble of having to cross that bridge later down the line.
Wanting to distract his thoughts, Shawn sat up and wandered towards a nearby medicine cabinet, opening it up to start rummaging through its contents. Plenty of medication, as well as various mouldy bandages and such. Curiously, there weren't any scalpels or other medical implements that could be turned into makeshift weapons. It reminded him of an earlier thought he had, when he noticed that a fire axe was missing from one of the buildings he had explored.
Had their organisers really gone out of their way to explore every inch of this island, and remove anything that could be used as a weapon? It all struck him as needlessly counterproductive, especially when they were explicitly encouraged to kill one another. Surely it made infinitely more sense to litter the place with weapons? Maybe even add more, hide guns and swords and god knows what else all over the island? What sense did it make to tell them all to kill each other, then make it harder for them to actually do that?
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he picked up a random bottle of pills to read the label. Some antibiotics it seemed, long out of date of course. Pretty much useless then, unless...
He turned towards a bag left unattended on one of the beds, one he had already searched when he arrived. No weapons or rations, but it did have a spare first aid kit.
An idea crossed Shawn's mind, putting the bottle down and waltzing over towards the bag to grab said first aid kit, before returning to the cabinet to gather up as much expired medicine as he could carry. After which, he carried his bundle of goodies to a nearby desk, laying it all out as he sat down and got to work.
Shawn's Marvelous Medicine
Day 6 - Morning (Open)
((Iris Waite continued from Zero Incoming))
In the end, Iris, Richard, and Darryl had stayed at the research station for another day, but Marshall hadn't come to find them. Nobody had. They'd heard noises and found the signs of scuffles and more than scuffles.
Found- bodies. But no people. Everyone was scattered or in hiding, or...
Or looking for other people like the three of them were, but for different reasons.
Iris had wandered a little bit ahead of the boys on this particular loop of the station. They hadn't passed by the infirmary before now, sticking mainly to the quarters.
Upon seeing the body sprawled in the snow outside, Iris wished they'd stayed away. But that was all she felt, really. Seeing the bodies and hearing the names day after day didn't inspire even the creeping feeling of hysteria in her anymore. She looked away from it, but that was all.
There were fresh footprints in the snow, veering around the body and into the infirmary building. People.
Iris thought about waiting for the boys to catch up, and then she walked up to the infirmary's front door herself. What else was she going to do? Stand out here and start reciting her mantra of killers again. They were starting to blur together in her mind, running like ink on wet paper.
"Hello?" She called into the building.
In the end, Iris, Richard, and Darryl had stayed at the research station for another day, but Marshall hadn't come to find them. Nobody had. They'd heard noises and found the signs of scuffles and more than scuffles.
Found- bodies. But no people. Everyone was scattered or in hiding, or...
Or looking for other people like the three of them were, but for different reasons.
Iris had wandered a little bit ahead of the boys on this particular loop of the station. They hadn't passed by the infirmary before now, sticking mainly to the quarters.
Upon seeing the body sprawled in the snow outside, Iris wished they'd stayed away. But that was all she felt, really. Seeing the bodies and hearing the names day after day didn't inspire even the creeping feeling of hysteria in her anymore. She looked away from it, but that was all.
There were fresh footprints in the snow, veering around the body and into the infirmary building. People.
Iris thought about waiting for the boys to catch up, and then she walked up to the infirmary's front door herself. What else was she going to do? Stand out here and start reciting her mantra of killers again. They were starting to blur together in her mind, running like ink on wet paper.
"Hello?" She called into the building.
"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."
Under normal circumstances, Shawn liked to put some music on whenever he got to work on a project. Maybe some soothing jazz, the kinda thing his father liked to play back at La Blanche. Or maybe an old classic from the 1960s, something real classy.
Alas, with no phone or computer on hand, he settled on whistling the first tune that came to mind.
First things first, he placed the spare first aid kit on the table before him, reaching down for his pickaxe and lifting it up to scrape it along the metal case. He needed some way to identify which kit was his, after all.
Next he opened it up and started rummaging through its contents, putting aside any medicine he could find. Aspirin, ibuprofen, anything that was stored in small bottles.
Next he started sorting through the various expired medicines he nabbed from the cabinets, searching for any that physically matched the ones they were assigned. There were a few bottles containing white pills that looked similar, maybe not exactly the same if you were to compare them side by side, but for their intended purpose they would do just nicely.
He then began to transfer the good medicine into his personal first aid kit, opening the bottles up and emptying their contents. After which, he'd then meticulously refill those empty bottles with the various expired medicines, taking care to leave them looking almost exactly as they did before.
It took him around half an hour or so, but eventually he was done. The result: A tainted first aid kit full of expired medicine. He didn't have a clue what would happen if someone were to actually take any of it. An upset stomach perhaps, or maybe something a little more dramatic? Either worked, as even the former could prove fatal in a game like this.
That did however beg the question as to how exactly he intended to make use of it. Leave the kit somewhere obvious, hope someone picks it up? No, that wouldn't do. His best call would be to keep hold of it for now, keep them as another set of tools at his disposal. It was always nice to have options, after all.
His work done, he packed up his things and put the leftover expired medicine away, taking care to hide any signs of having tampered with anything. He was just about to put the last empty bottle away, when a voice called out to him. One he didn't recognise.
Pausing for a moment, he thoughtlessly pockets the empty bottle before reaching out for his pickaxe, hoisting it up as he took several cautious steps towards the nearest fire exit.
"Whose there?" he calls out, figuring it best to avoid startling someone who was potentially armed and dangerous, especially if they were already aware of his presence.
Alas, with no phone or computer on hand, he settled on whistling the first tune that came to mind.
First things first, he placed the spare first aid kit on the table before him, reaching down for his pickaxe and lifting it up to scrape it along the metal case. He needed some way to identify which kit was his, after all.
Next he opened it up and started rummaging through its contents, putting aside any medicine he could find. Aspirin, ibuprofen, anything that was stored in small bottles.
Next he started sorting through the various expired medicines he nabbed from the cabinets, searching for any that physically matched the ones they were assigned. There were a few bottles containing white pills that looked similar, maybe not exactly the same if you were to compare them side by side, but for their intended purpose they would do just nicely.
He then began to transfer the good medicine into his personal first aid kit, opening the bottles up and emptying their contents. After which, he'd then meticulously refill those empty bottles with the various expired medicines, taking care to leave them looking almost exactly as they did before.
It took him around half an hour or so, but eventually he was done. The result: A tainted first aid kit full of expired medicine. He didn't have a clue what would happen if someone were to actually take any of it. An upset stomach perhaps, or maybe something a little more dramatic? Either worked, as even the former could prove fatal in a game like this.
That did however beg the question as to how exactly he intended to make use of it. Leave the kit somewhere obvious, hope someone picks it up? No, that wouldn't do. His best call would be to keep hold of it for now, keep them as another set of tools at his disposal. It was always nice to have options, after all.
His work done, he packed up his things and put the leftover expired medicine away, taking care to hide any signs of having tampered with anything. He was just about to put the last empty bottle away, when a voice called out to him. One he didn't recognise.
Pausing for a moment, he thoughtlessly pockets the empty bottle before reaching out for his pickaxe, hoisting it up as he took several cautious steps towards the nearest fire exit.
"Whose there?" he calls out, figuring it best to avoid startling someone who was potentially armed and dangerous, especially if they were already aware of his presence.
"It's Iris," Iris answered reflexively, though that didn't entirely answer the real question being asked of her. She wasn't always great at social cues, and being here was probably eroding that ability even further, but even after a couple days of relative isolation, she heard what was asked in the undercurrent of those two words.
Are you dangerous? Will you try to hurt me?
"Um, can I come in? Richard and Darryl are with me, but they're not here yet. I just wanted to sit down for a while."
She lingered in the doorway, looking at the shadow she cast into the infirmary's front hall. "Who, um- who's in there, by the way?" The voice was familiar in the same way any voice you'd heard for years would be, but not familiar enough for her to immediately identify it from just two words.
Are you dangerous? Will you try to hurt me?
"Um, can I come in? Richard and Darryl are with me, but they're not here yet. I just wanted to sit down for a while."
She lingered in the doorway, looking at the shadow she cast into the infirmary's front hall. "Who, um- who's in there, by the way?" The voice was familiar in the same way any voice you'd heard for years would be, but not familiar enough for her to immediately identify it from just two words.
"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."
It wasn’t that Iris was that much faster than Big Dick—she just had longer legs. And she wasn’t chronically and confidently north of chubby. And unlike Richard, Iris didn’t have a fat-ankle to go along with the fat-ass.
Alright, so maybe that was unnecessary.
Okay, so maybe it was just that she was faster.
Dick was trying his best to keep up with the group and he was doing admirably considering his situation, least if you asked him. Still, every hour or so of walking begot ten minutes of rest. When Richard couldn’t stand on his own, he leaned on his friend Darryl, slowing both of them down. Their time in the facility was no more fruitful than it had been in the days before, still no Marshall, still no Chloe. They instead found death in the form of bodies and despair in the form of the growing certainty of their own fate. But, even still, in the presence of friends and with the promise of teamwork—all challenges became easier. Even impossible ones like Survivor’s Guilt and the responsibility that one felt when facing atrocity with passivity.
Still, Dickie couldn’t give up hope. He wasn’t staying hopeful for just himself.
Such was how he appeared on the scene, looking at Iris’ back at the doorway of the infirmary. Finger on his pocket pistol, arm around his buddy’s shoulder. He didn’t call out to Iris or rush into action, instead, he waited and tried to hear over his rapidly beating heart.
“Shhh…,” Dicky whispered to Darryl, but instructed himself.
Alright, so maybe that was unnecessary.
Okay, so maybe it was just that she was faster.
[ Big Dick Buster Continued From: Zero Incoming ]
Dick was trying his best to keep up with the group and he was doing admirably considering his situation, least if you asked him. Still, every hour or so of walking begot ten minutes of rest. When Richard couldn’t stand on his own, he leaned on his friend Darryl, slowing both of them down. Their time in the facility was no more fruitful than it had been in the days before, still no Marshall, still no Chloe. They instead found death in the form of bodies and despair in the form of the growing certainty of their own fate. But, even still, in the presence of friends and with the promise of teamwork—all challenges became easier. Even impossible ones like Survivor’s Guilt and the responsibility that one felt when facing atrocity with passivity.
Still, Dickie couldn’t give up hope. He wasn’t staying hopeful for just himself.
Such was how he appeared on the scene, looking at Iris’ back at the doorway of the infirmary. Finger on his pocket pistol, arm around his buddy’s shoulder. He didn’t call out to Iris or rush into action, instead, he waited and tried to hear over his rapidly beating heart.
“Shhh…,” Dicky whispered to Darryl, but instructed himself.
V7
Ace "Beats"
V8
"Big Dick" Buster / Zora Morrison
Where you from? Not where I'm from, we all indigenous
Against all odds, I squabbled up for them dividends
Against all odds, I showed up as a gentleman
I done lost plenty friends, sixteen to be specific
Put that on my kids' children, we gon' see the future first
They like, "Chad big trippin', " I just want what I deserve
What bridge they done burnt? All of them, it's over with
I'm doin' what COVID did, they'll never get over it
Ace "Beats"
V8
"Big Dick" Buster / Zora Morrison
Where you from? Not where I'm from, we all indigenous
Against all odds, I squabbled up for them dividends
Against all odds, I showed up as a gentleman
I done lost plenty friends, sixteen to be specific
Put that on my kids' children, we gon' see the future first
They like, "Chad big trippin', " I just want what I deserve
What bridge they done burnt? All of them, it's over with
I'm doin' what COVID did, they'll never get over it
Iris? Ah yes, of course...
Shawn had no idea who she was.
He did however recognise the name Richard. He was the clown who got voted Prom King, right? The prodigal Biggus Dickus himself. Naive liberal type, with a lot of unearned chutzpah, according to Matthew anyway. More importantly, neither he, Darryl or Iris were mentioned in the announcements, which meant they were probably not here to cause trouble.
Nevertheless, Shawn slowly made his way towards the fire exit, carefully removing the flimsy barricade he set-up to make sure he had a potential exit. Better safe than sorry, after all. The clang of a metal bin he'd placed by the front door signalled his guest's arrival, though it was a moot point when she'd already announced her presence.
"It's just me!" he replied, before realising that he probably ought to elaborate a little. "Uh, Shawn? Shawn Bellamy? You and your friends are welcome, but I uh... Haven't really had a chance to tidy up the place."
Shawn had no idea who she was.
He did however recognise the name Richard. He was the clown who got voted Prom King, right? The prodigal Biggus Dickus himself. Naive liberal type, with a lot of unearned chutzpah, according to Matthew anyway. More importantly, neither he, Darryl or Iris were mentioned in the announcements, which meant they were probably not here to cause trouble.
Nevertheless, Shawn slowly made his way towards the fire exit, carefully removing the flimsy barricade he set-up to make sure he had a potential exit. Better safe than sorry, after all. The clang of a metal bin he'd placed by the front door signalled his guest's arrival, though it was a moot point when she'd already announced her presence.
"It's just me!" he replied, before realising that he probably ought to elaborate a little. "Uh, Shawn? Shawn Bellamy? You and your friends are welcome, but I uh... Haven't really had a chance to tidy up the place."
Iris only noticed the tension with which she'd been holding her posture when she relaxed at Shawn's answer. She knew Shawn, of course, the way that she knew almost all of her classmates. A quick checklist of hobbies and reputation ran through her mind. He was smart and a little full of himself, liked chess, interrupted teachers a lot to provide corrections and his own opinion.
What she remembered him most for, though, was the way he'd spent freshman year as a social pariah much like she had a couple years before. He was a jerk, was the reasoning. Self-absorbed and probably some kind of bigot. Thought he ought to be rich and important when he wasn't. He never seemed overly bothered by it outwardly, people moved on, and Iris had never approached him. But she remembered that, and that was what made her want to trust him.
She glanced over her shoulder to see that the boys had arrived, and she waved them in after her before stepping fully into the building and following Shawn's voice.
"That's okay," she called in response to his comment about not tidying up, like she was coming over to his house and he'd left laundry on the floor. "Honestly, I'm just really glad to see someone new." She paused and bit her lip, fretting for a moment over her phrasing; that made it sound like she was tired of Richard and Darryl's company. She brushed past it and moved on.
Iris came to a stop in the doorway of the main infirmary area, much like she'd done with the front door, and she gave Shawn a little wave.
What she remembered him most for, though, was the way he'd spent freshman year as a social pariah much like she had a couple years before. He was a jerk, was the reasoning. Self-absorbed and probably some kind of bigot. Thought he ought to be rich and important when he wasn't. He never seemed overly bothered by it outwardly, people moved on, and Iris had never approached him. But she remembered that, and that was what made her want to trust him.
She glanced over her shoulder to see that the boys had arrived, and she waved them in after her before stepping fully into the building and following Shawn's voice.
"That's okay," she called in response to his comment about not tidying up, like she was coming over to his house and he'd left laundry on the floor. "Honestly, I'm just really glad to see someone new." She paused and bit her lip, fretting for a moment over her phrasing; that made it sound like she was tired of Richard and Darryl's company. She brushed past it and moved on.
Iris came to a stop in the doorway of the main infirmary area, much like she'd done with the front door, and she gave Shawn a little wave.
"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."
Shawn raised his hand to return that wave, relaxing just a little now that he had a better inkling as to who he was dealing with.
"Heh, tell me about it... Haven't had much luck meeting friendly faces myself as of late" he replied, Bethany's frozen visage briefly flashing in his mind's eye.
Now that he had a face to pin her name to, he realised that he recognised Iris after all. She was the stalker girl, right? The one who went around taking unsolicited photographs of folk? He'd overheard a couple unpleasant rumours about how she was 'easy', so starved for attention that she'd say yes to anyone willing to give her the time of day. He personally suspected there was a bit more to her than that, obviously. One must always take high school gossip with a pinch of salt.
Still, if there were any truth to those rumours, then at least it gave him something to work with.
"Take a seat if you want" he offers, gesturing to a metal chair leant up against the wall. "Your friends are on their way, I take it?"
"Heh, tell me about it... Haven't had much luck meeting friendly faces myself as of late" he replied, Bethany's frozen visage briefly flashing in his mind's eye.
Now that he had a face to pin her name to, he realised that he recognised Iris after all. She was the stalker girl, right? The one who went around taking unsolicited photographs of folk? He'd overheard a couple unpleasant rumours about how she was 'easy', so starved for attention that she'd say yes to anyone willing to give her the time of day. He personally suspected there was a bit more to her than that, obviously. One must always take high school gossip with a pinch of salt.
Still, if there were any truth to those rumours, then at least it gave him something to work with.
"Take a seat if you want" he offers, gesturing to a metal chair leant up against the wall. "Your friends are on their way, I take it?"
((Darryl Smith Jr. continued from Zero Incoming))
Iris hadn't waited around for them upon leaving the listening station and hadn't slowed herself down any in the time since. Darryl and Richard had been playing a constant game of catchup given that Dick had a bum ankle and Darryl wasn't going to leave him in the dust. So that meant every so often he had to double as a crutch, he didn't mind that situation, but he would have been lying if he didn't think Dick's fat ass was slowing them down. Luckily it hadn't led to any bad situations, they hadn't actually encountered anyone else as they continued to explore the research station. Unfortunately, they still hadn't managed to put together a plan in that time either.
Darryl dutifully obliged when Dickie asked him to hold up and shifted out from under his friends' weight, wincing slightly as his bruised rib sent out a wave of pain. Whoever Iris had found wasn't openly aggressive it seemed, given that she was politely talking to them but Darryl knew better than to rely on that assessment. Letitia had seemed relatively reasonable until it turned out that she was a crazed robber. Darryl wasn't suggesting that same situation was going to repeat with whoever Iris' conversation partner was but he wasn't going to dismiss it as a possibility either.
"When you wanting to head on in here?" He asked.
Iris hadn't waited around for them upon leaving the listening station and hadn't slowed herself down any in the time since. Darryl and Richard had been playing a constant game of catchup given that Dick had a bum ankle and Darryl wasn't going to leave him in the dust. So that meant every so often he had to double as a crutch, he didn't mind that situation, but he would have been lying if he didn't think Dick's fat ass was slowing them down. Luckily it hadn't led to any bad situations, they hadn't actually encountered anyone else as they continued to explore the research station. Unfortunately, they still hadn't managed to put together a plan in that time either.
Darryl dutifully obliged when Dickie asked him to hold up and shifted out from under his friends' weight, wincing slightly as his bruised rib sent out a wave of pain. Whoever Iris had found wasn't openly aggressive it seemed, given that she was politely talking to them but Darryl knew better than to rely on that assessment. Letitia had seemed relatively reasonable until it turned out that she was a crazed robber. Darryl wasn't suggesting that same situation was going to repeat with whoever Iris' conversation partner was but he wasn't going to dismiss it as a possibility either.
"When you wanting to head on in here?" He asked.
“I would’ve liked for us all to’ve headed in together,” Dicky grunted and felt his stomach grumble. “But, fuck it, right?”
They said basketball was a game of runs.
There was an ebb and flow in playing that created a rhythm and story which repeated game after game, time and time again just in slightly different ways. Things often felt like smooth sailing, like nothing could go wrong—only for a dark cloud to suddenly appear on the horizon and for the wind to dangerously shift, howl and then completely blow weaker men out their comfort zone. Dicky had learned that there wasn’t a lot of value in battening down the hatches and waiting out the storm. Richard thought there was more to be gained by paying close attention to the whisper of the sea and trying to navigate rather than in burying his head in the sand. The group had spent many days standing still; Big Dick had spent many hours silently trying to convince himself that he was instead lying-in wait. Basketball was a game of runs, characterized by teams trading stretches of control. You didn’t play against your opponent, you played for yourself and your teammates. It didn’t matter what their gameplan was, as long as you were able to enact your own.
But out here it didn’t feel right. It felt just south of okay. It felt wrong.
They said basketball was a game of runs. When you inevitably found yourself stumbling, inert or losing ground, the only option was to read and react appropriately. To stay calm, to stay focused and to will the waves away. To keep running as to make sure the game wasn't running you. Because sometimes it would. That was just how it went. Dick's hand tightened around the pistol. It wouldn’t bring him honor, but it would keep most people honest. Richard had a pocketful of bullets, but he was more than conscious of the fact that his gun only had two shots. It wouldn’t serve them in a firefight. Its main use was posturing and making Big Dick seem bigger than what he was.
Somehow that didn’t feel solid and safe. Somehow, at this very second, it brought Dick some shame.
“Here,” Richard spun the steel-gun on his finger's tip and handed it handle-first to his friend. “You’re taller, thinner, it just makes sense, right? Stand behind me and to the side, aim over my shoulder” whispering to Darryl, instructing himself. “I cover you; you cover us.”
There was no value in waiting out the storm, the time had come for them to start sailing. A run would never come unless they started running.
They said basketball was a game of runs.
There was an ebb and flow in playing that created a rhythm and story which repeated game after game, time and time again just in slightly different ways. Things often felt like smooth sailing, like nothing could go wrong—only for a dark cloud to suddenly appear on the horizon and for the wind to dangerously shift, howl and then completely blow weaker men out their comfort zone. Dicky had learned that there wasn’t a lot of value in battening down the hatches and waiting out the storm. Richard thought there was more to be gained by paying close attention to the whisper of the sea and trying to navigate rather than in burying his head in the sand. The group had spent many days standing still; Big Dick had spent many hours silently trying to convince himself that he was instead lying-in wait. Basketball was a game of runs, characterized by teams trading stretches of control. You didn’t play against your opponent, you played for yourself and your teammates. It didn’t matter what their gameplan was, as long as you were able to enact your own.
But out here it didn’t feel right. It felt just south of okay. It felt wrong.
They said basketball was a game of runs. When you inevitably found yourself stumbling, inert or losing ground, the only option was to read and react appropriately. To stay calm, to stay focused and to will the waves away. To keep running as to make sure the game wasn't running you. Because sometimes it would. That was just how it went. Dick's hand tightened around the pistol. It wouldn’t bring him honor, but it would keep most people honest. Richard had a pocketful of bullets, but he was more than conscious of the fact that his gun only had two shots. It wouldn’t serve them in a firefight. Its main use was posturing and making Big Dick seem bigger than what he was.
Somehow that didn’t feel solid and safe. Somehow, at this very second, it brought Dick some shame.
“Here,” Richard spun the steel-gun on his finger's tip and handed it handle-first to his friend. “You’re taller, thinner, it just makes sense, right? Stand behind me and to the side, aim over my shoulder” whispering to Darryl, instructing himself. “I cover you; you cover us.”
There was no value in waiting out the storm, the time had come for them to start sailing. A run would never come unless they started running.
V7
Ace "Beats"
V8
"Big Dick" Buster / Zora Morrison
Where you from? Not where I'm from, we all indigenous
Against all odds, I squabbled up for them dividends
Against all odds, I showed up as a gentleman
I done lost plenty friends, sixteen to be specific
Put that on my kids' children, we gon' see the future first
They like, "Chad big trippin', " I just want what I deserve
What bridge they done burnt? All of them, it's over with
I'm doin' what COVID did, they'll never get over it
Ace "Beats"
V8
"Big Dick" Buster / Zora Morrison
Where you from? Not where I'm from, we all indigenous
Against all odds, I squabbled up for them dividends
Against all odds, I showed up as a gentleman
I done lost plenty friends, sixteen to be specific
Put that on my kids' children, we gon' see the future first
They like, "Chad big trippin', " I just want what I deserve
What bridge they done burnt? All of them, it's over with
I'm doin' what COVID did, they'll never get over it
Iris gave Shawn what felt like her first genuine smile in days and let her arm drop. She took the invitation and made her way over to sit, pulling her hat off as she did so to scratch at the bandages circling her temples. The gauze pad that they kept secured to the back of her head would need to be changed again soon.
"Yeah, they were right behind me." Iris glanced at the door, her voice lifting slightly into a question, even though she was the one giving answers. "Have you found anything good in here? This is the first time we've been inside."
It was hard to gauge how she was healing. Her head hurt less than it had a few days ago, the light stung her eyes a bit less, and she was less afraid to fall asleep for fear of developing some kind of aneurysm and never waking up. But it did still hurt. She hadn't had enough food or rest to properly recuperate, and she wouldn't get that unless - until - someone came for them.
"If you've found anything stronger than ibuprofen, I'd like to hear about it," she said, turning her attention back to Shawn with another slight smile. "Have you been by yourself this whole time?"
"Yeah, they were right behind me." Iris glanced at the door, her voice lifting slightly into a question, even though she was the one giving answers. "Have you found anything good in here? This is the first time we've been inside."
It was hard to gauge how she was healing. Her head hurt less than it had a few days ago, the light stung her eyes a bit less, and she was less afraid to fall asleep for fear of developing some kind of aneurysm and never waking up. But it did still hurt. She hadn't had enough food or rest to properly recuperate, and she wouldn't get that unless - until - someone came for them.
"If you've found anything stronger than ibuprofen, I'd like to hear about it," she said, turning her attention back to Shawn with another slight smile. "Have you been by yourself this whole time?"
"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."
Well now, isn't that just what the doctor ordered?
It was hard not to notice the bandages wrapped around Iris' head, a feigned look of concern appearing in Shawn's eyes. It seemed as though his new friend hadn't made it this far without a confrontation or two herself, leaving Shawn curious as to what circumstances led to that wound.
"More or less..." he replied, glancing at a nearby bed. He couldn't help but picture Bethany laying there, sporting a similar head injury.
"Have had a couple run-ins. Some friendlier than others..." he sighs, turning back to Iris. "Almost got my head caved in by Spike the moment I woke up... Later bumped into John and Abhishek ready to tear each other's throats out... Just barely got away from Aracelis the other day, psycho tried to kill me..."
He furrowed his brow. "She kept going on about some girl who was putting a group together... Dunno what that was all about."
Shawn shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets as he leant back. "S'about it, really. Only got a handful of friends on this island, and most of them are... Well..." he continues, letting out a resigned sigh before glancing at the medicine cabinet. "As for medicine, there isn't much I'm afraid. What little I could find is long out of date..."
He reaches up to rub his chin, a thought crossing his mind. "Although..." he adds, pulling his bag off and placing it on a desk, opening it up to start rummaging through its contents. "I did come across this when I arrived. Seemed whoever hurt the poor bastard outside didn't bother taking his meds..."
From the bag, Shawn produced a medkit with a distinctive scrape on the front. "It's not much, but you're more than welcome to 'em. Looks like you could do with all the painkillers you can get your hands on..."
It was hard not to notice the bandages wrapped around Iris' head, a feigned look of concern appearing in Shawn's eyes. It seemed as though his new friend hadn't made it this far without a confrontation or two herself, leaving Shawn curious as to what circumstances led to that wound.
"More or less..." he replied, glancing at a nearby bed. He couldn't help but picture Bethany laying there, sporting a similar head injury.
"Have had a couple run-ins. Some friendlier than others..." he sighs, turning back to Iris. "Almost got my head caved in by Spike the moment I woke up... Later bumped into John and Abhishek ready to tear each other's throats out... Just barely got away from Aracelis the other day, psycho tried to kill me..."
He furrowed his brow. "She kept going on about some girl who was putting a group together... Dunno what that was all about."
Shawn shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets as he leant back. "S'about it, really. Only got a handful of friends on this island, and most of them are... Well..." he continues, letting out a resigned sigh before glancing at the medicine cabinet. "As for medicine, there isn't much I'm afraid. What little I could find is long out of date..."
He reaches up to rub his chin, a thought crossing his mind. "Although..." he adds, pulling his bag off and placing it on a desk, opening it up to start rummaging through its contents. "I did come across this when I arrived. Seemed whoever hurt the poor bastard outside didn't bother taking his meds..."
From the bag, Shawn produced a medkit with a distinctive scrape on the front. "It's not much, but you're more than welcome to 'em. Looks like you could do with all the painkillers you can get your hands on..."
"Yeah, well," Darryl replied with a shrug.
Sometimes people forgot the game plan. Not an ideal situation given the whole death game ruleset they were working with but it didn't sound like any violence was unfolding within the infirmary so Darryl didn't rush to move in. He looked over at Richard and waited to see what his friend would do. He was a captain, a captain on a sorry team sure but there were still responsibilities that came with that. There was an expectation to lead on the court and in the locker room. The players looked to you on the court as the voice under the coach to execute and ensure everyone was where they needed to be.
Now Darryl had spent his first few days rolling solo, he needed to see what his friend would do when the opportunity to lead came up.
His eyebrow quirked when the gun was offered by he accepted it all the same. His shooting percentage had always been better than Dickie's, it was a part of the reason why his friend recruited him so heavily. He nodded at the instruction he was given as he weighed the gun in his hand. It was cold and heavy, designed for one single purpose.
"Alright," He said, focus settling on his face. "I got you."
He took up his designated position and waited for the signal.
Sometimes people forgot the game plan. Not an ideal situation given the whole death game ruleset they were working with but it didn't sound like any violence was unfolding within the infirmary so Darryl didn't rush to move in. He looked over at Richard and waited to see what his friend would do. He was a captain, a captain on a sorry team sure but there were still responsibilities that came with that. There was an expectation to lead on the court and in the locker room. The players looked to you on the court as the voice under the coach to execute and ensure everyone was where they needed to be.
Now Darryl had spent his first few days rolling solo, he needed to see what his friend would do when the opportunity to lead came up.
His eyebrow quirked when the gun was offered by he accepted it all the same. His shooting percentage had always been better than Dickie's, it was a part of the reason why his friend recruited him so heavily. He nodded at the instruction he was given as he weighed the gun in his hand. It was cold and heavy, designed for one single purpose.
"Alright," He said, focus settling on his face. "I got you."
He took up his designated position and waited for the signal.
There was something honest in this transaction with Darryl, an unspoken and spoken loyalty that had been tested with time and solidified by similar interest. Honesty was preferred; respect was what was earned, and trust was what was given when loyalty was returned. Trust was paramount here amongst the paranoia. Things could go sideways any moment and because of that, Dickie had no choice but to push himself and his friends forward. That was easier when he knew Darryl was watching his back.
“Let’s get it,” Dick pointed forward and began walking toward the infirmary door with a casual cautious courageousness. There was an ego in putting yourself as the leader. There was also responsibility and duty. In his head, Dickie liked the power, attention and respect being a leader gave him. In his heart, he gained more fulfillment out of being dutiful and there was honor to be found in responsibility. He didn’t know what side was winning out here, but he knew which side he was on.
His heartbeat like a war-drum, it was all Dick could hear or feel.
Approaching the doorway, Richard stood in front of it and then took a step forward beyond the threshold. His mind avoided the body of Timothy Adams in the snow, though his eyes caught it fully. There was no time to lose his own nerve, every second that Iris was alone the chance of her ending up on the wrong side of someone’s intention increased. Richard’s left leg shook slightly and he gripped his knee to make it stop. As he entered the infirmary his eyes turned to his eighth grade ex and to…Shawn Bellamy…? Oh jeez. This dude? Really? Shawn was one of John Endecott’s perennial teacher interrupters, never without an opinion that didn’t need to be declared or a Devil that didn’t need advocation. Even worse? Shawn was a snitch; Dicky knew that much to be true even if he didn’t know it for a fact.
Richard's mind drifted to a song on an album a million years in the past, he thought of Morgan Freeman's gravely voice over Metroboomin's modern production. What had the Voice of God said again? About snitches and rats?
To snitch was to betray the collective trust of your peers. A regular citizen who pointed out a crime wasn’t a snitch or a “rat”, the criminals just got sloppy. A “snitch” was someone who made the business of others their own for the purpose of finding information they could twist to their own design. A “rat” was a traitor, a planner, a conceiver, or physical participator. The rat had no interest in information or compensation, the only thing a rat cared about was saving their own cowardly ass. The difference was that a snitch was still a human, albeit a greedy one. But a rat? A rat was a fucking rat. Period.
If rumors were to be believed, Shawn snitched on Connor not for compensation or to save himself...but just because Connor made him feel stupid. Did that make Shawn a snitch or a rat? Dicky wondered how Connor would’ve categorized Shawn. Maybe at this moment, Connor thought Shawn had done him a favor. Can't get killed on the JEM senior trip if you don't get to be a JEM senior.
“Yo,” Richard said with a bellow and stood straight to maximize his small, chubby form. “All’s good here?”
“Let’s get it,” Dick pointed forward and began walking toward the infirmary door with a casual cautious courageousness. There was an ego in putting yourself as the leader. There was also responsibility and duty. In his head, Dickie liked the power, attention and respect being a leader gave him. In his heart, he gained more fulfillment out of being dutiful and there was honor to be found in responsibility. He didn’t know what side was winning out here, but he knew which side he was on.
His heartbeat like a war-drum, it was all Dick could hear or feel.
Approaching the doorway, Richard stood in front of it and then took a step forward beyond the threshold. His mind avoided the body of Timothy Adams in the snow, though his eyes caught it fully. There was no time to lose his own nerve, every second that Iris was alone the chance of her ending up on the wrong side of someone’s intention increased. Richard’s left leg shook slightly and he gripped his knee to make it stop. As he entered the infirmary his eyes turned to his eighth grade ex and to…Shawn Bellamy…? Oh jeez. This dude? Really? Shawn was one of John Endecott’s perennial teacher interrupters, never without an opinion that didn’t need to be declared or a Devil that didn’t need advocation. Even worse? Shawn was a snitch; Dicky knew that much to be true even if he didn’t know it for a fact.
Richard's mind drifted to a song on an album a million years in the past, he thought of Morgan Freeman's gravely voice over Metroboomin's modern production. What had the Voice of God said again? About snitches and rats?
To snitch was to betray the collective trust of your peers. A regular citizen who pointed out a crime wasn’t a snitch or a “rat”, the criminals just got sloppy. A “snitch” was someone who made the business of others their own for the purpose of finding information they could twist to their own design. A “rat” was a traitor, a planner, a conceiver, or physical participator. The rat had no interest in information or compensation, the only thing a rat cared about was saving their own cowardly ass. The difference was that a snitch was still a human, albeit a greedy one. But a rat? A rat was a fucking rat. Period.
If rumors were to be believed, Shawn snitched on Connor not for compensation or to save himself...but just because Connor made him feel stupid. Did that make Shawn a snitch or a rat? Dicky wondered how Connor would’ve categorized Shawn. Maybe at this moment, Connor thought Shawn had done him a favor. Can't get killed on the JEM senior trip if you don't get to be a JEM senior.
“Yo,” Richard said with a bellow and stood straight to maximize his small, chubby form. “All’s good here?”
V7
Ace "Beats"
V8
"Big Dick" Buster / Zora Morrison
Where you from? Not where I'm from, we all indigenous
Against all odds, I squabbled up for them dividends
Against all odds, I showed up as a gentleman
I done lost plenty friends, sixteen to be specific
Put that on my kids' children, we gon' see the future first
They like, "Chad big trippin', " I just want what I deserve
What bridge they done burnt? All of them, it's over with
I'm doin' what COVID did, they'll never get over it
Ace "Beats"
V8
"Big Dick" Buster / Zora Morrison
Where you from? Not where I'm from, we all indigenous
Against all odds, I squabbled up for them dividends
Against all odds, I showed up as a gentleman
I done lost plenty friends, sixteen to be specific
Put that on my kids' children, we gon' see the future first
They like, "Chad big trippin', " I just want what I deserve
What bridge they done burnt? All of them, it's over with
I'm doin' what COVID did, they'll never get over it
Iris knew that the boys were imminently arriving, but she still started when Richard appeared and all but roared his greeting into the room. "All's good!" She answered promptly, though her voice squeaked a little. "It's just Shawn."
Normally, that would have been a rude, dismissive explanation, but here being "just so-and-so" here and now felt like something just a few steps short of a promise of safety. She wasn't sure there could ever really be a promise, at least with people that she didn't know and trust like Richard and Darryl and Marshall.
"You guys should come sit down," she continued, just the barest hint of an edge creeping into her voice. She didn't mention the gun, but she probably didn't need to. She trusted Richard, she'd just been thinking about how much she trusted him, but after the other day, she didn't trust the gun. She knew that Shawn wouldn't either, not knowing Richard the way Iris knew him. "It sounds like there's not a lot of stuff to be found in here, but Shawn found a first-aid kit."
Iris opted to skirt around the elephant in the room. Or rather, the elephant laying right outside, who had previously owned the first-aid kit. It couldn't be helped, she told herself, and was a little unsettled not at the prospect of where the supplies had come from, but how ready she was to accept them.
Normally, that would have been a rude, dismissive explanation, but here being "just so-and-so" here and now felt like something just a few steps short of a promise of safety. She wasn't sure there could ever really be a promise, at least with people that she didn't know and trust like Richard and Darryl and Marshall.
"You guys should come sit down," she continued, just the barest hint of an edge creeping into her voice. She didn't mention the gun, but she probably didn't need to. She trusted Richard, she'd just been thinking about how much she trusted him, but after the other day, she didn't trust the gun. She knew that Shawn wouldn't either, not knowing Richard the way Iris knew him. "It sounds like there's not a lot of stuff to be found in here, but Shawn found a first-aid kit."
Iris opted to skirt around the elephant in the room. Or rather, the elephant laying right outside, who had previously owned the first-aid kit. It couldn't be helped, she told herself, and was a little unsettled not at the prospect of where the supplies had come from, but how ready she was to accept them.
"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."