((Iris Waite continued from Raised in Captivity))
Iris had slept outside, in a shed, in a graveyard. She'd finally made it out of the woods and back to the town, and she'd wanted so badly to beeline for the nearest building, but she had been too afraid of who she might find inside. Or what. Ironically enough, the graveyard had seemed the safest place to go without encountering yet another corpse. The only shelter was the one she'd claimed, and after an uncomfortable night wrapped up in her emergency blanket, she woke up stiff and cold but otherwise unscathed.
Mercifully and horribly alone.
Emerging back out into the graveyard itself, Iris found the world... well, much as she'd left it. She hadn't really expected anything different, but she could hope.
She didn't know why she was hoping for anything. Chloé was dead, shot by Evie McKown, who Iris had always thought was nice and cool. June was still alive. Still out there and probably angry, and maybe coming for Iris even as she stood here. Everything was getting worse and worse by the day, just like it had for an entire week before now.
Half the class was gone. A world half empty.
Iris had wanted to go back to the church cellar to see if she could find her glasses, since June claimed that she hadn't taken them, but there were people in the church, and as badly as she wanted company, she couldn't force herself past the door and into an interaction. She could only wait here until they moved on, and they might be there all day.
So instead, she wandered the graveyard like a ghost, carefully picking her way around the uneven ground and open pits. She paused every so often to read the name on a grave that hadn't been worn away by time and weather. The knowledge that there had been so many people here once pressed down on her; where had they all gone? Did they just leave of their own accord, leave their dead here and go? Were the open graves people who had been reclaimed by their loved ones before the island was abandoned altogether, or were they preparation for what was about to happen here, when the people who had taken Iris and all her classmates found this place and took it for themselves?
She stood lost in thought for a while, mulling that over while staring through the headstone in front of her. It was morbid, but also morbidly fascinating to think about. Maybe it was just because she was tired and had so few distractions, but she couldn't reel her mind back out of the spiral of questions that nobody would be able to answer for her.
Return the Slab, or Suffer My Curse
Day 8, now private for death
Return the Slab, or Suffer My Curse
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
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"I'm sorry."
Evie closed the door as quietly as she could behind her. Doubtful that Lara heard either sound.
[Evie McKown crosses the Boundary.]
Evie the Killer, Evie the Coward. Those were the lovely thoughts occupying the tall girl's mind as she made herself small, reduced her surface are against the sub-zero cold of the dim twilight before sunrise. After abandoning the shelter of the trapper cabin, she was initially directionless: at first she thought to head for the research station once again, but ultimately that would represent going around in circles. Evie McKown did not want to be wandering around aimlessly, she wanted a plan. Maybe Kelsey was still there despite her reasonable surety that she couldn't have missed her, maybe she wasn't. But in the end, Evie recalled details from her map, and ultimately decided fuck it, I want some hot water, and set a course for the eastern mountain. That course made a point of not passing by That House. That House where she'd become That Girl, at least to a few people. Evie the Killer. Give it maybe an hour, half an hour, she'd be that to everyone else too.
So. She kept her head down, adjusted her EXTREME STEVE-branded beanie, hugged her arms close to her chest to keep them warm, and trudged along the long road back up the south coast of the island.
She'd come upon the edge of town around about the time some unseen speaker made itself not-unheard. No preamble today, straight to business. If Evie didn't know any better, she'd be starting to think that Danya was in a hurry to tarnish her name. What with her improbable luck versus Alex and Chloé, and the more general good fortune of not having run into Kitty, or Josh, or Jezzie, or any of the other big hitters so far, one could maybe forgive her for wondering if she wasn't supposed to make it, somehow. No, no that was silly. Evie wasn't the protagonist of this nightmare, it was real fucking life.
Didn't stop the thought burrowing itself deep into her psyche and making little nudges against her conscious mind from time to time, though.
In any case, only one pair of names preceded her. Przemyslaw, pronounced far more competently than she'd ever managed it, having been killed in suspiciously vague circumstances by Julia Guercio. Evie knew that name. Fellow swimmer. Very competitive, almost as good as herself. Almost. Must've gotten the drop on him in some sense, judging by the wording, but other than that she had nothing to go on.
Next up was her own spotlight moment, named and shamed and much more specifically called out as having done it with gunfire. Then she got a terrible pun, worse than any she'd ever come up with, and relying on pronouncing her own name less correctly than Przemyslaw Ziemiak. Somehow. If she weren't too busy being consumed with a mixture of guilt and dread over the death of Chloé Delacroix and the less of anonymity concerning such, she would've groaned, maybe complained vocally. Instead she just kept on moving and listening. A church on a hill seemed to promise shelter in the near distance, assuming nobody else had already had the same idea. Kyle Emerson died of exposure, Karen Ngyuen killed Maya Press with a gun. Evie came upon the base of the hill, set to climbing. The wildcat took her seventh life, still preferring her figurative claws. Kai Rosado-Prince broke Derek Caldwell's neck... Kai, hadn't he been there with Kitty's hot sister way back on day one, up a tree if she remembered right. Then he'd had some kind of stupid argument with Ash and they'd both left instead of helping Claire patch her up. Maybe that was for the best, in the end.
At the brow of the hill, Evie the Killer came upon an old iron fence. Iron, she assumed, from the distinctive colour and style of it. Not that it mattered. The important part was that it was a barrier to her entry into the church proper. Juanita Reid meanwhile, had killed Daniel Ozanne. No specific cause of death. Molly Oliviera killed her own brother Lucas, cut his guts open, that was fucked up. As Salem got another nod - was that two now, or three? - for shooting Colm Forsyth, the nice big guy who did zoo stuff, Evie noticed that someone else had had the bright idea to wander around in a graveyard at the crack of dawn. Hm. Thinking about it that way, it did seem like a weird thing to be doing, even under the weird enough circumstances they found themselves in. Finally, Juanita got a second one, stabbing Fred Hobbes.
The murderer Evie the Killer kept her head down while the announcement wound down. No sense missing any vital information by starting a confrontation needlessly early - if there was to be one at all. The entire mine was off limits, so that limited her angles of approach to the hot spring. That and the recreation sector of the research station. She hadn't actually been there. Not impossible that Kelsey had been there the whole time. Regardless, apparently whatever cowardice Julia had gotten up to had been pleasing to the guys in charge, so she was rewarded with some seafood. Yuck. Still, that was about as important as whether or not the fence was made of wrought iron or something else. Evie skulked around to the nearest entry point, and carefully retrieved her gun from her pocket.
If you want peace, prepare for war, right?
Evie closed the door as quietly as she could behind her. Doubtful that Lara heard either sound.
[Evie McKown crosses the Boundary.]
Evie the Killer, Evie the Coward. Those were the lovely thoughts occupying the tall girl's mind as she made herself small, reduced her surface are against the sub-zero cold of the dim twilight before sunrise. After abandoning the shelter of the trapper cabin, she was initially directionless: at first she thought to head for the research station once again, but ultimately that would represent going around in circles. Evie McKown did not want to be wandering around aimlessly, she wanted a plan. Maybe Kelsey was still there despite her reasonable surety that she couldn't have missed her, maybe she wasn't. But in the end, Evie recalled details from her map, and ultimately decided fuck it, I want some hot water, and set a course for the eastern mountain. That course made a point of not passing by That House. That House where she'd become That Girl, at least to a few people. Evie the Killer. Give it maybe an hour, half an hour, she'd be that to everyone else too.
So. She kept her head down, adjusted her EXTREME STEVE-branded beanie, hugged her arms close to her chest to keep them warm, and trudged along the long road back up the south coast of the island.
She'd come upon the edge of town around about the time some unseen speaker made itself not-unheard. No preamble today, straight to business. If Evie didn't know any better, she'd be starting to think that Danya was in a hurry to tarnish her name. What with her improbable luck versus Alex and Chloé, and the more general good fortune of not having run into Kitty, or Josh, or Jezzie, or any of the other big hitters so far, one could maybe forgive her for wondering if she wasn't supposed to make it, somehow. No, no that was silly. Evie wasn't the protagonist of this nightmare, it was real fucking life.
Didn't stop the thought burrowing itself deep into her psyche and making little nudges against her conscious mind from time to time, though.
In any case, only one pair of names preceded her. Przemyslaw, pronounced far more competently than she'd ever managed it, having been killed in suspiciously vague circumstances by Julia Guercio. Evie knew that name. Fellow swimmer. Very competitive, almost as good as herself. Almost. Must've gotten the drop on him in some sense, judging by the wording, but other than that she had nothing to go on.
Next up was her own spotlight moment, named and shamed and much more specifically called out as having done it with gunfire. Then she got a terrible pun, worse than any she'd ever come up with, and relying on pronouncing her own name less correctly than Przemyslaw Ziemiak. Somehow. If she weren't too busy being consumed with a mixture of guilt and dread over the death of Chloé Delacroix and the less of anonymity concerning such, she would've groaned, maybe complained vocally. Instead she just kept on moving and listening. A church on a hill seemed to promise shelter in the near distance, assuming nobody else had already had the same idea. Kyle Emerson died of exposure, Karen Ngyuen killed Maya Press with a gun. Evie came upon the base of the hill, set to climbing. The wildcat took her seventh life, still preferring her figurative claws. Kai Rosado-Prince broke Derek Caldwell's neck... Kai, hadn't he been there with Kitty's hot sister way back on day one, up a tree if she remembered right. Then he'd had some kind of stupid argument with Ash and they'd both left instead of helping Claire patch her up. Maybe that was for the best, in the end.
At the brow of the hill, Evie the Killer came upon an old iron fence. Iron, she assumed, from the distinctive colour and style of it. Not that it mattered. The important part was that it was a barrier to her entry into the church proper. Juanita Reid meanwhile, had killed Daniel Ozanne. No specific cause of death. Molly Oliviera killed her own brother Lucas, cut his guts open, that was fucked up. As Salem got another nod - was that two now, or three? - for shooting Colm Forsyth, the nice big guy who did zoo stuff, Evie noticed that someone else had had the bright idea to wander around in a graveyard at the crack of dawn. Hm. Thinking about it that way, it did seem like a weird thing to be doing, even under the weird enough circumstances they found themselves in. Finally, Juanita got a second one, stabbing Fred Hobbes.
The murderer Evie the Killer kept her head down while the announcement wound down. No sense missing any vital information by starting a confrontation needlessly early - if there was to be one at all. The entire mine was off limits, so that limited her angles of approach to the hot spring. That and the recreation sector of the research station. She hadn't actually been there. Not impossible that Kelsey had been there the whole time. Regardless, apparently whatever cowardice Julia had gotten up to had been pleasing to the guys in charge, so she was rewarded with some seafood. Yuck. Still, that was about as important as whether or not the fence was made of wrought iron or something else. Evie skulked around to the nearest entry point, and carefully retrieved her gun from her pocket.
If you want peace, prepare for war, right?
Iris didn't hear anything. She was pretty sure she didn't, but the mind played tricks, and the snow blanketed and muffled everything. Maybe there was something there, and it was just so dampened that only her subconscious heard it, the way that people heard tiny vibrations in old pipes and started to believe that their house was haunted.
If there was any place on the island that could happen, then- well, the graveyard probably wouldn't be it, actually. It was open, and no pipes ran through here if the people who had planned out the town were smart. All the same, when Iris snapped back to reality, she could feel the prickle on the back of her neck of being watched, goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold.
Swinging around to look to one side and then the other, the graveyard still appeared empty. Maybe she really was imagining things. If anything, she was probably long overdue for going a little bit crazy.
It was the promise of embarrassment rather than a threat that kept Iris silent for another few moments. There were cameras all around, even when she couldn't see them; she knew that much. She got the same creepy goosebumps feeling when she remembered that they were there, and if she started acting like a freak and calling out to shadows, somebody watching somewhere would know.
A half-thought interrupting the current train: Iris wanted so, so badly to be loved but dreaded being known.
Back to the present, she turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping over the headstones and lumpy ground about her. "H-hello?" She called out, unsure if she really expected an answer, and even less sure if she wanted one.
If there was any place on the island that could happen, then- well, the graveyard probably wouldn't be it, actually. It was open, and no pipes ran through here if the people who had planned out the town were smart. All the same, when Iris snapped back to reality, she could feel the prickle on the back of her neck of being watched, goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold.
Swinging around to look to one side and then the other, the graveyard still appeared empty. Maybe she really was imagining things. If anything, she was probably long overdue for going a little bit crazy.
It was the promise of embarrassment rather than a threat that kept Iris silent for another few moments. There were cameras all around, even when she couldn't see them; she knew that much. She got the same creepy goosebumps feeling when she remembered that they were there, and if she started acting like a freak and calling out to shadows, somebody watching somewhere would know.
A half-thought interrupting the current train: Iris wanted so, so badly to be loved but dreaded being known.
Back to the present, she turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping over the headstones and lumpy ground about her. "H-hello?" She called out, unsure if she really expected an answer, and even less sure if she wanted one.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 444
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
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The softness of the ground, the brown of her coat and its light dusting of dirt and snow, the distance between them. Apparently that was enough to keep Evie’s exact location in question, but not enough to hide her presence outright. Because a faintly familiar voice narrowed down the list of who the indistinct figure in the distance might belong to, seemingly asking after her. Unless she’d heard someone on the far side, of course.
Even so. Evie ultimately decided it best to take control of the situation, and not give any reason to panic or do anything rash. So she emerged, gun readied, but aimed low. She’d seen that in games and movies, it was a way to signal readiness but not hostility, right?
Stepping out into the dawn’s pale light, MAC-11 pointed a few degrees down and to the right, a tall girl with a not-insignificant amount of blood staining her clothes gave her answer:
“Only me.”
Ha. Yeah. Like that was a comfort any more, if the owner of that nervous voice had any idea who she was. Speaking of which, who was that? It was hard to pick out details or accurate colours without the benefit of real sunlight, but the reddish hair and the very fetchingly butch undercut seemed familiar at least.
“I’m just…”
That was another good question, why was Evie here, instead of just going around? She must’ve had a reason, even if she didn’t know what it was yet.
“Passing through.”
Even so. Evie ultimately decided it best to take control of the situation, and not give any reason to panic or do anything rash. So she emerged, gun readied, but aimed low. She’d seen that in games and movies, it was a way to signal readiness but not hostility, right?
Stepping out into the dawn’s pale light, MAC-11 pointed a few degrees down and to the right, a tall girl with a not-insignificant amount of blood staining her clothes gave her answer:
“Only me.”
Ha. Yeah. Like that was a comfort any more, if the owner of that nervous voice had any idea who she was. Speaking of which, who was that? It was hard to pick out details or accurate colours without the benefit of real sunlight, but the reddish hair and the very fetchingly butch undercut seemed familiar at least.
“I’m just…”
That was another good question, why was Evie here, instead of just going around? She must’ve had a reason, even if she didn’t know what it was yet.
“Passing through.”
Of course there was an answer, and of course it wasn't good. Or at least, not ideal. Iris's shoulders tensed when she saw the gun, even before putting together who was holding it, between the thick snowfall and her having to squint to make out the face at a distance.
"Hi... Evie," Iris said, reverting to polite greeting when at a loss for anything else. She wanted to back further away from the gun, but the headstone immediately behind her blocked the way. She'd only just heard Evie's name on the announcement, had only just been thinking about how Evie had always seemed so nice. She liked swimming and drawing. Chloé had had a plan to protect and help everyone. Iris just couldn't fathom any reason to kill her.
"I, um," Iris stuttered, searching for something else to say. The questions were on the tip of the tongue, but she also couldn't see a point in even asking. "I'm also just... here."
She glanced at the gun again. "I- don't want to fight. And I don't have anything worth taking!" She added quickly. "I'm just here." Evie had no reason to see her as a threat; Evie didn't know what had happened back at the infirmary.
But Chloé couldn't have been a threat either, she was sure. Iris's heart rate picked up despite her efforts to maintain composure. Her flashbangs were still in her bag, but she'd have to obviously reach for one, and even if she managed to get one and throw it without getting shot, if Evie was really intent on doing anything bad, Iris was acutely aware that she was fenced in with Evie occupying the only clear escape route.
She'd gone more than a week without having to throw one of the grenades. Was that going to change now?
"Hi... Evie," Iris said, reverting to polite greeting when at a loss for anything else. She wanted to back further away from the gun, but the headstone immediately behind her blocked the way. She'd only just heard Evie's name on the announcement, had only just been thinking about how Evie had always seemed so nice. She liked swimming and drawing. Chloé had had a plan to protect and help everyone. Iris just couldn't fathom any reason to kill her.
"I, um," Iris stuttered, searching for something else to say. The questions were on the tip of the tongue, but she also couldn't see a point in even asking. "I'm also just... here."
She glanced at the gun again. "I- don't want to fight. And I don't have anything worth taking!" She added quickly. "I'm just here." Evie had no reason to see her as a threat; Evie didn't know what had happened back at the infirmary.
But Chloé couldn't have been a threat either, she was sure. Iris's heart rate picked up despite her efforts to maintain composure. Her flashbangs were still in her bag, but she'd have to obviously reach for one, and even if she managed to get one and throw it without getting shot, if Evie was really intent on doing anything bad, Iris was acutely aware that she was fenced in with Evie occupying the only clear escape route.
She'd gone more than a week without having to throw one of the grenades. Was that going to change now?
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
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- Location: UK
Iris, that's who it was. Not that that informed Evie of much. Sporty in some sense that she couldn't quite remember at the moment, also did well in biology, that was about it. Evie's understanding of her peers was mostly skin-deep, in truth. Anyway, what was more important was how fucking terrified the other girl sounded. She still looked composed, but with her choice of words and the tone of her voice in mind, it wasn't hard for Evie to start picking out the tells. The way she kept glancing at the gun in Evie's hand, mainly. Not so dissimilar to how she'd behaved around Fitz and his rifle. It'd be mighty hypocritical for Evie to be upset by it, but she couldn't help feeling more than a little bit cautious as a result, what with what happened the last time someone got herself a powerful desire to take ownership of the gun now in Evie's hand.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Evie responded.
"Listen, I... I can explain."
Could she? Could she really? Could Evie the Killer really explain herself in a way that didn't just make things worse? Well, as some podcaster or YouTuber or someone like that had once said, "the past is prologue". He'd gone on to explain that he struggled to choose where to start telling a story from history, because you can always add useful context by going back a bit further to set up the root causes of the events you're actually there to discuss. With that in mind, maybe Evie could explain herself just fine, as long as she chose very carefully where she started. Start World War 2 with the invasion of Poland, you get to have the heroic Allies jumping in right away to fight fascism! Just ignore the years of appeasement that came first, right?
Evie took a couple of steps forwards, resting her left hand on a hip-height headstone. She didn't raise her weapon, but didn't lower it either. Mostly she wanted to see how receptive Iris was to hearing her out, and whether that was in a yeah-yeah-whatever-you-say-I'm-scared way, or an actual sincere interest way.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Evie responded.
"Listen, I... I can explain."
Could she? Could she really? Could Evie the Killer really explain herself in a way that didn't just make things worse? Well, as some podcaster or YouTuber or someone like that had once said, "the past is prologue". He'd gone on to explain that he struggled to choose where to start telling a story from history, because you can always add useful context by going back a bit further to set up the root causes of the events you're actually there to discuss. With that in mind, maybe Evie could explain herself just fine, as long as she chose very carefully where she started. Start World War 2 with the invasion of Poland, you get to have the heroic Allies jumping in right away to fight fascism! Just ignore the years of appeasement that came first, right?
Evie took a couple of steps forwards, resting her left hand on a hip-height headstone. She didn't raise her weapon, but didn't lower it either. Mostly she wanted to see how receptive Iris was to hearing her out, and whether that was in a yeah-yeah-whatever-you-say-I'm-scared way, or an actual sincere interest way.
"Okay?" Iri's response was immediate, reflexive. If anything, it was more habit than nature for her to hear people out, even when she didn't want to. She wasn't sure if she cared about Evie's explanation for Chloé or for anything else, because they were probably the same explanations everybody else would give.
I didn't mean to. It was an accident. I had to. It happened so fast. Iris could predict those explanations, because weren't they the same as her own? Wasn't all of that what June had said to her, and what she'd said to herself after running away?
She reached back for the headstone behind herself, searching for something solid to ground her. And for something solid to quickly duck behind if the gun came up. If everything went sour and all else failed, she was at least going to make herself hard to kill. If she couldn't be anything that people liked having around, she could at least be a cockroach.
Telling herself that and using it to shore up the pit in her stomach, she swallowed and spoke again. "What... what did you want to explain?"
Iris the human confessional. She already knew that she probably didn't have any interest in forgiveness, but she'd make herself listen, for now.
I didn't mean to. It was an accident. I had to. It happened so fast. Iris could predict those explanations, because weren't they the same as her own? Wasn't all of that what June had said to her, and what she'd said to herself after running away?
She reached back for the headstone behind herself, searching for something solid to ground her. And for something solid to quickly duck behind if the gun came up. If everything went sour and all else failed, she was at least going to make herself hard to kill. If she couldn't be anything that people liked having around, she could at least be a cockroach.
Telling herself that and using it to shore up the pit in her stomach, she swallowed and spoke again. "What... what did you want to explain?"
Iris the human confessional. She already knew that she probably didn't have any interest in forgiveness, but she'd make herself listen, for now.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
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Not exactly the sincerity Evie had hoped for, then. Still, getting it out, like she hadn’t with Lara? That might actually help. Maybe if she said the less-damning version of events out loud, she’d blame herself less. Was there some sort of irony to giving confession in the graveyard rather than inside the church? Probably. Evie wasn’t raised Catholic in any case, she only knew the pop-culture version of confession.
“She tried to shoot me. Actually pulled the trigger.”
Yeah, start there. Who needs the inciting incident? What matters is that Chloé escalated to lethal force first. Evie could almost believe it herself.
“It didn’t go off, I think the bullets were waterlogged. But I heard the trigger go, and I… I panicked.”
No, no this was a bad idea actually. She’d had good reason not to want to talk to Lara about it. Not just that she’d killed a personal friend of hers, but that reliving it was a real fucking bad time.
Chloé’s dried blood still stained the skin under her gloves.
“I hit her, and, I mean, I’ve never thrown a punch in my life, you know? Not in anger,”
A chuckle escaped her lips then, entirely mirthless. Something of a reflex, maybe.
“I, uh, literally don’t know my own strength, I… fuck,”
The dark, sleepless circles under her eyes changed their hue slightly with the addition of moisture. She really was Evie the Killer, the very first person she’d encountered was already terrified of her, looking as much like a cornered dog as a human being. Eighteen years of playing nice and making everyone happy and wanting so badly to be liked, and she’d tossed it out in an instant. Everybody she knew that was still alive already hated her. And for what?
“She fell really badly, went through this old chair, she… she was bleeding, I,”
Mustering some courage, Evie finally managed to actually look Iris in the eye.
“She asked me to! She was in pain!”
God, all she’d wanted was a chance to defend herself, a tool that Chloé obviously didn’t have the inclination to use! It wasn’t fair, to be judged so harshly when maniacs like Kitty were running around closing in on double digits for fun! She just wanted to live, to go home, nothing evil or cruel! What, was Iris so fucking pure she’d lie down and let herself be shot?
“So, so don’t fucking look at me like that, okay?!”
“She tried to shoot me. Actually pulled the trigger.”
Yeah, start there. Who needs the inciting incident? What matters is that Chloé escalated to lethal force first. Evie could almost believe it herself.
“It didn’t go off, I think the bullets were waterlogged. But I heard the trigger go, and I… I panicked.”
No, no this was a bad idea actually. She’d had good reason not to want to talk to Lara about it. Not just that she’d killed a personal friend of hers, but that reliving it was a real fucking bad time.
Chloé’s dried blood still stained the skin under her gloves.
“I hit her, and, I mean, I’ve never thrown a punch in my life, you know? Not in anger,”
A chuckle escaped her lips then, entirely mirthless. Something of a reflex, maybe.
“I, uh, literally don’t know my own strength, I… fuck,”
The dark, sleepless circles under her eyes changed their hue slightly with the addition of moisture. She really was Evie the Killer, the very first person she’d encountered was already terrified of her, looking as much like a cornered dog as a human being. Eighteen years of playing nice and making everyone happy and wanting so badly to be liked, and she’d tossed it out in an instant. Everybody she knew that was still alive already hated her. And for what?
“She fell really badly, went through this old chair, she… she was bleeding, I,”
Mustering some courage, Evie finally managed to actually look Iris in the eye.
“She asked me to! She was in pain!”
God, all she’d wanted was a chance to defend herself, a tool that Chloé obviously didn’t have the inclination to use! It wasn’t fair, to be judged so harshly when maniacs like Kitty were running around closing in on double digits for fun! She just wanted to live, to go home, nothing evil or cruel! What, was Iris so fucking pure she’d lie down and let herself be shot?
“So, so don’t fucking look at me like that, okay?!”
When the whole story was out, or at least the whole story that Evie wanted to tell, it wasn't like Iris didn't believe her. She had understood that June wasn't lying when she said that pushing Iris down the cellar steps was an impulse, that hurting her so badly was an accident. She could believe that Chloé panicked too, or maybe there was a better reason for her to try to shoot Evie, but in the end, the result was all the same. So that much, Iris could understand.
She was shaking. It was from the cold, yes, but also probably from stress. She'd been standing out in the snow for a while, now, and also there was a gun being pointed at her, or at least in her general direction.
"Okay," she managed to say, softly. If she kept her voice low, she could also just about keep the waver out of it. Her heart was in her throat, but she could also feel a rising heat in the pit of her chest, just like when she'd stood and listened to June's apology.
"Okay, I mean, I-I don't think you're lying but..." Iris glanced at the gun and then back up at Evie's face. "I'm not-" Her fingers curled around the edge of the headstone, and she had to resist the urge to tap-tap-tap at its surface in nervous agitation.
"I didn't ask you to explain. And I haven't said anything to you about Chloé or blamed you for anything, and you're still- you're still mad at me for just being here." She swallowed around the lump in her throat, expecting the gun to come up at any moment, expecting to have to run and pray that she wasn't going to twist her ankle or fall into an open grave, and then Evie would be standing over her and ready to shoot. She wished so badly that she had one of the flashbangs in her hand, or at least somewhere that she could reach for them without it being so obvious.
"I didn't- I haven't done anything to you, so I'm- I'm gonna look at you however I want!" Iris raised her voice a little bit, though that made the strain more evident.
Everything in her screamed that she was making the wrong choice, but she dragged up a new inner voice that screamed back how sick and tired she was of being afraid of everything all the time and having to do what everyone else wanted her to do.
"How come I always have to just tell you that whatever you did is okay!?" It wasn't a demand meant for Evie alone.
She was shaking. It was from the cold, yes, but also probably from stress. She'd been standing out in the snow for a while, now, and also there was a gun being pointed at her, or at least in her general direction.
"Okay," she managed to say, softly. If she kept her voice low, she could also just about keep the waver out of it. Her heart was in her throat, but she could also feel a rising heat in the pit of her chest, just like when she'd stood and listened to June's apology.
"Okay, I mean, I-I don't think you're lying but..." Iris glanced at the gun and then back up at Evie's face. "I'm not-" Her fingers curled around the edge of the headstone, and she had to resist the urge to tap-tap-tap at its surface in nervous agitation.
"I didn't ask you to explain. And I haven't said anything to you about Chloé or blamed you for anything, and you're still- you're still mad at me for just being here." She swallowed around the lump in her throat, expecting the gun to come up at any moment, expecting to have to run and pray that she wasn't going to twist her ankle or fall into an open grave, and then Evie would be standing over her and ready to shoot. She wished so badly that she had one of the flashbangs in her hand, or at least somewhere that she could reach for them without it being so obvious.
"I didn't- I haven't done anything to you, so I'm- I'm gonna look at you however I want!" Iris raised her voice a little bit, though that made the strain more evident.
Everything in her screamed that she was making the wrong choice, but she dragged up a new inner voice that screamed back how sick and tired she was of being afraid of everything all the time and having to do what everyone else wanted her to do.
"How come I always have to just tell you that whatever you did is okay!?" It wasn't a demand meant for Evie alone.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 444
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
In a better place, in a better headspace, maybe Evie would've interpreted the defiance as putting on a brave face. Presenting confidence in the face of danger. Evie wasn't in either of those places. She read escalation.
Oh so now it was Evie's fault for wanting to make herself understood? Imposing on Iris, when she'd agreed to hear her out in the first place? Evie didn't ask her to stand there shaking like a leaf, monstering her with her nervous glances and her wide-eyed dread without having to say a word. She was just trying to make sure her way onwards was safe, she didn't come here to give a confession! The fact that pretty much everything had started from her own impetus was lost on the girl with the gun, her thoughts were elsewhere. They lay in the snapping of aged wood, in the rapidly growing pool of blood, so much more blood than she'd expected, so much faster...
Some small instinct told her to de-escalate, or to just make herself scare. Evie was a people-pleaser at heart, she wanted so badly to be liked, and that part of her insisted that just walking away would be a better show of good will than anything she could say or do in staying. Just leave the girl alone, be on your way.
Evie the Killer told that part of her to shut the fuck up, as it wanted to tell Iris just the same. She didn't have to stand here and be yelled at, she was Evie fucking McKown, bigger and stronger than Iris, and with a gun. Who was she to judge Evie for what she'd done, huh? Like she was a better person just because the circumstances hadn't yet forced her hand? No. Evie had the gun, she had the power, other people could crave her approval for once. Her index finger felt carefully within the trigger guard, slid a small toggle backwards.
"You don't have to tell me anything, okay!? I don't need your approval! I just, I just..."
She just... what? Wanted her to stop looking at her like she's a monster, without knowing the full story? As if the full story made it much better? As if the full story wasn't already coiled around Evie's stomach like barbed wire, nauseating her as much as it simply hurt her?
"Just, fucking leave, if you're so scared of me. How's that?"
Oh so now it was Evie's fault for wanting to make herself understood? Imposing on Iris, when she'd agreed to hear her out in the first place? Evie didn't ask her to stand there shaking like a leaf, monstering her with her nervous glances and her wide-eyed dread without having to say a word. She was just trying to make sure her way onwards was safe, she didn't come here to give a confession! The fact that pretty much everything had started from her own impetus was lost on the girl with the gun, her thoughts were elsewhere. They lay in the snapping of aged wood, in the rapidly growing pool of blood, so much more blood than she'd expected, so much faster...
Some small instinct told her to de-escalate, or to just make herself scare. Evie was a people-pleaser at heart, she wanted so badly to be liked, and that part of her insisted that just walking away would be a better show of good will than anything she could say or do in staying. Just leave the girl alone, be on your way.
Evie the Killer told that part of her to shut the fuck up, as it wanted to tell Iris just the same. She didn't have to stand here and be yelled at, she was Evie fucking McKown, bigger and stronger than Iris, and with a gun. Who was she to judge Evie for what she'd done, huh? Like she was a better person just because the circumstances hadn't yet forced her hand? No. Evie had the gun, she had the power, other people could crave her approval for once. Her index finger felt carefully within the trigger guard, slid a small toggle backwards.
"You don't have to tell me anything, okay!? I don't need your approval! I just, I just..."
She just... what? Wanted her to stop looking at her like she's a monster, without knowing the full story? As if the full story made it much better? As if the full story wasn't already coiled around Evie's stomach like barbed wire, nauseating her as much as it simply hurt her?
"Just, fucking leave, if you're so scared of me. How's that?"
"Fine." The word fell from Iris's lips like a stone. She was shaking so hard that she wasn't even sure if she'd be able to take a step.
Evie saw judgement? Fine. Iris would judge her for killing Chloé and then coming here and demanding some kind of absolution at gunpoint. Just like June. Just like everybody else who only wanted her for what she could do for them, rather than because she meant anything to them as a person.
"Fine, I-I want to leave anyway. But-" Iris's hand left the headstone and instead gripped the strap of her bag, squeezing tight. "Are you gonna let me leave?"
She almost didn't add what came next, but the words tumbled out before she could swallow them. "Or are you gonna make up some reason why I deserve to get shot?"
The wave didn't quite break this time, not like before. Not like that moment of clarity after accidentally setting the gun off in the listening station or shoving June down the tunnel steps. Some of that fog lifted, and the wind howled at Iris that she was as good as committing suicide by cop.
But Evie wasn't a cop, and if Iris was only a cockroach, then goddammit, she was going to be hard to kill. "You don't- you won't get anything for killing me now, you know. I don't have anything you want. I'm not gonna do anything for you. And if you think people hate you now, what do you think they're gonna do when you've done it twice?"
She set her feet against the ground, prepared to run as soon as the gun came up.
Evie saw judgement? Fine. Iris would judge her for killing Chloé and then coming here and demanding some kind of absolution at gunpoint. Just like June. Just like everybody else who only wanted her for what she could do for them, rather than because she meant anything to them as a person.
"Fine, I-I want to leave anyway. But-" Iris's hand left the headstone and instead gripped the strap of her bag, squeezing tight. "Are you gonna let me leave?"
She almost didn't add what came next, but the words tumbled out before she could swallow them. "Or are you gonna make up some reason why I deserve to get shot?"
The wave didn't quite break this time, not like before. Not like that moment of clarity after accidentally setting the gun off in the listening station or shoving June down the tunnel steps. Some of that fog lifted, and the wind howled at Iris that she was as good as committing suicide by cop.
But Evie wasn't a cop, and if Iris was only a cockroach, then goddammit, she was going to be hard to kill. "You don't- you won't get anything for killing me now, you know. I don't have anything you want. I'm not gonna do anything for you. And if you think people hate you now, what do you think they're gonna do when you've done it twice?"
She set her feet against the ground, prepared to run as soon as the gun came up.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 444
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
Okay, okay good. Iris wanted to go, or so she claimed. Evie could get used to throwing her weight around, really. It felt good to be in control of a situation, not bending towards whatever the prevailing attitude was. Just a little bit intoxicating... right up until she had to throw in a quick shot below the proverbial belt. She really didn't believe Evie hadn't meant to kill, did she?
"Oh fuck you."
If her knuckles weren't still brown with old blood, they'd be white instead with the way she clutched the gun in her hand. Her elbow twitched, eager to raise the damn thing.
But a coherent thought elbowed its way through the urge to give in to spite. Was she really going to shoot someone over hurt feelings? Evie the Killer she might be, but petty? That petty? It wasn't even as though she'd asked for any kind of forgiveness from Iris, just tried to explain why she didn't need to be afraid of her. So why prove her right, over something she didn't even want? Fuck. Was this really going to be her life from here on in?
Yeah. Probably. But she wasn't in a hurry to re-create the scene that remained a struggle to get out of her mind's eye. Fumbling awkwardly to make sure she didn't jog the trigger instead, Evie flicked the safety back on. She took a few steps to her left, leaning against a larger tombstone.
"Don't act like you know who I am. You're not better than me."
Of course, she didn't put the gun away just yet. Iris probably wasn't armed, but that wasn't a given. Using it to gesture towards the exit though, at least that meant pointing the business end in the opposite direction to her.
"And I don't need your forgiveness, either."
"Oh fuck you."
If her knuckles weren't still brown with old blood, they'd be white instead with the way she clutched the gun in her hand. Her elbow twitched, eager to raise the damn thing.
But a coherent thought elbowed its way through the urge to give in to spite. Was she really going to shoot someone over hurt feelings? Evie the Killer she might be, but petty? That petty? It wasn't even as though she'd asked for any kind of forgiveness from Iris, just tried to explain why she didn't need to be afraid of her. So why prove her right, over something she didn't even want? Fuck. Was this really going to be her life from here on in?
Yeah. Probably. But she wasn't in a hurry to re-create the scene that remained a struggle to get out of her mind's eye. Fumbling awkwardly to make sure she didn't jog the trigger instead, Evie flicked the safety back on. She took a few steps to her left, leaning against a larger tombstone.
"Don't act like you know who I am. You're not better than me."
Of course, she didn't put the gun away just yet. Iris probably wasn't armed, but that wasn't a given. Using it to gesture towards the exit though, at least that meant pointing the business end in the opposite direction to her.
"And I don't need your forgiveness, either."
((DeMarcus Miller continued from Where We Go One))
He supposed it was fitting that he'd end up at a graveyard.
Someone had put down Fred after he had gone off on his own anyway. DeMarcus hadn't been surprised when his name came up on the announcements, but he had been dismayed. Just like that, the only person that understood his position and where he was coming from, was gone. And much of DeMarcus's confidence had died with him. Even his plan to find Marshall's little safe house to ransack it was on life support. He had only come to the graveyard by wandering and chance. So many things were dead, and the place looked big enough to bury all of them.
The Desert Eagle was heavy in his hand and he was dimly aware of it as it bounced off of his hip with every step. He staggered once or twice here and there, his toes catching in cracks in the earth. He was so unfocused, so inattentive, that he almost didn't hear the snatches of conversation from somewhere nearby. He stopped, cocked his ears. He couldn't quite make out the words but he could get the tone. Someone was anxious. Maybe even scared. He moved toward the voices. Not out of interest but more because some sort of direction, any direction, was needed.
He found the pair near the fence, close to the entrance having whatever civil or uncivil discussion they were having. Had this been a few days before, and if he still had Fred backing his plans, DeMarcus might have come in spraying, just to get a few quick, new notches on his belt. Instead he moved through the gate. He barely noticed that one of the pair had gestured with a weapon toward it. He only took a few steps in before stopping to stare at the pair. His gun stayed at his hip.
"This would be a convenient place to kill somebody, huh?" He said as an introduction.
He supposed it was fitting that he'd end up at a graveyard.
Someone had put down Fred after he had gone off on his own anyway. DeMarcus hadn't been surprised when his name came up on the announcements, but he had been dismayed. Just like that, the only person that understood his position and where he was coming from, was gone. And much of DeMarcus's confidence had died with him. Even his plan to find Marshall's little safe house to ransack it was on life support. He had only come to the graveyard by wandering and chance. So many things were dead, and the place looked big enough to bury all of them.
The Desert Eagle was heavy in his hand and he was dimly aware of it as it bounced off of his hip with every step. He staggered once or twice here and there, his toes catching in cracks in the earth. He was so unfocused, so inattentive, that he almost didn't hear the snatches of conversation from somewhere nearby. He stopped, cocked his ears. He couldn't quite make out the words but he could get the tone. Someone was anxious. Maybe even scared. He moved toward the voices. Not out of interest but more because some sort of direction, any direction, was needed.
He found the pair near the fence, close to the entrance having whatever civil or uncivil discussion they were having. Had this been a few days before, and if he still had Fred backing his plans, DeMarcus might have come in spraying, just to get a few quick, new notches on his belt. Instead he moved through the gate. He barely noticed that one of the pair had gestured with a weapon toward it. He only took a few steps in before stopping to stare at the pair. His gun stayed at his hip.
"This would be a convenient place to kill somebody, huh?" He said as an introduction.
The gun didn't come up. Iris was so tense and ready waiting for it that Evie's retort coming without it surprised her into freezing momentarily. But then Evie stepped aside, still didn't fire, and gestured for her to leave. Iris took a couple of stumbling steps, still watching her and ready to bolt, but all that Evie flung her way now was more words.
Iris could think of plenty to say back to her. That she did know Evie, probably better than Evie thought. That she'd had Evie's class schedule memorized in freshman year just because they had a lot of the same class periods, and that of Evie and Kelsey, she'd always thought Evie was the prettier one. That for someone insisting she didn't need forgiveness, Evie sure had shown up demanding it, and only decided she didn't need it when Iris didn't want to give it up without a fight.
That maybe in a little while, Iris might be kind of grateful to her for that.
None of it would have been a good idea to say, but it didn't matter. Iris only made it a few steps past Evie before another complication showed itself, and the strange bravado she'd started to cultivate shriveled back in on itself.
Because maybe deep down, Iris didn't really think that Evie would shoot her without a reason. DeMarcus... might. He was somebody she went out of her way to avoid, which was a rarity among her classmates. Every time she'd had to interact with him, he gave her the impression of someone just overflowing with negativity and vitriol, and she didn't want anymore of that directed at her.
The first words out of his mouth shot Iris's tension right back through the roof, and she blurted out a response on reflex. All of those words buzzing around in her head had to go somewhere now; she'd opened some floodgate, like an overstuffed closet, and she was only barely managing to shovel things back in here and there.
"Th-that's not what's happening here," she said, managing to sound halfway indignant, which she thought was better than all the way panicked.
Iris could think of plenty to say back to her. That she did know Evie, probably better than Evie thought. That she'd had Evie's class schedule memorized in freshman year just because they had a lot of the same class periods, and that of Evie and Kelsey, she'd always thought Evie was the prettier one. That for someone insisting she didn't need forgiveness, Evie sure had shown up demanding it, and only decided she didn't need it when Iris didn't want to give it up without a fight.
That maybe in a little while, Iris might be kind of grateful to her for that.
None of it would have been a good idea to say, but it didn't matter. Iris only made it a few steps past Evie before another complication showed itself, and the strange bravado she'd started to cultivate shriveled back in on itself.
Because maybe deep down, Iris didn't really think that Evie would shoot her without a reason. DeMarcus... might. He was somebody she went out of her way to avoid, which was a rarity among her classmates. Every time she'd had to interact with him, he gave her the impression of someone just overflowing with negativity and vitriol, and she didn't want anymore of that directed at her.
The first words out of his mouth shot Iris's tension right back through the roof, and she blurted out a response on reflex. All of those words buzzing around in her head had to go somewhere now; she'd opened some floodgate, like an overstuffed closet, and she was only barely managing to shovel things back in here and there.
"Th-that's not what's happening here," she said, managing to sound halfway indignant, which she thought was better than all the way panicked.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 444
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
It was a strange combination of desires and subconscious thoughts that motivated Evie’s next move.
“Guess it would be, yeah.”
Her rational mind screamed at her to slink behind cover, make ready for an actual fight. The gun wasn’t pointed at her just yet, but this was certainly the closest thing to a clear and present danger she’d faced since Chloé’s gun - her gun - had sent her into a panic. But it wasn’t pointed at her just yet. Maybe, unlike Alex’s spear, she could talk her way around this one?
Instead, what she chose to do was far less sensible than putting a few inches of stone between her and that meaty-looking handgun. What Evie did was put a whole armed girl between it and Iris.
On some level, she really had just wanted Iris not to be afraid of her.
On another, she knew that a good excuse would make it easier to do again. To honestly be able to say that both of her victims had pointed guns at her first.
So Evie didn’t raise hers just yet. She disengaged the safety once more, tensed her arm ready to point and shoot, and she waited.
“Why, are you in the mood to?”
If there was one important thing Evie McKown had learned from nature, it was that a cornered animal would be wise to appear dangerous, not fearful. Hopefully the threat of mutually-assured destruction would keep things civil. It had worked so well in the Cold War, right?
“Guess it would be, yeah.”
Her rational mind screamed at her to slink behind cover, make ready for an actual fight. The gun wasn’t pointed at her just yet, but this was certainly the closest thing to a clear and present danger she’d faced since Chloé’s gun - her gun - had sent her into a panic. But it wasn’t pointed at her just yet. Maybe, unlike Alex’s spear, she could talk her way around this one?
Instead, what she chose to do was far less sensible than putting a few inches of stone between her and that meaty-looking handgun. What Evie did was put a whole armed girl between it and Iris.
On some level, she really had just wanted Iris not to be afraid of her.
On another, she knew that a good excuse would make it easier to do again. To honestly be able to say that both of her victims had pointed guns at her first.
So Evie didn’t raise hers just yet. She disengaged the safety once more, tensed her arm ready to point and shoot, and she waited.
“Why, are you in the mood to?”
If there was one important thing Evie McKown had learned from nature, it was that a cornered animal would be wise to appear dangerous, not fearful. Hopefully the threat of mutually-assured destruction would keep things civil. It had worked so well in the Cold War, right?