The night came and went. The storm waned.
But she remained.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED FROM "The Weight of the Ice"
Claire had found shelter along the way. But there was no finding solace. Instead, all she saw were rows upon rows of gravestones. Once upon a time, what felt like an eon ago, she had enjoyed such places as these. She remembered that, once a year, she would go to the old graveyard. Once there, she would look at the inscribed names and the skulls carved into the stones. Reminders of the inevitability of death: 'Memento mori.'
Such reminders no longer felt so mystical. Instead, they were far too real. Memento mori had been her philosophy on the island; the grimoire in her pocket was a living testament to that concept. And yet here, in an old graveyard on an island of the dead, the hard part was not to commit to mind their inevitable future fates, their death. It was to remember their past and present life—to remember that they live: 'Memento vitae.'
Every day that passed, she felt that notion slip through her fingers.
Every day that passed, the real world felt a little less real to her.
She took out the tome; blue eyes met black blood. As the ceaseless chimes replaced themselves with the captor's caterwaul, she cut her thumb on the golden blade of the khopesh. A drop of blood ran down the edge like a teardrop—as if the sword wanted to cry. She did not heed its weeping. Instead, she put her thumb to paper and wrote the names again—another blood-filled etching to inscribe on her desecrated tombstone.
Memento Mori, Memento Vitae
[Open, Day 9 — Mid-Announcement]
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
((Mônica Oliveira continued from Speechcraft.))
Ughhh.
Elsewhere in the graveyard, Mônica had finished checking around the corpses of DeMarcus Miller and Lara Bullock, hoping that their murderer had left some supplies behind. Unfortunately, they hadn’t.
The sight was gruesome, especially for DeMarcus who’d been absolutely shredded by whoever had shot him. Mônica had to keep a hand clasped over her nose and mouth as she'd peeled back the emergency blankets that had been used to cover them, just in case the supplies were under there too, before dropping the blankets back. It'd been a long shot, she supposed. She hauled herself out of the graves and continued on, only breathing properly once she'd made some distance.
As if on cue for her wondering of who’d killed them, the announcements crackled to life. The murderer of both DeMarcus and Lara was outed as Mônica moved through the graveyard. Evie McKown sure was piling the corpses up. The least she could have done was left some supplies behind.
It’s only been a day since she lost her supplies on the road but Mônica was already starving. Even with the smell of corpses fresh in her nose, the bland rations still sounded good. Maybe she was growing immune to the stench.
As the announcement neared its end, Mônica saw a figure. Someone writing on—were they using their thumb? That wouldn’t make sense unless--
Oh. Gross.
The announcements echoing through the island smothered Mônica’s approach. Mônica had a fleeting thought about plunging the sword into the girl while the announcement was blaring, and take whatever food she had left for herself.
Stealth hadn’t gone well last time, though. Mônica couldn’t bring herself to lift the sword into the right position to stab. So instead, as the announcements faded away, she stopped just a few feet away and spoke.
“If you’re going to use blood instead of ink, there’s some corpses that way?”
As she spoke, gesturing the way she’d come, her eyes flickered to the sword the other girl – Claire Haig, not mentioned in the announcements yet – was using. It looked beat up to hell. Mônica kept a tight grip on her zweihander.
Ughhh.
Elsewhere in the graveyard, Mônica had finished checking around the corpses of DeMarcus Miller and Lara Bullock, hoping that their murderer had left some supplies behind. Unfortunately, they hadn’t.
The sight was gruesome, especially for DeMarcus who’d been absolutely shredded by whoever had shot him. Mônica had to keep a hand clasped over her nose and mouth as she'd peeled back the emergency blankets that had been used to cover them, just in case the supplies were under there too, before dropping the blankets back. It'd been a long shot, she supposed. She hauled herself out of the graves and continued on, only breathing properly once she'd made some distance.
As if on cue for her wondering of who’d killed them, the announcements crackled to life. The murderer of both DeMarcus and Lara was outed as Mônica moved through the graveyard. Evie McKown sure was piling the corpses up. The least she could have done was left some supplies behind.
It’s only been a day since she lost her supplies on the road but Mônica was already starving. Even with the smell of corpses fresh in her nose, the bland rations still sounded good. Maybe she was growing immune to the stench.
As the announcement neared its end, Mônica saw a figure. Someone writing on—were they using their thumb? That wouldn’t make sense unless--
Oh. Gross.
The announcements echoing through the island smothered Mônica’s approach. Mônica had a fleeting thought about plunging the sword into the girl while the announcement was blaring, and take whatever food she had left for herself.
Stealth hadn’t gone well last time, though. Mônica couldn’t bring herself to lift the sword into the right position to stab. So instead, as the announcements faded away, she stopped just a few feet away and spoke.
“If you’re going to use blood instead of ink, there’s some corpses that way?”
As she spoke, gesturing the way she’d come, her eyes flickered to the sword the other girl – Claire Haig, not mentioned in the announcements yet – was using. It looked beat up to hell. Mônica kept a tight grip on her zweihander.
Somehow, she kept her voice at a whisper for her next line.
“What the fuck?”
[[Cut to Jezzie Stark, standing and staring at the closest speaker, collar tracker held close to her chest.]]
Later, she'd probably be impressed by her own willpower. For all intents and purposes, that should've been a scream to the heavens. Was she really that good? She must've been, otherwise it would've at least been speaking volume. Whatever the case, it was all stuff to consider later, as her mind went on overdrive from the announcements had said.
Kitty killed Ash. Ash was murdered by her own sister. Her own guilt was hidden by another case of fratricide on this island.
What the FUCK is going on
Had she miscalculated the relationship between the two of them? Did they really hate each other that bad, and she just never noticed?
Had Kitty legitimately lost her mind, unlike her previous assessment? Was her killing spree completely purposeful, taking out anyone and everyone to make sure she was the sole survivor?
Had it been an act of mercy, when one sister found the other after she bled out for a day? Had Ash told Kitty everything that happened, signing her death warrant with a smile, knowing her feral sister was sure to avenge her?
Fuck fuck fuck! She couldn’t tell anything until she had the whole equation, and if that meant seeing Kitty to figure things out, she was better off just assuming an answer, and the worst case scenario was the safest one, even if it made her heart feel like it could stop.
God, she felt like throwing up. The stress was making her stomach spin. She needed to rest somewhere, if only for a minute.
She stumbled through the gates of the graveyard, barely paying attention to her surroundings as Jezzie plopped down and sat on one of the smaller gravestones.
So distracted, was she, that the new blips on the collar tracker went unnoticed, as did the girls they represented.
“What the fuck?”
[[Cut to Jezzie Stark, standing and staring at the closest speaker, collar tracker held close to her chest.]]
Later, she'd probably be impressed by her own willpower. For all intents and purposes, that should've been a scream to the heavens. Was she really that good? She must've been, otherwise it would've at least been speaking volume. Whatever the case, it was all stuff to consider later, as her mind went on overdrive from the announcements had said.
Kitty killed Ash. Ash was murdered by her own sister. Her own guilt was hidden by another case of fratricide on this island.
What the FUCK is going on
Had she miscalculated the relationship between the two of them? Did they really hate each other that bad, and she just never noticed?
Had Kitty legitimately lost her mind, unlike her previous assessment? Was her killing spree completely purposeful, taking out anyone and everyone to make sure she was the sole survivor?
Had it been an act of mercy, when one sister found the other after she bled out for a day? Had Ash told Kitty everything that happened, signing her death warrant with a smile, knowing her feral sister was sure to avenge her?
Fuck fuck fuck! She couldn’t tell anything until she had the whole equation, and if that meant seeing Kitty to figure things out, she was better off just assuming an answer, and the worst case scenario was the safest one, even if it made her heart feel like it could stop.
God, she felt like throwing up. The stress was making her stomach spin. She needed to rest somewhere, if only for a minute.
She stumbled through the gates of the graveyard, barely paying attention to her surroundings as Jezzie plopped down and sat on one of the smaller gravestones.
So distracted, was she, that the new blips on the collar tracker went unnoticed, as did the girls they represented.
Claire blinked wearily at the girl as she approached. Mônica. She had murdered her brother, the second of the two incidents of fratricide on the island thus far, per the latest announcement. And in her hands was a greatsword that looked almost as large as herself; the zweihander shifted unsteadily in her grip as if the massive sword's handle grew out of thorns, a pain to hold in smaller hands than Claire's own. Her eyes closed and opened slowly, and then she shook her head at the suggestion.
"I don't want to desecrate the dead," she mumbled. There was a dark apprehension on her tongue—as if she was trying to remember the ancient words of a long-forgotten incantation. A frown formed across her long face. "Trying to hold onto my morals the best I can here. They're the one thing I've got left to my name." Her finger continued to move across the paper, a quill of flesh and bone and blood-red ink, calligraphy on autopilot. Then, a moment later, she stared down at the soaked paper.
ASHLYN GRAVES
MADELEINE MOLLIQAJ
GREG CRAIG
JENNIFER FARROW
IRIS WAITE
KAREN NGUYEN
ELODIE HAILEY
LARA BULLOCK
DEMARCUS MILLER
JOSHUA JAMES •
RICHARD BUSTER JR.
VICTOR GRAIL
Claire paused. Then, without a register, she looked down at the bottom of the paper. Her glazed eyes scrolled across the sequences of letters. They taunted her—no, dared her to push past the curtain and reveal a darkness she didn't want to face. It was an inevitable four-letter truth, written in blood and shaped like a friend. Her mouth opened as if to say something. The words caught in her throat and poured themselves out, a warbled, shivering curse uttered in shattered syllables and broken breaths, directed to the heavens and all that was holy in this terrible earth.
EVIE
EVIE
EVIE
Her other hand slipped the tome away from sight, a secret written in stark crimson. Then, with an easy, almost sluggish motion, her scabbed, scarred hand fell to her side and picked the khopesh up by its grip. She glanced at the other sword, with its massive blade, like Excalibur in sunlight, and hers suddenly felt much smaller and lighter in her hands. But she held tight to the handle of the jagged, blood-soaked blade, the one measure of control she had left in a world that deigned to condemn her.
"I don't want to desecrate the dead," she mumbled. There was a dark apprehension on her tongue—as if she was trying to remember the ancient words of a long-forgotten incantation. A frown formed across her long face. "Trying to hold onto my morals the best I can here. They're the one thing I've got left to my name." Her finger continued to move across the paper, a quill of flesh and bone and blood-red ink, calligraphy on autopilot. Then, a moment later, she stared down at the soaked paper.
ASHLYN GRAVES
MADELEINE MOLLIQAJ
GREG CRAIG
JENNIFER FARROW
IRIS WAITE
KAREN NGUYEN
ELODIE HAILEY
LARA BULLOCK
DEMARCUS MILLER
JOSHUA JAMES •
RICHARD BUSTER JR.
VICTOR GRAIL
Claire paused. Then, without a register, she looked down at the bottom of the paper. Her glazed eyes scrolled across the sequences of letters. They taunted her—no, dared her to push past the curtain and reveal a darkness she didn't want to face. It was an inevitable four-letter truth, written in blood and shaped like a friend. Her mouth opened as if to say something. The words caught in her throat and poured themselves out, a warbled, shivering curse uttered in shattered syllables and broken breaths, directed to the heavens and all that was holy in this terrible earth.
EVIE
EVIE
EVIE
Her other hand slipped the tome away from sight, a secret written in stark crimson. Then, with an easy, almost sluggish motion, her scabbed, scarred hand fell to her side and picked the khopesh up by its grip. She glanced at the other sword, with its massive blade, like Excalibur in sunlight, and hers suddenly felt much smaller and lighter in her hands. But she held tight to the handle of the jagged, blood-soaked blade, the one measure of control she had left in a world that deigned to condemn her.
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
“Keep writing in your own blood and you’ll be one of them way faster. I mean, be my guest, I guess? I just don’t feel like most of us have blood to spare?”
Mônica’s eyes flickered to the curvy sword again – ah, she’d seen that in a video game somewhere, she should know what it was called – before she took a step back.
If Claire was still clinging to morals like they meant anything, she’d probably hesitate. Mônica’s blade looked sharper. Mônica could definitely, definitely kill her.
...But maybe it’d be less risky (and less rude) to just ask.
“You don’t have any spare food, or have seen any lying around, have you? My bag got shot to heck by… I don’t know, it was either Julia or Jezzie. Some murderous J or another, you know? It’s kind of all the same by now.”
Mônica thought she heard noise nearby. Footsteps? She turned a little, though she was reluctant to put Claire out of her vision, either.
She hadn’t said ‘get the fuck away from me, twin-killer’ yet, so maybe she’d forgotten. Although--
Mônica looked back and squinted at the list in Claire’s hand.
...yeah, not likely. If Mônica wrote a name in her own blood she’d probably remember it. Maybe she was being polite. Or passive-aggressive - 'ooh I wouldn't lose my morals,' like it's so fucking easy--
Mônica turned half-away again, ears straining. Was she nuts? Was it just a squirrel? Did this island have squirrels?
Mônica’s eyes flickered to the curvy sword again – ah, she’d seen that in a video game somewhere, she should know what it was called – before she took a step back.
If Claire was still clinging to morals like they meant anything, she’d probably hesitate. Mônica’s blade looked sharper. Mônica could definitely, definitely kill her.
...But maybe it’d be less risky (and less rude) to just ask.
“You don’t have any spare food, or have seen any lying around, have you? My bag got shot to heck by… I don’t know, it was either Julia or Jezzie. Some murderous J or another, you know? It’s kind of all the same by now.”
Mônica thought she heard noise nearby. Footsteps? She turned a little, though she was reluctant to put Claire out of her vision, either.
She hadn’t said ‘get the fuck away from me, twin-killer’ yet, so maybe she’d forgotten. Although--
Mônica looked back and squinted at the list in Claire’s hand.
...yeah, not likely. If Mônica wrote a name in her own blood she’d probably remember it. Maybe she was being polite. Or passive-aggressive - 'ooh I wouldn't lose my morals,' like it's so fucking easy--
Mônica turned half-away again, ears straining. Was she nuts? Was it just a squirrel? Did this island have squirrels?
It was probably stupid, giving so much focus to this subject, at least at this very moment. But fuck if it still didn't feel surreal.
She could be one of the safest people on the island, for all that that meant, with her worst secrets being either buried or seemingly unsaid.
She could have her death certificate signed already, with Kitty out for her blood, and she was really just waiting to die, if any of Matt's words were to be believed.
The only way to know for sure was to see the girl, which would almost definitely lead to death anyway.
Her stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots from stress. It felt like her brain was pressing up against her skull, and the annoying beeping wasn't helping. She just wanted to breathe and even that felt difficuwait.
Beeping.
There were only two reasons for beeping here. One she would recognize, and one she wouldn't.
She recognized this one.
Without a second thought, she moved, diving for cover behind one of the larger gravestones, one hand going for the gun in her pocket.
Unfortunately for her, she moved without a first thought either, and she hadn't looked where she was going beyond the large gravestone. Specifically, the area she would land.
There was a sound between a squeak and a shriek as Jezzie partially slid, and mostly fell, into an open grave, and couldn't immediately identify whether or not she landed on a coffin.
She could be one of the safest people on the island, for all that that meant, with her worst secrets being either buried or seemingly unsaid.
She could have her death certificate signed already, with Kitty out for her blood, and she was really just waiting to die, if any of Matt's words were to be believed.
The only way to know for sure was to see the girl, which would almost definitely lead to death anyway.
Her stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots from stress. It felt like her brain was pressing up against her skull, and the annoying beeping wasn't helping. She just wanted to breathe and even that felt difficuwait.
Beeping.
There were only two reasons for beeping here. One she would recognize, and one she wouldn't.
She recognized this one.
Without a second thought, she moved, diving for cover behind one of the larger gravestones, one hand going for the gun in her pocket.
Unfortunately for her, she moved without a first thought either, and she hadn't looked where she was going beyond the large gravestone. Specifically, the area she would land.
There was a sound between a squeak and a shriek as Jezzie partially slid, and mostly fell, into an open grave, and couldn't immediately identify whether or not she landed on a coffin.
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ViolentMedic
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- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
Oh, she definitely heard something that time. Scraping and squeaks and stuff.
She COULD go check it out.
And maybe she’d get shot in the face if she went sticking her nose into every weird noise, because weird noises could mean guns and murder and a hell of a lot of bad things.
It COULD be a squirrel but it also could be everything bad in their tiny little world, because you know who also probably made noises? Tiny murderers like Kitty, scrabbling about. And she wasn’t going to stick around spooky noises in case Claire had a sandwich.
“Youknowwhatthere’sprobablyfoodsomewhereelseIhavetogobye.”
With that rushed, flimsy excuse Monica promptly turned and power-walked the way she’d come, figuring that at least if she did that, it was through an area she’d already been. Less likely for someone to be lingering ready to murder her. ..Just a little less.
((Mônica Oliveira continued in the dead include the living in their own great collective.)
She COULD go check it out.
And maybe she’d get shot in the face if she went sticking her nose into every weird noise, because weird noises could mean guns and murder and a hell of a lot of bad things.
It COULD be a squirrel but it also could be everything bad in their tiny little world, because you know who also probably made noises? Tiny murderers like Kitty, scrabbling about. And she wasn’t going to stick around spooky noises in case Claire had a sandwich.
“Youknowwhatthere’sprobablyfoodsomewhereelseIhavetogobye.”
With that rushed, flimsy excuse Monica promptly turned and power-walked the way she’d come, figuring that at least if she did that, it was through an area she’d already been. Less likely for someone to be lingering ready to murder her. ..Just a little less.
((Mônica Oliveira continued in the dead include the living in their own great collective.)
Claire blinked.
"I'm not going to keel over some because of some tiny pinprick cuts. I've gotten worse wounds by accident," the girl murmured, a half-truth, but only because the truth carried far worse implications. Besides, there was more to worry about than a few drops of scattered crimson. She couldn't be bothered to care about something so inconsequential as some blood.
Or maybe she was numb to it all. She felt so tired and not much else.
"Yeah, I—" Claire responded, about to heed her request. She had more than enough food to spare. And though she didn't trust Mônica in the slightest, she had reasoned that her incident was more likely to fall under one side of Hanlon's razor than the other. Be cautious, not paranoid. Then, the echo of a girl's scream cut through her words like a sharp knife.
And so, a moment later, Claire was alone, the dead her sole companions.
"The story of my life," she thought. "And, soon, the story of my death."
She looked down at the list, eyes glued to the names she had written in blood, their letters soaking into and running across the paper, some black as night. Then, she turned to the corpses on the ground. "But that story won't end quite yet. I'm not ready to die. Not here. Not now." And, with that declaration, she turned from the sound and walked away from it.
'Memento mori.'
Remember that you die.
'Memento vitae.'
Remember that you live.
For a moment, in spite of that idea, she related better with the corpses than anyone else here.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Vanitas"
"I'm not going to keel over some because of some tiny pinprick cuts. I've gotten worse wounds by accident," the girl murmured, a half-truth, but only because the truth carried far worse implications. Besides, there was more to worry about than a few drops of scattered crimson. She couldn't be bothered to care about something so inconsequential as some blood.
Or maybe she was numb to it all. She felt so tired and not much else.
"Yeah, I—" Claire responded, about to heed her request. She had more than enough food to spare. And though she didn't trust Mônica in the slightest, she had reasoned that her incident was more likely to fall under one side of Hanlon's razor than the other. Be cautious, not paranoid. Then, the echo of a girl's scream cut through her words like a sharp knife.
And so, a moment later, Claire was alone, the dead her sole companions.
"The story of my life," she thought. "And, soon, the story of my death."
She looked down at the list, eyes glued to the names she had written in blood, their letters soaking into and running across the paper, some black as night. Then, she turned to the corpses on the ground. "But that story won't end quite yet. I'm not ready to die. Not here. Not now." And, with that declaration, she turned from the sound and walked away from it.
'Memento mori.'
Remember that you die.
'Memento vitae.'
Remember that you live.
For a moment, in spite of that idea, she related better with the corpses than anyone else here.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Vanitas"
You know that phrase about how stupidity should be painful or something like that?
Yeah, why does that have to only happen when she's the one that fucks up?! Why can't it hurt when other people make mistakes, like fail montages on Youtube!? God, real life is such bullshit.
Slowly, she looked up, raising her head to look around and see what had happen.
And, for the second time while being stuck on this island, Jezzie quick realized she was stuck in a hole.
There were differences, at least. She hadn't fallen on top of anyone, this time. She fell into an open casket, and while the inside was gross, it hadn't hurt nearly as much as faceplanting onto the lid would have. She was alone in this hole, no worries about anyone trying to attack while she's disorientated. And by the time she properly got her bearings, the beeping had stopped, which had to be a good thing.
Leaving the gun where it was, she glanced at the tracker. Yup, she was alone.
Looking up made her realize the problem with that.
"Uh...aw shit."
She couldn't reach the edge of the hole.
The was nothing for her to grab and nowhere to place her foot if she wanted to climb.
And the only people that were around had just left, seemingly at the slightest noise.
Until she could get herself out, Jezzie was living in a grave.
[[Fade out as Jezzie Stark groans, slowly increasing in volume as she moves into a sitting position, seemingly accepting her fate.]]
Yeah, why does that have to only happen when she's the one that fucks up?! Why can't it hurt when other people make mistakes, like fail montages on Youtube!? God, real life is such bullshit.
Slowly, she looked up, raising her head to look around and see what had happen.
And, for the second time while being stuck on this island, Jezzie quick realized she was stuck in a hole.
There were differences, at least. She hadn't fallen on top of anyone, this time. She fell into an open casket, and while the inside was gross, it hadn't hurt nearly as much as faceplanting onto the lid would have. She was alone in this hole, no worries about anyone trying to attack while she's disorientated. And by the time she properly got her bearings, the beeping had stopped, which had to be a good thing.
Leaving the gun where it was, she glanced at the tracker. Yup, she was alone.
Looking up made her realize the problem with that.
"Uh...aw shit."
She couldn't reach the edge of the hole.
The was nothing for her to grab and nowhere to place her foot if she wanted to climb.
And the only people that were around had just left, seemingly at the slightest noise.
Until she could get herself out, Jezzie was living in a grave.
[[Fade out as Jezzie Stark groans, slowly increasing in volume as she moves into a sitting position, seemingly accepting her fate.]]