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Standing Eight; Private, PM if you got something
Topic Started: Feb 15 2011, 08:50 PM (814 Views)
outfoxd
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((Bryant Carver continued from My Own Summer (Shove it))

He was slumped against the inside wall of one of the gatehouses, head down, shotgun broken across his lap. A splotch of red was splattered across the abdomen of his white t-shirt. His eyes burned, and he was trying hard not to tear up. Wasn't befitting someone of his stature.

Bryant found himself at the gate to the compound after fleeing from the garage

gurgle

and thought maybe he could have got out. The gate didn't open. Of course. He couldn't scale it either. There were no handholds. The government boys really had thought of everything.

So he sat down in the gatehouse, hopefully out of view, but not really giving a fuck if someone could see him anyway. He was tired now. His arms were still

gurgle

tired, and he was still having trouble breathing. He was loading the shotgun now, according to the directions in the manual, and the act of sliding the shells into the barrel was somewhat relaxing. It was hard, because his hands still shook like he'd done a line of cocaine.

"...Gonna hang me if I get home..." He muttered to no one in particular.

It was true. He'd killed a white kid. Even if it was in self defense (he had doubts about that because of the look on Michael's face before he wiped it off with the shovel), if he made it out, everyone would want that murdering nigger dead. Way of the world.

Bryant snapped the barrel of the shotgun closed, clicked the lever that locked it into place, and set it to the side. He

gurgle

put the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away that burn in them, but it broke through. Sitting in the gatehouse, with someone else's blood on him and no hope for the future, Bryant Carver cried.



Edited by outfoxd, Feb 15 2011, 08:51 PM.
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((Marilyn continued from Tessellate]))

"You should be fucking thankful we let nips like you stay in this country."

Somebody had killed Harris Van Allen.

Stomp on the foot. Pain. Three broken toes. A sadistic little grin.

Harris Van Allen had been killed.

"Out've my way you slant-eyed bitch."

Harris Van Allen was dead.

SLAM into the locker. Her face explodes with pain, blood trickling down her forehead. A wrench at her scalp. Her hair... he ripped out her hair!

Harris was dead.

"You want your five dollar now?!"

Harris was dead.

*

Running and hiding had, for once, actually worked. If nothing else, that tumble and subsequent meeting of Logan and Luke had got Marilyn focused. The pain was raw, bruises were forming but those? Those she was used to. She'd had years of practiced. It hurt to move around, but again, that was nothing new, and she wasn't usually motivated by the chance of death. Move regularly, bunker down when she could, switch up her hiding places when the time was... which equated to hearing a loud noise and getting spooked.

The gun had gone back into her bag. She didn't want to think about it.

In spite of her injuries, running didn't come with too much difficulty. Marilyn had practiced it a lot, and at the very least she was in shape. Rail thin, lean, but fit. Of course, she was also fairly tall, especially for her age... but a lot of people never really noticed that. She hunched up too much, she tried to make herself smaller. Marilyn had practiced that a lot too...

The gate loomed up ahead of her, and Marilyn skidded to a halt, looking skittishly over her shoulder. Good, she hadn't just cornered herself. Suddenly, a spasm of pain ran through her back and she winced, clutching at it. That fall down the stairs had taken a lot out of her... perhaps she could rest again? It definitely sounded good right about now.

Alright... she just had to keep being careful.

Concentrating let her swallow down the fear.

She crept up to the gatehouse, listened, ears straining and...

...heard crying.

"Huh-hu-who's th-thu-there!?"
~*~

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Someone said something, and Bryant stopped, wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. He didn't need people seeing him like this, Badass Bryant Carver

You fucking killed him

sobbing his eyes out and hiding in a gatehouse like a little bitch.

At first he rested his hands on the shotgun but took it away. He recognized the voice, and he didn't think who it belonged to was any kind of threat.

Marilyn Williams was one of the few people in school Bryant had ill words for. He respected Juliet, but argued with her damn near every day. Marilyn was so much like a kicked little puppy (especially when it was Harris doing the kicking) that he couldn't bring himself to say anything particularly cutting. Somehow she managed to get it even worse than him at school. Mainly because she wouldn't fight back or speak for herself.

Still, he was brimming with conflicting emotions, and the next thing he said came out meaner than anticipated.

"H-hu-huh-Who the fuck you think it is!? Get your ass in here Marilyn."

Too late he realized that he had a kids blood on his shirt, but whatever. If she took off, she took off. Of course, he didn't realize just how much he wanted someone to talk to right now.
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Marilyn flinched the second the reply came. They were making fun of her, the stammer, as always... It was a favourite target, probably the easiest, not that you had to look far for something to mock her about. She almost - almost - turned on her heel and ran straight off in the opposite direction, but... whoever that was, they'd just been crying. Crying didn't add up with any of the people that had made her so miserable at school, did it?

That voice...

Blunt, aggressive.

Marilyn knew it. They knew her simply by sound. Somebody who would be so brusque and still expect to see her... oh! The... guy! The black guy! He was Bryan or Bryson or something like that. She couldn't really remember exactly... Marilyn didn't tend to try to keep track of people's names. Boots didn't tend to have monikers, nor fists. Mostly, the only reason she really knew who anybody was ...

Harris... dead.

-Because they abused her so often that they became familiar to her.

Marilyn hesitated for just a second more, then decided to take a chance. A damn big one, more than likely. But... if she stayed close to the door, she would be able to just duck out before anything could happen right? ... Well, Marilyn certainly hoped so. It was a gamble, sure enough... but she was just tired of running. Sore. It seemed worth it. If she was wrong, then she'd have to rely on her feet.

...Which Marilyn had never really tried before, quick as she was.

Guess she'd just learned to take her beatings rather than evade them.

Marilyn slipped inside the gatehouse, and immediately came face to face with the guy who'd been crying. He had a shotgun. The Japanese girl attempted to flee the second she saw the weapon, but spun so quickly she tripped over her own feet, doing an odd sort of twirl on route to falling flat on her rear.

Eyes wide as saucers, Marilyn burst into tears.
~*~

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Bryant had figured one of two things would happen when he called out to Marilyn. Either she would turn tail and start running (Like she no doubt had been since the start of the day), or she would come in. She threw him a curveball by coming in, seeing the shotgun, THEN turning tail and running.

Oh, and falling on her little Japanese ass.

Bryant was in one hell of a shitty mood, but he still had to stop himself from snickering as Marilyn fell. Looked like even in the Program, this particular little puppy didn't stop getting kicked. This time by her own damn feet.

Bryant pushed himself up to his own two feet, making a show of raising his hands to let her see he wasn't about to grab the shotgun, and walked over to her. He squatted down on his haunches next to the crying girl, rested a hand on shoulders that were heaving with every breath.

Bryant was nothing if tactful.

"Calm the fuck down. If I wanted to kill your little ass you'd be dead right now."

He had an advanced sense of empathy.

"Seriously. You already heard me. I don't need you crying too. Fuck you got to cry about, anyway? A bruised ass?"

He also knew to respect the boundaries of other people.

"You gonna quit, now?" he asked, putting his other hand on Marilyn's other shoulder.

He let her go but kept squatting near her.

"You wanna run, go ahead. But you and I both know whatever luck's been keeping your ass alive ain't gonna last forever. You're a walking target, far as these white motherfuckers around here are concerned. I can ki-" Bryant stopped himself, swallowed hard.

"I can keep you alive. I just....need somebody here with me for a little while."

Bryant put his palm to his face, rubbed his eyes. He felt like he was going to tear up again, and Marylin wasn't helping.

"Juliet's looking for you."
Edited by outfoxd, Feb 24 2011, 05:03 PM.
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It never really looked like Bryant was going to hurt her, but that didn't stop Marilyn from continuing to tremble, the tears from continuing to flow. His words were harsh, blunt, but... well, not kindly, but perhaps as close to it as Marilyn was liable to get from anyone. This, at least, was familiarity. It wasn't kindness peppered with incitements to violence, like Logan and Luke. It was just... upfront. Those other two, they'd been terrifying in their own way, being nice, yet telling her she could go out and kill everyone if she wanted. Kill all the people that had done her wrong. Shoot them down like dogs with the gun in her bag.

Marilyn couldn't do that, couldn't even really consider it. She'd never thrown a punch in anger in her life. ...Pulling a gun on somebody? Putting a bullet in them?

Even thinking about that made her a little bit queasy.

Bryant's words didn't stop her crying, but they did jolt her back into focus. He wasn't going to kill her, he wasn't going to hurt her. Being firm with Marilyn was probably a good idea, she didn't have the spine to NOT listen to somebody being brusque. Her tears died down a little, still trickling, but fading slightly into sniffing. It was a little surprising she was even still able to cry, what with how much she'd been doing it over the last day or so.

She blinked at the name he mentioned.

"J-Juh-juh-Juliet?"

Why the heck would the notorious 'troublermaker' of General's Pride want to see Marilyn? She never spoke to her all that much. Granted she wasn't mean to her either, but what could've prompted this. Was it because they both had a similar background? Marilyn shuddered at the thought of somebody else trying to 'enlist' her into a cause. It was just... strange. They both wound up in hot water a lot, Juliet more than Marilyn, but in Marilyn's case it was usually because somebody like Karl Chalmers took a couple of liberties with the truth.

Juliet was just... not bad, but... rebellious?

"Wuh-wuh-what d-duh-duh-does s-shu-she wuh-want?"
~*~

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Marilyn's stammer was grating a little on Bryant's f-fuh-f-fuh-fucking nerves, but Bryant managed to stop himself from from saying anything, this time. He still couldn't keep a mild sense of irritation out of his tone.

"Fuck am I supposed to know? She just told me she was looking for you." Bryant tried to think back, to after he had laid Karl out. Juliet had said something, some shit about chalk or something like that. He couldn't remember.

"I don't think she's got it out for you or nothing. Honestly, I think she actually gives a shit about your well-being." He remembered what he heard about the Hair Incident, remembered that Juliet had stepped in (a little after Harris threw Marilyn a good ol' fashioned American beatdown).

Bryant fell off his heels, leaned his weight against the side of the gatehouse.

"I'm gonna talk to you absolutely straight for a minute, no bullshit. If you decide after I told you my piece, you still wanna run, I ain't about to stop you."

Bryant pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged it, sighing.

"I just fucking killed a kid. He shot at me, but I don't think he was trying to. Don't think he deserved it. I actually got to kill one of these white assholes, and it felt wrong." He put his hand down to the bloodstain on his shirt, rubbed it, then looked at his finger, before wiping it off on the concrete floor of the gatehouse.

"I just..." He swallowed again, sniffed, pulling back some mucous that had threatened to leak from his sinuses after the prior crying session. "I just wanted to talk to somebody. You happened to walk up."

He smiled a little, not the devilish smirk he had when he first left the garage with Sean, or the horrifying shark-grin he sported when he first saw Off-Whitey and friends. It was just a small quirking of the lips. A smile born in helplessness. In that moment, one might have seen Marilyn as the less vulnerable of the two.

"You wanna find Juliet, I'll help you find her. Otherwise, I'll see you around, I guess."
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Marilyn shrank back a little at Bryant's rebuke, even though she understood, either way. Juliet hadn't said why she was searching. Nope... that'd be a little convenient, wouldn't it? Things never came easy for her. So Juliet was looking for her. Juliet Watanabe. That was all for now... and even the thought of it was making her uneasy. What if it was just another round of Luke and Logan, only racially motivated? If that… thing in her bag gave her some kind of power, then it wasn’t a power that she was interested in. Not in any way.

Yet… she was too scared to just throw the gun away. What if somebody else picked it up? What if that person wound up killing her? Marilyn didn’t think she could use it… but that didn’t mean she wanted to see it used by somebody else. Better to keep hold of it, just hidden. That was… no expectation and no danger.

Least until somebody asked her what weapon she’d been issued. But then… since when did anybody really bother talking to her anyway. This was the longest conversation she could remember having with a classmate without an insult or a threat in… she couldn’t even think how long. And it was with a guy holding a shotgun.

She very nearly smiled.

Of course, that was until Bryant, up front and in her face, decided to tell her that he’d killed somebody. Marilyn scrambled backwards the second those words left Bryant’s mouth, pressing herself up against the wall and trembling. The tears didn’t come back. But the fear did, with a crash. He’d killed another kid! And Marilyn was sitting her in a room with him! The only reason Marilyn didn’t up and run was that it would’ve involved moving towards Bryant, and in those couple of seconds, that was the last possible thing she wanted to.

But that slight hesitation was enough, paradoxically, to calm her down. Because in that moment where she wavered between actually just chancing it and trying to go past him, and continuing to cower… Bryant sniffed. Somehow… that refocused her perspective. Marilyn… needed to calm down, just a little bit. This wasn’t one of the bad guys.

Marilyn paused for a long couple of moments after the offer. Did she even want to find Juliet? Then, a question occurred to her, one that would make her motives a lot clearer. There were other minorities around, right? Heck she could count Bryant amongst them. So if she hadn’t offered…

“Hu-hu-who wuh-w-was suh-suh-she w-wuh-with?”
~*~

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When Bryant confessed, Marilyn started back away from his as fast as she could and here, this was where she'd run, she'd go off and he'd be alone with what he did once more and he'd be wondering whether or not it was worth going on with all this Program bullshit

or sticking the barrel of the that shotgun in your mouth and quitting right here

or if he still had a reason to try to get back alive. But again, Marilyn threw him a curveball, deciding to stay, showing more force of will then he (or probably anyone) had given her credit for.

Bryant almost laughed when Marilyn asked him who Juliet was with. He still wasn't sure he had seen it himself. "Karl goddamn Chalmers, if you can believe it. It's alright though. She's got his bitch ass on a leash, like a pet or something. She's one of the lucky ones, got a gun in her pack or something."

At that moment Bryant might've asked what Marilyn had gotten in her own bag, but somehow it slipped his mind. Perhaps he just didn't associate her with weaponry, or any sort of threat at all.

"I got to tell him how I felt about him, know what I mean?" He stopped, feeling the need to clarify. "He wasn't the one I...I dealt with. I just punched Karl in his stupid snitch mouth. Motherfucker flopped around like a fish on land. Funniest shit I've seen in awhile."

Maybe this was him attempting to endear himself to Marilyn, but for the most part, this was just Bryant being Bryant.
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Juliet was with Karl Chalmers? What in the hell? That just... didn't make sense, not in any way, shape or form, not even if, as Bryant put it, Juliet had him 'on a leash'. It wasn't some kind of racial insurrection, then... but that still didn't explain very much. Juliet had to hate Karl, it was the sort of person she was, and, well, the sort of person he was. Sly, sneaky. Marilyn was certain that he'd been responsible for getting her into trouble at least once.

Nobody else... twisted things quite like he did. She'd been hauled into the vice-principal's office after that time Harris (dead) pulled out her hair, been roundly chasitised for 'provoking' Harris, and also for 'insulting' everyone that had been standing around jeering at her. That was just one more scar.

Apparently, 'I hate you', was unacceptable, but 'Zipperhead', 'Asian whore' and 'Jap cunt' were.

Not that she'd expected anything else.

Still, that pairing struck Marilyn as odd and reassuring in equal measure, because frankly, if Juliet were violent, she'd have killed Karl. There were no two ways about that one. Neither Karl nor Juliet had killed anyone either, so that kind've ruled out that she was getting him to do her dirty work. Was there some kind of ulterior motive there? Hell yes there was, because Juliet wouldn't take Karl around with her unless she was plotting something out. It just didn't make sense otherwise, unless they'd had some kind of split second kiss and make up.

Juliet was never mean to her... Maybe Marilyn could go and see what the fuss was about. If it was bad... well... she could run away, right? It'd worked so far.

Bryant mentioned punching Karl and - Marilyn couldn't help it, the corner of her mouth twitched up. Just a little bit. The absolutely slimmest ghost of a smile.

It was still more than anybody at General's Pride would ever have seen.

"I-I thu-thu-think thu-that I w-w-wuh-want tuh-to s-suh-suh-see," Marilyn closed her eyes. "Juliet. Y-y-yuh-you'll huh-help muh-muh-me duh-do thu-thu-t-that?"
~*~

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Bryant was staring intently at Marilyn. Had he just seen a..? No. Wait, what? For a second he could swear she might have thought about considering the possibility of smiling. The girl that scurried around the halls of the school, head and eyes down and trying her damnedest to avoid everyone, and here he thought he might've seen that smile.

Again, the stutter cut loose as he talked, but Bryant shrugged it off. He was still too surprised what he had -almost- seen.

"Yeah...Yeah, I'll help you find her. Might need to talk to that girl myself." He smirked. "Maybe I'll get to 'talk' to Chalmers again, too."

Bryant stood up, stretching his legs. They were sore from squatting. He scooped his bag and his shotgun up(he had transferred Michael's shit into his own bag, including the nightstick), and looked out over what he could see of the compound from the gatehouse.

"Think we should find somewhere to sleep or something, though. Can't run on piss and vinegar forever, know what I mean?" That was mostly for him; he was drained from his encounter in the garage.

He looked back down at Marilyn, feeling the need to remark on what he saw. "I know you ain't got much to smile about, but you should try every once in awhile. You kinda cute, girl."

He held out his hand to Marilyn so he could pull her off of her no doubt bruised ass. "Let's get going."

((Bryant Carver continued in Nice Morning for a Shootout))
Edited by outfoxd, Mar 8 2011, 05:30 PM.
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Right, sleep. That... actually sounded pretty good. Marilyn had spent so much time racing around that actually putting her head down seemed like a fairly good idea. It would... require trusting Bryant to keep a watch over her whilst she was sleeping, probably vice versa. But... if he was going to do anything, it would already have happened. Waiting until she was asleep would just be needlessly complicating things. Wasn't like Marilyn would put up much of a fight if Bryant decided to force the issue.

Marilyn just frowned at her new companion when he handed her a compliment. That was almost alien to her. Seemed just a little... yeah, she knew Bryant was trying to keep her calm, but was it really necessary to lie. She wasn't dumb.

So Marilyn remained quiet, and simply allowed Bryant to pull her up. Fleetingly, she wondered why he hadn't asked her what she had in her bag, but shunted the thought aside in short order. Out of sight, out of mind. Or at least, that was the theory behind it. Out of sight, preying on her mind. The less Bryant knew about the gun, the less pressure on Marilyn.

And the last thing she needed was more pressure.

The Japanese girl followed Bryant on out.

((Marilyn continued elsewhere))
~*~

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