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waste of words; probably open
Topic Started: Oct 20 2017, 03:55 PM (791 Views)
Cicada Nights
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me_irl
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Rachael Langdon continued))

They'd caught her. Rachael hadn't seen it coming.

Not least because she didn't bother to commit it to memory.

No, all she was cognizant of now was the crumbling faltering of her step. The clockwork lurch of her stomach and the insistent needle searing through her brain.



She'd followed the others. She recognized Johnny now, at least.



Small comfort.
None, really.

Rachael came to and pulled herself up to hunch over her own torso and the girl slobbered bile weakly over her sweat-stained, half torn blouse. She'd been curled up in fetal position at the gnarled roots that marked the base of a tree like a tombstone marked a grave. She'd hidden her head away from all those eerie human-like monsters. Without and within.

Rachael's throat was mealy. She vaguely recalled she hadn't drunk in a while. She had no water bottle. No willingness to get one.

She slumped back down after she was done weakly puking over herself.
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“Gross.”

((Roy Benson continued from I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now))

Roy had been sitting, watching Rachael for the past few minutes, right leg stretched out in front of him, left knee pointing towards the sky, broken arm resting on top of it, hand against his chin in thought. He had woken up early again. Must be a Monday today. He always woke up early before school to go for a jog on Mondays. Clear his mind for the bullshit that was Biology and all that.

Or maybe it was a Saturday. Or a Thursday…

After the usual stretching and yawning and wiping drool off of his face, Roy’s mind had slowly remembered the elephant in the… well, it wasn’t exactly a room, was it? A forest wasn’t a room. A wood wasn’t a room. You could be all philosophical and shit and say that the entire universe was one, giant, endless room, but then you’d also have to be prepared for Roy to tell you that you were out of your coked-up mind.

Anyways. The elephant. Rachael. Not that she was anything like an elephant. God, she was tiny. Roy would have been worried to even tread close to her, in case the shockwave from his footstep snapped her in half. ‘Would have’ being the key, there. Maybe back home. Maybe in a few hours or so. But not right now.

He reached into his bag, rooting around for something, stopping briefly when he realised, oh. This wasn't his bag, was it? His bag was still in the mess hall. Just lying under one of the tables after serving its temporary role as a pillow. At least the place was a danger zone right now, so no-one was gonna end up stealing it, but, man. If his broken arm hadn't sent him into Fuckedville, this was the icing on the cake. Roy muttered under his breath, before pulling out the object he'd been searching for - he hoped the bag's owner wouldn't be too pissed - and thrusting it in Rachael’s direction. A water bottle. A wordless offering, accompanied by an accusing question.

“So what’s your deal?”

Expecting some sorta witty comment here, huh? Some genius joke or next-level pun at least? Well, too bad, this girl had pointed a gun at Roy, so joke time was on hold for the moment. Don’t adjust your sets. We’ll be right back after these messages.
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Maraoone
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[ *  *  * ]
(("Badass" Johnny Lancer continues from I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now))

Rachael being chased by two football players and a runner. The outcome was inevitable, really.

It had taken a bit longer than Badass Johnny had expected, though. Maybe cause they gave her a headstart. Maybe cause fear or desperation or whatever provided that extra oomph. Whatever. They'd managed to talk her down, convince her that they weren't monsters, despite the whole 'three athletes chasing you' thing, and now, Rachael was here, safe, with them, and that was all that mattered.

The chase had been enough for them to call it a day, set up a nice little campsite among dirt and rocks and trees. A nice little campsite without a tent or fire, yeah, but that was just because they wanted to be one with nature. Or some shit like that. He'd acquired a nice flat stone from the closest counterpart to IKEA the area had, a stone clearing. He was set.

They'd slapped the gun from Rachael's hands, and now it was with him. A substitute for the pan he left back in the mess hall. A scarier prop, for sure, but one he'd really prefer down in a ravine, or in a fire, or in the ocean, anywhere a million miles from him, to be honest. He considered smashing it, but he worried that he might accidentally set it off or something. A giant flashing sign saying 'HEY KILLERS, I'M HERE'. So it stayed in his grip.

He still remembered how to work one, of course. It had been eight years since he had dared look at a gun, much less handle one, but yeah, he knew how the parts worked. And so, he opened the cartridge in the gun. He gulped.

It was half full.

Between this, the whole 'pointing a gun' business, and her general state of mind, little to no words had been exchanged between them since the chase. There were a few more words exchanged with him and the rest of the guys, but not as much as usual. It was surprisingly boring. And boredom was good, it was great. Right?

And in his muscles, an energy coursed, urging him to just run off, run all over the island. Daniel was still out there. Kitty. Brandon. The list had gotten shorter, yes, but there was still a list to speak of. But they'd already done things, right? Well, no, Rachael was just one person, so they'd done a thing, but it was a pretty big thing. And they were tired, and with limited supplies. Rest was good. Rest was necessary.

And that's what they did. And now it was morning. Part of him hoped he'd waken up past the announcements, but the boredom persisted. No tension, yet. And, since the terrorists took his wristwatch, decided without his watch, all their plans would be foiled or whatever, he relied on the closest thing to a clock the island had, the shadows. They were about as long as they were last announcements.

While waiting for that, he got out a tube of facial cream, and began his daily treatment, rubbing the cream over the left half of his face. He'd been doing this when Rachael all of a sudden vomited.

He glared for a second at Roy after he commented, but then looked back at his bag, dug through it, and retrieved a box of tissues. He immediately held a box out in front of Rachael. And then decided to rub some of the bile off her chin himself, because he was a gentleman, a noble, badass gentleman. And then Roy asked her a question, and though it could have been phrased better, it was one that really needed to be asked.

Every scar had a story. God knew Johnny's face held a story. And usually, back home, the stories they held were rather mundane. A knee scraped from tripping while running. And now, on this island, it would be a knee scraped from tripping while running for your life. And here Rachael was, with her broken nose, the way she held her left arm away from her, almost. And something told him there was more to it than just a small slip.

He put one hand on her shoulder while the other mopped her face.

"Yeah. What happened?"
Second Chances 2 Characters:
Dead:
B16: "Badass" Johnny Lancer (adopted from Yugi!) is the diplomat with scars inside and out. He got what he deserved in Though Far Away, We're Still the Same [8/65]
Pregame: Hold Your Horses Now (We Sleep Until the Sun Goes Down).
Memories: Through the Dreamers, We Hear the Hum. They Say "Come On, Come On, Let's Go."
Previous Threads: I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now - waste of words - Now, Wait, Wait, Wait for Me, Please Hang Around. I'll See You When I Fall Asleep - Sinking Man - Little Talks - There and Back Again - Your Bones - some day we may come to peace with the world within ourselves

B33: Damion Castillo is the perfectionist with cracks in his facade. He ran out of time in At Every Occasion, I'll Be Ready For The Funeral [38/65]
Previous Threads: Second Impressions - I'd Rather Be At The Aquarium.
Memories: Take a Bite of My Heart Tonight

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(Dan Liu continued from I'm Looking for a Place to Start, but Everything Feels so Different Now)

Dan's legs ached. He was out of breath. He wasn't cut out for this long-distance running business. It was all a bunch of bullshit as far as he was concerned. Chasing after some girl who had lost her damn mind after a day wasn't smart at all. But Dan wasn't the smartest guy in the world, and the other guys had taken after her too.

He could hear where they had gotten ahead of him over his own labored breathing.

His mouth felt overflowing with saliva. The others came to view. He should probably say some sort of greeting.

He spat out the extra spit instead.

They didn't talk much once she was disarmed.

__


And eventually it was morning again. He could hear words being spoken. His back didn't hurt as much now as it had the day before, which was something, even if it didn't mean much in this situation.

A new, paranoid part of his brain wondered if they were plotting against him. That couldn't be right though. At least the guys were rational. Mostly. He thought.

He sat up and waited. They'd fill him in, he hoped.
Edited by Courtography, Nov 1 2017, 12:09 AM.
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me_irl
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“So what’s your deal?”
she didn't

"Yeah. What happened?"
know

She wasn't surprised Johnny had tissues and facial cream. It was pleasantly familiar like the taste of a childhood treat once forgotten, painfully alien like that same flavor soon forgotten again. The thin pasty skin of Rachael's face molded, tidally ebbing and flowing as Johnny briskly cleaned. Rachael all the while strived to resemble a particularly lifeless Raggedy Ann, her neck vaguely flopping to one side. Words weakly dribbled out of her mouth like the vomit had.

"... I don't know... I freaked out.."

That being an understatement.

Rachael shivered and tried to retreat from Johnny's presence, creaking and curling her bones by mere inches until she was a slightly paler clump.
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Zetsumodernista
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[ *  * ]
((Irene Djezari continued from Asleep Or Awake, I Will Never Part With My Dream))

It was a new day, and the sun was already shining. Irene wasn't in the mood.

Once her tears had dried up, there hadn't really been any point in screaming, or in sitting at the edge of the cliff. She'd gotten up, walked a little ways, and fallen asleep under some bushes, which probably didn't actually do much to conceal her, but whatever. And now it was morning, and Irene was awake, and she didn't feel like moving.

She didn't feel like lying there, doing nothing, though. The sun was getting in her eyes. Her muscles were sore from remaining still for too long.

So yeah, guess it's time to get moving.

She'd only gone a little while before her stomach started complaining. Fuck you, Alice. Irene's not gonna go back and demand that you give her stuff back, but fuck you. You could've made things easier.

Oh. There are people here.

"'Sup."
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Roy blew air out of the side of his mouth, as Rachael continued to be as unhelpful an interrogation subject as possible. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. When he’d chased after Johnny chasing after her, and when they’d finally caught up with her and slapped the gun from her hands, he’d hoped he could be as righteously pissed off as possible at her. Give her both barrels – metaphorically, of course – and make her regret trying to shoot them and trying to play.

But this shivering, huddled mess in front of him was as much a player as he was Archduke Franz Ferdinand.

Boy howdy did he hope that simile didn’t become prophetic.

“Christ, you can say that again.”

Roy scratched his chin, wincing slightly as his fingers caught on a shaving scar he hadn’t even realised was there what the fuck, and shot a glance at Johnny. It was preeeeetty obvious the guy held some sort of attachment towards Rachael. Girlfriend? Best friend? Childhood friends? Secret female clone made in a laboratory far underground? Whatever the case (and Roy wasn’t going to pry, there were about 50 more important things to be worrying about), Johnny clearly wanted to make sure she was okay. And… c’mon. Just look at her. Rachael wasn’t a killer. She was barely anything right now. The girl looked like death warmed up. This wasn’t the time to play Good Cop Bad Cop. Good Cop Slightly Grumpy Cop, maybe.

Because, look, she’d still pointed a gun at Roy. He felt like he had every fucking right to be just a little teensy tiny bit mad at that. So if he got a smidge tetchy or raised his voice a wittle bit, sorry not sorry, you shoulda followed Rule 1: Don’t Point Guns At People.

“C’mon, drink some of this.”

Roy shook the bottle at Rachael, crinkling the plastic to try and grab her attention.

“You’re not looking so hot. Unless you, like, wanna pass out again.”

And then, another female voice. Hoo boy. Roy placed the bottle on the ground close to Rachael, then stood up to face the newcomer. At least it was someone else he was familiar with, this time around, although pretty much everyone was cool with Irene. It was harder not to get along with her, under normal circumstances. There was, of course, a pivotal, key word in that sentence. Roy gave Irene a nod as way of greeting.

“Hey Irene. No offense, but if you’re gonna start waving a gun about then you can fuck right off.”
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Maraoone
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A shuffling in the corner of his eyes.

Badass Johnny's back straightened, his eyes shifted left, right.

He pulled his left hand from Rachael's face, his right hand from Rachael's shoulder, and he had almost grabbed the handle of the gun by the time he realized that the sudden intruder, the silent threat that had somehow slipped past their defense, was just a guy they'd been sleeping next to the entire night. He looked down at his right hand, the one closest to the gun, and jerked it away, used it to wave at Dan. He smiled nervously.

"Morning."

And then Rachael.

A deep, slow breath flowed from his lungs as he heard her speak. Even if the words were rehashed, recycled, things they knew of already, the fact that they came from her, that she could summon more than sharp exhales, screams, it meant everything.

Of course, the words still meant nothing. They still comprised, as Roy so subtly and tactfully phrased, a hell of an understatement. Although, he appreciated Roy giving her water and stuff. A nice gesture. It fit him. He had a good heart. Just needed to put words together in better ways and all.

But yeah, the words. Rachael's words. They told them nothing. And as much as he didn't want to make her old scars new, be all 'So, relive all your past traumas for us please, in 500 words or less,' it was kinda necessary. The announcements, as much as they sucked, were nice - no, not nice, not in the slightest - provided a lot of information, yes, but they only told the stories of deaths. Nothing of scars.

So, he put his hand back on her shoulder (and only belatedly realized that there was still some facial cream on his fingers), and, even as she tried to curl into herself, he leaned slightly closer, and looked her in the eyes.

"I mean, who did this to you? Who hurt you? Please, we need to know."

Before he could get an answer, there was another movement in the periphery. An actual intruder. He kept his hands from going to his gun. Long inhales. It's fine. Everything would be fine.

And then it was! He waved his hand, the one with smudges of cream- and oh he still had smudges on his face didn't he- and grinned.

"Hey there!"

And then Roy demonstrated once again his lack of putting-words-together skills. Like, times were bad and all, but that wasn't really Badass Johnny's idea of a proper greeting.

He looked at Roy and half-whispered, half-shouted to him, "Dude, she just came here. Chill."

And then he looked back at Irene. Started smiling, but then noticed that she had some scars of her own. On her hand. It was oddly lumpy. He settled for a half-smile, hoped it didn't look too weird or creepy.

"How you doing?"
Second Chances 2 Characters:
Dead:
B16: "Badass" Johnny Lancer (adopted from Yugi!) is the diplomat with scars inside and out. He got what he deserved in Though Far Away, We're Still the Same [8/65]
Pregame: Hold Your Horses Now (We Sleep Until the Sun Goes Down).
Memories: Through the Dreamers, We Hear the Hum. They Say "Come On, Come On, Let's Go."
Previous Threads: I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now - waste of words - Now, Wait, Wait, Wait for Me, Please Hang Around. I'll See You When I Fall Asleep - Sinking Man - Little Talks - There and Back Again - Your Bones - some day we may come to peace with the world within ourselves

B33: Damion Castillo is the perfectionist with cracks in his facade. He ran out of time in At Every Occasion, I'll Be Ready For The Funeral [38/65]
Previous Threads: Second Impressions - I'd Rather Be At The Aquarium.
Memories: Take a Bite of My Heart Tonight

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"Morning," he muttered in response to Johnny.

It seemed like the others were trying to figure out what happened with Rachael the day before. Dan didn't think it needed a discussion. The island was a stressful place. People went nutty. Maybe Rachael lost it easier than the tougher trio. Honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay in a group with someone so obviously unwell. Then again, going off on his own when others were killing would probably be a stupid decision.

And then Irene showed up, and at least this time, Roy was perfectly reasonable. None of them wanted trouble, and based on what they'd heard before, at least some people were killing. He had no idea if Irene was one of those people, but it would probably be naive of him to him to think the killers would off each other and leave them in less trouble than before.

Johnny disagreed, but it seemed like it was mostly Johnny that wanted to put them in danger with Rachael as well. Maybe he needed a reminder that no one had put him in charge.

He whispered loudly, "You can't blame him for wanting to keep us safe, Badass." Johnny wasn't being a badass at all right now, but maybe he would be if he had some common sense knocked into him.
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She didn't say:
'it was my fault, it was me'

Rather others said in some particular order:
“Morning." "Morning." "Christ, you can say that again" C’mon, drink some of this. You’re not looking so hot. Unless you, like, wanna pass out again.I mean, who did this to you? Who hurt you? Please, we need to know. Sup.Hey Irene. No offense, but if you’re gonna start waving a gun about then you can fuck right off.Hey there!Dude, she just came here.Chill.doing?can't himforwantingtokeepsafe,Badass.

Rachael ignored the bottle, and the stranger, save for a mystified look,
the cultural iconography of the deer caught in headlights.

Johnny she acknowledged with a gentle shiver, a slight turn up towards him.

She wanted to respond with an answer but she wasn't quite sure what the question had been.

"My, uh... head, uhm... hurts.." She stared blankly into his eyes for a moment. She wondered where Daniel was. She wondered if she could remember his face. She coughed once weakly, then settled into painless yet terminal stillness.

G002: Rachael Langdon Deceased
not yet particularly true

Unfortunately.

"Sorry,

With a barely audible whisper. Rachael stared at the sky and nothing stared back.
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Zetsumodernista
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[ *  * ]
Well, someone had a fucking attitude problem. As if Irene wasn't having a bad enough day as it was. So what does your heart tell you to do, Irene?

"Yes! You can chill. Because I'm chill. Like, very chill."

Irene spun around a couple times to emphasize the point. She almost dropped the harpoon.

"And also dizzy. So, like, you can chill, see? Even if I pointed my harpoon at you, I'd probably just end up shooting myself or something."

She sat down. "Like, KK! That girl had no chill. Shot my fucking fingers off, and then killed Eris in front of me later on. And Alice, she had no chill either. So, like, if you can't chill the fuck out, then you can go ahead and leave."

She rested the harpoon in her lap, let the pointy end lower until it was facing Roy.

"Seriously. If you can't change your attitude, then I'm just expediting the inevitable."
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“What attitude? My ‘I-don’t-want-my-friends-to-get-shot-up-by-fuckin’-psychopaths’ attitude? Nah, funny that, I don’t feel like dropping it.”

Roy had a temper issue. He knew it. Everyone knew it. It’d been pretty fuckin’ lucky that he hadn’t blown his top – hey don’t fucking snigger at that it’s a perfectly acceptable turn of phrase – already, considering that at school, just one douchebag on the wrong day could turn Roy as red as his hair. He supposed his natural leader instincts (combined with his rugged good lucks, charm, charisma, athleticism and general sparkling personality) had just… cancelled out the desire to get fucking pissed at everything around him, up until now.

But, man. Today had been reaaaaal shitty so far. And Irene was proving a fucking incredible catalyst right now.

Roy walked over to Irene until he was standing inches away, looming over her with a face like thunder (how the hell did thunder have a face? Unless you were talking about those shitty clouds in Mario Kart and Roy definitely fucking wasn’t wide eyed and grinning like a goddamn loon right now), blocking himself from everyone else and blocking them out as well.

“You know what? I don’t think you’re chill, Irene. If you were fucking chill, you wouldn’t be pissing yourself over the fact that I want to keep some goddamn security around here.”

Give him credit; he was doing a stellar job at keeping his voice low. Menacing, honestly. He wasn’t so concerned about Dan or Johnny hearing him. He was doing this for their sakes, after all. It was Rachael he was worried about. She was in a pretty awful way. Okay, maybe Roy had been a little too gruff in his bedside manner earlier, that was his bad, but his heart had been in the right place, hadn’t it? And ranting and raving and causing a scene? That was gonna make Rachael trust them even less, and make her retreat even further into herself, like, c’mon, just look at her. She was one step away from destruction. Roy would rather be damned than push her over with his own hands.

“But, hey, maybe I’m crazy. Maybe all the shit that’s happened over the past few days has made me go fucking loopy, and I’m the guy in the wrong here. Maybe I’m insane for wanting to make sure you’re not like KK, or any of those other murderers on the announcement.”

The spear tip of the harpoon was angled upwards in Irene’s lap, pointed with clear intent towards Roy’s stomach. He felt his hand tighten around the barrel of the lipstick gun. He had liked Irene back home. But if you hadn’t read the script by now, this wasn’t home, and this wasn’t the sorta place you could just stroll up like you were a couple minutes late to brunch or whatever. Roy was missing the good vibes of the first day, when everything had felt like it could all end up all right, and they weren’t coming back until Irene either realised she was being fucking stupid, or she left. Either was fine with Roy.

“But if that’s so, then I’d rather be fucking crazy than think it’s okay to point a harpoon at someone as a way of greeting.”
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OK, so maybe Dan's family resolved conflicts or greeted each other differently from the rest of the world. Like, maybe 'You can fuck off' was just the Liu family's way of saying hello. Badass Johnny didn't know, he'd never been to their house. But, really, that phrase, that way of raising hostilities was not his definition of 'safe' behavior.

Not that he said this to him, however. He just nodded, bit back his words. Finished rubbing the cream on his face. That wasn't his hill to die on, what he needed to focus on. What he needed to focus on was Rachael and the new arrival and the situation Roy just potentially fucked up.

And then Rachael spoke up, saying she needed some time. OK, yeah, he understood. Badass Johnny nodded. Yeah, maybe the whole 'making Rachael relive her traumas' thing was pretty ill-advised. OK. Yeah, he should've realized.

He said in a hushed tone, "OK, it's fine."

Not that he completely agreed. Like, yeah, she'd probably had a shittier time of it than he did, the broken nose was quite evident of that. Yeah, he knew that those scars did not hold fond memories. But all he was asking for was a name, or a description. Was it that hard to just go back for a tiny bit? Like, here, he could think back and note that

the girl she was trying to save had just pointed a gun at them yesterday

that his brother had done the same years back.

Like that.


Maybe 'Johnny 5 seconds ago' had a point, maybe he should just leave it.

But look at Irene, here she was being upfront, saying immediately that KK had shot at her. Was that so hard?

And why is the harpoon pointed at him?

He blinked. Swallowed. It was pointed at Roy, not him. Not that that was any better.

And here Roy was continuing his diplomatic policy of shouting and losing his temper. And he only had a tube of lipstick to back up those shouts. The anger was justified, yeah, having a harpoon pointed at you was also not a proper greeting, but a harpoon was being pointed here. If Badass Johnny's memory served correctly, that diplomatic policy Roy had didn't really serve him well at school. He didn't want to imagine how it would serve him here.

Thus far, the names, events mentioned in the announcements had just been words, or physical hints, like broken noses, gunshot echoes. Badass Johnny did not want to face the reality this close, did not want to be witness to one of the announcer's stories.

Irene was a friend. A good friend. But so was Roy.

He hated himself.

He raised the gun, Rachael's gun. Pointed it at Irene. Spoke in a low, controlled tone.

"Irene, listen to Roy. Put down the harpoon."

It was just a scary prop. Just intimidation.
Second Chances 2 Characters:
Dead:
B16: "Badass" Johnny Lancer (adopted from Yugi!) is the diplomat with scars inside and out. He got what he deserved in Though Far Away, We're Still the Same [8/65]
Pregame: Hold Your Horses Now (We Sleep Until the Sun Goes Down).
Memories: Through the Dreamers, We Hear the Hum. They Say "Come On, Come On, Let's Go."
Previous Threads: I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now - waste of words - Now, Wait, Wait, Wait for Me, Please Hang Around. I'll See You When I Fall Asleep - Sinking Man - Little Talks - There and Back Again - Your Bones - some day we may come to peace with the world within ourselves

B33: Damion Castillo is the perfectionist with cracks in his facade. He ran out of time in At Every Occasion, I'll Be Ready For The Funeral [38/65]
Previous Threads: Second Impressions - I'd Rather Be At The Aquarium.
Memories: Take a Bite of My Heart Tonight

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Dan sighed and stood up in the middle of the arguing. If harpoons were going to get thrown around he'd rather be able to run off or take the harpoon away if he had to. He didn't want to treat her like that of course, but sometimes you had to be the adult and keep people from being violent. Or something like that. Dan didn't go around pushing people around.

He had no idea of Johnny had listened to him and just gone insane, or if this was his way of trying to one-up his comments. Pointing a gun? Yes, because threatening people was way more kind than being a bit of an abrasive dipshit. The fuck?

Besides, Johnny was probably statistically more likely to hurt Irene than the other way around, even if she did seem a bit unstable. But she was hurt, and probably just needed to rest and be in a sane group for awhile, even if Rachael didn't help that situation.

He wiped his hands on his shorts. He felt this tension in his chest, but he had to deescalate it. Adding more weapons to the situation wasn't helping, and Irene probably had every reason to be afraid of multiple men getting in her face.

"Alright ladies, let's chill a little. Nobody here wants to have to go to the nurse, right?"
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Rachael was chill. Right to the bone, it settled like thick and inscrutable fog over her thoughts, a shiver pulled straight off the bonesaw embedded in the freezer-entombed corpse. She was chill, as ghost-like simulacrums of familiar faces pointed weapons as one another.

At some point all the someones and somethings fell silent and left a void for her to fill. She did so, mindlessly.

"I..." She straightened up a bit. "I trust all of you... 'Cause.. Irene's... a good friend. And so is Johnny..."

"But at the same time... I don't trust any of you.. Sorry..."

Her voice dryly cracked a bit right on the last syllable. Someone had offered her water... a while back. She didn't regret that she hadn't taken it, but then, she didn't feel much of anything.

Except fear.

She'd never much liked the truth when it was whispered by her own lying lips.

"Maybe I should be the one that goes..."

She'd never actually taken a look at any of them, while speaking. Her eyes evasive, because if other's looked at her, they'd see her. Into her, through her. They'd see the hollow.
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