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shotgunkid
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not in a position to bargain anymore
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((Leslie Price continued from No More Amazons))

The Mute Bitch, Kimiko, had killed Cristóbal. That was all Leslie had really paid attention to in that announcement several minutes ago, and it planted the faintest seed of anger inside her. It hadn't grown enough to make her completely lose it, but just enough to utterly dominate her thought. It had grown steadily, taking root in the rich soil of Leslie's usual, all-pervasive contempt for others and for life in general but rising sprouting, rising far, far beyond it.

The contempt had never been anywhere near this kind of boiling, seething anger. She hadn't felt it -- no, hadn't allowed herself to feel it since that hateful day in '09. The authorities, be they her parents or the school staff or the police or other people, unconsciously, had never allowed her to feel it after they saw her nearly tear into that other girl. Everyone had really begun to treat her much differently afterward. She had to slowly and painfully rebuild her life from the ground up again. Everyone remembered what she'd done and everyone refused to let it go, no matter how many years had passed.

But this was far above her normal contempt. It was hatred, it was fury, anger, rage. It was all about Kimiko. The two were never even remotely close, of course. But even from what little run-ins they had had with each other they could feel each other's temperament viscerally and neither wanted any part of it. Kimiko was one of those GODDAMN anti-bullying types who had nothing better to do than try to fuck shit up for anyone who didn't get with it and play nice with everyone, and Leslie could see that, too. She tried to avoid the bitch, but Cochise was small and there were so many places where they couldn't avoid being in mutual groups.

So Kimiko, the BITCH, would apparently always try to start shit with anyone she could get her hands on about Leslie. Students, coaches, teachers, it didn't matter. Because of her goddamn high and mighty do-gooder instinct, Leslie always was the one taken aside and fingered out for those INFURIATING, close little passive-aggressive talks with authorities, everyone kept an eye on her, everyone took her to task for every little damn thing she did wrong in their presence and couldn't leave her the FUCK ALONE!

Leslie's fists were balled up now, as though Kimiko would just remotely crumple up and vanish from the sheer force of the rage. She was an absolute fucking prat, a goddamn busybody who seemed to have something fucking IN for Leslie whenever they came even close she didn't deserve that prize she didn't deserve to goddamn fucking BREATHE after what she'd done to Cris, one of the few half-decent folks Leslie had ever actually spoken to. She wanted to RIP the gossiping, conniving, conspiring little piece of SHIT in half for all that, damn it!

But walks were long and the island was short. She walked with her anger, she crept with her anger, she stumbled and fell but soldiered on all with her anger. It was as though she were on autopilot. Fly-by wire, controlled from the tower. The passengers are half-asleep and the in-flight entertainment only shows the song and movie 'Leslie Hates Kimiko Redux' over and over and over like a nightmare. She hadn't the slightest clue where Kimiko was, really, she was just working out the kinks in her nerves and releasing pent-up energy doing this.

She crept over the bridge, took a left swerve at the asylum end, walked along the beach, and ended up near the cove. She stealed away next to the cave she saw before moving in.

There were a few people there, probably. But it was as good as any shelter could be, she was utterly defenseless against ranged weaponry one way or the other. From eavesdropping for a few moments, she only recognized Junko and some other guys' voices.

She calmly slung her bag over the shoulder and strolled in casually. A small fire, probably made out of driftwood because there weren't too many trees on this island-

And right there she could see, about as clear as the dim, overcast day would let her, the wounded girl from the previous morning.

Everything felt so strangely... drained. All she could manage was a meek, uncharacteristic sound.

"Uh, hey."
2015: V6 Incident
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St. Patrick's Purgatory · The Cove