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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
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Ema was still doubled over when she recieved her reply, a rather shaken attempt at black humour. Stick with what works... it did make sense, to be honest. If it had worked before in a mad panic, surely it would be even more effective with a steady hand and strong motivation, logic indeed. But the cold logic behind it wasn't comforting, quite the opposite. Had Hayley really gotten used to this sort of thing after just two kills?

Just two? That was probably worse, that Ema could consider murdering two schoolchildren as "just two". She didn't even know who they were. The first had been Steve... something. The latest, she had no idea, and doubted they'd even met before. They were just two faceless statistics that had been obstacles in Hayley's way to surviving so far. Without even doing the deed herself, only seeing it once, Ema was already making excuses, justifying the violent deaths of two people, barely even adults, and it hadn't even been her that killed them.

"What the hell's wrong with me?"
"It was necessary, you'd do the same."
"No... I wouldn't... I'm not a killer..."
"You will be."

Shaking her head - which only managed to make her feel more ill - Ema desperately tried to silence the voice in her head. She refused to believe she was capable of killing people. She didn't want to now, and she never would. Survival is only an excuse if there's no other way, and even then, she'd be more likely to just run away.

"You're a coward. They're trying to help you, but you can't even help yourself."
"Shut up, I'm..."
"Strong? Give it up. You're weak and useless, and you don't deserve their protection.
"I can look after myself! I'm not weak, and I don't care what you..
I.. tell myself!"

"And you should take this."

Huh? In all her self-depreciative introspection, Ema had completely lost track of what was going on outside of her own head. Hayley had washed away most of the blood with James' water, and had already appropriated his gun. Not even thinking to point out that she could wash in the ocean again and keep the drinkable water, the redhead simply straightened up, and accepted the weapon with a rather faraway look to her eyes. She was still feeling rather light headed, and barely recognised just what it was, for the moment.

"I don't think I'm gonna need it anymore."

"Um, thanks.. I..." Ema began, tailing off as she realised what she was being given. She had no idea what to say. What do you say to someone that's just offered you the sword they used to behead someone right in front of you? Not much, apparently.

"See? You can't even have a conversation with a friend. You're a liability, just make it easy and kill yourself now."
No. Not those thoughts again. She wasn't ready to die, and she certainly wasn't about to off herself and make it that much easier for... who? Everyone else? Pretty selfish, but self-preservation justifies the means. She didn't want to make it easy on everyone else, she wanted to live.
"More like it. And now you have a sword to do that with."
"So I can fi-- defend, defend myself. And Hayley... and Kyle."
"There can't be three winners, stupid."
"I'll work that out later..."
"Atta girl."

So now she was armed. Ema had something she could fight with. As to how useful it would be in her hands, that was anyone's guess. She herself was content to dwell on the armed part. She had a fighting chance now. She didn't plan on wasting it.

"Can we wash up a little bit before we leave? I feel sullied and unusual."

Good point. There was still vomit clinging to Ema's hair and chin, and quite obviously, both Kyle and Hayley were still fairly bloodied. Cleaning themselves off would be a great idea.

"Yeah, good idea..."

She still sounded weak. Her voice hadn't settled yet, her throat still sore. But it belied something stronger underneath.

"Earn your happy ending."
"I'm not dead weight, and I won't waste this sword."
"Damn right you won't."

Falcata still in hand, she trudged down the sand towards the ocean to wash her face and hair, to rinse out two days and one morning's worth of grime. Her grip on the hilt was vicelike, whitening her knuckles. It symbolised her fighting chance, and she clung to it for dear life.

And attempted to steel herself for dealing grim death.
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.

Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

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Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God. · The Beach: East