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MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Ivan Kuznetsov continued from Keep Yourself Alive))

When a bunch of announcements declaring the death of kids that he used to go to school with was getting boring, that's when Ivan realized that there was a problem.

Life was considerate enough to throw Ivan and Tabi a break following that tumultuous standoff with Imraan. They managed to have the entire day to themselves for travel, continuing their aimless journey across the island to an uncertain destiny wherever they would end up. They had to keep moving, though; for the second time in a row, that Danya psycho gleefully announced that the area they were trying to rest within was a danger zone. Along with that terrible announcement were the usual, frighteningly boring account of who had died and to whom, who was the latest and unfortunate person to be the best at being a monster, and more news about that stupid girl who was trying to get them all killed. None of it seemed to hold power against the sections that actually mattered to himself and Tabi: the Danger Zones. Just like terrorists to use the angle of fear from all sides... Ivan thought. Because no, all the nutcases around here trying to kill each other isn't bad enough. Even the island is trying to kill us. I'm pretty sure this isn't Australia.

The oft-serious Russian was so absorbed in traveling, periodically stopping and standing guard while they tried to determine where they were on the map, that he hadn't realized he had cracked a joke to himself until a few steps later. He allowed himself to smirk for a moment before returning his focus on his surroundings. Staying alive was the primary objective, but there was something to be said for the fact he and Tabi had been allowed to rest just long enough for him to smile again. Smiles were always so rare for him, especially at school, since he usually relied on a half-wit little brother to make him laugh and... honestly, half the time he just wanted to punch Louis in the face instead of laughing with him.

But what are little brothers for, Ivan?

Recurring memories of home gave way to the more recent, and far less comforting memories of Imraan Al-Hariq, staring the two of them down with that weapon. He could have shot them at any time, and Ivan wouldn't have stood a chance. But... that's right, he DID shoot. He shot, but he missed. What caused him to miss? Either Imraan was the worst shot ever (with a shotgun, no less), or maybe he was firing off a warning shot. Everything had happened too suddenly to finely process, and the next memory Ivan had was him kneeling on his muddy legs, the shotgun hoisted with one hand and in a position where firing it was liable to dislocate his shoulder, but he was in position to fire it nonetheless, which was all that should have concerned Imraan. Those final words of the basketball player continued playing over and over again in Ivan's mind, mingling with the stained image of Keith's face. Did Imraan have faith in the two of them, or was he begrudgingly letting his prey escape? No matter what the answer may have been, the uncertainty was terribly disturbing.

Ivan's eyes had half-shut to accomodate his thought processes as they walked along to nowhere in particular. To minimize discomfort, he had taken to having his daypack slung in a way so the bag was on his right side to support his grazed arm while the strap rested on his left shoulder, allowing him some stability without absolutely killing his right arm. The loaded Pancor Jackhammer remained the main decoration of his left hand, while his umbrella had been demoted to sitting in his daypack. The pack felt somewhat lighter... about half of his crackers were gone, and he had to refill his water cantine at least once with water from the river, which was sure to make him uncomfortable somewhere down the road. He hadn't changed his clothes since arriving on this damned island, and so he still had the few spatters of blood across his shirt from Keith. As some slight consolation, the bloodspots had dried, raising less of an alarm to those near him; at first glance, it might've even been mistaken as mud spots.

"... Look ahead," he muttered, motioning with his right hand for Tabi. It seemed that they were finally coming across the town-ish area that was depicted on the map (Ivan had to give them credit... whoever made this thing was quite the artist). Idly scratching at the skin of his neck just underneath the bottom of the collar, he led the way towards the town. At the very best of circumstances, they might find some place to rest and chance upon some food in the cupboards, if there were any (it was a nice hope). At the worst of circumstances, they could be stumbling upon a war zone. Either way was better than not knowing at all.
Edited by MK Kilmarnock, Jan 4 2011, 11:51 PM.
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