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MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
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In any other environment, labeling Tabi's question as a little bit stupid would always be an option. After all, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunty to forage for food with the added bonus of weather-proof shelter? They could easily hole up here, maybe even using a few other buildings as a general 'home base', attempting to wait out most of the carnage of the game until it was all declared a danger zone. When that point came, then could be the time for moving onward.

This was not a typical environment, however. Survival of the Fittest was a cruel invention devised to bring out the worst in each and every one and, unfortunately, Ivan would have to match up to everybody else's cleverness if he wanted to survive to the next day. Tabi brought up a good point with the option to leave: unlike the woods, which were nice and open to allow escape but also sheltered, this area could very well leave them pinned. It invoked the image of a diver in a 'shark proof' cage, only for a shark to break through, with no hope of escape for the diver. As such, the duo was left with a few options to weigh.

Tabi seemed to waste no time in examining the building. Ivan stayed right on her heels as though an invisible leash connected the two; they had made it this far, he wasn't about to let a little bit of carelesness or separation get either one of them killed. When she had turned to ask him that question... if they should stay here or go, it caused him to go into all that deliberation. He had to give an answer, though... had to go with their best bet.

"Let's stay here. For now." He said in a subdued tone, scoping out one of the houses before them. "Stay behind me. Checking this place out." He creeped for the entrance of the worn residence, steadily turning the doorknob as to not alert anybody who might be inside. By storming in, there was a high chance of startling any possible residents if they weren't regularly hostile, but at this point in the game it seemed far more likely that at least one other student in the area might intend to kill them both. There was no room for error, no taking chances.

The knob turned all the way, and Ivan pushed it open, leading gun-first into the house. He was greeted with somewhat bare room, a living room of some sort, with a threadbare carpet and a couch that looked like it would've fit in just fine on that strange fake 70's sitcom Louis liked to watch so much. A deliberate and cautious trek around the room revealed a doorway to the kitchen, lit only by a window above the sink. After some inspection, he found a flight of stairs leading from the kitchen upward, likely to where the bathroom and bedroom (possibly more than one) were. A knot tightened in his throat when he realized that if there was somebody in this house, they'd be up there.

Pressing a finger to his lips for Tabi, Ivan stalked up to the base of the stairs, fixed his gaze upwards, aimed his gun, and eased his foot onto the first step. He had to just brush his shoe up against each step first... once he made contact, then he could rest all of his weight on that foot and begin to the next step. Then the next... now the fourth. His heart rhythmically pounded in his head with each step, made only worse each time he had to look down to check his feet instead of watching ahead to see if anybody knew he was coming. Almost there... a door straight ahead and a door on the right, both open. He's just get up there and...


The step beneath his leading foot screamed in protest at his weight. If anybody was coming, they knew now, and if he didn't make it up those stairs in time, he was fucked. Panting from the nasty shock, Ivan shot up the rest of the stairs, his cradled shotgun hitting the wall or the railing a few times. He had to get up there first, had to get ready before they did, he-


The penultimate step's overhang caught Ivan's toe, sending the boy's shin into the landing. Vaulting forward, his momentum did not stop until he was embarrasingly sprawled out onto the floor. The shotgun lay just out of reach of his fingertips from where it had been dropped, leaving the Russian to scramble for it, shooting leg pains in all.

His hand grasped the weapon and pulled it into range for his other arm to steady it, and Ivan looked to the right. The bathroom looked back, complete with sink, tub, and toilet that all might as well have been laughing at him. He looked forward, straining to see into the dimly lit room. An empty, unkempt bed, and bare walls. Nothing.

"... It's clear..." Ivan grumbled, his vigor completely deflated as he pulled himself upright and clutched the injured shin, his right one, with his hand. Always his right... at this rate, the left side of his body would have to pull all the work. It sure as hell wasn't Clio shooting him, but slamming his shin into something always hurt like a bitch.

"Really. Fuck stairs."
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