"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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"Noticed that now, did you?" Raidon asked, laughing a little. "Noticed that after you finished kissing it?" He lifted up the injured hand to show the missing finger, uncovered and somewhat raw. "Guess I know where your focus was."

Why was he being so spiteful? Why so much hate? Was he even angry? Was he even offended? Was he just scared?

"I tried to do it without hurting anyone," he said simply. "One gun's not gonna give me the edge on this island, not like when there are killers like-"

He was stopping and starting, stuttering, trying to justify himself. And Mizore, Mizore smiled grimly, because she'd seen this shit before.

"…I couldn't have…"

Liar.

Maybe she was in love with him, maybe she'd just been rejected by him like the most uncool kid on earth, but that didn't mean she couldn't tell when he was talking absolute bullshit.

And what kind of edge is two guns going to give you anyway? Put a pistol in each hand and shoot like John Wayne? Unless I'm way mistaken, you don't even know how to do that.

"Bullshit." She said.

But he didn't hear her, because a bullet was going into the wall behind him.

And he grabbed her, squeezing her (ow), and practically threw them both into the bathroom, and at this point Mizore thanked herself for anger, because she could stay the fuck calm in all of this. Which, in her case, meant pushing Raidon off her as soon as they got into the bathroom (she may have pushed him pretty hard, she might feel bad about that later) and running back out the bathroom door, like any dumb pacifist, right into where bullets might come whizzing at her.

Well, if she was going to be shot, she was going to be shot where people knew what they were shooting.

A thing that many people don't know about Mizore Soryu: she's a free runner, and a fairly competent one. Endurance isn't her strength, but technicals are. Which means that she can run, put her arms onto the banister, straight as girders, jump, swing her legs between her arms, and end up sitting on the top of the banister, arms holding her there, looking down at the hallway, where Victoria Logan was standing, pointing a gun to the top of the stairs with a tormented look on her face.

"Hey," Said Mizore. "Are you okay? You look pretty fucked-up. And can you please not shoot me? I did some of the pretty paintings downstairs, so I'm obviously worthwhile to society, or something, and if you want to shoot me later, I'll let you, I guess. I don't have any weapons on me."

Victoria looked at her wildly. Oh great. Mizore had no desire to try dodging bullets; it didn't seem like a plan that worked, especially with sparkly jeans, sparkly hair, and a very loud t-shirt. Well. More goddamn talking.

She looped her legs around the banister, used that for balance while she put her hands up. "I'm going to jump down there. I'll keep my hands up. Is that okay?"
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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All's Fair · The Residential Area