"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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Solitair
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
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Roland didn't get any sort of answer out of Dutchy, unless dejected silence counted as an answer. He sighed and moved back to the foor. "A'right, man, try not to dwell on it too much. I'll be out here if you need me.

He reached his hand toward the doorknob when he heard a knock at the door. His hand leaped back as he looked around for his harpoon. Once the guy on the other side said he was unarmed, though, he decided to open the door a crack to see who stumbled in on their awkward moment.

All he saw was just scared and nervous guy standing outside, as unarmed as he claimed to be. A smile of relief crossed Roland's face as he opened the door and stepped outside. "Hey man, nice to see some company at last," he said, extending a hand for this Joe Rios guy to shake. "I been going stir crazy in there with Dutchy. Not that he's a pain to be with, we just wanna be with our other friends right now." The enthusiastic note drained out of his voice. "The four of us are trying to escape, but I don't see any reason why we can't team up with you!"

A loud sound, one that sounded like ceramic or glass breaking, made Roland immediately turn back to the door and abort his talk with Joe. "Jesus!" he shouted as he fumbled with the doorknob, finally bursting back into the room and haphazardly searching for the cause of the noise. The third room he searched, the bathroom, proved to be the source; he saw the broken mirror and his injured friend and lightened the skin on his face by a few shades.

"No no no no no no no no no no," he mumbled, rushing back into the living room to frantically search it for his daypack, and search his daypack for the first aid kit, and the kit for the roll of bandages. Once he finally got them, he hurried back into the bathroom and did his best to press and dress Dutchy's grievous forehead wounds. "Dutchy, Dutchy, what happened?" he asked in a panic. "Who did that?"

"I'm fine Roland, just fine. No I don't know what happened. Weird huh? It was there when I got there. I've been upstairs all alo- Roland I'm fine, no what are you talking about? There's a crack in the mirror? That's strange. That's really weird."

Roland started to hyperventilate before forcing himself to calm back down and lift Dutchy's head up to get the bandages underneath it. As he put pressure in his bleeding forehead, though, his fears drifted to more serious head injuries, namely.... concussions. His sister Lily would know the telltale signs of a concussion and what to do about it, at least in basic, but she wasn't here, was she? If Roland wasn't careful, Dutchy would become another Marcus Roddy, falling asleep into a void of consciousness forever, becoming a glorified body waiting for Roland someone to finish the job, whether the act be merciful or quite the opposite.

And the kicker? All evidence pointed to Dutchy hurting himself.

Right then, he was glad that Sarah and Bridget weren't around. He was feeling pretty fucking mutinous right about now.
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
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V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
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