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Nanotech Engineer
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((Peter Siu continued from Encumbered by Shining Armor))
((Ask before joining this thread. Because I said so))

Peter shook the flask over his open mouth. Not a drop rolled out. It was bound to have happened anyway, at the rate he'd been drinking for the past day or two. Still, it was stupid that he was out of vodka. With an exasperated sigh, he heaved the empty flask across the hall. It didn't go far before bouncing off the broken remains of a pew and clattering to the ground.

Peter sat down on one of the few remaining intact pews, which teetered warily under his weight. Idly, he took off his glasses and started wiping them with his shirt. Not that it would be particularly effective, given how dirty the shirt was from days of sweat and grime and bloodstains. He should've changed out of it long ago, but in a way, it was a reminder of his failures: splotches of blood from Lucas' gunshot wound; a tattered and ripped left sleeve from his attempt to save Tiffany.

He gingerly poked at the bandage on his shoulder. It had been barely a graze, but Will had insisted on bandaging it up. It wasn't going to get infected anytime soon, but bandaging it did help from making sure he didn't brush the open wound against the foliage. Now if it had started raining, that'd be a different story entirely.

After over a day of combing the island, Peter still hadn't found Will. Of course, he hadn't expected it to be easy. Knowing Will, he'd have stuck to the forests and stayed mostly away from where he would find trouble. But Peter couldn't say he knew Will as well. Not after Tiffany had died.

Peter should've noticed earlier, that Will had been shaken up by that. He should've taken his mind off chasing after Brook for just five minutes to check up on Will. He should've paid attention to his friend.

Really, there weren't that many people left on the island that Peter could say he was close with. Not that he had been close to many people to begin with. In a way, it made it easier. A lot of the names he heard every morning were just names connected to a face connected to a story. He might've known that Reiko was a figure skater, or that Ward was a bully, but he didn't know any of those people. He hadn't grown up with them; he had friends still back home.
Friends who won't take me back if I win.
He wondered what his friends back home thought of him now. He wondered how many of them even cared enough to be watching the broadcast. He wondered if that even mattered anymore. Peter knew he wasn't going to make it off the island alive. He wasn't Adam Dodd or Bryan Calvert or John Rizzolo. Sure he'd killed Lucas, but somebody else had done most of the work for him then. He couldn't even kill Jason, and yet there were still far more dangerous killers on the island.

Peter couldn't afford to doubt himself. Not now. There was time for that five, maybe four days ago. He wasn't going to give up. No matter how outgunned or outmatched he was, he'd figure out a way to keep on trucking. To protect whoever he could. There may have been countless ways to do that, but Peter had committed to his path days ago. The blood on his shirt was a reminder of that.

Somewhere along the way, Peter had gotten up and started pacing around the church's interior. He stepped around the broken pews and circled the altar. He ran his hand along the dark smoothed wood. Judging by the layout of the church, Peter didn't expect this to altar to be sacred, but that didn't make it just a piece of furniture. It was still a symbol of worship and spirituality. The words to a dozen rites came to mind; he could say them if he wanted, if there were people to listen.

There was a book on the lectern. Peter went and flipped through it, but it didn't look immediately recognizable. Which told him it definitely wasn't a Bible. Given the nature of the church, there should be one around somewhere though. He crouched down to look in the storage shelves. Several thick bound books, showing the wearing of age, were lined up, though Peter couldn't read what was on their spines. Behind them, he could see the barest glint of glass.

He'd hoped it was water. After five days of drinking, Peter was definitely feeling parched. The bottle he pulled out, though, was definitely not one for water. The wide-bottomed bottle was a dead giveaway for its contents. In a way, Peter was thankful; he was hoping to keep his other flask in reserve. Uncapping the bottle brought an unfamiliar, but inviting, smell to bear. Judging by the heft, it was still mostly full. He slowly lifted the bottle to his mouth for a small sip.

The warm liquid set fire to his throat as it trickled past. Damn, that was some strong stuff.
Totally worth it.

B036: Benjamin Ward: "Sh-shut the fuck up. Or I'll k-kick your ass."
B047: Marcus Leung: "Let's start by staying calm."


Rest in peace

B004 - Peter Siu: "We're all fuck-ups."
G006 - Tiffany Baker: "Will you stay with me, until I wake up?"
G027 - Marybeth Witherspoon: "The cameras are pointing here, not there."
B115 - Tony Russo: "I'm sorry...."
G087 - Rachel Gettys: "I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell."
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May the Lord Accept This Sacrifice at Our Hands · The Parish