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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
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((Roland Hayes and Dutchy Ayers continued from The Long Road Home))

((Light GMing for Dutchy here.))

As Allen and Andrea talked in the morning light, another pair of students wandered in from over the horizon. The game had not been kind to Roland and Dutchy during the last six days, and the morning had seen them at the lowest point in their entire lives. They walked a good five feet apart from each other, at least, and their eyes rarely met. In fact, Dutchy seemed to cringe whenever he caught a glimpse of Roland, quickly looking away and shaking. Roland responded by simply hanging his head, where it usually stayed as he walked. He said nothing, only occasionally sniffling and glancing at the sharp tip of his harpoon.

Dutchy seemed afraid of him now. Practically petrified, as though Roland was putting a gun to his back and forcing him to go with him. And why not? Roland had gone completely crazy, saving Dutchy from a fucking suicide attempt and dragging him to the infirmary for the sinister purpose based on a psychotic delusion that Dutchy's head injuries were more serious than they actually were. How dare Roland show concern for him.

Oh yeah. That's not all he did.

Since the incident at the house, Roland had made great haste to the south, carrying both his and Dutchy's daypacks on his shoulders and escorting Dutchy, whose head injuries made it hard for him to keep up with Roland. They finally got there, only to discover that anything that had remained in the infirmary had long since been pillaged. Whatever the terrorists hadn't gotten when preparing the island, the students had come across. Really, what did Roland expect? They had five days. That's 120 hours.

So Roland was stuck desperately trying to look at Dutchy and determine the extent of his injuries. All he really knew about diagnosing brain injuries was looking into the eyes, and Dutchy's eyes looked perfectly normal, if a little tired from their experience. The question in Roland's mind was far from settled, but all in all, this was just one more thing he couldn't do shit about, and just had to deal with. He finally fell asleep on an examining table, somehow avoiding tossing himself onto the floor during his restless dreams.

Then the announcements happened. And Roland's worst fears came true.

He didn't know how long he'd managed to stay calm. It couldn't have been for any substantial amount of time. The first thing Dutchy saw of Roland awake was him swinging a chair around at everything else he could find. Glass was smashed, wood was splintered, and metal was warped as Roland's throat wore itself out screaming and tears flowed from his eyes. When the chair finally broke into fragments too small for him to do any damage with, he used his fists and feet, knocking as many holes as he could through the hollow walls of the building. But as much as he wanted it at the moment, he couldn't bring down the building with his bare hands, and he wore himself out before even finished scarring one wall.

He sobbed to himself for another minute, then noticed Dutchy cowering in the corner, lucky not to have been hurt by Roland's rampage. Not knowing what else to say, Roland suggested getting a move-on, and Dutchy immediately complied, scared of what might happen if he hesitated.

Now Roland stared at his harpoon, picturing himself shoving it into his gut, or perhaps holding the sharp edges to his wrists and cutting away. He had such great reason to do it, to. His sister, sweet Lillian, the one girl who deserved this hellhole least of all, was dead, and the only other friend who wasn't god knows where on this rock thought Roland was going to kill him. Was there even any point in meeting Sarah and Bridget again?

"Dutchy..." he finally said after an hour of silence. "Dutchy, please say something."
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
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chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

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Make Your Own Kind of Music · The Felled Forest: South