"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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((Insert apology for tardiness here))

Roland turned back to look at Dutchy. He'd just offered to give his life to let Roland live, if it came to that. The same intent made him crack his head on the mirror, made Roland panic and go to the infirmary, set off a chain reaction that put them there. "I... I..." What could he possibly say about that?

"I'll make sure it doesn't come to that," he said, knowing he couldn't do that at all. Then again, maybe he'd be right after all. There was no way that both of them would survive to the final four.

No! He couldn't think like that. But how could he put on a happy face now? He'd told Sarah to meet him in the infirmary, which he'd left a battered wreck in one room, and now he had no idea where they were. It was pure dumb luck that he'd managed to find her or Dutchy or Bridget at all, and he wouldn't get lucky twice. They might as well be across the sea for all it mattered.

And without Sarah, Roland was truly fucked. She'd always been the brains of the activist club; for all the research Roland liked to do about politics, he'd never had what it took to propose new ideas, to do anything except simply sharing information with other people. Sarah was the one who came up with the plan, the plan that he could barely remember after the trauma of the past day, and he didn't know if he could pull it off by himself. Should he try to follow it? Should he try to find Liz Polanski or some other potential escapists? Should he take his chances with that helicopter he saw in the sky a few hours ago?

His question was answered for him when he caught a glimpse of Bounce Volkova.

Bounce was a student he hadn't exactly been on good terms with throughout his stay at school. On a few occasions, whenever the subject of SOTF had been brought up, he'd gotten into a heated argument with her about it. She was one of the fans, the ones who thought it was staged entertainment that couldn't possibly be real. Even before Roland knew those kids were truly dying, he'd hated the show because of how phenomenally ugly it was. If the rape and murder of Madeleine Shirohara was supposed to disgust the audience to their fucking core, mission accomplished, but so what? It wasn't compelling television, it was pointless, repetitive slasher bullshit.

So he and Bounce had a strained relationship. When the topic didn't come up, they got along okay. He hoped that would be the case now, now that their perspectives on the game were significantly closer. "Bounce!" he called out to her, before remembering to drop his harpoon. "It's me, Roland! I'm unarmed!"

Whatever you do, he told himself, do not say "I told you so!"
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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Make Your Own Kind of Music · The Felled Forest: South