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Viewing Single Post From: We Can Live with the Sadness
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
"Yep. Fuck off."

Well. That was an answer. It was an incredibly blunt answer. But Ema could respect that, right? Must be into the top ten now, by all rights all three of them ought to be killing each other on sight. Just telling her to leave was pretty polite by comparison. Except it wasn't polite. It was insulting. As if the empty courtesy of asking if the other girls minded company actually implied that it was for either of them to tell her what she could or couldn't do. She, of all people, had surely earned the right not to have to do what anybody else told her. Fuck. Neither of them even has a gun out. And... that bloody rifle's been on my back this whole time. They don't need to know it only shoots darts. Even if they do, asleep isn't a thing you want to be in a crazed killer's presence. Heh. Crazed. Yeah they probably do think you're I'm crazy. Please. They're crazy. Silly silly crazy girls not running away from you me and stop making this third person Ema.... I mean me... I mean, fuck I'm not talking to myself I'm just thinking, okay!?

Digression over, the important realisation was, as dangerous as a tranquilliser rifle was capable of being, Kimberly and Reiko were two targets, and Ema didn't have a bloody clue how to reload it. Or even if it had a dart in it. Probably didn't. Her revolver should still have at least five bullets in it, and Vera was probably about half full too. But they were in her daypack, going for either of them was an overt act of aggression. Or at least of dangerous paranoia. Delicate situation all around, really. And Christ did her leg hurt right now. Her face had mostly become numb somehow, but even with most of her weight on the right foot, Ema's shin was figuratively killing her.

All in all? Best to do as they say. Hadn't she been regretting running into the other girls at all, just earlier? Yeah, probably had. Don't be insulted too much by an opportunity to survive, silly girl. Wasn't there meant to be a clinic south of here? You could g-- I could go there, maybe the painkillers won't have been completely looted yet. Fat chance. But empty hope's better than no hope.


So Ema turned away. No, why would she do that? That was suicide. She took a few nervous steps, both tentative to lay down her left foot and terrified she'd turned her back on her killer(s), before turning back around in what she hoped was a vaguely nonchalant manner. She wasn't even wholly sure what nonchalant meant, or how to spell it. Something similar to casual, probably, but extra pretentiously casual because it was French. Or sounded French. Get your shit together Ema this stupid daydreaming is the enemy.

"Hey, one thing."

Pause. Entirely unwarranted awkwardness, a remembered behaviour from her days as a normal, socially inept kind of person. Not the behaviour of someone who had somehow managed to not only kill eight people, but also convince herself she was only failing to feel remorse because she needed the killer instinct to stay alive, and guilt could wait until she was safe. It was an odd picture, and after a second, even Ema appreciated how strange the situation was.

"I was pretty out of it this morning, you can guess why. Missed the announcement. Anything I should know?"
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.

Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

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