"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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Viewing Single Post From: We Can Live with the Sadness
MurderWeasel
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Somehow we drifted off too far...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The fucked up girl was taking Kimberly seriously. She didn't even have to pick up the gun lying by her leg. It was a pleasant change. Maybe being around at this point brought some automatic respect. In a way, the dozen people left were like an exclusive little club. Maybe that was why they were so willing to talk.

Kimberly fucking hated that thought. She had nothing in common with the others. She was interested in Reiko in part because of their shared pool of acquaintances, in part because of the change in the other girl's behavior, as revealed by the announcements. It was a mystery to unravel, one Kimberly almost cared about, unlike this other girl's identity. She'd figure it out next time the announcements came on, most likely. A missing eye seemed too good to pass up for a twisted joke, even though the new guy didn't seem to fool around as much as Danya had. Still, he wasn't too different. He knew how to pronounce "Nguyen," at least.

And then the girl stopped, and she turned back, and she tossed back a little comment, all calm and causal, like she'd really just forgotten, like she'd missed the announcements and figured these charming people who clearly wanted jack shit to do with her were going to suddenly feel really social and altruistic. Bullshit. She wanted something. Kimberly didn't know what, didn't care. She was, for the most part, over hurting people for kicks. Deflating them, well, that was a whole other fucking ball game.

"Yeah," she said. "Some pretty big shit. There are only twelve people left, so they decided to do something a bit different. They said it's gotten boring, so instead of a fight to the death, they're gonna do it American Idol style. Shittiest singer every hour gets their collar popped. Me and Reiko,"—name dropping the other girl seemed like a nice, subtle way to underscore that one-eye should be fucking off—"are working on a duet. Figure it can keep us going a bit, if we can get the synchronization down."

She didn't even pause before launching off on a new tangent.

"No. There's nothing you should know. Twelve people left, lots of people dead. Same shit, different day. Goodbye."

Kimberly wasn't really feeling it, wasn't really in the right mood to be sparring with this girl, to be cutting her down for being a moron. She was probably lying anyways, unless she'd been wounded here in one of the houses. Most of the rest of the island had been turned into danger zones, yet here this girl was, one eye fucked up but neck nice and whole. Kimberly couldn't even really explain what it was that was firing her temper again. Maybe it was just the sheer nonchalance, like none of the horrible shit the past few days mattered. Yeah, she was doing the same fucking thing herself, but the difference was, this girl seemed to mean it. Kimberly didn't want to deal with a psychopath. She didn't do psychopaths. They didn't react right, didn't get riled, didn't make stupid choices. Will, he'd probably been a psychopath, on reflection. That was why everything at the docks had gotten so ugly. That was what had led to her one mistake. Brook, he'd been a psychopath too, and look what had happened to Dutchy. There wouldn't be any more of that shit. Not again.

So, come on, psycho girl. Fuck off or tip your hand. I'm starting to get bored of waiting.
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