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Time Is Not On Our Side
Topic Started: Sep 4 2010, 11:07 AM (4,144 Views)
Jonny
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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
[ *  *  * ]
((Charlie DuClare continued from The Outsider))

There's a certain time of night after which it very quickly gets harder and harder to give a fuck. It's not always at the same time, and it can be quite hard to pinpoint, but sooner or later it just becomes harder and harder to put serious effort into something that isn't shuffling forward into a bed or bed-like object. There's a certain time after which the most complex thought you can string together is looks like a decent place to curl up and doze off for a minute or two.

For Charlie DuClare, six in the morning was definitely past that time.

To her credit, she'd started her evening off by giving a fuck about plenty of things. She was full of joy and bounce and life, having just told some awful, awful people just how awful they were. And she had her list of goals and rules she was jotting down in her head, like that she was never ever again going to try and ally with people that sucked that much. Out of the question. It was a moral decision, and one she felt very very strongly about.

She was also going to stay awake till she found somewhere safe to sleep. That was worth giving a fuck about too. She'd been skipping (since she was happy now, see?) through what was gradually turning into a forest, keeping her eyes peeled for somewhere that looked nice and safe to spend the night. The closest she came to a place that met her standards was a nice big tree, big branches, easy to climb, looked like it might be good to sleep in. But the second she climbed it she realized that there was nothing even approaching a comfortable sleeping space. Plus there was the all too real risk of someone coming with a saw or an axe in the middle of the night to chop down her tree and then that would be the end of Charlie DuClare. She made her way down the tree and kept walking, because she was definitely not going to die like that. It was something she felt very very strongly about.

She was also determined not to think about the girl she'd just seen get killed a few hours ago. To chase the thoughts away the moment they came.

That was also something she felt very strongly about.

But we already know how this story ends. It was a little past six and the word strongly had quietly snuck out of her vocabulary maybe an hour or two ago. There had been a man talking very loudly, very recently, but after Charlie had lazily spun around and figured it it wasn't actually someone near her, she couldn't be bothered to listen too well. Nineteen deaths. Maybe she'd start wondering later which one of them was the girl that'd been shot right in front of her. For now she just wished the guy would keep his voice down a little.

So by the time Charlie bumped into a boy and a girl, the latter mumbling something about murder island and holding a trumpet, giving a fuck wasn't exactly high on her list of priorities. If they were planning to murder her here on murder island, then... then that would be really really bad, I guess. She was an easy target right now, wasn't she. There were two of them, she was tired out of her mind, and running away held the all too real risk of flopping over and falling asleep at about the fourth stride. So she just stood. She looked at them. She managed to blink. She tried to plead for her life.

"Uh... hi. I..." Hmm. "You know what, fuck it. If you're gonna murder me just... just how about you use sommat besides the trumpet, I really don't feel like... getting killed by... trumpet." A momentous yawn. "Otherwise, hi, I'm Charlie and let's, why don't we let's be best friends and... I'm nice to meet you."
Edited by Jonny, Sep 29 2010, 11:24 PM.
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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Jonny
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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
[ *  *  * ]
So, to put this all in perspective: there was an introduction, his name (and it had to be fucking Dave, those fuckers were everywhere), a little wave. There was an upbeat account of gore and slaughter, capped off with a charmingly polite question. There was some casual racism. There was an invitation to stay the night (the day?), with pretty much no strings attached. There was an awful, awful joke which had, as its punchline, the idea that Charlie would ever even think about touching Dave in that way.

And somewhere in the middle of all that- she couldn't tell exactly where- she started to like the guy. Nice job on the first impression. Yeah, I think I like you just fine.

Isabel a little less so. She made a big mistake early on by endorsing the trumpet: no, your trumpet will never be cool and it will always suck and be awful, and there's nothing you can do to change that. And then she put a bit of a damper on Dave's casual racism parade. And she finished off by saying "night, Claire!" which, seriously, what the fuck, how did that keep happening. Did these assholes have meetings where they all decided that the best way to get revenge on Charlie, the best way to mess with her head, was to keep calling her Claire until it made her break down weeping? Yes, that is exactly what they did, and Isabel was present at every meeting. Playing a shitty song on her shitty trumpet.

Funny thing. Hating Isabel was almost as difficult of a feat in mental gymnastics as liking Kevin and Retard Cowboy had been. It could very well just be the fact that Charlie was dead tired. That could be the case. So yeah. Charlie wasn't about to make a conclusion either way. I can decide whether I hate you in the morning. Evening. Whenever they'd actually be waking up, considering it was a little past six in the morning.

"Mmm, sounds like a plan. But there's, uh, hey. There's two things you guys need to know about me first. One is that I hate people named Dave and two is that I hate brass instruments. But," and here is a yawn, "I think I forgive you guys. Aaaaand I'm pretty sure I had a worse day than you." She pointed a finger at her nose, covered in dried blood on account of a certain girl with a certain hammer. Couldn't keep a big silly grin from finding its way onto her face, and then couldn't help but giggle a little at nothing in particular. "But I'll fill you in on the details later, if that's okay."

Do you tell them about the girl that got shot dead just a few feet in front of you? No, it turns out you don't.

Curling up to sleep is probably a better thing to do. And so she did it. And there was even a part of her daypack that seemed soft enough that it could function as a pillow. And there were two people nearby who it seemed like she might be getting to like a bit, without even trying. So sleep on this, Charlie DuClare. Decide when you wake up whether you can forgive Isabel for calling you Claire, and whether you can forgive Dave for being named Dave. Decide earlier than that, though, whether you're going to just steal their stuff and run away while they're asleep.

Hmm. Charlie wished she'd thought of that earlier, actually. Back when she was with Blanderson and Retard Cowboy. Pretend to be okay, pretend to be a shoulder to cry on, then steal Retard Cowboy's gun while he was asleep. That would've been nice, though if she'd wanted to do that, it would've been impossible to go on her rant against those two. Which had been awesome. So as far as Charlie was concerned, she'd made the right choice back at the mine shack. But what was the right choice in this case? Well. It was a little more complex here.

Actually, it wasn't complex at all. Dave and Isabel seemed alright, or at least she hadn't decided yet that they weren't so Charlie wasn't going to steal their shit. There. Case closed.

Time to go to sleep.
Edited by Jonny, Oct 7 2010, 12:54 AM.
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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Jonny
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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
[ *  *  * ]
Time to wake up.

And time to decide about... fuck it, what exactly had made Charlie think that she'd be better equipped to make this decision when she woke up? She hadn't exactly in the mood for deep thought while she was waiting to fall asleep. And none of her dreams had been particularly prophetic or useful. There'd been something about a... a plane, and fog, and... yup, that was pretty much all she could remember. Not exactly a big help. So... put off the decision a little more? I don't hate them. That was a start. They were way better than Retard Cowboy and Blanderson. They're alright, I guess. Whoa, whoa. Let's not get ahead of yourself.

It was past sunset when she woke up, and Dave and Isabel were still sleeping, so Charlie had no real idea of how much time had actually passed. She felt pretty well-rested, but... maybe that was just because she was awesome? Wasn't really right to blame Dave and Isabel if they wanted more sleep. So she would lie here with her thoughts until another of them woke up, which would probably be pretty soon.

She fell asleep again.

And woke up again! Though not on her own. There was that awful guy with the annoying voice talking on the loudspeakers again- fuck, there are more of these?- and there was Isabel screaming at... something. Dave had maybe perved out on her or something? But Dave was... asleep. Or half-asleep, and at least as confused about what was going on as Charlie was. So either Dave was a dangerous sleep-pervert or Isabel was kinda a weirdo. Awesome. This means we will, the three of us, get along really really well.

Charlie thought of asking Isabel what was wrong, but decided it'd be kinda awkward to ask that of someone who'd jumped into a bush and started... stripping? Or something? You're kinda a weirdo, Izzy. Whatever. As long as Isabel didn't do this kind of thing every few minutes, Charlie decided she could forgive her. Hooray. Forgiving people was fun.

Both Dave and Isabel were saying something about getting moving, so that probably meant they had somewhere to go. Somewhere that they didn't seem too intent on telling Charlie about, but... but to be honest, Charlie didn't give a fuck. For all Charlie knew, their plan was to go to the abandoned ship in the northwest corner of the island and talk like pirates until the rest of the island had killed itself. That would be fine. Charlie could live with that.

Their biggest flaw, it seemed like, was that they were dorky and weird. Charlie could live with that too.

So she actually smiled for once and she actually meant it. And she picked up her belongings and started to follow Dave and Isabel. Wherever they would go.

(Charlie DuClare continued in Day of the Dove)
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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