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No Rest for the Wicked; Private thread
Topic Started: Sep 11 2010, 12:44 PM (2,116 Views)
Blastinus
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That's Just Crazy Talk
[ *  *  *  * ]
(Harold Fisher continued from Rest and Relaxation)

"Well well," Harold muttered to himself, "what's this now?" The pudgy man had been slowly walking in a northerly direction from the Residential Area, in the hopes that cutting across several territories would allow him to see more people. But no such luck, at least not until now. As he had been walking across the sand, he had caught sight of someone walking in the same direction a little further ahead. Keeping his back towards land, he followed at a slow pace until he could see what was going on, hoping to mask his approach by making that stealthy motion that he had always seen in cartoons.

It didn't take long for the first gentlemen to get into an altercation with another, with the first holding the other at gunpoint. Creeping slowly along the sand, curious as to whether or not the shotgun man was one of the people in the previous announcement, Harold watched as the two men shared words with one another. He wasn't entirely sure what they were saying, but it apparently wasn't pleasant, as it ended with the shotgun man raising his weapon and missing by a good margin. The blast from the boomstick made Harold wince, even at his distance, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the man with the shotgun was on his back.

That will teach you not to brace yourself properly, idiot. Now then, will the other man take advantage of this, or won't he?

Quivering with anticipation, Harold pulled his pistol out of his bag and shakily loaded in a clip. He'd be ready for whatever occurred, but he wanted to be watching when it happened. He had been theorizing that the reason for his hesitation beforehand had been a mental block due to not feeling justified in performing the heinous act of murder. But if his target killed someone in cold blood, perhaps he wouldn't feel so inclined to spare him. It seemed scientifically sound, and besides, it would be one person who he wouldn't have to kill himself, which would save him the bullets.

Come on! Come on! You can do it! You know you want to!
Edited by Blastinus, Sep 17 2010, 06:29 PM.
V7 Kids
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Blastinus
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[ *  *  *  * ]
He did it! Amazing! And my faith in humanity has been restored.

Seeing a man crush the life out of another was both shocking and oddly fascinating. Even as Dougal's arms went limp, Harold remained rooted to his hiding spot, his loaded pistol held loosely in his right hand. He didn't know how he would react to the murder of another man, but he had expected to be revolted, to lose everything that he had eaten earlier that day. He had expected to be frightened, to cry out in terror and lie shaking in a trembling ball. He had expected to be offended, to curse out himself and everyone around him for not deigning to prevent a waste of human life.

He had not expected to be eager to try it out himself.

Rising up from the sand, Harold walked purposefully towards Maxwell, his pistol raised. It'd be easy right now to snuff out this man's existence. After all, he was probably still concerned about having killed a man for the first time. Or was this even his first? For all he knew, Harold could have been looking at a double or even triple offender, long ago deadened to the art of murder. If so, this was an even larger reason for him to kill the man now, while there still was a chance. And yet, there was something stirring within the self-proclaimed genius: a desire to be grand and dramatic. To savor his first kill, and let it hang for as long as he wanted. After all, the shotgun was still yet unclaimed. There was no reason to be concerned about an attack at range.

"Nice work there. I was concerned that you wouldn't go through with it," Harold said as casually as possible, resisting the urge to giggle. "You know, I'm happy that there are others on this island with the killer instinct. I was worried that we'd all be a bunch of pansies, and that wouldn't be fun for the people at home, would it?"

Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, Harold tossed the pistol from his right hand to his left, nearly fumbling it on the way down. "Heh...So, I'll cut to the chase here. I don't know who you are, and I really REALLY don't care. The point is that you, sir, are going to be the starting point for my career on this island. No hard feelings, right?" Harold tossed the pistol in the air again, back to his right, and this time, his hand missed. As he fumbled about in midair, the pistol flew off his outstretched fingers and landed with a small "poof" in the sand.

SHIT!
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Blastinus
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Harold had barely had enough time to recognize the loss of his pistol before Maxwell charged him. He had seen it coming, and he had plenty of time to react to it, but his attention was on the gun. He had expected the other man to take a dive for it, and had been ready to go for it as well. He was heavier, and he was desperate enough to have the strength to beat him for it. But Maxwell knew what priority was highest. Before the fatty could even raise his arms in defense, he felt the impact of a fist against his jaw, and felt himself falling.

His mind cleared shortly afterwards, and through blurry eyes, he saw his foe bend down and pick up the pistol lying on the sand. He knew what was coming, and as the man stepped over him, he whimpered and drew his knees into his belly, covering his head with his arms. Why was this happening to him? It had been one simple mistake, one lapse of judgment. Did he really deserve to die because he dropped his weapon?

Yes, you do, said his rational mind, and Harold cursed at himself under his breath. After all, had he not just called someone an idiot for not using a shotgun properly? How was this any different? If someone had dropped their weapon in front of him, he would have laughed at them and probably said that they didn't deserve to live, that their rampant stupidity had forfeited any right they had had to exist in this world. If anything, Harold deserved to die even more, given that he was supposed to be the smartest man on this island.

I've dug my own grave, and the best that I can do now is die with honor.

With that in mind, as Maxwell aimed the pistol squarely at Harold's forehead, he lowered his arms and faced the man with a nod and a half smile.

No hard feelings.

"No," said Maxwell, "none at all."

The bullet slammed straight into Harold's forehead, knocking the cap off of his head. His head snapped to the side and his legs stiffened, and then he lay still, his eyes closed halfway and a dumb expression on his face.

B150: FISHER, HAROLD - DECEASED
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