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Act I: General Anesthetic; cool kids only. ask before posting, please!
Topic Started: Oct 6 2010, 01:45 AM (2,136 Views)
Ella
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[[Michael Moretti and Violet Druce, continued from Breathe In, Breathe Out]]

After making their way back into the woods and wandering for several hours, Mike and Violet found a stroke of luck- a small cabin at the edge of the woods. Eager (but not too eager) to have found a roof for their heads, the two entered without hesitation and prepared to sleep for the night.

This was what went through Michael's mind as he slowly recalled the events that had led him to waking up on a couch facing several soulless pairs of deer's eyes mounted on the wall. Ever the gentleman, he'd given Violet the one bed in the house- there was easily room for both of them, but the two still barely knew each other. It would've been weird.

Speaking of, he figured he ought to go see how she was doing. It was still sort of dark, so he needed to adjust his eyes to keep from tripping over anything- ah, there was the bedroom.

The empty bedroom, to be more specific. Fuck.

At once, millions of fears filled his still weary mind. Her stuff was still right there, so she couldn't have just left him there... at least, not without plans to come back. Could someone have come in without him noticing...? Shit. Shit shit shit. This was not good. Not not not good. Shit.

"Violet!" He yelled a hoarse whisper, wanting and dreading attention at the same time- "Violet! You around here?" Nothing. Not in the bathroom, not in the bedroom, not in the kitchen- "Vi-"

Pop.

All was forgotten in favor of the revelation that someone was outside. The sound wasn't very loud, but it definitely wasn't natural. "Violet!"

He went to the window, wiping dust from it as silently as possible- Oh fuck- Two pairs of legs. Limited perspective forbade his efforts to see anything more, but those were definitely male legs. Wait- one of them was moving. Wait- falling over? The other became more visible as he knelt over the now fallen pair of legs- Ilario Fiametta. Of course he knew who the guy was- they'd had plenty of classes together, being two of the smarter ones in school and all. That and he was one of those triplets. Pretty much everyone knew them somehow.

Well, that's good. He was always a good guy, surely I could count on him- Something still didn't feel right, though. Carefully, and still as silently as possible, he opened the door and approached the corner of the house that would yield a better view- actually, no. Make that a much worse view.

That was Ilario Fiametta alright- but that wasn't what worried Michael at the moment. It was the other boy. Jackson Ockley. They'd met before- smoked together once or twice. Normally, meeting these two here would've seemed fortuitous- but not like this.

Blood flowed from a hole that marred Jackson's face, just one indicator of his recent loss of life. Maybe he wasn't dead yet- but he sure as hell wasn't still alive. So wait... did that mean the perpetually perfect Ilario Fiametta... had killed him? No... no no no no no. There's something up here. There was some sort of accident. Some crazy guy came along or something, like back over at the truck-

Before he knew it, he'd stepped out from the cover of his corner- Well shit, might as well now that I'm in plain sight.

"Jacks- no, Ilario... what the hell is going on here?"
Edited by Ella, Oct 14 2010, 02:34 PM.
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Ilario didn't hear him, and instead... what the fuck, was he making out wi- no, fuck, that's CPR. Fucking idiot, he got shot. You don't CPR bullet wounds, you take them to the hospital, where-

Oh, right.

Well, it kind of made sense, in an act of desperation sort of way.

Michael cleared his throat, and spoke in the gravest tone of voice he could muster. "Ilario Fiametta. I asked you a question. What. The fuck. Is going on here?"

Finally, he answered. His scared, shrill tone immediately told Mike that this was an accident- or at the very least, something he was very ashamed of.

"He just - there was this, this tube, like lipstick, and something happened. I don't - I'm trained. Emergency Responder. I was doing CPR, but he..."

Mike was trying very hard to conceal the shaking that had overtook his entire body."The fuck you are. He has a fucking hole in his head. You don't have to be a do-"

"MIKE?!"

Ohfuckingthankgodshewasstillhere. "VIOLET!" He began to run towards the voice, but he found her nearing the scene from the other side of the house. Before the impulse could reach his mind and any possible censors, he threw his arms around the girl.
"There's uh... it's really messed up. I knew the guy, his name was Jackson, but I also know the other guy and apparently it was an accident and it's like... fuck. I don't know. Where were you, anyway?"
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This guy was fucking crazy.

No, seriously. Bayview's beloved Ilario Fiametta had gone insane, or something.

Might as well humor him. It wasn't like Mike didn't have his own fair share of medical knowledge. Not that anything he was about to do couldn't be done by literally anyone, but still. It was something.

Gently, carefully so as not to startle anyone, Mike walked towards the scene, towards the overwhelmed Violet and the obviously even more overwhelmed Fiametta. He knelt down next to Jackson's corpse, and gingerly took the hand lying limply at his side.

No pulse.

Of course there wasn't- he was dead before Mike had even gotten there- but his stomach still felt... what was it? Shock? Regret?

Relief?

"Fiametta." Mike swallowed the steadily rising bile and shut the intact eye, like they did on TV. "There isn't a pulse. We should- we should probably bury him or something. Something..."

In a twisted kind of way, Ilario's response to this whole thing was kind of comforting- whatever had happened, Ilario hadn't wanted it to- crazy or not, at least he wasn't killing on purpose. But then again, was it really a good thing since he'd proven himself so dangerously accident-prone?

We don't have to think about that right now. Which was a complete and obvious lie, of course, but he just needed more time. Give me more time.

He looked over at Violet. He wanted to say something, or do something... but he couldn't. Nothing that meant anything, anyway. He stood, walked a few feet- and leaned against the wall of the station, face turned towards the sky that was showing the first dull yellows and mauves of sunrise. Michael Moretti felt older at this moment than he ever had in his life.
Edited by Ella, Nov 8 2010, 07:36 PM.
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