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But I Might Die Tonight; Open, Early Evening Day 4
Topic Started: Nov 23 2010, 02:27 AM (3,907 Views)
MurderWeasel
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((Kimberly Nguyen continued from The Long Road Home))

Choices. Right? Wrong? Who gave a fuck anymore?

Certainly not Kimberly.

She'd left the group like she'd left everything she didn't need, discarded them much the same as she'd discarded her spare clothing back on the beach. It wasn't that she didn't care. It was that she couldn't afford to let anything get in her way and slow her down. She was going to find Kris. She was going to find the bitch and make her pay. It was a fixation. A dangerous one. The odds were actually pretty damn good she was going to die attempting to get her payback.

Thing was, she was going to die no matter what. No way around that. No point pretending otherwise. A girl with one good arm, wielding a grappling hook? Yeah, not really a prime contender there.

She was trying to tell herself she didn't care. Trying to tell herself it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Push the fear back. Push the yearning for life to the bottom. It was too much to confront now. Mortality could wait 'til she was well and truly doomed. Angst was a damn fine way to waste a life when it wasn't in danger, but now that any second could bring a bullet through the skull, Kimberly found she couldn't bring herself to care about some dumb lines of melodramatic poetry.

And she'd never been that good at the whole scene anyways. Never had the right sort of exaggerated sadness and self-pity. Kimberly had never in her life cut or otherwise intentionally injured herself. She had never contemplated suicide except when she thought it was what she was supposed to do to get in the right mood for writing, and even then she hadn't taken it too seriously.

The hilarious thing was, Hermione Miller, preppy model girl, had gone and one-upped Kimberly, queen of the dark. She'd actually worked up the guts to blow her fucking head clean off. That was some real street cred there. Kimberly thought back to that day, the lunch room, the disgusting non-fat cake she'd shared with the girl who no longer existed. Remembered the awkward exchanges, the ride to the party, the detour. Remembered her glimpse into Hermione's life, into the world she inhabited, a world where fatless cake was a fucking treat. Remembered the creeps and the weirdness and the pressure. Wondered if maybe Hermione had always had the grimmer existence.

Not like it really mattered. Kimberly hadn't cried when she heard of her friend's death.

She was not going to cry now, either, no way. No reflections would bring her tears. She found herself lighting her cigarette, though, the same one she'd been fiddling with for over a day now, saving for a moment like this.

Well, Hermione, at least you're done now. At least you left on your terms. Best fucking way out of this game. Made your own choice for once. I hope it didn't hurt too much.

An exhalation: smoke winding its way skywards from her mouth, its haze blurring the stars. Friends dead and friends alive, and still Kimberly lived, and still the game went on.

And still she hungered for a little bit of closure.

Yes, because Kris still lived too, and they had a bit of a score to settle, didn't they? Kimberly flexed the fingers of her left hand, just slightly. She could move them again—just the tiniest bit, not even making a fist—and avoid engulfing her arm in complete agony. Maybe it was the low-grade painkillers from her first aid kit that she'd started taking. Maybe she was actually healing a little bit. It didn't matter. Kris had hurt more than her arm.

Another drag on the cigarette.

She was on the mountain. The sun had set some time ago. The climb had been somewhat difficult, but now she was at a spot where it seemed safe to rest. Kimberly glanced around for a seat, found a promising rock, and sat down, the few chains on her skinny jeans jangling and clinking against the rock, her improvised cape hanging loosely, hiding her injury. She looked around, at the trees, the stars, the glowing ember hovering in front of her face.

She was going to live the fuck out of her last few days, and spending a little time appreciating the scenery seemed a good enough way to get a jump on that.
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Juliette Sargent
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MurderWeasel
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It seemed like peace was not on the menu tonight. Seemed like the world had just decided to toss one curve ball after another at Kimberly, like every little pleasure would be systematically stripped away and ground beneath the wheels of destiny. Fuck, she had to catch up with Kris. Nothing else would make this worthwhile. Nothing else would bring her any amount of satisfaction. She had lived her entire life, over seventeen years, all building to this one task, this one mission. You didn't fuck with that sort of purpose. You certainly didn't sneak up on it while it was having a smoke.

Someone had tripped. Someone had been fucking around behind Kimberly and had made the mistake of doing it noisily. She spun, glaring through the dim evening, blowing a puff of smoke from the corner of her mouth. If it was an ambusher, a killer, lord help them.

But no. It was not one of the past killers. It was a girl. A girl frozen like a deer in the headlights. Was she planning to kill Kimberly, get a late start on the murderer's game? Was she scared? A thief? So many possibilities, but, for that one moment, Kimberly didn't give a damn. No, the other girl wasn't moving. Hard to tell if she was even breathing. And the reason for this, the reason behind her terror or shock or whatever, was that Kimberly might, just might, have noticed her.

Damn, that felt sweet.

So she didn't say a thing, just stood there for a second. Just the two of them, alone, the scenery forgotten, Kimberly's initial irritation at being interrupted forgotten, her hatred of Kris forgotten. Just the two of them, having their little moment. Words would ruin it. They would break the magic spell. It had to end sooner or later, but Kimberly was hoping for later, oh how she was hoping for later, because right now she felt about a hundred feet tall. So what if she wasn't all that strong? So what if her weapon was shit? So what if wiggling her fingers was her pathetic little victory? Right now, she was in control, one step ahead of the game, and it felt fucking awesome.

Then someone was calling from elsewhere. Calling for this girl. Joze? Josie, perhaps? A name that rung bells, carried a face, but that was all. And the caller, that lisp. Kimberly had heard that before, somewhere. It was the most annoying speech impediment imaginable, and she couldn't even begin to comprehend how the lisper got out of bed in the morning, how she made it through another day knowing that even by the very act of communicating she was being a pain in the ass to everyone else.

"Over here," Kimberly called. "Come over here. Maybe we should talk. I won't hurt you."

Yes, perfect. Take the initiative on the answer. Leave the possibility of a threat later, but don't break it out yet. What was that line that got quoted so much? An iron fist in a velvet glove?

Yeah. Have a talk, and if these girls weren't dangerous, and if they were weak, then maybe steal their shit or something. Maybe talk 'em into coming along. Maybe see if they'd seen Kris.

And then, out of nowhere, the speakers crackled, at the wrong time, not announcement time, so something was up, something was wrong, and then a voice boomed out from everywhere, and Kimberly froze and listened in horror.
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MurderWeasel
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((Since Kimberly's a ways from Sierra, and Mimi's been Away, I'm skipping here))

Someone had fucked with the collars. Someone had fucked with the cameras. Someone had died for it. All to be expected.

What was not to be expected was that the person who'd blown up was not the one who'd been monkeying the system. That made it pretty damn easy to tell what had happened. Someone had actually pulled it off. Someone, in this case, was Liz Polanski. A name with an attached face, nothing more. Not one of Sarah's group. So, this Liz Polanski had messed things up. Had gotten the terrorists all hot and bothered. Well, good for her, except for one little thing. She'd gotten someone else killed. There was a face for Daisuke, too. Kimberly didn't really give a fuck, though. Nah, what was eating at her was that it wasn't only Daisuke who'd been on the line. It was each and every one of them. There were what, a couple hundred people left alive? Say two hundred. That means there was a half a percent chance of Kimberly getting popped instead of Daisuke. A one-in-two-hundred shot of her exploding instantly, no chance to look her attacker in the face and spit at them, no chance to take Kris down with her. Bang. Gone. All because some bitch had to play hero.

Kimberly's anger was not hot. It was not cold. It simply was. She was wrapped up in it. Forgot where she was. Someone had risked her life. No opt-out like with Sarah. No chance to dive to the side like with Kris. No, just Liz Polanski treating Kimberly like an object, like some sort of fucking game piece. Yeah, Kimberly, fuck her, I wanna get off this island, and I'm gonna do whatever it takes. Fuck that. Fucking player, that's what she was. Do whatever it took to get off the island, and who cares how many people die? No better than Maxwell or Clio or Kris. No, worse. Worse than them. At least they'd had the guts to watch when they pulled the trigger. This girl, she was a coward, hiding behind some sort of moral high ground. She hadn't killed anyone, hadn't risked any lives. Oh no, it was that big nasty terrorist with the remote. He was to blame. If he'd just let poor little Liz fuck his system, none of this would've happened.

The only thing stopping Kimberly from taking off right at that second, from slipping into the night to find this Polanski and choke the life out of her, was that there were still people around. Still this girl she was menacing and shit. Drop the calm act, and any authority was lost. Any hope of controlling things, gone.

The girl in front of Kimberly had talked. Had introduced herself, blabbed and blabbed. Kimberly didn't say shit. Deal with a nervous talker, best bet's to just let 'em go. Let 'em dig themselves deeper and deeper and watch 'em squirm. Compulsive talkers, they just kept talking, even when it hurt them, even when they knew they shouldn't.

And hey, even better, there was someone over there by the girl's friend. Oh, this was gonna be good. This was gonna be real fucking good. Time to break the silence.

"I think maybe we should just chill, make sure there's nothing going on there that could be dangerous first," Kimberly said. Talking nice and quiet. All the authority she could muster in her voice. "I think it'd be real dangerous if you rushed off before we know that won't lead someone back to me. I mean, fuck, I've been quiet and all for a reason. If I'm gonna get spotted anyways, well..."—a shrug of her shoulders, emphasize the towel covering her left arm, remind this girl that there's no way to tell what the fuck was in that hidden hand—"no real reason to keep quiet."

Smile. Hey, girl, your choice. You wanna call my bluff? Go ahead. If you're gonna make it anywhere on this island, you've gotta be willing to take some risks, make some mistakes.

The night air was cool. Calm. All the panic from the announcement gone. Everything nice and peaceful again. So quiet. So serene. Just how Kimberly liked it.
V7:
Juliette Sargent
Alton Gerow
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MurderWeasel
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The girl ranted a bit, went on about being quiet and such, blah blah blah. Didn't matter. It wasn't like Kimberly actually gave a fuck about being noticed. It was like this girl was under the impression that there was an actual point to this exercise, that Kimberly wasn't just fucking with her in order to make her make a nasty choice. Damn, she was slow. Kimberly didn't even bother responding to the girl's question about her arm, just smiling and cocking an eyebrow. At least that worked. At least this person seemed to be assuming that Kimberly was a credible threat.

Didn't make it much better. Then, the guy over there had to go and start yelling, like it didn't matter at all if anyone knew they were here. Well, fuck him too. The girl waltzed off, completely ignoring the fact that, had Kimberly had a gun, she could've just blown her away. This whole situation was one huge mess, and it was seriously pissing her off. There had to be something more worthwhile to do. Something that would actually get her towards one of her goals—because yes, she had two goals now, didn't she? There was Kris, Kris with her gun and her kills, and Kris still needed her share of comeuppance. But there was also Liz, little innocent Liz going around getting Daisuke killed. Liz with a bounty on her head, with the potential to really fuck up Kimberly's day just by accident. All this going on, and yet here she was playing games with dumb people. And then, icing on the cake, someone else started screaming, too. Just what she needed. More people yelling. Make it another circus like the beach.

No way. She was so over this shit. So ready to be off and away and just plain doing something rather than going through yet another round of painful introductions among people who never gave a fuck about each other in school, yet another tense standoff while people assessed the truth of each other's statements, yet another awkward moment as the nerds and the jocks sat around singing fucking hippie songs or shit like that.

So Kimberly did not follow the girl. Instead, she grabbed her things again, huffed a sigh, and started walking. A part of her, a very petulant and angry part, wanted to shout something nasty over her shoulder, wanted to tell the last newcomer that he was stumbling into a den of psychos or something. But no, she was better than that. It wouldn't do to let her emotions run that far out of control. Quite simply, the best option was to leave and let 'em sweat about who she was, what she was doing. She hadn't given them her name, right? For all they knew, they'd just had a nice little chat with Clio Gabriella. For all they knew, she was off to grab her AK-47 so she could waste the lot of them. Yeah, let 'em stew about that. No point getting involved.

Not when there was work to do. Her life could end at any moment, no warning. At any second, she could just be gone. One thing Kimberly was sure of, though, was that when her time came, she didn't plan on having a single regret. And that...

That meant she had a few little visits to pay to a couple of phenomenally careless girls.

((Kimberly Nguyen continued in Blackout))
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