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Aimless; Day 4: Night. Open
Topic Started: Dec 9 2010, 11:47 PM (2,258 Views)
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Leila Langford continued from From White To Grey))

The night rolled on in, without ceremony or a show, trickling into the sky and leaving starlight in its wake. It happened so slowly, with such silence, that it honestly surprised the girl when she stopped for a second and looked above at the vast expanse which flooded out into the darkness. If she was philosophical, she would've used it as a symbol or a metaphor for how she felt, or lamented over how alone she was now that her best friend was gone. And yeah, the wind did feel nice on her skin, cooling as it was to her ever-boiling blood, but really, who gave a flying fuck.

Rubbing her shoulders - she was freezing her ass off out here - she carried on like before, trekking across the island all on her own. Her bags still rubbed her skin raw, and her feet were practically falling off with the amount of walking she'd been doing, but she had to keep going. She didn't know where she was headed, and it wasn't like she even had a map to refer to anyway, but it didn't matter; she kept on walking through the battlefields and the dead, which were beginning to litter the island, and she didn't stop. How could she? She had nowhere to go, nowhere to rest, no-one to show her the right way to shelter - she didn't have anything left. Just a piece of shit gun and a weight on her mind that managed to be heavier than the bags she was dragging around like a fucking camel.

Really, what was her plan now? Go toe-to-toe with terrorists with a peashooter? Fuck no, of course not. So she had a motive for revenge; so she had the will to go on and take down every fucker out there; what did that matter? She was just one person - just one tired, worn-out body amongst 200 others. What could she do except keep on going?

It depressed her. She'd never felt this hopeless before, or this weak; it made her sick. Somewhere out there everyone else was taking part in the fight of their lives, and here she was wandering across a deserted golf course like a brainless fucker. The need to step cautiously or take cover had long since died, after making it all the way out here from what had seemed like the very edge of the world itself. That beach... Hilary...

Fuck, don't cry now. Not here. Come on, you've got a job to do. You're gonna burn this island down, and you know why you're gonna do it, right? So you can't get starry-eyed every time you think about her, otherwise you won't get anywhere and then they'll win, Leila. You hear me? They'll win.

The blunt truth was right there, in her head, reminding her feet to press onwards no matter what. This wasn't something they could give up on now, not after what she'd done; she couldn't take it back. She needed to hold on to that vengeance and let it grow and swell inside her chest, until she was ready to let it burst forth and wash away those fuckers in a tide of fire. Her bangles jangled as a breeze swept past, but she made no effort to quiet them. They clanged together, metal on metal, reminiscent of the one around her neck which, to her disgust, she'd slowly grown accustomed to; it was just another reminder of what she had to do.

Letting them play out their strange sounds in the air, she pressed on with their melody accompanying her steps, with every clang proceeded by a grassy "clomp". A part of her wanted to sleep out here in the open, underneath the glittered canopy, but she knew that was stupid - the worst idea she'd had in a while. She must've been so exhausted, she could've slept about anywhere and let an opportunist strike her off in her sleep. Hell, it would've been painless, she reckoned. A nice way to go after enduring so much shit.

Perhaps the guy on the slope could help her out if she asked nicely? Yeah, "trade you a box of crackers to murder me nicely". She could totally see that happening. Ah well, she guessed she'd have to go down the messier route, which would inevitably lead to getting brutalised live on television because hey, the nation loved a good death scene, right?

Staring right up at the boy - fuck, boy? He was fucking huge - she quickly drew her pistol and aimed it up at him with a grim look on her face. She couldn't afford to take chances and let him think she was gonna pussy about, oh no. This was letting him know exactly where he stood with her, and if he had any kind of sense he'd find a reason to leave before she had to cut his trip short.

"Sorry babe, but I don't have time for fucking about. If you're gonna try and kill me then go ahead - see how far that gets you. But I promise, and I mean it, that if you even take a single step towards me-"

Her finger slid back the trigger; ready.

"I'll show you why everyone stays the fuck away from me."
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
"Woah," he said. "Hang on just a sec there, please. I'm not gonna hurt you. I don't want to kill you or anyone else. I don't have a weapon, and if you don't feel comfortable having me around, say the word and I'm gone. I'd just really appreciate it if you didn't shoot me."


Leila was stunned, genuinely. This guy looked like he could easily take her down, but instead he was actually... nice? Her expression wavered, disarmed by the gentleness he exuded in his speech. It was like he didn't have a clue what was going on out there - like he hadn't even heard the announcements or seen a single dead body yet. She would've resented him for it, but it was too strange to think about. From the very beginning she'd seen what everyone had been capable of, be it stealing shit by gunpoint, killing guys with elaborate traps like in those fucking films, and groups of guys going loco just 'cause some poor guy was looking for someone who wouldn't shoot him at first sight. On top of that, there was all the stuff she'd done herself, but those things didn't bear thinking about. She had to scare Brook, she had to betray the guys that looked after her so willingly, she had to... help... Hilary...

...Of course.

Of course there were still nice people around. This guy wasn't a monster - he hadn't given in just yet. He still had some sort of sanity, and he was as scared and lost as anybody else. What was she doing? Wasn't she supposed to be going after Danya? Avenging her friend? Fuck, and now she was pointing a gun at this guy like he was responsible. Fucking aces.

Her fingers loosened slightly, their grip on the gun becoming less tense as she brought it back down, aiming away from his face. A few seconds later, and it was back by her side, where it belonged. For the first time in a good while she was feeling vulnerable, with another dose of shame piling onto the last, and though she didn't like it, there was something she knew she could trust behind those words of his. There was no deception, no lies, only a sweet guy trying his best not to let some psycho bitch get the best of him. And then a guy coughed, nearby, and she realised...

He was fucking playing her.

Her walls built themselves back up again, and her gun resumed its position - this time aimed at the direction of the sound.

"Ricky? Ricky Fortino, is that - that's you, isn't it?"

A sharp look at Isaiah.

"And this... I'm guessing this was some kind of trap, like 'Oh hey, I'm just a poor guy all on my lonesome, I'm harmless really~', right?"

Looking back at Ricky now, her defences rebuilt.

"Well fuck this, and fuck you."

Keeping her gun pointed up she took a slow step back, and after a couple more, she took a breath and turned away, running out into the night. If this was the game they were playing now, then she had to make sure she didn't fall for that kind of shit again.

And if she'd paid more attention... she would've seen that Ricky wasn't even armed.

((Leila Langford continued in Bloodgarden))
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