Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to Survival of the Fittest, a RPing board loosely based off of Koshun Takami's Battle Royale, with its own unique plot and spin on the 'deadly game'. We've been around quite a while, and are now in our thirteenth year, so don't worry about us going anywhere any time soon!

If you're a newcomer and interested in joining, then please make sure you check out the rules. You may also want to read the FAQ, introduce yourself and stop by the chat to meet some of our members. If you're still not quite sure where to start, then we have a great New Member's Guide with a lot of useful information about getting going. Don't hesitate to PM a member of staff (they have purple usernames) if you have any questions about SOTF and how to get started!

Let the games begin!

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
Bloodgarden; An endless dedication... (CONTENT WARNING)
Topic Started: Dec 24 2010, 06:47 PM (12,054 Views)
Hollyquin
Member Avatar
A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
[[Vivien Morin continued from Classy, Not Classic]]

Some nights go on forever, and usually that's because your boyfriend just broke up with you or you just got in a fight with your best friend or you failed a test or you wore white out of season and your friends wouldn't talk to you, not so much because you're spending the entire night wandering lost on an island fearing for your life at every moment. That was a pretty unusual experience for anyone, most of all Vivien Morin, who up until this last week had spent exactly zero time running around in the woods. Vivien was not an outdoorsy girl by any stretch of the imagination, and sleeping in the dirt every night (that one night in the sawmill notwithstanding) was absolute hell, or so he had thought until he really experienced absolute hell in the form of a dark, terrifying and depression-fueled all-nighter.

His thoughts were erratic, sparse even, as the majority of his mental energy seemed concentrated on the pain in his feet and shoulders, aching from walking and carrying all the crap that he just refused to give up, because if anything defined him, it was his clothes. He'd sooner die than give them up, though honestly at the rate he was going that seemed like a real possibility.

I knew she was dead. I heard the announcements. I knew! I knew and I still can't get the picture out of my head, can't stop thinking about it, is that what we're all going to end up as? That is SO unattractive, poor girl would be miserable if she could see herself- maybe she can, maybe she's in the afterlife or whatnot mad at me for not burying her...god, I should've done that, we were friends-

He thought for a moment about doubling back, burying her, but he was lost and confused and exhausted and likely physically incapable of digging a grave, and none of that registered with him for about ten minutes as he clumsily circled around and realized that he had no idea what direction he was heading in or indeed where he was. He thought about his map, but checking it told him nothing, considering that all around him was basically grass and more grass. He could see the ferris wheel of the fun fair in the distance, but he had no desire to head there. How much fun could it be, really?

...I probably look like crap right now, what if I die looking like this, the viewing audience is going to remember me as some ugly little cannon-fodder, I can't imagine anything worse...I need to fix my makeup the moment the sun comes out...I need to change. God, Carol...I'm sorry I'm so selfish, angel, I love you. I'm terrible. This is awful, how could I be thinking about myself right now, how could I be thinking about dying, I have a gun, I'll be fine, I will be, at least for a while, yeah...I really do need to do my makeup, though...I'm so glad internal monologues are are internal, Sylvie would think I was such a BITCH right about now...Gotta be good. I need inspiration. "What Would Gracie Wainwright Not Do?" WWGWD. I like it. I'll get it on a t-shirt...




Time passed. A lot of time. The only proof of that was the slowly rising sun and the slowly changing scenery and the slow failure of Vivien's ankles, unable to hold him up anymore. He collapsed beside a tree- there were trees now, when did they happen?- and immediately began digging through his bag for new clothes, eventually settling for a short yellow spaghetti-strap dress. Perfect for summer. Gorgeous as always. And it showed off his legs so well. He was incredibly grateful to find a pair of yellow flats in his bag- he was quite sure heels would kill him- and after quickly changing he returned his old dress and black flats to his bag, digging around for his mascara.


BZZZZZT-

Oh.


"Hey kids, it's Uncle Danya!"

...I don't want to hear this.

He really didn't. He was entirely sure for every name he heard a horribly damaged body would replace that person, their living, breathing self, in his memory, and he didn't want that. He could hardly remember Carol as something other than a corpse anymore and that hurt. He found the mascara, and his compact, and settled into the task of making himself beautiful again- not an easy task, what with the sleep-deprivation variety dark circles that were making themselves known.

"You'll be very happy indeed to hear that in a few short hours, you'll have officially have survived until the halfway mark of the game. That's provided, of course, that you aren't one of the three unlucky souls that have to die for you all to reach that point. Keep it up folks, I can't tell you how proud I am of your spirit."

He tried not to think about how relieved he was by that, how happy he was that over a hundred of his classmates were dead and he wasn't, and concentrated. He really did look like shit- the remnants of his makeup were puddled around his eyes and he had to lick his fingers and pick bits of black off his face. It was the furthest thing from attractive but definitely necessary, and once he had a clear canvas he concentrated on reapplying. It made him feel safer, somehow, more comfortable, more at home, being like this, sitting here putting on makeup, looking at his beautiful face in the mirror- even without the makeup, he was beautiful, that was just obviously so- here he was at home. Even completely deprived of sleep, sitting alone in the woods- he was almost okay. Almost normal. He kind of wanted to drag out the process, make this feeling last longer, but honestly he wasn't sure he co

"-Aislyn McCreery's daddy did not turn up at the eleventh hour to save her from Kimber-"

"OW!"

He shrieked as he stabbed himself in the eye with the mascara wand. His eyes teared up as he furiously wiped away his now utterly-fucked-up mascara, repairing the damage, only slightly aware that the water flowing from his eyes was maybe partially from the pain but mostly from the name that had came out of Danya's mouth and that all efforts made to put his face on now would be utterly invalidated by the saltwater flow. He was doomed to twin black trails down his cheeks and why was he caring about this when Aislyn McCreery was dead.

He was grateful that Danya didn't give any details. His mind didn't know what to picture. He settled for white noise and stumbled back off into the forest.

God, Kimberly?! Kimberly Nguyen?! She was a fucking...fucking creepy little thing but why, why my Aislyn?!

He was crying nonstop and those mascara trails were making themselves known. He sniffled loudly. Cute.

There were woods and there were woods and there were woods. He kept himself moving because as long as he was walking, as long as his brain was distraction by the pain he felt, he didn't have to think about this too much. He could keep pretending that he'd see his friends again and he could keep pretending everything was okay as long as he was still walking, so he walked for an eternity, or more like half an hour. He wasn't really sure- pain has this way of dulling your sense of time, but eventually he saw a clearing in the distance, and that seemed like a logical destination. Honestly "logical destination" right now translated directly to "place to curl into a fetal position", but whatever. Vivien was okay with that. Sometimes you need a good cry even if you're not sure you'd even stop. That was Vivien's logic, anyway. He picked up the pace until









oh.










"Holy crap..."


being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Hollyquin
Member Avatar
A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
White noise. White noise. Dammit, please, white noise.

Vivien's tears dried up almost instantly. Later he'd wonder if that was some sort of reflex, some instinct that told him that his tears would be desperately needed in the near future and shouldn't be wasted on another moment of grief. That grief was forced into a corner of his mind while the white noise flowed through him, preventing any vocal reaction to this...this. He couldn't think of descriptions around the white noise, though names floated through his mind as his eyes unconsciously and unwilling scanned the scene, names like Ridley and Raine, names he knew because he knew all of the names. He really didn't know either of them well, honestly, and now he never would and he felt kind of guilty which was a weird feeling given how it was fighting with other emotions like disgust and fear and white noise which wasn't an emotion but whatever even and those feelings distracted him for the longest time from noticing anything else and

What is this? A...a garden? Who's keeping a garden here? It looks...new. Like someone's still taking care of it. Who the hell- what kind of priorities-

Something else, too. someone else, rather. He could see someone lay farther into the garden, farther than he wanted to walk- he needed to leave this place, his non-white-noise-type instincts were very clear about that- but he couldn't see who it was, if they were alive or dead, even, though anyone who'd lie in peace in a place like this clearly had something very very very wrong with them, and he was kind of too lost, thinking, to really notice that someone was coming up behind him-

"Hey there!"

Vivien shrieked. actually shrieked. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or embarrassed by the sound that come from his mouth, as it meshed nicely with his image of himself as the damsel in distress, but it also completely eliminated whatever remained of his dignity. He whirled around, his finger reflexively pulling the trigger of a gun that was currently sitting pretty in his daypack. He realized exactly how defenseless he was as he stared into the face of

"I see you've found my garden... I can give you the tour, if you'd like! You're going to be here a while, after all."

-Brook. Liam Brooks! Totally inconceivable, that it would be Brook. Again, it wasn't like he knew him particularly well, but he wasn't a bad guy by any means, Vivien knew that much. He was a sweetheart, actually. What he didn't remember was this glint in the boy's eyes, the catch in his voice, and the blood on his hands, all of which screamed danger danger from inside white noise. Wasn't he...Haven't I heard his name? On the announcements? Yeah, yeah I know I have-and up to this moment he wouldn't have been able to say if he'd been killed or a killer, but really, his presence kind of answered that for him.

A lot of words sprung to mind, words like I have a gun and you don't want to do this and please don't hurt me, I didn't even finish my makeup but none of them made it completed the journey from his mind to his vocal cords. His hand wanted for his gun but his limbs were wholly paralyzed by fear. His hand twitched. The other boy's words registered, possibly, at least a little. Danger danger, like he needed another warning. All he really managed was

"Urk."

and he mentally chastised himself for being fucking pathetic.
Edited by Hollyquin, Mar 8 2011, 01:04 PM.
being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Hollyquin
Member Avatar
A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
"Hee... not the articulate sort eh, cutie?"

Some small, disturbingly unaffected portion of his mind appreciated the compliment. Said portion was small because the rest of his mind was distracted by the white noise with an undercurrent of oh my god I'm going to die and figured the only thing keeping that undercurrent from overwhelming him was some hidden instinct, some deep need to keep a level head. To pretend the last of his dignity hadn't left him when the boy first appeared. To not mess up his makeup any worse than it already was.

Leave a beautiful cor- no no no don't THINK like that. Do that and he's won already. You can't just give up-

He was hardly hearing his own thoughts. Again, it was all white noise. White noise and paralytic terror.

"Well... that's just fine, I suppose. The place speaks for itself! I mean... come on!" It was almost funny how there was absolutely nothing wrong, no fault that could be found with the words themselves, and yet Vivien felt himself shiver. His voice. It was so fucking wrong. And yeah, the place does speak for itself, and it says crazy things. Brook was, like, a fucking gardening freak, right? So this has to be his handiwork. Why would he waste his time...I mean, it could've been pretty, but the bodies are kind of ruining the flow-

An unreasonably optimistic thought occurred to him. Maybe that's why he's so...er, upset? Maybe someone killed people in his garden and he's...upset that it got messed up? He put the memory of the boy on the announcements out of his mind for a moment because denial was considerably less horrifying than the alternative. Yeah, maybe...maybe he just-

It was around then he managed to tear his eyes from Brook's for just long enough to see the gun.

E-eh...

Vivien did not like guns, except when there was only one and it was in his hand. This gun was in the hands of an obvious psycho and, if he was going to be honest with himself for a moment (somehow he figured this was no longer the time for denial), the killer of at least two. None of those details spelled much good for a lot of things, like his manicure (actually apparently that got fucked up days ago...how did I not notice? this is horrible, I should have nail polish, maybe later) or his dress or his heart that was now beating out of control, filling a momentary silence.

Suddenly there was no space in between them and Vivien suddenly became aware of just how tall Liam Brooks was.

"Vivien! Geez, I almost forgot your name!" How does he know my- well, I mean, I guess everyone knows my name, yeah, forgot about that, b- irrelevant, irrelevant, totally irrelevant. Get your head back in this, Vi, you can do this, you can. Just-

The feeling of cold metal pressing against your chest tends to put a damper on your thought process. He considered a lot of possible reactions to this turn of events, like screaming or crying or curling into fetal position, but managed somehow to keep his visible reaction down to a flinch.

"I always wondered... are those clothes comfortable for you? I wouldn't know, not being a freak..."

Vivien's eyes narrowed and at least for a moment he forgot where he was and what was pointed at him.

He was used to this. Of course he was used to it, it was impossible to not be used to the names, the obvious taunts, the faggot and the pussy and the homo and the ever-present freak, but he didn't let it get to him. He couldn't let it get to him. He'd have cracked a long time ago if he had and honestly I'm better than them! Better than that. Better, so why am I upset about it now? Maybe I just don't want to die, like this. Being the freak. Vivien the freak.

Don't think about it too much. As long as he's talking that's good for you. Let him rant, it happens all the time, the villain talks too much and gives the damsel in distress time to...be rescued.

Okay, so it's not a perfect metaphor, but...


His limbs, it seemed, were regaining function. His hand crept towards his bag- it was open, still, he realized, and now it was only a matter of who shot first.

He felt Chicago lyrics running through his mind and wow, that is not normal, Vi.

"But no, really. I want to know, considering how much time you'll be spending in them!"

God, that sounded bad. Really bad. Really very not good at all but Vivien was ready for him as his small hand curled around the pistol's grip, still in his bag.

"Br-"


CRACK.








he buzzed with white noise. his lip split. there goes my face. something'd cracked. what cracked? not a bone. he tasted blood. he'd hit the floor. get up, get up, get up, he's going to kill you, GET UP he lay prone, paralyzed, not because he'd broken anything, not because he couldn't move




because he'd realized that crack was the gun he'd lost grip of.because he'd moved his hand to raise it just at the right time for it to be knocked from his grip. it sailed through the air, hit a rock-



CRACK, and Vivien was not dead, but he might as well be.





he'd been hit before. he'd split lips before.







but he'd never, ever been this afraid.
Edited by Hollyquin, Mar 9 2011, 08:16 PM.
being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Hollyquin
Member Avatar
A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
He thought about crawling. Not that he thought it was going to get him anywhere, but it was something, something he could probably do, and he felt kind of guilty just lying here. Guilty's the wrong word, but it's the first one to come to mind. Weren't you supposed to run screaming when someone's standing near you- over you, now- with a gun? Wasn't that, like, the right answer? But he wasn't sure his legs would be able to hold him up anymore, and he was pretty sure he'd feel a lethal pain between his shoulder blades if he tried, so- crawling. Crawling seemed like a good compromise, at least it did until Brook took up a fistful of his hair.

"Aaaaalright, let's find the perfect place for you, shall we?"

That...was not encouraging. The expression on the boy's face wasn't helping, either. It was so normal and that's what made it fucking terrifying.

Ow. Ow. Owwwww, this hurt, not in the same way the split lip did. It hurt in a way that made him feel young, like he was in kindergarten with some irritating boy making fun of how long his hair was. Like that, only all encompassing, and he sucked on his split lip to keep a moan of pain from escaping. He figured that'd only encourage him, and he was going to keep on keeping on with that dignity thing for as long as his self-control didn't betray him. Besides, white noise was his best friend, and it let the pain wash over him in waves.

At least he didn't have to move. God, he was tired. Why didn't I sleep last night...? Other than the obvious. Bad decision, Vi, honestly.

"Ugh... let's see. You're too close to Raine if I put you here..."

Some unoccupied part of his brain figured this out. He thinks this is decorative. He thinks this is DECORATIVE! This boy. He has no design sense. None. That hurts me. Hell, quite a few things were hurting him right now. The part of his brain that would be properly horrified by this realization- in a holy shit he's using me as a garden decoration sense rather than a holy shit this is the tackiest thing I have ever seen sense- was too occupied to take notice.

They stopped, and for a moment all Vivien felt was relief.

"Heeere we are! Now just to make sure that you don't move around too much and fuck up the arrangement. Don't worry... I do this for a living!"

What does that even mean? This boy...one-hundred-percent cuckoo bananas. His wit was returning to him. Well...what passed for wit, anyway. That was encouraging, at least, having his brain work at least a little. Maybe, if I could just get keep him talking, maybe I could move really slowly, like they do on TV, yeah? So he doesn't notice I'm- but I don't even know where the gun went, I'm grasping at straws anyway, what can I really do here? What can I even do? At least he's not pulling my h-

He felt the barrel of the gun touch his kneecap, and he never had the chance to react.






There was a gunshot.







There was a scream.







There they were, again.





And Vivien's eyes were squeezed shut as he gave himself over again to nothing, dignity be damned.
being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Hollyquin
Member Avatar
A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
There were voices coming from somewhere but where, Vivien couldn't say, because he wasn't there. He was somewhere as far away as possible from that place, lost in a sea of white noise and it was funny because he could hear a voice in his head congratulating him on his strength, for holding on to his dignity, while somewhere else he still heard echoing screams. He couldn't say for sure if they were his but if he let himself out of his mind for long enough to feel he could feel a dull aching in his throat, not that he could do that for very long.

He felt it, somewhere. On some level he was feeling the pain but what little remained of his consciousness had fled somewhere deep inside itself to wait out what he really was going to have to admit to himself would be his final seconds. Was it weird that he found himself at least a little proud that he had the remaining sense of mind to have thoughts like he could at least let me fix my makeup and I really wish I'd fixed my hair when I had the chance rolling through his mind? Stupid, inconsequential, shallow thoughts, but it was nice to having something to cling to that proved he was still himself.

He still heard voices- wait, not voices, it was one voice, one, and it was loud, too loud, too close-


"Keep screaming..."

And then, those words, just those two as though from the other end of a tunnel. Vague, diluted. He was losing blood, he realized dimly, not much blood but enough to make him feel sick, and he wondered why he'd heard those words when he knew he hadn't stopped screaming, his face scrunched up in pain with these lucid thoughts floating elsewhere, lost in a mental abyss. He could reach out and touch the blinding pain in his knees but he didn't want to, he really just wanted to pretend for as long as he could

There was pressure on him now. He could tell what it was if he opened his eyes but if he opened his eyes he'd be back in the garden for real. No turning back.


"But nobody's going to save us, are they, Vivien? Nobody saved her. Nobody saved me. What makes you think anybody's going to save you, huh?"


Damsel-in-distress...heh. I was stupid. I was so stupid. He passed a vague thought as to who "her" was but couldn't find the energy to stay interested.


"This... this isn't really much of a game, is it... it's stupid, huh?"


Something in the voice- and Vivien remembered for the first time since the shots had rung out that it belonged to Brook, Liam Brooks of all people- made him crack open an eye, landing him squarely back in the garden. Ironically, getting a grip on the pain let him finally regain some semblance of self-control, let him at least stop screaming. There was that dignity thing, again. There was something missing in the other boy's eyes, but there was something new there. Something...sad?

"Hey... but that doesn't mean I can't be a nice guy, right?"

Vivien blinked. The voice at the other end of the tunnel was hauntingly real again.

"First thing's first!"


Vivien immediately regretted opening his eyes at all.


He felt a hand touch where the bullets had hit, he felt his legs move apart and he could provide no resistance with his kneecaps gone and the rest of him paralyzed by fear and abortive attempts at maintaining dignity, but there was some instinct, some immediate reaction that knew how, where this was going and he felt himself screaming again before he even knew why but he felt movement and the cold metal touched


no no no no no
no no
no no no
no
NO





"If you wanted to be a girl, Vivien, you could have just ASKED!"



Those words could haunt him forever, if he had the time.
Edited by Hollyquin, Mar 12 2011, 03:16 AM.
being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Hollyquin
Member Avatar
A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Somewhere far away, probably, a young woman of twenty-one was screaming her head off so loudly she very nearly missed the ring of her phone. She resolved to ignore it when she chanced to spot the name on the caller ID.

"MAMA!" she shrieked into the phone, not a single decibel lower than she'd been screaming before. Sylvie Morin had a flair for the dramatic much like Vivien himself, and poor mama Marie was momentarily deafened in one ear. Marie Morin did not watch Survival of the Fittest, she refused to bear witness to the depravity of children, but she did call for the occasional update from Sylvie, who wanted to be the first to know if- and if she would admit it to herself, when- she would lose her baby brother. He'd handled most of Survival of the Fittest with a certain self-confidence and panache that most people, including herself, would never manage- particularly with regards to fashion sense. And she was right there with him crying when he'd discovered Carol and found out about Aislyn.

But, this...

"Mama...Vivi, he- no, no, he's not dead, but not- I mean, it can't be much longer, there's so much blood- I CAN'T! No, mama, I can't, I really can't ex- what do you mean, what do you mean? I just said- turn on your TV if you need to know, I really-"

Sylvie was crying again. Sylvie cried a lot, to the point where it almost seemed insulting to be crying over something that seemed to demand something more.

"Mama...no, don't turn on the TV, don't watch, Vivi wouldn't want...No, mama. Yes. Yes, mama, I'll come home. I promise. Just don't- promise me you won't-"

Don't watch this. Please, don't watch this.

There are no words for this.




Vivien couldn't find the words for it either, not like he was thinking in words anymore, not that there was room to think around his writhing body and the shrieks ripping through his throat and the dark, suffocating pain radiating upwards from between his legs. His arms thrashed completely out of his control while he tried to cover himself back up with white noise, absolutely hating himself for his moment of weakness, for allowing himself to come back to the garden just in time for this.

The only words were screaming, mind-numbing agony but that wasn't enough, either.


There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on.


A lyric from a song otherwise completely inappropriate for the situation went swirling through his head in a way that made him dizzy. Thinking of musical lyrics at a time like this! He couldn't even remember the next line. It all seemed so wrong in the mind of the person who wasn't, could no longer be Vivien Morin.

"If you wanted to be a girl, Vivien, you could have just ASKED!"

Botched communications. that was what it was, botched communications because Vivien didn't want this. Well, obviously he didn't want to be bleeding out on the dirt ground, but that was so besides the point. Everyone made assumptions about Vivien, his whole life. It was something he knew he'd have to get used to since not even adults who should know better, he thought, would taunt him or make inappropriate remarks or at least not sit next to him on the bus. But honestly, his friends, his sister, his mother, anyone who knew him for real knew the truth.

Vivien didn't want to be a girl. Vivien wanted to be Vivien.

Why was that so difficult for people to understand? He was content. He was happy. He was absolutely different and unusual and unique and beyond anything else, that made him happy. He put up with the taunts, the mocking, the bullshit that came out of it because fuck it, fuck their prejudices and their ignorance and their goddamn stupidity, Vivien Morin was fabulous and utterly, totally himself.

And suddenly he wasn't. Not really.

Fuck you, Liam Brooks. Fuck you for thinking you know what I want. Fuck you for being just like them. Fuck you for all of this.

He wished he could control his flailing arms. He knew his chances of getting out of this alive were beyond zero and his chances of doing any serious injury to Brook were nearly as low, but really one good blow was all he wanted, a solid CRACK that would register as the boy's nose breaking. That would really feel good, right about now, because his overwhelming emotion, for one of the first times in his life, was anger. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair and he wanted Brook to fucking pay for his assumptions and his prejudices and the sick joy he was clearly taking in all of this. Vivien usually took revenge with catty comments but now, for definitely the first time in his life, he wanted someone to hurt.

"You've lost so much blood, Vivien..."

It wasn't that he'd retreated again; he was kept squarely in his place and time by rage, but the other boy's voice still felt far away. He knew why, this time- his consciousness was fading. He felt the blood pooling under him, and he knew it was supposed to be warm but somehow it felt like nothing, like a lukewarm puddle of nothing. His screams were stopping, not because the pain had deadened even the slightest bit but because the constant shrieks were tearing his throat apart- in his final moments he was losing his voice, which was really shitty because Vivien would've loved to give Brook a piece of whatever remained of his mind. His arms had stopped twitching and lay useless at his sides, and he hated this body that had betrayed him, even if it wasn't his to hate anymore.

"I should probably hurry. You must be so weak, practically unable to move. That's okay... I'm going to need you to lay very still for this anyway, kay? I'm not good at this, not one bit, because I've never done it before, but we're gonna spice you up before you go away! ... Well, part of you. Your body is staying riiiiiight here!"

Part of him was more than happy to stay perfectly still. He was getting to be completely exhausted, what with the choking sounds that were all that was left to escape his throat and the rapid blood loss making every breath more and more of an effort. But one arm twitched in a pathetic effort, this need to make him hurt, this need for Brook to bleed and scream and cry, this rage burning through him. It was useless; his arms were as depleted as his legs.

He cracked open an eye- as sure as he was that whatever this was couldn't be good, he was still somewhat curious as to what the fuck Brook was talking about. He was quite surprised to see Brook rifling through his makeup bag. For a short moment all he felt was a quick burst of pleasure, the relieved feeling that maybe he wouldn't go to his death looking like...well, death. That pleasure was quickly dissipated by two thoughts.

Number one, there were things wrong with him that even makeup couldn't fix.

And number two, there was no way Brook had any idea how to put on makeup.

He held completely still. He could at least make this a little easier on the other boy, and though Vivien longed to make more attempts to make those arms that weren't his move, any movement at all would guarantee that he'd go to his death looking like a fucking clown. He did wish Brook hadn't picked eyeliner, though, that wasn't something you wanted in the hands of a beginner, and the boy's shaking hands were not going to make it any better. He tried not to blink- screwing his eyes back shut from pain would guarantee failure and probably piss Brook off, which would be all kinds of not good.

He took a moment to reflect, instead.

Who's going to miss me? Sylvie and Marie, naturally. He was near positive Sylvie would be watching this- she didn't watch it, as a rule, she couldn't stand violence or blood or icky things like that but she did love Vivien more than anything and he was sure she wouldn't miss a moment. Marie, he was less sure- she loved him just as much but she hated Survival of the Fittest. He'd watched it occasionally, mostly with Sylvie, but Marie wouldn't touch it.

He hoped beyond hope that she wasn't watching this right now, watching her little Vivi get turned into a monster. Sylvie could cope, maybe, but mama...

He wondered if they'd miss him at all, now that he wasn't himself.

Brook's hand was shaking more now, not that he really noticed.

That was pretty much it, he realized pathetically. His mama and his sister- he didn't know his extended family well enough to believe they'd give two fucks. And his friends? They were all seniors at Bayview Secondary School. Several of them- his Carol, his Aislyn- they were already dead. Others- Sammy, Sapphire, Claire - they'd be going in the near future, not that he'd be around to see it happen.


Empty chairs at empty tables, now my friends are dead and gone.

Right, that's the next line. How apropos.

Brook was shaking yet more and the look in his eyes suggested some sort of internal struggle. Good. Let him struggle. He wanted to spit in the boy's face, but there was no saliva left in his disturbingly dry mouth and besides, his makeup would be horrific enough as it wpop.









Somewhere far away, probably, a young woman of twenty-one's screams had only gotten louder.

Vivien himself, he could only throw his mouth open, choking and gurgling but unable to scream at the nuclear pain erupting from what was once an eyeball, the intense heat radiating from that spot while the rest of his body'd gone cold.

"Y-... You could have just cooperated..."

He sounded pathetic, pathetic, somewhere far away, the other end of a tunnel again. Something was wrong with him besides the obvious; he was upset for some reason, and there was some clarity about that that struck Vivien as a bad sign, even as the phantom limb of his dull right arm clutched at what was once an eye.

"But no... all of this just wasn't good enough for you, was it!? WAS IT!?"

Who the fuck was he talking to? The boy moved elsewhere, throwing a wave of panic through Vivien, who did not want to be left here alone to wallow in inexplicably cold blood, crying phantom tears and screaming phantom screams now that his body had betrayed him completely. But there was something in Brook's voice besides anger, rage, all of that- there was pain, there was pain there. Faint but there. Present and accounted for. He heard footsteps coming closer, and the smallest wry smile twitched onto his face.

He hadn't quite managed to break Brook's nose, but he'd made him hurt, and that was enough.

Well...not enough, but the best I could do, I think.


"V... Vivien...I have a present for you..."


He would've giggled, he really did have the urge to, but he couldn't get his mouth to make any more sounds. He settled for a silent goodnight, Sylvie as he closed his remaining eye.





And this time when something cracked, it was his face.


RANK 131TH [VIVIEN MORIN] - DEAD
Edited by Hollyquin, May 15 2011, 04:45 AM.
being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
DealsFor.me - The best sales, coupons, and discounts for you
« Previous Topic · The Woods: Coastal · Next Topic »
Add Reply