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Fell Tidings; Nothin' but a oneshot, chillax
Topic Started: Dec 29 2010, 09:16 AM (983 Views)
Namira
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Null sheen.
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((Rosa Fiametta continued from How To Win Friends and Influence People))

As night fell on the third day, it occurred to Rosalia Fiametta how fucking sick she was of having to run around. How things had ended with Jeremy had made running her ass out of there ASAP absolutely essential, but Rosa's burning muscles certainly weren't thanking her for it. She was a lot fitter than she had been in the past, but the Fiametta wasn't cut out for this constant exertion. An athlete she wasn't. This was getting to be a bad habit - two panicked flights in as many encounters, Rosa really needed to start picking and choosing her meetings a little better. Still, at least she'd made it out of both situations unscathed, so that was something to be thankful for even in the face of her tiredness and stress.

That fucking lying little asswipe Jeremy... Rosa glowered to recollect his attempt at bluffing his way out of his deceit. How close he'd come to fooling her made her blood boil. Hitting him the way she'd done had been very theraputic, but no less than he'd deserved. If he hadn't got snarled up in his own story... even thinking about it started to raise Rosa's ire again.

Also, her back was killing her, but really, she only had her own stupid self to blame for that one. Much as a skintight white tanktop without a bra was... persuasive, it wasn't exactly practical. Especially when turned near invisible via sweat. Rosa briefly wondered how many people had been tuning in for a glimpse, then decided she had more important things to worry about than modesty.

Putting a hand on a tree to help her catch her breath, the Fiametta swung her duffle bag from her back, dumping it on the ground. After recovering to a reasonable degree, Rosa looked down at her bag, then looked around, sweeping for cameras. Then she sighed. "Fuck it," she said under her breath, before looking up again. "Fuck it," she repeated, a little more emphatically. "Look if you want, you bunch of virginal losers, it's the closest you'll ever get to the real thing."

With that, Rosa stripped off her tanktop, tossing the garment carelessly to one side. Flipping the bird in no particular direction, Rosa returned to her duffle, picking out the first shirt and bra that came to hand. Unhurriedly, the Fiametta put on the underwear, then pulled the t-shirt, a generic red number, on over her head. It looked a little odd in combination with her mini-skirt, but whatever, Rosa wasn't exactly trying to make a fashion statement. That done, Rosa straightened up and looked at her surroundings. It was getting dark, very dark, and she didn't fancy her chances of going without mishap whilst stumbling around at night. Much as she hated having to put off her search, even for a moment, it didn't look as though she had much of a choice.

Sighing again, Rosa reached into her bag and rolled up a couple more of shirts, fashioning a makeshift pillow, which she placed at the base of a nearby tree. With the sole coat she'd packed acting as a duvet of sorts, Rosa lowered herself onto the forest floor, wincing as the underbrush dug into her body. Far from ideal but then, what was she to expect on this island? Certainly there weren't any hotels around the corner. Shivering slightly, Rosa slowly fell into a fitful, wary sleep.

~*~

It was a poor night, rife with anxious awakenings and long stints of lying deathly still, holding her breath and trying to determine if some sound was a genuine threat, or an imagined one. Rosa snatched a few hours sleep, but in the conditions, she was lucky to get even that. As the sun rose, signalling dawn on Day four, the Fiametta was almost grateful to see that she could get moving again. Massaging a crick out of her neck, Rosa stood grimly alongside her tree, waiting and listening for the telltale screech of the PA.

Rosa felt a familiar swell of anxiety. What'd she do if Ily or Frankie was dead? There didn't seem to be any conceivable option. Even in this extreme situation, Rosa couldn't fathom being without either of her triplets. There were a permament presence in her life, even when they weren't there. The previous evening, Rosa had heard phantom voices going through her head as she exposed herself - a cry of disgust from Ilario, followed by demands she cover herself up immediately, a derisive snort from Frankie, chased up by a fusillade of insults. For them to just be... gone...

No. She couldn't contemplate it. Mercifully, the PA starting up prevented her from venturing too far down that path. Immediately, a name struck her. Vera Osborne, the very girl Rosa had run into in the ranger station back on day one. It seemed an age ago now, seemed totally unreal that she could have been killed in the sort space of time since their meeting. She didn't, however, dwell on it for long.

Ilario.

He wasn't dead.

But Jackson Ockley was.

Jackson Ockley, never one of the popular kids, and definitely no looker, but smart enough.

Jackson Ockley, the loner, yet who just seemed quiet rather than aloof.

Jackson Ockley, who her brother had killed yesterday.

Every vestige of strength went out of Rosa's legs, she crumpled to her knees instantly. Her face was a blank, eyes staring straight into the forest floor. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. That didn't make sense, it didn't - couldn't add up. Ilario, of ALL the people to kill somebody, Ilario!? Apart from that time he'd picked a fight with chief asshole Sturn, Rosa couldn't recall her brother throwing a punch in anger in his life. He was the sensible one, the one that ran after her and Frankie, trying and failing to keep them both in line. And now they were expecting her to believe he'd fucking murdered somebody!?

Rosa swore profusely in Italian and slammed both fists into the ground, before placing her forehead between them both. Pressed against the dirt, the Fiametta trembled. She couldn't tell whether it was anger or sorrow. Eventually - Rosa couldn't tell how much time passed, she straightened up. Staring into space, her expression formed into a scowl.

"Ilario Fiametta III... you have a fuckload of explaining to do when I catch up with you."

((Rosa continued in Beyond Awkward))
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