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Corpsewalker
Topic Started: Jan 26 2011, 05:59 PM (3,570 Views)
Namira
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((Nothing But Soundwaves))

And at last, her legs and her back and her leaden arms just couldn't bear the weight any longer. Kris Hartmann collapsed in a heap. Etain's body, carrying it as she'd been, landed on top of her and drove what little wind was left in her lungs out. She lay there on the ground for a while, she couldn't really say how long. Maybe it was minutes, perhaps it might even have been hours. Kris couldn't feel anything to tell the time and the discomfort by... so what did it even really matter?

She felt numb. Empty. Why the hell had Ilario fucking Fiametta not just finished the job? He'd destroyed her heart, why the fuck hadn't he just killed her and been done with it? But no, he'd missed. Kris Hartmann lived. Or had an approximation of life, whatever you wanted to call it.

Live. Life. Alive. Simple not to. Just a little tug and... oblivion. Collar. Right there. Feel it... smooth, cool... one pull and...

Etain...

I don't want you to be dead.


Kris shivered, trembled on the ground. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, face pressed into the dirt. Unless anybody were looking closely, she would have seemed for all the world like another dead body, covered in blood. The dead weight of Etain's corpse on top of her, masking her, smothering her. ...

Don't want...

Gone.

...He's gone.

Gunfire. Ilario. Blood gushing. Can't...


Kris levered herself up onto her elbows, then her hands and knees. Etain slid off of her, hit the ground with a slight thud. Kris didn't look at him. She wasn't ready to do that. Instead, she tried to take stock, think rationally. That took a while. Kris' rationality was a little rusty.

She didn't have the gun loss anymore. She didn't have Reika's bag... how long ago had that happened? Swamp? Earlier? Kris couldn't remember. Her own bag... Etain had been carrying, gave it back to her. That was lost as well. ...Wait no. Hadn't she swiped up something? ...Kris didn't want to look. He was there, right next to her. Right next to whatever she thought she might have grabbed.

Kris sat staring off into the opposite direction for far too long, tears trickling down her cheeks, forming small runnels in the blood splattered all over her face. All over her, really. Kris' hair was tinged pink in places, simply matted with darkly dried blood in others. Her clothes (still those pilfered items from Amber) were no better.

Enough clothes... Etain. What I picked up.

She looked.

She burst into tears again.

Etain's throat was a bloody cavern, a pit of gore. He was smiling, but that expression was a grotesque mockery on a crypt pale face. It was frozen, dead, the emotion it once contained driven away by death. Kris couldn't help herself, apologies tripped from her, stumbling, frantic, in spite of her knowing that there was no way he could ever reach her. A couple of seconds later, she scrambled over, hugged the body tight.

"Etain I'm sorry I... I I'm sorry," Kris kissed him fervantly on the mouth, hard, feverish. Passionate, in some perverse way. Walking dead loving the restful dead.
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((Raymond Dawson continued from The Magi))

It's 1999. Ray is freshly 10, Alicia is 7. The pair are walking home from school. Ray, anyway. He pushes his sister's wheelchair, making sure to skirt patches of ice.

It's winter, but it's a surprisingly mild day for Michigan. The pavement of the sidewalk is freshly shoveled, and Ray can feel stray crystals of rock salt find their way into the cracks of his shoes, tear at his soles.

They could have taken the bus, but didn't. Ray didn't want to mess with the wheelchair lift on the back; at least that's what he said. What went unsaid between the siblings was that the kids they rode with were cruel, always finding it necessary to say stupid things about Alicia. That and Ray didn't need to catch another expulsion for fighing, not this year. He had promised Momma this year would be different.

As Ray pushes her, Alicia turns her neck around at him, quirks the side of her mouth in what the entire Dawson family had come to realize was the best approximation of a smile she could make with her palsy. He wonders for the hundredth time why anyone could find it in them to say anything about her. Kids always seemed to think she was retarded, or something stupid. Just looking into her eyes could make it easy to deny that; they glimmered with an intelligence that, at 10, Ray couldn't comprehend but could see. He at least saw she was the darling of teachers because she was good at everything in school.

"Thank you." She says. Few people could understand her words the first time they heard her, but Ray, having practiced her whole life, knew what she said easily.

"Welcome." He says, and returns the smile.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, Ray walking his sister home. He knew people watched. Once in the summer he had heard Old Mrs. Jenkins talking to her daughter and caregiver on the porch, saying "There goes those Dawson kids again. Swear, Lisa needs to keep those kids off the street. They liable to get shot walking down the street like that."

Ray didn't pay her any mind. The only thing he was worried about were the barbs the other kids threw out.

"Ray, sing?" Alicia's head was turned back to the sidewalk, which made it a little harder to understand her, but she asked him enough that he knew what she said anyway.

Their father used to listen to music before he died, lots of 70's era blues and Motown hits. Ray was only 5 when he passed, but he still remembered the music his father used to listen to. It was one of his only memories of James Dawson, that and his last command that Ray fully intended to follow. Ray had told Alicia about it, and she, surprising him, had wanted him to sing some of the music, a practice she had wanted him to keep up since the first time. Ray never knew or asked why. He was too young to know his singing was Alicia's only connection to a man who had given her life and died before she ever knew him.

Ray keeps pushing the chair, clears his throat, and when he's ready, started singing. Even without puberty, one could tell Ray could have a fair singing voice. Husky as it was, it had a soulful quality to it. "Ain't no love in the heart of the city..."

The words of Bobby Bland became Ray's as he sang to Alicia. He never knew what the words of the song meant, didn't care. All that mattered was Alicia liked them. "Ain't no love in the heart of town.."

He didn't believe it. He had love, right here.

"Ain't no love and it's sure enough a pity..."

He was there for her. She was there for him.

"Ain't no love-"


- - -

"-Cause you ain't around..." Ray was singing. While he'd had no formal training as a vocalist, the natural soulfulness he had as a child still managed to grow a little as he got older. He didn't know why he had started singing, just knew that it comforted him.

He was alone again. He had come to this island, solitary, with nothing but a pack and a bottle of vodka. And here he was again. He might as well have been naked.

He felt like hell, probably looked like it, too. The cornrows in his hair that had formerly been tightly packed were starting to unravel at the ends, already coming out in coarse puffs of hair. He probably smelled like shit, considering he hadn't bathed in days.

After stalling Alex and fleeing from the Logging Road, Ray had tried unsuccessfully to locate Neill and Robert. He was mad at himself, almost hated himself. He felt like he had failed. He had failed Neill, he had failed Robert. He probably wouldn't be making it back home, so he'd fucked up with his sister and his mom, too.

Ultimately, he let down his father. Ray didn't know why a man he had barely had the chance to know was so important to him, but he was.

"When you were mine, Oh, I was feeling good.."

He kept singing. It made it feel like he hadn't quite lost everything. And he hadn't. He could always find his erstwhile companions again.

If someone crazy doesn't find them first.

There was an old cell-phone tower in view, and Ray was heading toward it. It seemed like someone had blown the damn thing up, but there was still a bit left. He wondered if he could climb it, maybe get a vantage point to see the whole island.

He kept singing softly to himself as he pulled closer. He was so absorbed in getting to the tower he almost didn't notice the girl crying over the corpse and kissing it.

"The nights are cold, There's a blanket of gloom...Another trick I saw
In my lonely-"

He cut himself off mid-verse, stopped moving. He didn't get closer. It didn't seem smart to get close to anyone, not anymore. He didn't have his bottle in his hand, kicked himself for not keeping it ready.

"Shit. Hey, what..." He saw the hole in the body's throat, and his shoulders slumped. God, this was all such bullshit. He put his right hand up to his head, rubbed his hair and shook his head.

"You do him?" He asked, already figuring not. She didn't looked armed

but that Alex fucker had a fucking knife hidden on him

but that didn't mean anything, so he kept his distance.

He was amazed how blase he was about all this. Like students killing each other was an everyday thing.

These days, it is.




If anyone wants to hear the song in the flashback, here it is.
Edited by Outfoxd, Jan 27 2011, 12:41 PM.
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((Annaliese Hansen continued from Just A Kid, Napping))

Annaliese’s head bopped in time to music only she could hear as she doggedly made her way up the mountain. She could see the remains of what was allegedly a cell tower, though how it could be a cell tower when no one’s phone got a signal was beyond her. Gotta be getting close to the top by now, she thought as she decided to take a break.

Dropping her bag on the ground, she fished out a bottle of water and took a few gulps. Her thirst satiated, Annaliese held up the despised plastic bottle and glared at the contents. There was maybe a few more swigs of water left. After that, the bottle would be empty. “Like it won’t be bad enough to be out of water. I’ll have to pollute too since I haven’t even seen a single recycle bin on this whole island,” she griped.

She had seen a river on the map she’d been given. Maybe it would be okay to drink the river water? She would decide once she actually set eyes on the river. In all the time they’d been here, Annaliese had confined her wanderings to the….

“Hmmm… where *have* I been?” Returning the water bottle to the bag, she got out her map. “Now, which way is north?” she wondered as she fought to properly orient the folds of paper. Wrestling it out to its full size, she absently stuck her tongue out as she concentrated. “Oh-kay. Lessee. I was here,” she said, drawing out the last word as she poked at the residential area on the map. “And so far I’ve been following the sun and heading towards the cell tower thingy.”

Annaliese dragged her finger along the map in a more or less straight line to where she thought she might currently be standing. “And the sun rises in the east and sets in the west and I’m going in the direction the sun is, so I must be heading east. Right?”

When no one confirmed her statement, she tilted her head and studied the map again. “Oh! Wait! West! I’m going west. I’ve been in the east and now I’m heading west,” she exclaimed, proud that she’d caught her mistake. She shoulders sagged as she processed that information.

“But I could have stopped at a river here, before I ever started up this hill. Or if I had kept going west from where I started, I’d have found a river. Aah, man,” she whined. “I knew I should have taken Mom up on that Girl Scout crap when I was a kid. Of course, I never knew I’d be on America’s version of the Bataan Death March for a senior trip.”

A few minutes of silent fuming and metaphorically kicking herself passed before Annaliese was ready to pack up and move on. “Guess I gotta just keep swimming, just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming,” she sang to herself in an effort to boost her spirits. As she slipped the map back into her bag, a familiar sound caught her attention.

Was that…

Was someone…singing?

It was. It was singing. It was a guy singing some song she didn’t recognize. Well, she didn’t recognize the guy’s voice either, but he was really good. And he didn’t sound all that far away! Without thinking, she hurried off towards the singer.

A few steps later, common sense kicked in and slowed her steps. Oooooh. Maybe I shouldn’t go rushing up to whoever’s singing. I haven’t exactly had the best luck with groups. Okay, well, it starts out okay, she amended as she continued forward. And no one has tried to do anything without giving me a head’s up first. And being here alone is pretty much a major suck-fest. Plus, he’s not singing ‘I’mma cut you up or go stabbity stabbity’ so maybe it’ll be cool. She wrinkled her nose hopefully. “Won’t know until I check it out, right?”

Continuing at a more sedate pace, Annaliese followed the sound of the singing. There was something about the guy’s voice that was very soothing. The song wasn’t one she would have chosen, but it was still nice to listen to. Just as she managed to catch a view of her mysterious singer, he abruptly stopped singing and moving.

Concerned, she picked up the pace as she tried to close the distance between them. Common sense reared its head and reminded her that running up on strangers was not going to be met with open arms unless those arms were pointing guns at her. Grimacing at the mental image, she reigned herself in and cautiously approached him, only to discover that there were people on the ground. One of whom she knew, at least in passing.

“Ohmygosh! Kris,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Kris, what happened?”
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Singing.

…Somebody was singing.

That was wrong. That was completely, utterly and totally wrong. Etain was dead, how could anybody be so… how could life, as it were, just continue, go on, prooooooceeede without him? That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, not like this. Things couldn’t just… they couldn’t leave him behind.

Etain… you…

Tremor… glazed over. Where…? Blood. Blood everywhere. Drowning.


Kris started to shake again, on her knees over Etain now, staring down at his face. Her head was deeply bowed, shoulders slumped, her body gore-splattered. But for the glimmer of tears in her wild eyes, Kris would have been almost indistinguishable from the corpse she loomed over. In truth, Kris wasn't making much of a distinction at that moment in time. For a moment, for a crystalline, precious moment, it had seemed like things were... well, not okay, because of what she'd already done, but... it seemed like things had the potential to...

Pick up.

She hadn't wanted Etain's forgiveness, in fact she'd shied from it. It wasn't deserved, and after the people Kris had killed, Etain hadn't had the right to give it. Yet... through all that, he'd looked her in the eye and said he'd stick with her until the end, no matter what happened. He'd... trusted her... and because of her, he'd been killed. Ilario had gone for Kris, it was as simple as that. They hadn't spoken, she hadn't an idea of his motives. But Kris knew. She'd been the target. Etain had been... a bystander.

Which meant that the gaping gash in his throat was all her fault. All of it, her fault.

Kris closed her eyes, trying to tune out the singer, the one who somehow flaunted cheerfulness in the face of all of this. A vague thought crossed her mind that she had to look horrific. She couldn't really muster up the energy to care. ... The moment of Etain's death was replaying underneath Kris's eyelids, over and over and over again. She couldn't snatch a second's rest without... Somebody spoke. Kris looked around, merely resting her head on her shoulder, such that she was actually looking sideways on. She seemed to lack even the energy to lift her head.

...

...

Anger...


It was the singer. The voice was the same, it had to be him. The voice was... half-remembered? Probably would have been familiar to her, once upon a time. Not now. Kris couldn't even see his face, it was obscured from her. It lay somewhere beyond a red haze clouding her eyes, others floating through it. She knew where he was, she could ...see, but not see.

...Etain.

Amber.

Reika.

Kimberly...

Al.

...Ilario.

F...f-father?


Kris's eyes snapped back into focus and her lips peeled back from her teeth, exposing a savage snarl. The words reached her senses, if nothing else.

"No," she hissed. "Tred real careful. Real, fucking, careful."

Before she could add anything else (although in fairness any continuation was liable to be a string of curses), somebody else spoke. A girl this time. The difference... this voice addressed her by name. Kris swung her head around slowly, more flopping her neck further back on her shoulder than anything else. Things cleared a little. The face... was there a name to it? Further bubbling rage decided it didn't matter.

"He caught 'shot in the fucking throat' disease," Kris said dully. "Unfortunately it was terminal," suddenly, a light of sorts came into Kris's eyes, her tone came alive again. "Good enough explanation?" it had an edge of the sardonic to it, yet something more.

Inch

b
y

inch
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Well, that's something.

The girl answered Ray's question in the affirmative...he...he thought? She told him to tread careful, and he wasn't quite sure what that meant. After all the shit he'd been through so far, treading careful to him might've meant stomping a mudhole out on her face. But again, she had no weapon he could see, so he couldn't justify swinging first.

Gonna get your ass so dead doing that.

Then the other girl came up, a wiry blond girl who asked the million dollar question. She either had some big brass balls to come rolling up on the two of them like that; that or she wasn't all there in the head. Ray was willing to bet on the latter, considering how she was carrying herself. She said the prone girl's name, apparently recognizing her as Kris. The name sounded familiar, but he wasn't putting all the pieces together in his head.

Kris answered the girl next, sounding hostile as all hell. But with a touch of something more, something in her eyes and her tone.

Ray sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He just...he felt like he was done with all of this. Felt like a day didn't go by where he didn't run into somebody grade-a fucknuts.

He set his hand down on Annaliese's shoulder, pulled her back a little bit. She had strayed closer to Kris than he had. He nodded vaguely away from the prone girl and corpse and hoped she got the indication that he wanted her to keep her distance. Then he went back to address Kris.

"We ought to bury him. Bout all we can give the kid now. Who was he?"

Briefly he thought back to Charlotte and Jaclyn, pallid faces concealed by an equally pale sheet in the Infirmary. Seemed like one of the only decent things he had done on the island so far.

The question also served the double purpose of gauging just how fucked up Kris was. She gave a response he didn't like, he was getting the fuck out of there while the fuck-getting was still good.
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Annaliese started when Ray put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back from the bloody Kris. It was the first time since all this started that someone had been in physical contact with her. It was especially wondrous since it seemed to be a protective gesture instead of the standard threatening ones she’d encountered.

She looked down at his hand, feeling the warmth of it through her shirt. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. Was this guy trying to protect her? From what? Kris didn’t look like a threat. Kris just looked…well, she looked broken. Non-broken people didn’t hug on corpses.

The more Annaliese thought about it, the more she realized that Kris looked like the ladies from the Amnesty International photos. The ones that documented the secondary victims of human rights violations.

There was no way that Ray thought Kris was a threat. Was there?

She could only nod in agreement when Ray said they would bury the dead guy. She looked around for a suitable spot, then remembered that they were on a mountain. “Um, h-hey guys?”

Annaliese cleared her throat before tentatively speaking. “I don’t mean, to like, be a freak or anything but can we even bury him up here? It’s, like, a mountain. Wouldn’t we have to, I dunno, build a cairn rather than, you know, putting him in the ground?”

She looked back and forth between the frail looking white girl and the strapping black man.
Edited by BetaKnight, Feb 3 2011, 03:14 AM.
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Slowly, Kris raised her head. Her body still wasn't facing the others, but at least her view was no longer horizontal. Even so, her breathing was quick, shallow. She was practically hyperventilating. Anybody in a mile's radius could have quite easily seen that something was awry, even if they weren't, y'know, aware of the bloody mess that currently comprised Kris's attire. Slowly, her fists clenched... and unclenched. Clenched... and unclenched.

Then Ray spoke again. Down, down, down the mist. Kris wanted to scream, yell. She wanted to snatch up a scrap of metal from the ruined tower and stab and stab until there was nothing left but a bloody smear on the rocky ground. Pummel into the floor because this was Etain and how the fuck did you not know WHO THE FUCK ETAIN FUCKING WAS!?

FuckhimfuckhimfuckhimfuckHIM.

No... no. ... No.

Don't.

Father...

No.

Contain. Breathe.

Choking, can't...

Breaaaathe.


She forced herself to inhale, the exhale. Properly. Somehow, her voice was level, but the edge, the hint of fury... that remained.

"You want to bury him. And you don't even know his name. You want to put him in the ground, and you don't even know his fucking name? Under rocks, whatever. You want to do that and you don't even know ... you know what? No. No. Not happening. Got that? No fucking way. Don't act like we're all happy fun times deciding things as a group. He was my," her voice cracked a little. "He was mine, you got that? You don't get a vote."

Any trace of tact was long gone, although that was hardly surprising. Anything approaching civility was vastly draining away... It was close. Real, real close.
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Ok.

Alright.

Ray had gauged how fucked up Kris was. Suffice to say that the gauge had gone way past the high point and had broken.

All the stuff he'd seen on this island so far, from Charlotte and Jaclyn killing each other, to that fundamentalist cracking the track star with the stick, even Alex attacking him and the group without provocation, none of it was unsettling him as much as this girl was.

He had thought tact, civility, maybe even a little compassion would have defused this particular situation, but Ray hadn't guessed at how short the fuse for this particular bomb was. Only recourse now was to get the fuck out of the blast radius.

The girl was hyperventilating, seemed to have to force herself to stop. That was good. One of the first things he'd learned in wrestling was to breathe, lest you gas yourself out holding it all in. If they had to run, hopefully Kris wasn't going to be following them around. Kris had turned her head, and Ray was sure he could see blood staining her face.

When she talked, Ray had to stop himself from shooting back with a cutting remark. Bitch, I'm from Detroit! I don't know a goddamn one of you motherfuckers!, he'd say, right before the girl stabbed him with a hidden blade or pushed him off the fucking mountain. The little voice encouraging self preservation in the back of his head saved him from that particular blunder.

Ray's hand snaked down from Annaliese's shoulder to her chest, just above the collarbone. He pushed her back, hoping she'd get the hint to head back down the mountain, like he would be doing very shortly.

In spite of himself, Ray spoke one more time.

When'd you get so goddamn talkative?

"Alright, alright. He's yours. We're not gonna...not gonna touch him." He kept his free hand raised in as nonthreatening a gesture as he could, while continuing to edge Annaliese away from Kris and body.

"Just saying. You might have to do something with him. There's...there's animals around, you know? Just..thought it might be respectful to him."

Then he said to Annaliese, loud enough for Kris to hear so that she'd know he was planning to follow his own advice, "We need to leave."
Edited by Outfoxd, Feb 10 2011, 04:13 PM.
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Annaliese knew it was rude to stare but she couldn’t help it. She had been exposed to some surreal stuff since they had arrived here on Nightmare Island like mass murdering ice skaters. But watching Kris work herself up into a rage while holding Nearly Headless Nick was quickly working itself into one of the top ten spots.

Holy Hannah, she’s totally gonna Hulk out on us, she thought as she watched Kris hyperventilate and flex her hands with a horrified fascination. All thoughts of Kris being frail fled her mind as the distraught girl growled at them in flat, hard voice.

Annaliese flinched when Ray’s hand slid from her shoulder and began to push her backwards. If Ray was trying to get her to back up, she had the feeling that maybe she was underestimating the severity of their situation. If the black man is concerned about the threat of violence, maybe we should get the hell outta here, the helpful little voice in her head chimed in.

She quickly scolded the voice, glancing over at Ray with the irrational fear that he somehow heard her think something racist. She wasn’t a racist, not really. She definitely never tried to prejudge someone. Maybe that’s what got us in this situation, the voice pointed out as she stared at the bloody girl cradling a corpse.

Ray removed his hand, which made her focus back on the actual issue at hand. Namely, safely extricating herself from this situation. Ray seemed to have the ‘talk the crazy person down’ portion of the encounter in hand. Her advisers at the homeless shelter would have approved of his technique.

"We need to leave."

She nodded in agreement, afraid to attract Kris’ rage. The other girl seemed to be holding on to sanity by the tips of her fingernails. Annaliese definitely didn’t want to be the reason she went over the edge.

“Should we just, like, do an about face? I mean, since she wants to be alone with…” Annaliese shuddered as Kris kept the body in a death grip. “With her Squishy over there?”
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Ray's mouth was moving, he was trying to talk to her, but no sound was reaching her ears. It was like somebody had stuck a gigantic radio onto an indeterminate station. Kris, all of a sudden, couldn't hear anything but white noise, scratchy, fuzzy... somehow sinister. Whatever, it wasn't like she really cared what the guy had to say anyway, not after his sorry excuse for a suggestion. Bury Etain? Bury him? Put him in the ground like some bag of meat? No. Ray had forfeited his right to speak to her already. Besides Kris was ...occupied. Neither of them had the right to intrude on her time with Etain.

What are...?

Dead. Shot... Ilario.

Time with... he's dead!

Not a denial.

Apology.

My fault.


Kris looked away from the pair, uncaring, back to Etain. The silence, or something approaching silence, was good. The roar of nothingness in her ears might've been strange, but at the very least she didn't have to hear any more sacrilege from Ray. If he'd said one more thing, just one more thing about Etain and...

"Sho-- we ju... ---..., do an -bout face? - -ean, ...ce she wants -- ....-- alone with… --th her Squishy -.er th--.?”

Kris gritted her teeth one last time, her trembles growing violently uncontrollable. Both hands clenched, hard, and then she slammed onto the rough ground, not caring that she grazed them, jarring the knuckles. The force was such that there was an audible pair of thuds. Had Kris had a weapon in her hand at that moment, she would've unquestionably gone lunging for Annaliese and Ray. As it was, she only narrowly suppressed the urge to start swinging, instead, simply screaming:

"Jävlar! DU FOTZES! HALT. DEINE. FRESSE! Dra åt helvete! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE YOU COCKSUCKING WHORES!"

It didn't make sense, it was merely an outburst of her towering font of rage. Building and building for some time, it now overflowed, frustration and sorrow pouring out in equal measure.

Kris looked nothing short of deranged.
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Ray was all too happy to oblige when the girl demanded they leave, screaming in French or Spanish or German or Pig Latin or whatever the fuck it was she was screaming in. In fact, Annaliese wasn't moving fast enough as he turned to start tearing ass down the mountain.

"We are getting the FUCK out of here." He said, and grabbed the girl around the waist. She couldn't have been more than 130, and for someone that participated in a sport where you often picked up other guys your size, it wasn't that hard to balance her weight on his shoulder like a sack of grain.

With the odd little girl on his shoulder, Ray started down the mountain, not quite the way he came. Maybe there'd be something actually good for a change in that direction.

"Hold tight, and don't, goddamn you, let go." He said to the girl on his shoulder as he started moving. He glanced over his shoulder at Kris, not sure if he was going to move or not and not caring. They just had to get some real estate between them.

((Raymond Dawson and Annaliese Hansen continued in What Goes Up...))
Edited by Outfoxd, Feb 16 2011, 01:26 AM.
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((Janet Claymont continued from Fabuleux))

She'd had enough of all this. The constant reeling of the death list, the blood and gore, the kids going fucking crazy on each other. People were going crazy and trying to kill her, and killing Chadd, and everyone was dying and for NO FUCKING REASON!

Well she wasn't wondering why any more, because she knew why: it was all that asshole Danya's fault, and he was going to pay. He was going to pay with his fucking life, and she was going to cut up his fat ugly face until he bled all over the carpet.

Yeah, it sounded crazy, but she didn't care any more as she marched across the hill with no direction in mind. She just needed to get to Danya as fast as possible, and if wondering around until she ran into him was the only way to get to see him, then so be it.

And incidentally, this wondering happened to bring her to the sight of a young man missing his throat and the back of a very unsettled young woman.

“Fuck it.” she muttered to herself, not at all interested in dealing with more crap. However, a thought crossed her mind: 'She hasn't seen you yet, and she might be armed.'

Some might have taken that as a sign that escape was assured, but Janet's train of thought was stopping at another direction.

She'd need a weapon for slaughtering Danya.

Was it hypocritical of her to try and steal someone's weapon? Only if she tried to kill her when she took it, probably. No, she'd just steal that weapon then leave her to her own psycho babblings. She had that chloroform for a reason, after all.

Huddling over, working fast as the suspense of the girl turning around and spotting her crawled through her veins, she ripped off the cap of the bottle she'd kept clutched in her hands for a while now, it giving her a sound comfort in that at least she was carrying something heavy and blunt in her pocket. Pulling the matching rags out of her pocket, she soaked the cloth thoroughly with the chemicals.

Now all that was left to do was sneak up and snuff her out, she decided as she carelessly tossed the no longer interesting bottle behind her, her mind obsessed with the woman standing ahead. She hunched over, and began sneaking upwards as quietly as her complete lack of training could do, gripping the wet material tightly in her palm.

As Kris grew closer, Janet focused more and more on her target, hurrying up with every step. Incidentally, this meant she focused less and less where she was stepping, and her steps became heavier by the second.

And luckily for Kris, an offending piece of shrapnel happened to be poking out of the ground just in Janet's path.

With a rough squelch, the jagged piece of metal stuck ate through Janet's flimsy trainers, socks, and her pink flesh. Janet couldn't stop herself from cursing out in pain.

It really fucking hurt.
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They left. Good.

Kris stared after them for a good few seconds, her chest heaving as she tried to get herself back under control. So close... she'd come so close to just... breaking. Kris could still feel the rage bubbling as she knelt over Etain's body. Vicious. Wild. It wasn't directed anger, not really, even though Ray had triggered her off. It wasn't even at Ilario specifically, in spite of what he'd done. It was just... there. Consuming her.

Where the hell had it come from?

"Etain..." it was a whine, plaintive. The tears wouldn't come anymore. Kris was drained dry. She squeezed her eyes shut and trembled, fists clenched, not wanting to look at Etain any longer. The blood... it was congealing, darkening, a festering hole in Etain's neck. He was pale, graveyard pale, apart from where the blood stained him dark. Even with her eyes closed, it was burned onto the inside of her lids.

Can't... won't...

Glimmer in the sunshine. Metal. See it? Too late? Rattling gunfire.

Etain. Etain. Etain.

Ah'm a firm fan ah the flyin' hug. Jus' ta let ya know."

Why'd it ...

Ilario.

Sorry... papa.

...Footfall?

Squelch.

...Curse.

Who?


Kris's head snapped back, around. A glare transfixed the red-headed girl who had been creeping up behind her. Kris's eyes saw the rag, wet, saw the look on her face which said that she'd been caught.

And ...

things

went

a bit

haaaaazy


Up. Spring. Turn. Glare.
Voicejumpturnsqueezebangdead
Charge, feet pounding. Fear. Smile.
Don'tworryguysKriswon'thurtus
Lunge. Fists flying, blow after blow.
Don't worry guys
Knee to the stomach, grasp the hair.
Kris won't hurt us
Again. Face. Crunching, burst of blood.
won't hurt us
Still holding on, eyes wild. Stare.
hurt
Twisted metal. Ruined structure. Sharp.
Yes.
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Well shit.

Kris had spotted her, and she looked just plain over the moon to see her. Over the moon and into the loony bin. Just the sort of thing Janet wanted right now.

She stepped forward, ready to smash her straight in the face, but her impaled foot had not magically healed in the last two seconds. Pain shot up her leg like a flash fire the moment she tried to put weight on it as she stepped forwards, causing her to double over as Kris marched towards her. Within seconds, she felt the first blow against her head.

She cursed to herself as her vision blurred, staggering to the side and once again retching in pain as she unintentionally stepped on her bleeding foot again. Another blow hit her in the head, and the cycle repeated itself. Before she knew it, Kris whammed her knee up into her face, and dragged her by the hair. A second wham to the face, and her nose had started bleeding.

She didn't know where she was going, but Janet knew she was in a really bad situation. She couldn't see much right now, as her eyes had watered up from all the punches and her head was forced over by Kris pulling her hair, the same hair she'd always kept so long. It made for a great handhold for her current assailant. All she could make out was the grass rushing past behind her, and the drops of blood oozing from her nostrils.

Fuck, fuck! What was she to do?! She'd dropped the chloroform soaked cloth after the first punch, and she couldn't even think straight with all the pain in her leg and the constant yanking of her hair; she suddenly found herself on the other side of all the dirty fighting she'd used over the years to defend her brother.

And where was she trying to take her anyway? All she could do was scream and shout lashing out at Kris whilst trying her hardest to avoid a sudden scalping.
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It gleamed.

Pull, don't let go. Rip. Tear

A ruined hunk of metal, what once had been the cell tower.

Thought you could ambush... show, show, SHOW HER.

Clinking of metal underfoot. Wrecked shrapnel.

Dead. Gone. Dead. GONE.

The metal reflected in Kris's crazed eyes. A jagged strut of the destroyed tower protuded at a diagonal angle, facing skyward, a good four feet long, terminating in a wicked spike. The knee to the head gave Kris as much of an opening as she needed, the ferociousness of her attack taking Janet off guard long enough for Kris to stun her. A horrible parody of a smile was on Kris's face as she wrenched Janet around, bringing her to her front. Letting go with one hand, a crunching elbow to the back of the head followed, and then.

Smile.
Voicejumpturnsqueezebangdead
There. She's there.
Hurt us.
Vicious smile.
Promise... not to lose...
I won't.
I get it... you just want to go home
No... not home. Can't...
I-it's not your fault, Kris
Yes it is.
But I don't care.

Kill her.


Kris let go, sighted Janet's position, directly in front of that jagged spike... and drove her shoulder into Janet's chest.

And again.

And again.

Again.

Again.

Again.
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