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Make Your Own Kind of Music
Topic Started: Feb 14 2011, 07:01 PM (5,005 Views)
Solitair
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Roland Hayes and Dutchy Ayers continued from The Long Road Home))

((Light GMing for Dutchy here.))

As Allen and Andrea talked in the morning light, another pair of students wandered in from over the horizon. The game had not been kind to Roland and Dutchy during the last six days, and the morning had seen them at the lowest point in their entire lives. They walked a good five feet apart from each other, at least, and their eyes rarely met. In fact, Dutchy seemed to cringe whenever he caught a glimpse of Roland, quickly looking away and shaking. Roland responded by simply hanging his head, where it usually stayed as he walked. He said nothing, only occasionally sniffling and glancing at the sharp tip of his harpoon.

Dutchy seemed afraid of him now. Practically petrified, as though Roland was putting a gun to his back and forcing him to go with him. And why not? Roland had gone completely crazy, saving Dutchy from a fucking suicide attempt and dragging him to the infirmary for the sinister purpose based on a psychotic delusion that Dutchy's head injuries were more serious than they actually were. How dare Roland show concern for him.

Oh yeah. That's not all he did.

Since the incident at the house, Roland had made great haste to the south, carrying both his and Dutchy's daypacks on his shoulders and escorting Dutchy, whose head injuries made it hard for him to keep up with Roland. They finally got there, only to discover that anything that had remained in the infirmary had long since been pillaged. Whatever the terrorists hadn't gotten when preparing the island, the students had come across. Really, what did Roland expect? They had five days. That's 120 hours.

So Roland was stuck desperately trying to look at Dutchy and determine the extent of his injuries. All he really knew about diagnosing brain injuries was looking into the eyes, and Dutchy's eyes looked perfectly normal, if a little tired from their experience. The question in Roland's mind was far from settled, but all in all, this was just one more thing he couldn't do shit about, and just had to deal with. He finally fell asleep on an examining table, somehow avoiding tossing himself onto the floor during his restless dreams.

Then the announcements happened. And Roland's worst fears came true.

He didn't know how long he'd managed to stay calm. It couldn't have been for any substantial amount of time. The first thing Dutchy saw of Roland awake was him swinging a chair around at everything else he could find. Glass was smashed, wood was splintered, and metal was warped as Roland's throat wore itself out screaming and tears flowed from his eyes. When the chair finally broke into fragments too small for him to do any damage with, he used his fists and feet, knocking as many holes as he could through the hollow walls of the building. But as much as he wanted it at the moment, he couldn't bring down the building with his bare hands, and he wore himself out before even finished scarring one wall.

He sobbed to himself for another minute, then noticed Dutchy cowering in the corner, lucky not to have been hurt by Roland's rampage. Not knowing what else to say, Roland suggested getting a move-on, and Dutchy immediately complied, scared of what might happen if he hesitated.

Now Roland stared at his harpoon, picturing himself shoving it into his gut, or perhaps holding the sharp edges to his wrists and cutting away. He had such great reason to do it, to. His sister, sweet Lillian, the one girl who deserved this hellhole least of all, was dead, and the only other friend who wasn't god knows where on this rock thought Roland was going to kill him. Was there even any point in meeting Sarah and Bridget again?

"Dutchy..." he finally said after an hour of silence. "Dutchy, please say something."
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
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Solitair
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Insert apology for tardiness here))

Roland turned back to look at Dutchy. He'd just offered to give his life to let Roland live, if it came to that. The same intent made him crack his head on the mirror, made Roland panic and go to the infirmary, set off a chain reaction that put them there. "I... I..." What could he possibly say about that?

"I'll make sure it doesn't come to that," he said, knowing he couldn't do that at all. Then again, maybe he'd be right after all. There was no way that both of them would survive to the final four.

No! He couldn't think like that. But how could he put on a happy face now? He'd told Sarah to meet him in the infirmary, which he'd left a battered wreck in one room, and now he had no idea where they were. It was pure dumb luck that he'd managed to find her or Dutchy or Bridget at all, and he wouldn't get lucky twice. They might as well be across the sea for all it mattered.

And without Sarah, Roland was truly fucked. She'd always been the brains of the activist club; for all the research Roland liked to do about politics, he'd never had what it took to propose new ideas, to do anything except simply sharing information with other people. Sarah was the one who came up with the plan, the plan that he could barely remember after the trauma of the past day, and he didn't know if he could pull it off by himself. Should he try to follow it? Should he try to find Liz Polanski or some other potential escapists? Should he take his chances with that helicopter he saw in the sky a few hours ago?

His question was answered for him when he caught a glimpse of Bounce Volkova.

Bounce was a student he hadn't exactly been on good terms with throughout his stay at school. On a few occasions, whenever the subject of SOTF had been brought up, he'd gotten into a heated argument with her about it. She was one of the fans, the ones who thought it was staged entertainment that couldn't possibly be real. Even before Roland knew those kids were truly dying, he'd hated the show because of how phenomenally ugly it was. If the rape and murder of Madeleine Shirohara was supposed to disgust the audience to their fucking core, mission accomplished, but so what? It wasn't compelling television, it was pointless, repetitive slasher bullshit.

So he and Bounce had a strained relationship. When the topic didn't come up, they got along okay. He hoped that would be the case now, now that their perspectives on the game were significantly closer. "Bounce!" he called out to her, before remembering to drop his harpoon. "It's me, Roland! I'm unarmed!"

Whatever you do, he told himself, do not say "I told you so!"
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Solitair
Member Avatar
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
(Light GMing, which I assume is alright.)

He didn't get much of a reaction besides people turning to look at him. Bounce and her friend turned, as well as another couple he just caught out of the corner of his eye. In the short amount of time before he heard Dutchy cry out in pain, he noticed that Bounce's friend looked a bit apprehensive, but Bounce seemed like she wanted to talk back. Meanwhile, that other girl - another fan of the show, if he remembered correctly - just stood there with her friend.

Before Roland could wave to them and ask them to join the party - plenty of room on the failboat for everyone, after all - he noticed that Dutchy wasn't standing anymore. He'd fallen over, clutching at his knee in pain. Roland couldn't see any serious injury; nothing like a gunshot or a stab or a bruise. "Dutchy, what's wrong? What happened?"

The boy looked down at a rock, a signal Roland didn't understand at first. But then he got an idea, noticed that the thing wasn't covered with dirt like every other rock around. It sat on top, like it'd been dug up and put back down again.

Goddammit.

Roland grimaced and picked up the makeshift missile in one hand and looked around. He didn't think any of the four people he'd seen had thrown a rock or anything, but maybe they'd just been too quick for him. "Who threw this?" he asked. "Who the fuck threw this?" A tone of annoyance had crept into his voice now; this was exactly the sort of shit that he didn't need right now.
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Solitair
Member Avatar
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Skipping Clu in order to get Roland back in the game.))

Roland's eyes darted between Bounce and Allen, Andrea and Alice. They all denied having thrown the rock, and most of them suggested that the rock came in a different direction altogether. He turned around and looked, not seeing anyone, but there was a lot of brush a saboteur could hide behind, and now that they mentioned it, Roland was sure that he was in the way for both of the groups that he could see. If they they threw a rock at Dutchy, he would have seen them do it, or so he told himself.

"Alright, sorry," he said. His body relaxed a bit. "It's just... this fucking game and..." He felt more tears coming on, and stopped to hold them back. "I can't... can't even say her name."

"Bounce, you listening? Have you seen Sarah Xu and Bridget Connolly anywhere? We were together and we got separated. Just... I don't..." It was no use. All Roland could think about was her smiling, happy face. What did that fucker do to it?

Not half the things Roland would do in return, if he ever ran into him.

"We could use some more help," he continued. "We've got a plan. It's... Sarah can explain it better than I can." He couldn't even remember the plan. What a great contribution to the team he turned out to be.

"If you're... Dutchy?" Roland looked behind him. No Dutchy. Where the fuck did he think he was going? Please God, don't let him try and kill himself again.

He looked up and saw a flash of movement, saw Dutchy's shoes vanishing into the forest. Without taking even one look back at the allies he'd failed to gain, Roland grabbed his discarded harpoon and took off after him.

((Roland Hayes continued in Bitti Rüya))
Edited by Solitair, Apr 13 2011, 09:57 PM.
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
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