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Legoland Empire; Minutes before Announcement 6
Topic Started: Mar 3 2011, 08:06 AM (6,180 Views)
MK Kilmarnock
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((Felicia Carmichael continued from In theory, this should be easy))

The ever-familiar announcements blared onward, though Felicia walked through the condescending words with her head tucked down. For the first time all week, easily the worst week of her life, she felt like she had a bit of strength. There were people on this island she had to find, and when she found each of them, she had vastly different things in store for them. She'd be in heaven if she ever managed to find Rosa. Of course... if she found Kimberly, then there would be hell to pay.

Unfortunately, she hadn't managed to find either of her goals on her way to nowhere in particular. At this rate, Kimberly could be anywhere at all, and Rosa had managed to stay pretty much invisible on this island. The more Felicia thought of Rosa, though, the more she began to think about the person that she was romantically involved with beforehand: Quincy Jones.

Before she began blocking out the announcements in their entirety, she would catch the occasional name that her ears intuitively picked up. Quincy Jones was on those announcements, but not as somebody who had died. This news was greeted by a calloused heart which had met with far too many tragedies, and thus its flesh was too scarred to truly be sensitive to what she heard. What was Quincy doing? She had always avoided him ever since prom, and that wasn't all that long ago... could he still be looking for her? She shuddered to think what might happen if she found Quincy before she found Rosa. If there was nothing to fear from him, there was always the stupid decisions she, herself, may make.

The direction she had picked from the docks to walk in had taken her to a large building that was rather bland in appearance, and probably in purpose. Far more interesting than such a boring example of architecture was the boy puking his guts out near a body. There was some distance between the boy and herself, and Felicia felt no particular need to close the distance. He wasn't a threat, but she didn't feel like finding out just what had made him puke. Anything of interest would likely be in the building itself, which she made a beeline for.

Standing just beside the door to the building with her gun safely tucked inside her sweater pocket and her trusty dufflebag hanging over her shoulder, Felicia gingerly eased the door open and stepped inside.

"H-Hello? Just Felicia Carmichael, present and totally trying to make sure I don't get shot in the face..."
Edited by MK Kilmarnock, Mar 5 2011, 08:23 PM.
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"EEK!"

Felicia cursed the ridiculously girly noise almost as soon as she made it, forced to deal with its echo rebounding off of the spacious walls of the warehouse. Because, you know, she couldn't deal with the shrill, annoying cry just once... she had to deal with it several times over. Her utterance happened to be perfectly synchronized with a leap into the air, limited only by her lackluster lower body strength. There might have also been a little heart stoppage somewhere in the air too, but Felicia Carmichael was still alive when her feet hit the ground. Yep, that was always a good sign. That being said, she just couldn't be sure what to make of the situation when she turned around and saw Jason Harris looking at her.

"J-Jason, you asshole!", Felicia said, finding it hard not to pant like a damn dog from the nasty shock she had been given. Her own hand itched as she remembered that there was a gun in her sweater-pouch pocket, but she admonished herself for even thinking like that. You don't point a gun at your friends from school, and especially not the ones with sexy Australian accents. It was just a rule, a thing that Felicia knew, as much as it might have flown directly in the face with logic. And yet, as sexy or as Aussie as the boy may have been, something about his attitude really seemed off to her.

Gee, thanks Mr. Harris, for pointing out all the wonderful flaws in how I enter a goddamn building, warning people that I'm NOT a terrible killer trying to flay them alive or cap their asses. "Heh, yeah, I know it might not be the smartest, but... um... it's the right thing to do, you know?" She smiled nervously, suddenly having the strangest urge to scratch her left ear. And what the fuck is up with you asking me if I have food? Maybe I need all of this food, Jason! But yeah, thanks for the very selfless thoughts! "I, eh, have some crackers... maybe I can share some with ya? But a girl's gotta eat to keep up her strength, you know?"

Felicia set about to scratching that ear of hers with another bout of laughter, though it wasn't as forced. What was she all worried about? It was just Jason Harris and, while creepy kids like Sebastian might've been turning into raving loonies these days, the more suave kids should've been keeping their cool.

... In retrospect, maybe my habit of no longer listening to the announccements isn't exactly beneficial.
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MK Kilmarnock
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Nothing irritated Felicia quite like a guy who thought he knew it all, and Jason sure as hell fit that bill in every sense of the word. How demanding he seemed, grilling her like she was a suspect in some locker-theft at school, treating her as is he was somewhat above her. Mixed in with this pile of digust was a few threads of guilt for having felt such a way. Normally, she would never consider herself to be the kind of girl to bitch at the smaller grievances in life, aside from a griefer or two on a game server, or somebody clearly using hax for the umpteenth time. Given what the last few days had been like, though, her excuse for being a little snippy was more sound than PMS.

Irritation would have to be set aside for now to make way for bigger and more dire things. For instance, the door had made a peculiar snapping sound, prompting Jason to duck for cover. Panic overwhelmed her for a second or two, filling Felicia with the ice cold sensation that she might be living the last few moments of her life. Somebody was coming through the door, some evil pastiche of every evil evilness that dwelled in the evil pits on this island... bonus points if they spoke in a british accent, because that would just make them more... evil. A couple flashes of an imagination gone wild depicted her body in a less-than-flattering pool of blood, however, and gone was the glue that held Felicia in place.

Felicia shamelessly joined Jason in the cover that he had found, nervously clutching at the gun in her sweater pocket as well. She didn't even dare peek around the corner to see who had entered, given the old saying of 'if you can see them, they can see you'. And, to be perfectly honest, Felicia wasn't too keen on being seen by anybody who might have already flipped their lid, or anybody who was just a complete bitch by default.

If there's any comfort in this, it's that I probably won't end up being groped by Jason. Yep. I don't care what he says, he's totes gay.

Her mind offered her the line out of a dire need for some humor in her day, which had otherwise been devoid of anything pleasant. Same with the day before that, and the day before that. Maybe Rosa would come through that door, though, and make Felicia's day. Maybe, things would finally start to look up. And maybe Santa Claus would come bearing all the good little boys and girls on the island gifts in the form of bulletproof suits and bacon.
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Somebody had called her name. That meant somebody saw her, which meant she failed on her hide check. Even tucked away in her hiding spot that had been meant to hide her away from the intruding eyes, the girl squirmed in sheer anxiety at having been caught. 'Damn it... damn it, DAMN IT!', she repeated over and over in her head, her lips silently forming the same words while he struggled to keep her eyes open. Shuting them wouldn't help her out at all, that would just help whoever found her.

Who... found me? Who was that voice, again?

It had only been a matter of days since she heard that voice, but it felt like so long ago. Or maybe, thanks to the circumstances of typical high school drama, it actually had been longer than that. Regardless, there weren't a lot of people who spoke quite like Quincy Jones, the 'good ol' boy' boxer of Bayview. Felicia dated him just long enough to at least be able to pick him out of a crowd immediately by sight, sound, hell... maybe even by smell at this point.

The hand that clenched the gun in her pocket finally released its grip, letting the firearm rest in the pouch of her sweatshirt for now. Its considerable weight tugged at her shirt, never letting her forget about her killing potential. Something like what happened with Sebastian was never going to happen again, though. As long as Felicia could count on somebody to be around her, somebody strong like Aislyn had been, then maybe she could get by without killing ever again.

It went against all common sense, but something just kept telling her that she should show herself to Quincy. Felicia didn't even bother to look at Jason and his phony-ass tactics. He could shake his head 'no' all he wanted or tell her how this move was clearly stupid of her, but she didn't need anybody else to tell her that. Still, it was Quincy, and he was an okay guy. He would always be an okay guy, and this island couldn't change that, right?

"H-Hey, Quincy." It took Felicia that greeting and the will to force herself into view for her to realize the dark, contradicting truth to all of her hopes. Try as she might to block away the announcements from her mind, Quincy's name lept out at her. However, just because he had killed didn't make him evil. Misunderstandings, accidents, things like that happened, didn't they? She had killed, and she wasn't evil! ... Was she?
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((Yes, I am sticking a knife up posting order's ass and then twisting it, because this really needs to get done. Sorry, folks.))

Felicia and Quincy. Quincy and Felicia. The sentence just didn't seem to really work or click anymore. They were an item before prom, but something had happened. Even to this very moment, Felicia could never explain what happened that night to anybody, especially not Quincy. It was bad enough that some deep, introspective part of herself feared that Quincy might yell at her if she told him, or perhaps he might beat her. He was a boxer after all, and boxers tended to solve their problems through violence. If she told Quincy just how she felt about Rosa, would he kill her?

That bullshit of 'people who I went to school with can't possibly be killers' had to stop. Had she not heard Quincy somewhere on those announcements? And Aislyn didn't just drop dead out of her own accord, another fun little detail the announcements confirmed, no matter how Felicia tried to drown them out. Only the indirect names might have been truly ignored and shoved away in the back of her mind: Jason this, Richard that, Maxwell 'I'm evil blam blam blam'. Some things, she only wished she could ignore and dehumanize, and this was one of them. Still, it's not like she had to immediately take the conversation in that direction, right?

Felicia shuffled her foot and put her hands behind her back, feeling as though she was back in front of those lockers at Bayview for just a moment. What would she say in response to something so... inane, even if delightfully so? It had to be cheery, but not forced. So, without thinking or forcing it, the girl loosened her lips and mentioned the first thing that came to mind. "Yeah, I guess I'm still here! Heh heh... I mean, where would I go? This bein' an island and all, and I'm not dead because I haven't been on the announcements..."

And immediately, Felicia Carmichael understood that she had just made a grave mistake in taking the conversation exactly where she didn't want it to go. The announcements... once again, she just couldn't stop thinking about the times Quincy had been mentioned. He had been on there more than once, and here he was still breathing, and that meant he had killed at least two people. Felicia became incredibly uneasy at this thought and shuffled her foot more, clearing her throat.

"U-Um... Quincy, we really need to talk..." Felicia began, her voice wavering. "I, um.. I'm trying not to judge, but you... well, did you..." She took a deep breath, struggling to continue. All of her strength was poured into rooting her on the spot. She could not run away, not from Quincy; she needed answers, and she needed them from the man himself.

"Why did you do it? Just... I don't hate you, but I need to know."
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Perhaps it was a terrible thing to say, but Felicia always felt like there was something haunting her on the island from the get-go. If only this unshakable, intangible concept that plagued her from the beginning had been the only affliction, then maybe she would have been able to handle the overall situation better. There was no way of knowing whether or not having it buried under the pile of anguish and deaths of many of her friends would have been more or less destructive without it actually having happened, but plenty of things had happened to distract her from what essentially amounted to a nagging feeling.

But now, Felicia knew just what that nagging feeling was, and the culprit of her haunting truly was a ghost from the past: that of her past relationship with Quincy. In their last days of high school before the ill-fated trip, she had done her best to avoid the boy and, with him, avoid any sticky or impossible questions that would have been thrust her way. The island had done nothing to change the status quo, at least as far as they had been concerned. So, Quincy had been looking for her this entire time, hoping to solve the issue no doubt.

Right about this time was where the feeling of extreme nausea began to kick in. As romantic as Quincy's spiel had been, Felicia's thoughts began to pick up on something. Quincy had been looking all over and, according to him, that first kill had been self defense. She could see that, she had been in positions like that. No... but no, something in how Quincy said it just didn't... sit well.

"I thought he was going to attack, so I took him out."

So matter-of-fact. So non-chalant. Quincy spoke of killing somebody that he thought might be a threat as though he had cheated on a math test in order to pass a class. Here he was, handling it so... handling it so goddamn professionally that she wasn't sure which direction she wanted to run in. If she wanted to run away from Quincy, it would either be in fear or to get her bearings. If she wanted to run towards him, it was out of rage or out of forgiveness, but she knew neither the direction nor the intent. Of course, things had to get worse. They always had to get worse, because this was Felicia Carmichael; this was the life she had been dealt in the cards. If God existed, then he was playing the sickest practical joke in deity history.

"Then the other guy, he wouldn't talk so, I tried to convince him, but he wouldn't say anything and he tried to hit me, so I killed him."

What would Quincy be trying to make this 'other guy' talk about? That would be a silly thing to ask, seeing as he already answered that question when Felicia first met with him. As he already said, he was looking for her, needing to find her that bad, just so goddamn badly, that he might have to break a couple necks doing so. Or maybe he shot them? Bludgeoned them to death? Felicia wasn't sure, and that left her mind to do terrible things with her soul, imagining what she didn't want to see.

"No... no, stop!" Felicia gagged, shaking her head to try and ward off the sickness welling up inside. "This isn't a stupid game, Quincy! You can't just... just kill off the people we went to school with to find me! Why did you want to find me so bad!?" Felicia raised her voice without meaning to, perhaps in response to her chest tearing itself apart. It hurt her to hurt Quincy, but it hurt her that she had allowed him to hurt her all the same. Or maybe it was hurting him that she was hurting. Or maybe they were all hurting. She was losing the ability to tell the difference between happiness and pain at this point.
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'I love you'. Three simple words that can make or break your day, raise you up or drop you on the ground, invade your ribcage and stomp on your heart until it can no longer beat. Felicia's heart may still have been beating, but not joyfully, not warmly. It was just an unfortunate fact of life that as much as Quincy might have loved her, she just didn't love him back. Maybe she never had, but at least she thought she loved him back then before he transformed into something that she couldn't see. Quincy had only changed on the inside, still trying to play up some casualness to the fact they had found each other on a trail of blood. Couldn't he see that things would never be the same? Their petty high school romance was over. Why couldn't he see that?

Even these thoughts would not be able to sit on Felicia's mind in relative peace, because Tiffany was there. Maybe if that other girl had taken her smug fucking face and jumped off of a cliff somewhere, then just possibly, there could be a kind word said to Quincy that would pull him off of his sanguine road and back to the person he had once been. Or had he truly changed, and Felicia was just seeing things that weren't there? She never considered to think that her soul might be the blind one, unable to see what might lay within herself. So many things became unsure, if only because a girl of her age and background shouldn't have had to deal with anything this heavy. No, not yet. The worst of life was supposed to be viewed through a courtroom dossier, never directly witnessed.

In the heavily paraphrased words of a wrinkly green muppet that Felicia always held dear, irritation was about to lead to anger, and anger would lead to hate. Tiffany... only now had Felicia really paid attention to her presence with any deal of emotions or thought beyond just how aggravating she seemed to be at the current moment. She was an acquaintance to Felicia and nothing more, much like many of the girlier girls at school. They had never had any problems before, which made the hostility that seemed to be radiating off of her all the more confusing. But such aggression materialized in the form of Tiffany opening her mouth, saying things that everybody likely wished had never been said.

"Okay, get off your fucking high horse, Felicia. I heard the announcements as well as you did, and you're just as guilty as him. Stupid hypocrite."

The dark skinned girl dropped her head in shock. The tension built up behind her eyeballs; it felt like a tremendous pressure was continuously growing and growing in her head, ready to explode. Anytime she thought of something to say, Sebastian's dead body fell on top of her. Kayla's neck exploded into a spray of red, Johnny ran himself onto the sword once more. The shoved the thought aside, tried to keep thinking, to cope with what happened, but Sebastian fell on her, Kayla's throat tore open, Johnny slumped to the ground. Over and over and over and over. Samaya. Aislyn. Everybody around her just kept dying. There was nothing Felicia could say to that.

So she settled for pulling out Samaya's gun, and aiming it right at the slut who dared bring that all back.

"I... h.... ah... I..." Felicia breathed in rasping, white-knuckled gasps. "You don't know shit... you don't... know anything I've been through, you. Fucking. Cunt!" She reacted in harshly unsettled surprise to her own words, her eyes welling up in warning to tears that might spill over any moment. Her muscles did not react well to the stress; the gun just couldn't stay still, held in that one hand and shaking feverishly. Her legs locked up and began to tremble to the point where Felicia felt she might faint, but her focused rage meant to keep her concious by any means. "For the last three days... maybe four... I lost count, I don't give a shit anymore, I... a... augh, you..." She sniffed at some snot and tried to push forward. "All of my friends are dying. I've watched some die, I've woken up... and they're dead beside me... I've found their fucking corpses floating in the ocean! Have you done that? Have you!?"

The most primal parts of Felicia wanted to throw herself to the ground and kick, scream, and cry in an animalistic tantrum until her entire body was sore, but she resisted. Likewise, she resisted mentioning Sebastian and that event once more. She didn't have to explain herself, not to Tiffany. Not right now. No, right now, she needed to leave. Felicia raised the revolver to the air, pulling the trigger once. The results of this action sent a shockwave through her body and elicited a short, painful cry... and that was because the gun failed to fire. What this could mean for her was an endless flurry of possibilities, many of which involved her being struck down. Would Quincy kill her for her insolence? Would Tiffany laugh at her? Felicia's only protector, the gun in her hands, had decided to abandon her in her time of need, but she still needed something to hold on to, to cling to. It was only a second's delay, but Felicia brought the gun back down and pointed it at Tiffany, as fruitless as it would seem.

Then, with a bang, the world broke apart.
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When Tiffany fell, a chain tied between her and Felicia tugged at her own soul. The gun in her hand had betrayed her. No, it had betrayed them both. It refused to send out a warning, showing Tiffany the same malice, the same lack of sympathy that the island showed to everybody else. Rather than a warning, it needed to kill; somebody, something here had decided that one of the children in the warehouse had to die, that a life had to end. Right now, that life was Tiffany's, and Felicia began to feel that her own was not very far behind. This wasn't like with Sebastian, where only a pull of the trigger could save her. Tiffany had been killed in cold blood, accident or not.

At least, Felicia prayed it was an accident, and that she hadn't subconciously willed the gun downward before firing. Her mind clouded up with that thought and similarly trained others, each praising her as a survivalist or condemning her as a murderer. Had she served herself and done the right thing, or should she now be slain like a dog much in the same fashion she wanted to do to Kimberly? She couldn't undo any of this, so there was no running from the consequences, whatever they might be.

"What the fuck did you do, 'Licia?" Quincy had asked. She had no answer for that. She couldn't even muster the will to scream 'I don't know' at the top of her lungs like she wanted to. No hilarious little mental stories or images could ever come to her as an escape, as she didn't deserve such an escape from the harsh reality of what she had done. Quincy, in his disbelief at her actions, forced her to become wary of everybody watching her. Not just the people in the warehouse, but everybody watching on the cameras had seen her kill Tiffany. There was no running from that.

Felicia could only back up like the criminal she was, the gun hanging from her limp hand. The metal, warm to the touch from her tight grip, disgusted her. She would have loved for nothing more than to rid herself of it, toss it aside and separate herself from what she had done. And yet she clung onto it, holding her self preservation above regret for her sins. It disgusted her, but she needed it to live. If she needed this gun to survive, to protect herself from the lashing out at her in punishment... this brought forward the question: 'Do I really want to live?'

The gun fell from Felicia's hand and clattered to the cold floor of the warehouse. She looked at nothing, saw nothing, and only felt despair as she stumbled back a few more steps and fell down to her knees, tucking her head low and shivering. Then Felicia Carmichael waited for Quincy Jones to kill her.
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((Same disclaimer as Inky, at least generally. I can't be buggered to check because this is so half-assed.))

Felicia waited for her death. The death that she called upon herself for her terrible mistake, now her greatest crime. The death that she truly deserved, even though it also meant ending her suffering. The death that never came.

Amidst the terrible echoing gunshots that bounced off the walls of the building and repeatedly assaulted her ears, another sound came from nearby. Footsteps, somebody barreling towards her or at least in her general direction. Frightened and confused further by this and the delay in what should have been a bullet puncturing her brain, Felicia looked up just in time to see somebody strike Quincy with his entire body. She knew him, just like she had a handle for just about anybody at... at that school, but no name came. Even Quincy's name was nearly lost. In fact, all that really seemed important was that she had a moment.

With Quincy displaced and the boy suddenly running towards the opposite side of the warehouse, his path allowed Felicia to see her target once more. She stared at the door that had been flung open by her savior's flight, and thought nothing more on the subject. She picked up the gun that had now killed two people, stumbled only once or twice under the weight of her daypack, and didn't even look at Tiffany as she ran for her life.

I just want to find Rosa...

I just want Rosa...

I just... Rosa...


((Felicia Carmichael, continued in The man your man could smell like))
Edited by MK Kilmarnock, Apr 27 2011, 02:09 PM.
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