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Nothing To See; Open
Topic Started: Mar 21 2011, 12:51 AM (1,304 Views)
ifnotwinter
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half Iago, half Fu Manchu, all bastard
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
((Ilario Fiametta III continued from ))

Ilario didn't know what time it was. He'd had a watch, once upon a time. Expensive. Attractive. A sixteenth birthday present, a white-gold Rolex of the kind that was so hopelessly fashionable it didn't have numbers, it had little wrought-gold lines where the hands would sweep over. He couldn't remember if he'd brought it with him or not. He couldn't remember a lot of things. He didn't know what time it was, or what day.

He knew there had been an announcement. And he knew there had been an announcement because that was the announcement when Rhory's name had been read out as a killer and he'd dropped, right where he was, into the ground because he'd had the shot. He'd had it. The light had shown him, it had been a sign, a sign, a way for him to atone and he hadn't taken it.

He'd watched her instead.

He'd watched her naked, and he'd enjoyed it. He couldn't deny it now. He'd watched her touch herself as she dressed and he'd wished to be the one touching. He'd seen her wash the blood from herself and he had been too fucking interested to take the shot when it had been right there, and now he was being punished. Not only had she killed - and probably killed again, since the announcement - but she'd gotten a weapon. The way he had.

She was being rewarded the way he had and for the first time little ugly thoughts snaked their way through Ilario's muddled brain right to the very front as he stumbled across the greens. Thoughts that whispered in his ear you got the gun for the same reason she did

you're a killer too
and they came loud, twisting around him, even though he knew he wasn't a killer he wasn't he knew he wasn't he was atoning he was penitent he had fucking confessed and this, this was his last-ditch Hail Mary attempt at forgiveness...

When he saw a body in front of him, his bloodshot eyes didn't bother focusing. The word Rhory was stamped on his brain in flaming foot-high letters, and he didn't question it.

Just dropped to one knee, raised the AK-47, and, lips pulled back in what could be a smile and could be a sob

pulled the trigger.
Edited by ifnotwinter, Mar 21 2011, 04:15 AM.


marc st. yves


light it up or burn it down we'll all die in fire


lydia hausen


if you don't look down you don't have to fall

sebastian conway


everything will be okay in the end


(so you've got to keep in mind, when you try to change the world for the better not everybody's gonna be on your side)
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ifnotwinter
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half Iago, half Fu Manchu, all bastard
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Birds exploded into the air in a delirious deja vu of how long ago? The screaming startled them from their perches and then went on and on, like Rhory, not like Rhory. Last time he'd wondered what kind of a Sign the screaming was and now he knew, should have known then. The hart hadn't screamed for Eustace but then, he wasn't a saint. Wasn't even trying to be. He just had to get his sisters out of this intact and there was only one way to do that. His breath hitched in his throat as he stumbled back to his feet and moved forwards in pursuit. His ruined loafers made his steps uncertain, but he only needed to be a couple of feet forward. Just enough to get the shot. He needed to get the shot.

His breath came ragged in his throat. His pack bumped against his hip with each step, rattling softly (or maybe he was imagining that part) and reminding him that as soon as he was done here, he could take his pills, calm down. Sleep. He was so tired. He hadn't really slept, back by the river. He just needed to sleep. To calm down. He just needed to find Frankie, to find Rosa, to finally be able to protect them the way he was supposed to the way he had promised and he just needed to stop running.

Stop running.

He stopped. Once again, he knelt, bracing the weight of the gun - was it heavier? It felt heavier - against his shoulder. The limping, screaming figure was still in front of him, blood pumping from their shoulder like a sprinkler, sound unraveling behind him the way life unraveled from the bullet hole. Ilario couldn't bring himself to feel anything as he pulled the trigger for the second, and then third time.

No triumph. No victory. No penitence or sweeping wave of confusion, no am I doing the right thing?. Just the weight of the gun in his hands, and the now familiar sound of the shot echoing, sending birds exploding once more into the sky. Deja vu.


marc st. yves


light it up or burn it down we'll all die in fire


lydia hausen


if you don't look down you don't have to fall

sebastian conway


everything will be okay in the end


(so you've got to keep in mind, when you try to change the world for the better not everybody's gonna be on your side)
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ifnotwinter
Member Avatar
half Iago, half Fu Manchu, all bastard
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
The figure fell. Fell hard enough to remind Ilario of Timothy collapsing down into the sand with his head rebounding off a rock, shattering his face. Moving closer, Ilario was surprised to see the figure was still moving. Still trying to claw its way forward. He went to his knee for a third time and lined up the sights to lock in on the figure's head. He squinted. Looked for the messy short locks that he'd become so familiar with as he studied Rhory's face. But something seemed wrong. They weren't there.

It wasn't Rhory.

Of course it wasn't. He wasn't entirely sure how he hadn't seen it before, how he'd missed the differences. It wasn't even like the figure resembled her. It was a boy. Did it matter? The sign had been right there. He was doing this for his sisters. It was okay. It was still okay. There hadn't been any doubt (there hadn't been anything) when he'd first pulled the trigger and he wouldn't let it come now. But he wouldn't shoot. The boy was dying. He wouldn't waste bullets that he might need later.

Instead, he left his gun and pack on the ground. Moving slowly forwards, he inched towards the dying boy, crouching next to where he spasmed on the ground. His features were partially ruined, nose smashed across his face and blood trickling from a hole in his cheek. Still recognizable. Kevin Warick. His mind raced for a moment, searching across his memories. The announcements. Had he ever heard Kevin's name in the announcements? He hadn't. He hadn't. Kevin had never been a killer. Like Timothy. His breath came faster as he stretched out a hand, stopping just short of Kevin's ruined face, eyes wide and pleading as they stared at him.

No. No. It was just like Timothy. Not a killer but, but, the potential to be. That was the important part. Everyone had the potential to hurt him, to hurt his sisters. Men especially. It was okay. It was still the right thing. His breath evened out, relaxed slightly.

Kevin was still staring at him. Ilario reached out, putting a hand on the non-ruined shoulder. The other boy's shirt was tacky with blood. It was pumping out in great gouts onto the torn-up earth. Guilt twisted Ilario's stomach, just for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. His fingers scrambled, slipped in the blood. He wasn't particularly sorry. In fact, he wasn't sorry at all. His father had always said that in business, sacrifices were necessary. One had to make the right decisions in order to benefit one's own cause. He grimaced. His father would be proud.

“It's for the best,” he said softly, and waited for the other boy to die.


marc st. yves


light it up or burn it down we'll all die in fire


lydia hausen


if you don't look down you don't have to fall

sebastian conway


everything will be okay in the end


(so you've got to keep in mind, when you try to change the world for the better not everybody's gonna be on your side)
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ifnotwinter
Member Avatar
half Iago, half Fu Manchu, all bastard
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Blood spattered onto Ilario's shoes as Kevin's final words gurgled out his mouth, a sound oddly reminiscent of blocked drains. His shoes had been expensive, real quality in every stitch of the butter-smooth leather. Now they looked like they'd only just been ripped off the cow. Blood and vomit had stained them both, sand and mud working their way into the cracks, every sharp thorn-branch on the island ripping scratches into the once-pristine loafers. It made him feel oddly sad. It was waste. They'd never be usable again, at least not for him.

But then this whole game was waste. His hand, already tacky with Kevin's most precious fluid, absently moved over the dead boy's face. What used to be perfectly manicured nails on clean, soft hands gently shut his staring eyes and wiped the worst of the gore from his face. He had died innocent, without sin tainting him. Ilario had saved him from it. Wasn't that right? Kevin would have killed. He might have tortured and raped, causing untold suffering. Ilario had allowed him to slip easily out of the world without a smear on his soul and without ruining any other lives. He deserved somewhat more respect than Timothy, whose death he barely remembered, or Etain, who'd been taken by the killer Kris and had likely been her accomplice. If he'd managed to shoot Rhory instead of being so distracted, he would have left her for the necrophiliacs or cannibals that likely hid among the students. She had killed. She was no longer a person.

Ilario's fingers paused midway through arranging a strand of hair.

Of course, he'd killed too.

This made four.

Four people. Four lives. Four sets of eyes staring blankly at the sky.

Four last moments of terror.

Bite me, fucker!







But it was different for him.

The realization came as a creeping surprise, filtering through his exhaustion-hazed thoughts and making itself known to him as subtly as the first thought he'd had upon realizing that he was to be granted the gift of a weapon. Of course it was different for him, wasn't it? He had been chosen. This situation, this - this giant fucked-up mother of all nightmares - it was a test. He'd known that one from the beginning, at least. And it was a test that he was currently passing with flying colours.

Ilario glanced back towards where the gun lay several feet away, reassuring himself of its existence. Turning back to Kevin, he busied himself quietly rearranging the boy's limbs - still limp, no sign of rigor yet - into a pose of peaceful sleep, lying on his back with his hands crossed over his chest. It took some time, but he was pleased with his work. Just because he had no choice but to do this didn't mean he had to be crude about it. He wasn't a killer the way the others were. He took no joy in it.

(inside a tiny and savage part of him knew that was a lie loved the tastesmell of blood loved letting go for the first time loved the recoil slamming pain into him loved the soft crunch of bodies falling breaking dying)


Yes. Ilario Fiametta III was acting for the best. He knew what they didn't - what really lay inside of people, the base instincts and animal desires which would begin to come to the forefront now. He was saving them from themselves - and saving his sisters, he added as a guilty afterthought, this was all about them after all, he mustn't forget that - and it was such a pity people couldn't see that.

"I really am sorry," he told Kevin's body, straightening the corpse's shirt delicately. "I hope you understand. It was for the best. It really was."

Kevin, understandably, didn't answer. Ilario felt better, though. The exhaustion was receding. Getting up and retracing his steps, he scooped his gun from the ground and knelt next to his pack, fumbling pills from their containers and swallowing them dry. Had to be careful. Couldn't risk a panic attack now. Not now. Strange that he didn't seem to have many left, though.

No matter. He felt almost light, as though the business with Kevin had been a confessional. He almost smiled for the first time in days as he shouldered his load and set off.

No more guilt. No more anxiety. No more anything.

Ilario Fiametta III was going to beat this game.

Ilario Fiametta III was going to save his classmates.

Ilario Fiametta III was going to be a hero.

[[Ilario Fiametta III continued in Act II: A Mirror Dimly]

Edited by ifnotwinter, Apr 5 2011, 05:06 PM.


marc st. yves


light it up or burn it down we'll all die in fire


lydia hausen


if you don't look down you don't have to fall

sebastian conway


everything will be okay in the end


(so you've got to keep in mind, when you try to change the world for the better not everybody's gonna be on your side)
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