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The Cavalry Arrives; See Midmonths
Topic Started: May 18 2011, 06:37 PM (11,536 Views)
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personification of adhd
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((Brendan Wallace continues from Sacrifice Sheep To GOD!))

Back at the beach, for one last time.

Chase wasn't carrying him. A five-foot girl carrying a six-foot guy would be endlessly awkward, no matter the situation. Peter was doing the awkward job of making sure that they were at least on their final leg before he let him try it for himself. Everything still hurt, his face, his legs, his chest, it was a lesson in what everyone else who wasn't just as lucky as him was up to for the last week. Lucky, he was. Incredibly, stupidly lucky. He didn't deserve to have such luck. Everyone else had lost everyone they knew, everyone else had lost so much more, yet here he was, being hauled to safety by someone who once wanted him dead.

But that's how the dice were rolled. Here he was, back on the very beach he woke up on. With a friend he'd been yearning for from day one.

Peter went first. Brendan slumped off of him, and held himself up on Chase, still with them. Peter talked. Peter motioned, and they followed, almost deathly close in one of the most scarily silent walks of his life. Brendan and Chase, dependants. One could hear the sand squeak with each step, overlapping. Smalls steps. Large steps. Each with their own rhythm.

This faded. The sand became damp, the steps deepened. It should have been quicksand, they were watching, Brendan just wanted to sink down, never come up again. He was speaking to the group on the beach. To him, it seemed as though they didn't want killers. People without some good justification. Stuff he knew Peter didn't have. Stuff that he wasn't even sure he had himself.

Brendan finally caught up, limping right behind the guy who saved his life. He was speaking to them. Guns right on him. Brendan looked away, or at least he glanced away. There were still people on the beach, people who didn't seem to be escaping. People in the distance, people who looked almost menacingly threatening. No point looking at the ghosts. People he'd never see again. People also walking away. People just on the beach.

Awfully crowded for an exodus.

Peters words stung him more than they should have. He spoke of Brendan killing someone as though Brendan had simply spilt a carton of milk and left it overnight. No tact. No subtlety. If he was right about everything he'd said to him, then...really, he was right about everything he said about not wanting to go home. He was probably better off spending his time here, trying to save someone who he felt deserved to live.

And for that moment, his heart skipped a beat. Because the reality of those words sunk in. Peter had been so adamant, so determined in his cause, that he let him live the second time around. He'd told him his mission, his misguided fucked up belief of a mission, and it was right now he realised he was really following it through. Peter had saved Brendan's life. He hadn't killed him at the docks, he scared off the girl who almost combined his head with linoleum, and now he put his own life, his own safety on the line, just to make sure he got to the boats.

After everything they'd gone through in the short few days they'd clashed, Peter really thought Brendan deserved to live.

If he hadn't just been crying his eyes out at the near-fatal grind with death, he'd probably have teared up a bit at the realisation. Someone who he'd never really spoken to before had risked his own life for him, and that was possibly one of the heaviest emotions in the world at that split second. Oh, how he just wanted to take Peter onto the boat with him. Whatever his ban, he could plead his case. Justifications, retaliations, whatever in gods name they wanted, he could do it for him, he could do anything for Peter. He'd killed, but so had he. They weren't too different.

But Brendan's idealism wasn't going to work out here. It wasn't the business world, it wasn't ingenious politics. Peter wasn't coming with them. If this really was the ticket, his was lost down the drain a long time ago.

Well...at least he wants to stay. That's something.

Brendan loosened himself off of Chase a little bit and stumbled forward, towards the guy pleading their case. Interruption. Embarrassing Brendan, but still what he needed to do.

He pulled Peter into a hug. A long hug. Really, it could have been the last hug Peter would ever get. Slightly interrupted by Brendan pulling away, hocking up a good one and spitting another collection of blood saliva on the sand away from their feet. Yeah, he'd been doing that all this time on the stretch here, but now wasn't the time to dribble blood on Peter's shirt.

"Just...thanks Peter."

One Kosciusko.

"So much."

Two Kosciusko.

"Do what you need to do."

Oh wow, advocation of murder.

Or three Kosciusko.

He let go. He pulled his best friend closer. Turned to the jury.

"Please, just get us off of here."

B042, Brendan Wallace: ELIMINATED


Maf's world was an oil canvas. The paints were all swimming into black. No colour, no clarity, and no such thing resembling the light.

He could hear voices.


Voices he could barely recognise.



"Thank you-"

They weren't letting him think...

"I'm sorry, I had to-"

What was going on...

"Bodies floating in the ocean..."

A rush of sound.

"Two more to get out-"

And Ma'afu Tuigamala finally woke up.

His upper body shot up with a jolt. His eyes soon followed, greeted by the grazing view of the beachline and the ocean to the side. He could see cliffs. He could see forest. And he could also see that this wasn't where he was last. Where was he? Last thing he remembered was

going up the mountain.

Yeah, he was heading up the mountain, he remembered finding something, in the dark, in the house of mirrors, with all those bodies fuming up the place. He found a note, he was trekking up, when...

...nothing. There was nothing after that.

But that wasn't right at all. There was no possible way he got from the mountain to the beach without him knowing, and no way of not being able to remember it. Something was missing, something big. But it wasn't like he could just forget, could he?

...wait, who was that in the distance?

The tall lanky figure, almost hand-in-hand with a shorter figure.

...Jason, Nathan, it had to be.

Maf got up. Were he more concerned about his surroundings, were he not singlemindedly focused on finding out where the missing day in his life was gone, and were he not positively sure that following the people he'd been so gravely concerned about, he might have noticed, right behind him, the ticket out.

But instead, he was gone.

Following a lost road.

((Ma'afu Tuigamala continues elsewhere))
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I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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