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You Already Know How This Ends; can't you damn kids see this is private
Topic Started: Jun 25 2011, 12:13 AM (2,329 Views)
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(Alice Boucher continued from Vitriol)

Alice Boucher shot him in the back.

It wasn't hard. He was just…standing there. She didn't even need to use the machine gun. Just the handgun, Brock's gun.

He was using a sword. Pressing his sword against another boy's sword. A real honest-to-God swordfight. Had they both lost their guns? Probably.

She shot him in the back without thinking twice. It was the correct thing to do.

Obviously correct.

He doubled over. Alice thought about shooting him again, but decided not to. A bullet in the back was a painful death. He deserved to die painfully.

Because you're one to think about what people deserve.

But that didn't have the sting it usually did.

I'm not the one to think about what people deserve. Nor is anyone here

She had heard the announcements. The boats, gone.

I'm not getting back home. I'm going to die by the end of the week. For all those who want justice…my death will be justice enough.

That included herself.

I'm tired of hating myself.

So kill the players. Find your purpose. Do what Sarah couldn't do.

Transcend her. Be better than her. Stop being haunted by her ghost.

She would stop being haunted by her ghost.

And she had shot Maxwell Lombardi in the back, and that was good.

He turned on her, violently, ignoring the boy he had just been swordfighting with (Julian Avery?). He probably wanted to carve her up with that sword. She would shoot him again, if it came to that, but now he let him stalk toward her.

His face was white with pain and rage. He clutched his back with one hand. And Alice, Alice could feel hysterical laughter behind her eyes.

Is he going to ask me to shoot him once more? End it, so the death isn't so painful?

She wondered if Maxwell Lombardi would swallow his pride enough to beg that.

She wondered if she was the kind of person who would accept that request.

We'll see soon enough.

Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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Shot in the shoulder.


She fell backward.

Sword-boy--Julian Avery--slashed him in the face. Well, that neatly solved the problem of him shooting her. She was--less okay with dying, now that she had a reason to live. Feeling was coming back into her mind, stinging, like fingers warmed after the cold, but it was feeling. She was Alice Boucher, she was going to die, but now she was alive, and she had a purpose again.

And I'm not going to die to a man in an obscene suit.

Even now, with pain burning through her shoulder, she could still wonder how a European could allow himself to be seen--on live television, no less--in such poorly-tailored clothing.

Conasse. Bitch. Yes, Alice Boucher was back again.

And there was pain burning through her shoulder and it hurt, God, it hurt, but she couldn't do anything but celebrate.

She should go back to Joe Rios and hug him. Wouldn't that be a surprise?

“Shit... I was getting pretty tired of him kicking my ass. Real glad to put that chapter of my life to rest.”

She giggled a little. It was hard.

“Alice, right?” Had he been in student government? She had never paid attention to school politics. But Julian Avery was one of those men who talked to everybody. He'd even talked to her a few times, not that he'd ever gotten anything out of it.

"Oui," No, wrong, that was the wrong language. But her shoulder hurt. "Alice Boucher, yes." Not Alice Blake, that one had escaped. Or was dead. "Julian Avery?"

"Yeah. Merci." His accent was foreign and atrocious, but she appreciated the effort. "You go around dropping killers often?"

It took her a moment to parse that.

"Not often." She said it slowly, expecting it to feel inaccurate, and was surprised when it didn't. "Only once before this."

"Well, shit. You wanna?"

Yes. But she shouldn't answer over-hastily. Killing was bad, after all. "I…I think I do, yes."

She hadn't realized he had flopped down next to her until he picked his head up and gave her a strange look. She examined him back. What sort of person asked that kind of question, after all?

Julian Avery.

“Huh. Fuck. That was easy.” He said at last.

"Excuse me?"

He picked himself up. She took that moment to focus on the pain in her shoulder, willing it to the back of her mind, because obviously he was going to make some kind of speech.

When she looked back, he had picked himself up, and was in pain.

"But I mean... shit, I wish it was easy as that. There's a couple of things I need to make clear before you go ahead and join up with me... we'll see if you still want in after I'm done. Yeah?

“Most important thing is that this isn't about doing good. This isn't about being good. You start walking down this path with me, you're not a good guy anymore. You're a killer. There's no redemption in it. It's about being the biggest monster, the one that's scary enough that it eats up all the others when it wants to.

“Biggest monster dies at the end of the book.”

“You still in?”

And everything was quiet.

Yes. Yes, she was in. She was already beyond redemption. Julian Avery's speech was--unnecessary. Perhaps it felt like a splash of cold water on her face, but if he had been heroic about it--that would have been wrong. Warm, but wrong. We aren't good people. We can't pretend to be that.

How long, how long, since she had thought about Brock Mason?

She couldn't live purposelessly. Not anymore. And God help her if she was going to die haunted by ghosts.

Prop yourself up, Alice. Sit up now, good posture, that's right, sit up now, and look him in the eye, because you have something to say.

Because this is redemption.

"I'm not a good person." She started. Her accent was too strong, her voice was hoarse. "Unlike you--" she could make this guess, because this was Julian Avery, ever-friendly Julian Avery, "--I never was."

The Nazi gun was around her waist, weighing her down. Making it hard to sit up.

"I've killed before. Not players. I was never credited--I never did the actual death--but I helped Sarah Atwell with her kills, in the beginning, when I was too scared to do otherwise. You know the names Brock Mason, Chris Carlson? You must know--I am their murderer, as much as she was. And then she realized what she was doing, and took me on a suicidal quest for redemption--to kill Lombardi, who was even then the most prolific killer on the island. She thought if we did that, then we would be--better. And so we split up to find him, and she found him alone, and he--and he dissected her, and raped her--she was still alive--and that was the one kill I was credited for. I slit her throat and was given a gun for the trouble, because she was scared and she was dying--"

Alice could feel her voice rising to hysteria. She clamped down on her tongue. She had no idea why she made that confession--certainly the viewing public didn't need to hear her side of the story.

Get it off your chest.

And the ghost of Sarah was a little more gone.

"If you think any two killers have the same motivation for what they're doing on the island, you might be an idiot. I'm already a monster--I've no need to turn myself into one. I will do this because I look for redemption--not because I expect to live, but because doing this--doing anything--is better than sitting in a corner, hoping to God to survive and wishing I didn't have to think about what I've done."

Breathe in. Breathe out. And here I thought I was an atheist.

Now let's see what happens.

Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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I care.

There was pain in her chest, close to her heart. She realized, numbly, that she'd been shot, that if she looked down at where her hand had pressed the wound, she'd be bleeding now. Her hand would be wet. Blood really had the same texture as water--it wasn't sticky, when there was this much of it, it didn't gum or cake.

He had shot her.

Why did you do that?

There was no desperation to the question, just tired curiosity. She had made her confession. He had shot her. She was finally alright and then he shot her, shot her much too close to the heart, and she was dying.

That was incredibly sudden.

Maybe he was off his nut. That would explain a lot. He had seemed very friendly.

Julian Avery. Always friendly.

Things were fading now.

She was supposed to go into death peacefully. She had been prepared for this. She no longer had Sarah's tasks. No longer had any of her own. Any further living was just delaying the inevitable, her own death, my own death--

I miss Mama.

She had cursed Mama on camera, Mama and Papa, for sending her here.

I miss Mama so badly.

Please, I want to go home!

That hurt, that hurt worse then her chest did.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home, real home, to France, where there was good bread and no ugly road signs, and where she wouldn't have to feel ashamed of her own shattered English, her over-formalities--

Don't think about home.

She wouldn't think about home.

She had to say something, to the cameras, to the viewing public, to this Julian Avery who had just shot her for no reason, to her Mama and Papa, who were watching because they must be watching, they must be watching, right?

This stupid boy was staring down at her, with a look like surprise. You're an idiot. You just shot me. You can't possibly be surprised by the fact that I'm dying.

She wanted to rub her eyes, but had the feeling it wouldn't have the effect she intended.

"Mama." Her lips were dry, and hurt to crack. "Papa."

There had to be something more to say.

G016: Alice Boucher - DECEASED

Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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