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We Can Live with the Sadness
Topic Started: Oct 10 2011, 09:34 PM (3,652 Views)
Chib
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
[Used to be a sweet girl... --> Ema Ryan]

So. She was up. That was progress. Progress is always good, right? Walking was shaky at first, an outright terrifying prospect for the first few steps, but Ema managed to correct for the lack of depth perception eventually. It was the same as always, right? Just, harder to do the foot-eye-coordination thing for when you see an obstacle and you need to avoid it without breaking your stride.

Breaking stride was something Ema did pretty often that morning. Sometimes her left leg would just decide to give up, and it was plain to see, even with one leg of her jeans rolled up all the way above her knee and obscuring her already limited sight, that the bandage wrapped around the hole in her shin was already turning a nauseating shade of red-brown. Sometimes she just didn't have the energy to even think about where she was going, and sometimes one wrong step would send lightning bolts of pain shooting through her veins. But she just got up, reminded herself how far she'd already come, how lucky she was to still be alive and mobile, and somehow, somewhere, found the will to keep moving.

And yet... the girl had no idea where or why.

She'd missed the morning announcements, all she really needed to know was that she was now likely public enemy number one. Seven kills now, right? Or had the Japanese boy died too? She had shot him, he'd shot back, but she hadn't looked back to see if she'd actually killed him. Seven or eight then. Yo homes, smell ya later... Christ on a bicycle I am the worst human. Point was, she didn't need the calmly disinterested voice of Greynolds to confirm she was probably tied for the lead if she didn't have it outright. Who else could claim to have killed possibly five people in a single day? Not even Lombardi. Nobody. Just Ema Ryan. It's always the top killers that win. Dodd, Calvert, Rizzolo, they were all number ones. Maybe I won't catch up to the British prick but I've got the record-holding down in another way, it'll do.

How can I
not win this now? I can say "I'm Ema Ryan" and it means something here. I am Ema Ryan and my infamy demands that I don't lose.

...probably demanded the same of Maxwell, too.

No, no, he was asking for it. Too much too fast. Trying too hard. Loser gameplay. The winner takes it carefully.

...yeah, getting my face chopped in half is careful.


Thoughts like these roamed freely in Ema's head for what felt like hours. In truth, maybe one had passed since she woke up, whenever that had been. Probably less than one. The slow pace on a mangled leg, guided by a maimed eye, made everything seem to pass more sluggishly, and the obstinate crawl at which the sun sailed through the morning sky felt almost like a personalised attempt to aggravate her. It was when the girl lowered her eyes Eye. Singular. Remember that one when you're narrating yourself, hon. that she noticed where she'd arrived.

Strength had more or less returned to her body by now. Well, almost. She had the physical capacity to walk, as long as she was careful to be gentle on the wounded leg. The bandage would need changing, and that would be gross and messy, but she'd probably survive. As long as she got to a hospital quickly enough to make sure it wasn't infected. And that'd be fine, since she was going to win, right? Couldn't be more than a day left in the game anyway, probably about ten people left alive. What, no, she wasn't focusing. She'd arrived in the centre of the town, big fountain, lovely fragrant flowers, smell those later. Focus on the two girls sharing the locale with her for the time being.

Reiko Ishida. That was a face Ema recognised, and a name she knew. She was well known for... some reason or other. Ice hockey? No, something similar though. Ice dancing? Figure skating? Weren't those the same thing? She didn't know. Point was Reiko had been a pretty big name around Bayview, even Captain Outsider had heard of her. And possibly been a little attracted to her, if she was being perfectly honest. More importantly, it was a name she'd heard far more than once over the announcements. Probably her closest competitor.

The other girl? Didn't have a clue. She did look familiar, perhaps they'd had classes together but not talked socially. Wouldn't be surprising. Ema's past was littered with cool-seeming people that she'd done assignments with and gotten along with well enough in class, then never spoken to again. Could easily be one of them. And she did look horribly familiar.

Most importantly, the two didn't look hostile. Hell, they looked pretty civil. Speaking to each other and everything, like real humans. Ema didn't even recall saying a single word the previous night, nary a witty one-liner nor a badass boast, just, mostly-silent killing spree. What did that say about her? A shrink would probably have fun with it, at least. But no, no, she wasn't destined for loneliness, even if she was a pirate now with her one eye and her gimpy leg. She could talk to other people, that was a thing she was capable of. She just had to open her mouth and say... something.

"Um..."

Not the best start.

"...private party?"

It occurred to Ema then, that she couldn't remember at all where any of her weapons were. Two of them were empty, at least. The revolver and Vera, they weren't, but where were they? In the bag, in her pockets? Fuck. No time to check, no future in looking as though she was actually going to pull it out. Just... fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fagballs shitbollocks this isn't good.
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.


Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

The Past
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Chib
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
"Yep. Fuck off."

Well. That was an answer. It was an incredibly blunt answer. But Ema could respect that, right? Must be into the top ten now, by all rights all three of them ought to be killing each other on sight. Just telling her to leave was pretty polite by comparison. Except it wasn't polite. It was insulting. As if the empty courtesy of asking if the other girls minded company actually implied that it was for either of them to tell her what she could or couldn't do. She, of all people, had surely earned the right not to have to do what anybody else told her. Fuck. Neither of them even has a gun out. And... that bloody rifle's been on my back this whole time. They don't need to know it only shoots darts. Even if they do, asleep isn't a thing you want to be in a crazed killer's presence. Heh. Crazed. Yeah they probably do think you're I'm crazy. Please. They're crazy. Silly silly crazy girls not running away from you me and stop making this third person Ema.... I mean me... I mean, fuck I'm not talking to myself I'm just thinking, okay!?

Digression over, the important realisation was, as dangerous as a tranquilliser rifle was capable of being, Kimberly and Reiko were two targets, and Ema didn't have a bloody clue how to reload it. Or even if it had a dart in it. Probably didn't. Her revolver should still have at least five bullets in it, and Vera was probably about half full too. But they were in her daypack, going for either of them was an overt act of aggression. Or at least of dangerous paranoia. Delicate situation all around, really. And Christ did her leg hurt right now. Her face had mostly become numb somehow, but even with most of her weight on the right foot, Ema's shin was figuratively killing her.

All in all? Best to do as they say. Hadn't she been regretting running into the other girls at all, just earlier? Yeah, probably had. Don't be insulted too much by an opportunity to survive, silly girl. Wasn't there meant to be a clinic south of here? You could g-- I could go there, maybe the painkillers won't have been completely looted yet. Fat chance. But empty hope's better than no hope.

"Okay."

So Ema turned away. No, why would she do that? That was suicide. She took a few nervous steps, both tentative to lay down her left foot and terrified she'd turned her back on her killer(s), before turning back around in what she hoped was a vaguely nonchalant manner. She wasn't even wholly sure what nonchalant meant, or how to spell it. Something similar to casual, probably, but extra pretentiously casual because it was French. Or sounded French. Get your shit together Ema this stupid daydreaming is the enemy.

"Hey, one thing."

Pause. Entirely unwarranted awkwardness, a remembered behaviour from her days as a normal, socially inept kind of person. Not the behaviour of someone who had somehow managed to not only kill eight people, but also convince herself she was only failing to feel remorse because she needed the killer instinct to stay alive, and guilt could wait until she was safe. It was an odd picture, and after a second, even Ema appreciated how strange the situation was.

"I was pretty out of it this morning, you can guess why. Missed the announcement. Anything I should know?"
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.


Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

The Past
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Chib
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
For a while, Ema was actually listening intently. Until Kimberly mentioned the words "American Idol", then it became horribly obvious that she was joking. What was it she'd been thinking about them being crazy? Well, making jokes at a time like this, that was classic unhinged behaviour. And... American Idol, really? It could at least have been a good show. Still, the girl didn't seem to miss a beat before skipping right ahead to the serious point.

"No. There's nothing you should know. Twelve people left, lots of people dead. Same shit, different day. Goodbye."

Reiko, on the other hand, didn't seem to have anything to say at all. Pretty ballsy for someone hardly any different to Ema; that is, irrevocably defined as a killer. The only thing that made either of them any different to people like Lombardi or Brooks was that they were alive. Hell, all that set them apart from someone like Rizzolo was that neither had actually won yet. One of the two seemed most likely to, mind. And Ema wasn't exactly going to give that title up to Reiko without a fight.

...that said, a fight wasn't something Ema had in her at that precise moment. The umpteenth glance down at her leg that hour confirmed that the bandage around it was just as saturated with red as it had been before, and that that wasn't a good sign at all. Her head was feeling lighter by the minute, a sensation she was quite certain was pretty well correlated with blood loss, and if she wasn't just hallucinating - which, in fairness, would probably be worse - her fingers and toes were beginning to feel horribly cold despite the warm sunshine.

No, Ema Ryan was in no state to fight, none whatsoever. Frankly, all she wanted to do for the rest of the day was collapse in a nearby bed and pass out until such times as she could actually walk again. And she was being offered a very lovely opportunity to just leave without a fight. She'd have to be mad, no, worse than mad, utterly stupid, not to take it.

And so she did. With a rather spontaneous mock salute, which later she'd wonder after the meaning of, Ema turned, and she walked away. Or, more accurately, she limped away, dragging her gradually less and less mobile left leg behind her.

[Ema Ryan --> Maladjusted]
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.


Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

The Past
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