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I swear I'm not a jumper.; Day 4, around 9:45.
Topic Started: Jan 7 2017, 06:15 PM (360 Views)
Fran
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(Dorothy's sight set on the sun and the soil.)

Dorothy felt like a princess, riding her mount, looking over her territory and her kingdom. Her pigtails laid on her shoulders, forming a necklace around her neck, holding her neck high to see as far as she can. She also felt the grim and sad responsibility of being the heiress of a monarchy and the compressing and choking sensation of something was horribly wrong, and it was her fault. Her daydreaming led her to the execution of her kingly father while her queenly mother was already emptied.

Dorothy shook her head, throwing the images of the deaths of her fictional parents somewhere else than right before her eyes. The rooftop was a nice place to be. She felt somewhat closer to home and farther from the island. Maybe it was the height of the asylum or maybe it was the fact she had just awaken from her daydream, but she felt like she wasn't in the game.

She felt the wind's blade dragging itself against her face, raising her left hand to defend herself from the invisible enemy. She hid her face from the unseen monster, closing her watering eyes and smirking to block the cold. She gave up and turned her back on her attacker, shielding her face from the cold wild. She hugged herself, putting her hands under her armpits.

The temperature wasn't even that low, it was the just the wind that annoyed her. It always made everything much more worse than it should like by blowing up dust and obstructing people's vision. The wind circled around her and continued on its path with its lingering friends still annoying Dot.

She bet she looked grumpy as hell, too. All of this announced her that it wasn't going to be a good day for her, especially after the announcements. Wayne died. He robbed Dot and Asha, and it was a dick move, but he still died. He killed himself right where she was standing, on the asylum roof. He jumped, he fell, his body touched the ground, and his bones broke while his organs ruptured.

He didn't deserve it, the same way Rea didn't deserve to die. She wasn't even able to talk to her again. She died like, what, three days ago, and it only came to her realization on the top of a building that she was dead, and she wasn't coming back. She tried to tune out the announcements, to shut off the outside world and to forget about the whole situation. To act as if this whole thing wasn't real, and people were coming for her, to save her.

But she was standing on the scene of a suicide, and below them, Wayne laid broken. She felt like dangling her legs over the edge and to let go. Not in any suicidal way, she hoped she'd grow wings and fly away but that was an impossible feat. She just wanted to fly away from this place and to leave, and to never think about it again. Her prayers couldn't be answered until she died or she was the last standing. She wanted neither of those things but it was the only way to be free again.

If she won, she'd be alone. If she died, she'd be alone. Either way, she'd be lonely and nobody would cry for her and help her. The day was just beginning and it already sucked badly. Hopelessness crushed her and while death sucked badly, life was about on the same level of shittyness.

She took a few steps, getting closer to the edge. She could just let her legs dangle and then let go. Maybe falling would feel like being in a rollercoaster without going back up. A few more steps and she would go down and her pain would stop. A few more steps and she wouldn't have to worry. A few more steps and-

''What's that?''

She pointed the two bags squeezed in-between a dent in the cement holding on the building together.
Edited by Fran, May 20 2017, 01:11 PM.
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((Asha ascended.))

She didn't want to look, but she knew that whatever gruesome mental images she conjured up would no doubt be worse than the real thing; and decided to just get it over with. She looked down at Wayne's crooked body, thankfully too far down to make out with any fine detail. His wasn't the first body she had seen on the island, or even the most nausea inducing - the girl in the garden that they had passed on their rush out of the chapel had been in particularly poor condition. This was, however, the first corpse that Asha knew, and it was kind of fucking with her.

Without the person inhabiting them, all that corpses really served as were as a reminder that someone had suffered greatly. Wherever or whatever their soul was now, at one point in their history they had been killed before their time; faced with excruciating agony or despair. A perfect monument to moments no one should have to experience. Even if you were lucky and you died naturally, old, and happy; your physical remains would only be a symbol of absence to your loved ones; a you that isn't you.

Confronted with this, Asha began to realize why people preferred to be cremated. She was glad that she wouldn't be "present" for her funeral. Being represented by a photo of herself in happier times without having the peaceful reminiscence ruined by her body lying around and doing the ominous specter of death's work for it, the lazy bastard, was a much better send off.

And so Asha stood, staring at Wayne and trying to understand him, imagine what he had been feeling before he took that fateful plunge; before Dot called out to her, pointing at two stashed bags of supplies. Asha gladly tore her attention away from Wayne's end and moved over to investigate. "I'm guessing that's our stuff!" Her guess was confirmed when she grabbed the bags out the dent they'd been hidden in. Her bag, what was probably Wayne's bag. Everything was still there, minus some food and water.

It wasn't an accident that the bags had been hidden away, hopefully out of reach from anyone who wouldn't have a reason to look for them. Asha was simultaneously touched and annoyed by how unnecessary it had all been. "Apology accepted, you stupid bastard!" Asha shouted to the wind, hoping that the message would reach Wayne, wherever he was. If they happened to meet in an afterlife, he had earned himself both a hug and a slap. She hadn't decided in which order.

She turned to Dot, cracked a smile. "Shockingly enough, I've gotten all the ammo for my taser back! I bet Jae will be thrilled that there's no reason for him to shoot anyone, now." Asha knew that it was nowhere even close to the hour that they had agreed on separating for, so Jae could go deal with his own personal shit; but she still couldn't help but worry. She hadn't even wanted to split up in the first place, for fear of them meeting separate and untimely ends. In the end, she grudgingly admitted that there were things best done alone, and had waved him off with a 'see you soon, okay?' as if those words were enough to guarantee it.
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((Min-jae Parker continued from Love, Fear, Choices and Astronauts))

Stairs, stairs, and more fucking stairs. If by some bizarre miracle Jae got out of this alive, he was making sure that his future home only had elevators. No stairs. Not even an escalator. Maybe a moving sidewalk, though. He'd liked running along those in airports as a kid, listening to the sound his suitcase made as it rolled over the moving strip.

It was comforting, in a way, to dwell on such inane things. Easier to push the lingering image of Henry lying gutted on the floor out of his mind if he was busy designing his ridiculous future house. His eyes were still red, but they were dry. Even if the hour-long separation from Asha and Dorothy wasn't quite up, it was taking him long enough to get up these damn stairs that it would be by the time he got there, between his leg slowing him down, one arm occupied by the crossbow and the staff, and the other clinging to the stair rail for the little good it would do him if he fell. He had started to have serious doubts about leaving them alone once he left the therapy rooms behind, but his body and the items he was weighed down with weren't interested in letting him hurry.

"Asha? Dot?" Jae called through the doorway when he was close enough for his voice to carry. He wasn't sure where on the roof they would actually be, but hopefully they could hear him. With a grunt, he shouldered through the door and took a careful step out onto the roof. It had seemed precarious enough a few days ago, and the night's rain and morning's lingering drizzle hadn't made it any more welcoming.

He took a moment to rearrange the things that he was carrying so he wouldn't drop them, and waved to the two figures some distance away.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dorothy was doing something she never expected she would do. Her hands were inside of someone's else bag, their only personal and private possession on this wicked island, and she searched it. She was looting a corpse, basically.

Wayne's bag had food, so much more food than they had, and Dot was lusting over it.

A thought crossed her mind though, Wayne didn't just have a lot of food, he had a lot more food than he should had with the wrappers and empty bottles. Was Asha his first victim or was she just part of a long-term scheme to gain supplies? Either way, Wayne was dead and Dot guessed it was the guilt that killed him since he took his life right here.

She found something else of interest: a knife. It was a good find. A knife would be more threatening than two match sticks nicely decorated. She'd keep them around, or to trade for something or to throw them at someone.

For a second, she wanted to pocket it and not to tell Asha. She was scared that her friend would take it as if Dot didn't care about her peaceful ideology. Not everyone would be talked down like most of their past threats and having this sharp item could potentially save their lives by scaring people away.

Or by slicing away. She decided not to think about that option. If it came to it, she'd do whatever it take to protect Asha and Jae. The two of them had nice weapons, they were both useful and scary so people wouldn't mess with them. It was Dot that wasn't carrying her weight, and she felt that. What if they decided to ditch her when the situation became dire and they'd use her uselessness as a reason? Asha wouldn't do that at the moment but a tiny strain between the girls today could become a never-ending hole tomorrow. Dot needed to find a way to become useful and help them out other than being the freeloader of the trio. Dot pulled out the knife and flashed it to Asha,

"Do you mind if I keep this? For safekeeping, you know or like to scare people like Iz away."

She saw movement from the corner of her eyes and jerked her head toward the shadow. It was only Jae from the look of it. That leg, that crossbow, that hair, looked like him. She waved back with the knife in her hand. Realizing the hazard she became, she quickly let the knife drop to the ground twisting her face from shame.
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"I mean, I've got the power of lightning and Jae's running around with some Renaissance Faire type shit, so I think it's only fair for you to get a knife," Asha said to Dot. Disconcerting as it was that Wayne had probably been hiding it the entire time he'd been with them, they were lucky that it hadn't been in the hands of anyone far worse. She briefly considered making a lazy joke comparing Dot and Mr. Machete - maybe Madame Stick 'Em With The Pointy End - before remembering that Alex had still no shit killed someone. Not exactly the best thing to lighten the mood as they stood several stories above their classmate's body. Considering how big the asylum was, it probably wasn't just Wayne's body that they were close to. A house of the mentally ill and misunderstood brutally transformed into a mausoleum.

It came as a relief when Jae called out to them, confirming that there was at least one more unfortunate soul still shambling through the asylum halls. "Jae! So glad you could make it!" Asha said, grinning and waving. She'd been kinda stressed that entire time, but at least her friend had been considerate enough to return long before they would have had to choose between sending out a search party or writing him off as a loss. Probably would have been sooner, if he hadn't had to climb all those stairs. She supposed that they could have chosen a more neutral meeting place, but it was hard to beat the easy-to-locate convenience and scenic view of the roof.

"Got some good news for you," she said, zipping up and shouldering her bag as she carefully made her way towards him. "We got my bag back, plus some extra. We're not gonna be wasting away anytime soon!" And all it had taken was theft, suicide, and a hot-blooded murder. From the look of Wayne's bag, it hadn't been just their stuff that he jacked. Hopefully, whoever it was had either found replacements or was too dead to be in any real discomfort from the deprivation.

She deliberately avoided any mention of Henry, or anything that had happened during his time apart from them. If Jae needed to talk, he'd talk; and she wasn't gonna rip open those fresh wounds on his behalf. "And since all that's been taken care of... as soon as you catch your breath, could we please find a better place to be? It's kinda hard to relax knowing that the corpse of my prick of an acquaintance is just sorta... lying down there."

Forgiveness was one thing, finding it within her to avoid speaking ill of the dead was another thing entirely, because seriously, dude.
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...And then Dorothy was waving a knife at him. She seemed kind of embarrassed about it and quickly hid it away, which Jae might have found kind of funny had he been in a lighter mood. "I guess neither of you wants this then?" He gestured with the staff. Off-putting as it was on one hand for the one bit of equipment he'd managed to scavenge to turn out useless, he'd realized on the way up that he wasn't keen on holding onto it either. He'd essentially looted Henry's corpse for it. Maybe it would have been different if it was anyone else. Maybe not.

Jae sighed a little at the thought of going back down the stairs so soon, but did his best to shrug it off. "I'm fine with heading back down. I don't think the weather's going to clear up anytime soon, might as well head back inside." Maybe they would stumble across someone on his list. He couldn't decide if he wanted that or not.

Alessio Rigano. Alvaro Vacanti. Isabel Ramirez. Kimiko Kao. Nancy Kyle. Maybe it would be easier if fewer of them were names he could associate with actual people. Psycho killers on TV weren't human.

And how many more would be added to the list tomorrow? The next day? How many people whose names he had only heard once should be included? If nothing else, he couldn't go around shooting every potential threat just on a mathematical basis; he still only had 19 bolts for the crossbow.

Jae shook himself from his thoughts and gave Asha a half shrug indicating the doorway he had just emerged from.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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''Hum.''

That was the only word she say after Jae's offer reached her ears. She had many questions for him, but she kept them inside her humming throat. First, where did he get it? And second what did he want to do with that. Dorothy inspected him from where she was and she couldn't see any signs that'd make her question anything else. If he were dragging a corpse or drinking blood like the vampire goth he was, Dorothy would have already jumped him.

''I... I don't need it, but thank you very much for... that thing but I don't need it.''

Jae and Dot agreed on the weather though: it sucked and it wasn't getting better. They should get inside, somewhere safe from exposure and somewhere people couldn't see them easily. Inside the hospital would be alright, they might have beds and they could sleep in them. She wondered if they were still there, if the terrorists kept that little luxury of sleeping in a bed a possibility for soon-to-be-dead kids. She put the knife in her own bag and stood up.

''Yeah, I don't want to stay outside, maybe we could find a room inside,'' she forgot the whole reason why he left them and where did he go. Asha briefly explained it but she hadn't understood everything as they made their way on the stairs. Oh gosh, it's the time to be stupid.
''Or maybe not since... you know. Anywhere else than here would be better.''
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"Dude, that thing's taller than both of us," Asha said, smirking a bit at the thought of her flailing about with the weapon. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the staff had a bit of height on even Jae. Not the most practical stick in the world, especially since all three of them already had their own sharp-slash-shocking implements of intimidation. "But hey, if you hold onto it it'd be a pretty badass walking stick. Like, some Gandalf the Goth type shit."

Jokes aside, there was nothing left for any of them on the roof. "Let's go. I'm sure we can find at least one room without any bloodstains or bodies in it."

((She left, thoughts of Wayne still lingering behind her.))
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A walking stick wasn't a bad idea, Jae supposed. Busted leg and all. All this time, and he still wasn't sure what exactly was wrong with it, but it was busted all the same. The pain had receded to a dull throb since the first day unless some impact made it flare up again; he'd almost gotten used to hobbling around.

He would have responded to Asha's quip in kind, but he'd never read Lord of the Rings. He'd been planning to, at some point. Maybe the library...

No, the library wasn't a good place for him to be.

He waited for Dorothy to join them, and then carefully followed Asha back down the stairs.

((Min-jae Parker continued in Flowers Hurt))
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Dot hurried to Jae. She didn't want to be left behind on the roof, that would have sucked pretty badly.

When she reached him, she said,

"If you need to lean on me, my shoulder is free."

Then they left.

(Where the flowers hurt.)
Edited by Fran, Mar 31 2017, 03:54 PM.
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