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It's a Snap
Topic Started: Jan 14 2017, 05:50 PM (1,004 Views)
MK Kilmarnock
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"Well, I mean, a few things," Jerry felt eager to point out.

((Jerry Fury continued from Ain't nobody got time for this))

"One, maybe it's a good thing we aren't running into random people. Two, we got plenty of supplies to keep us, at least for a little while, so no big loss there." Jerry had held up too fingers, looking aside at Toby. "Aaaaand three, we didn't hear Trav's name on the announcements so that's something, right? Just a bunch more names of people we all liked and went to school with, no biggie there."

Lying convincingly about such things probably wasn't Jerry's forte, but what was right up his alley was knowing the names of just about every single person he went to school with. Cochise wasn't a big school at all. Shit, the whole thing had... what, maybe 600, 700 kids in it? The senior class alone was probably somewhere in the ballpark of 200 to 250 (Jerry hadn't bothered to do a count) and while that sounded overwhelming, when you knew half of the people there for pretty much your entire life, knowing the kids in your class just wasn't that much of a challenge.

So, sure. He recognized just about every dead kid. Every killer. But as of right now, he had no problems letting that shit slide off him like water off a duck's back... feathers. Probably wouldn't work as well without the feathers.

"So you just tell me what you're hoping to achieve here by swearing at some water, 'kay?"
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MK Kilmarnock
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"Hey man, don't tell me to calm the fuck down, alright!?" Jerry snapped. "Jesus, you ever tell somebody to calm down? It never works! It's like those words are explicitly meant to do the exact OPPOSITE of what they mean!"

He wildly gestured to Toby and looked at her for a moment. Nah, fuck her. He looked back to Matt, but his hand was still extended her way. "Fuck it, Noodz is right. How dare I joke? It's not like I use humor as some sort of coping mechanism to cover up that we're playing Mad Max in Thunderdome meets the Deadliest Game. The only other person who understood that sort of thing was Bradley."

That's right. Jerry remembered possibly hearing his name before.

"And that dude's probably dead too. Fuck, I can't remember if he was a killer or a kill-...ee. All I was sayin' was we hadn't heard Trav's name at all, so maybe we focus on the positive and not be little bitches!" Jerry grumbled and thrust his backpack off, ripping at the zipper. He was hungry. He wanted some fucking bread.
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"Say what again?" Jerry asked, pulling out a loaf of bread. Realizing what he just said, he repeated the question as more of a statement in the style of Samuel L. Jackson. "Ha! Say WHAT again!?"

Noodle didn't seem impressed. Jerry didn't give a fuck.

"Do you look like a bitch? That what you want me to say again? That we're all acting like little bitches that need to pull our heads out of our asses?"
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MK Kilmarnock
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Oh. Oh, so they were doing THIS, now.

Cradling the loaf of bread protectively in the crook of his armpit and praying he didn't squish it, Jerry leaned in. It was like those old vignettes with Triple H and any other schmuck who decided to stand in the same ring as him, where they'd get all nose to nose and Jerry would shout 'now kiss!' at the television screen. That's what they were doing right now, with Noodle grabbing at his shirt and yanking on it. Man, he liked this shirt.

"What does Marcellus Wallace look like Noodz, huh?" Jerry asked, hushing his voice.

"What's he look like?"
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MK Kilmarnock
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With such a telegraphed backswing, any trained fighter could easily dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge out of the way or at least raise an arm to block or counterattack. Child's play, really.

For whatever reason, Jerry didn't exactly see it coming fast enough. By the time his reflexes could register that danger was incoming, it was pretty much set in stone that he was getting hit. He instinctively set his jaw and turned his head back in order to try and lessen the impact. If it did at all, then it lessened it from 'get a tooth knocked out' to 'man that still stings, yo', causing the boy to reel back a step with eyes squeezed shut.

"Augh! AAAAAUGH! Fuck!" Jerry swore almost equally as reflexively as he had snapped away. His jaw stung, but his pride stung worse. Noodle, fucking tiny little Noodz the goddamn MMA MASCOT had just punched him in the face. He had half a mind to throw down, show Noodle that he wasn't kidding around by flipping her over his shoulder, maybe grab her by the face and make her kiss the ground. Shit, he knew he could do it, too.

But he had to be smart. This was about endurance, right? Others could joke all they wanted about his ability but not only did he know that he was the best at... shit, he was the best at everything, but nobody could deny that Jerry motherfuckin' Fury, battery-powered Energizer Bunny of Cochise, could last for goddamn fucking ever.

Unless he got knocked out by a LUCKY FUCKING KICK (TRAV!), he wasn't falling right now. Still cradling his loaf of bread like his life depended on it - according to the rumblies in his tumblie, it totally did - Jerry dipped his hand into his pocket and dropped his stance.

"Try that again, you fucking bitch!" he growled in a wayward attempt to sound cool. But that time, even he had to admit maybe it was a bit much.
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Annoying. Annoying. ANNOYING! Why was she so annoying!?

He said to try it again. Lo and behold, she actually was trying again, and boy was she being rude about it! No verbal spatting? No drama? She was just trying to stay on top of him like some sort of wild dog nipping repeatedly at his heels. Except, instead of biting, she had punched him and he'd probably be feeling that for hours to come. He couldn't do a damn thing about the kick either; with one arm still cradling the precious loaf of bread that was supposed to get him through the rest of the day and with the other quite literally stuck in his pocket, he knew his posture was terrible.

He let his leg take the hit. He saw the punch coming, and knew he did NOT want to be punched again.

Fair play was for pussies.

With no further thought attached to the action, Jerry withdrew his hand and pulled out his first friend on the island. He pressed the button and the blade popped out. He stabbed, the motion wild and instinctual rather than precise or surgical. That'd show her for trying to bring her fists to a knife fight, the dumb whore.
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Oh. Ooooh.

Oooooohhh noooooo.

Noodle went down like a sack of bricks, which was more or less the intended effect. But this? This was only slightly more dire than he had been expecting. Throwing out the switchblade and thrusting it forward was a snap decision, one to preserve the state of his face which still ached, blood pooling in Jerry's cheek. He didn't have time to think about the outcome, but he half-expected this to turn out more like Monty Python's black knight and less like West Side Story. He took a half-step back, the loaf of bread tumbling from the crook of his arm and landing on the ground.

It had only taken a few seconds for Noodle to be reduced to lying on one side, mouth slightly agape, eyes drooping but never closing, sides not heaving or raising. All that was missing was the poorly rendered circle of blood to tell Jerry that his enemy was totally dead and not getting back up in order to bite his foot as he attempted to walk past.

He killed Noodle. Noodz was fucking dead. Jerry looked down at the switchblade and saw less blood than he expected clinging to it. 'Probably because it's stainless steel,' thought the words forcing themselves through his mind, a nervous laugh hiccoughing out from his own tasteless joke. There was no time to process exactly what he had done with Matt right there, looking at him with that accusing face, trying to give him orders. He was standing on a bridge. It was a bridge to Assholeville, and it was set in fire behind him.

Jerry motherfuckin' Fury wasn't about to step backwards.

"The fuck? You trying to tell me what to do?" Jerry started asking even before he ever pulled his eyes away from the knife, away from the dead body on the ground.

"Telling ME to put this away? Last time I checked, I had the weapon! Want me to put this down? Make me!" Jerry's breath raised up to panic levels, gripping the switchblade's handle until his fist felt cold.
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"Chill out?"

Jerry took a step forward. He could practically feel those flames fanning behind him. No way left but forward. Shit, now it was nothing but melodramatic talks into cameras and waxing philosophy and waving around a blade while screaming like a maniac. Oh well. Take the good with the bad, right? For instance, the good: Matt was backing away from him. That made Jerry feel powerful, like he was now a graduate in Baby's First Kill school and was ready to join the others on the big-boy swing set.

Significantly fewer swings, but more stabbing to go around.

"I don't need to chill out, I'm calm!" Jerry said less-than-calmly. "You need to chill out! Why you backin' up, Matt? You gonna run?" Jerry asked, tilting his head. "I wouldn't run if I were you. You know I run basically, like... every day, right? To and from school. Every. Goddamn. Day."

His hand was shaking.
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"Yeah, no. I get that. We're not GONNA stay here. First we gotta figure out what to do about Noodz, and, uh..."

Jerry was drawing a blank. Shit, what even was their plan right now? It was finding Trav, right? Yeah, that wasn't happening... Toby wasn't moving around any time soon and by all measures was looking pretty cadaveriffic. If she was, indeed, dead, Trav might find out about it and then it'd be all over. Running into that guy was basically just asking for the fight of a lifetime. And he'd probably cheat to win again because, of course, that's just what stupid Trav does.

But that's fine, because Trav wasn't going to find out, right? Not like there's some sort of announcement system to tells you exactly who killed who.

Right.

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK." Jerry started repeating. "Trav's gonna kill me. I kiddled... I killed Noodle, and how-NOW, now he's gonna- FUCK! I can't talk!" Jerry kicked at the dirt, some of the clods of wet soil getting all over Toby's shoes without him really meaning to do it. "We need to move. Like, right the fuck now. I'm gonna be a target and I bet there's at least one fucking person in this hellhole playing hero, being all 'wah you killed somebody, now I'm gonna kill you like that makes it right!' Like that makes any sense," Jerry snapped.

"But you saw it, right, Matt? She attacked ME. She started hitting me for no fucking reason!"
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"No shit," Jerry lamented. It was stated a bit more calmly than his speech just a few seconds prior. His speech a few seconds prior was also curse-laden and practically shouted at Matt, so... y'know, a bit of a low hurdle to clear, that one. "I get that I don't want to run into him, so I ain't gonna go looking for him."

Jerry flicked the switchblade, half hoping that Toby's blood would come off of it. The dulling liquid stubbornly clung to the steel instead, and Jerry realized that he'd have to wash it by hand. It could wait, he decided. No sense in getting blood on his shirt or pants, and he didn't want to directly touch it, so... he guessed he'd have to swish it around in some water or something. For now, he resigned himself to merely tucking the blade away, then grasping the handle in a closed fist. He wasn't gonna put the knife in his pocket any time soon. It was his baby. His lifeline.

His heart was still beating so quickly. If he didn't look at Toby, she didn't exist. Don't think about it. Don't let the existential dread set in. DON'T LET IT SET IN.

"Welp! Let's mosey!" Jerry said, humming loudly to himself as he strode out of the cove.

((Jerry "I'm a dangerous man" Fury continued elsewhere, ya nerds.))
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"FUCK, MY BREAD!"

Jerry suddenly turned an about-face and ran to grab the fallen-but-still-wrapped-so-it-was-still-good loaf of bread, then set about on his original course.

((Continued elsewhere for real this time.))
Edited by MK Kilmarnock, Feb 9 2017, 10:28 PM.
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