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Death Is The Only Freedom...; (Private for now)
Topic Started: Jan 17 2017, 11:58 AM (1,127 Views)
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“Tried that.”

Alright, alright, she needed to think. She needed to get them to listen, like, super intensely listen to her words.

“Thought if I gathered people together, we’d figure a way out. Thing is… y’don’t know who’s bad until someone’s hurt, lot of the time. That’s how Nancy got me.” Clarice waved her good hand at the shoulder that was being bandaged. “And… and that’s how Conrad killed Harold.”

Tragedy. That always fucking drew people in. Although Clarice had to stop for a moment. Trying not to cry, yell or throw up remembering that. Remembering that Harold was still out there, rotting. That Conrad probably was, too. Now Jennifer was sharing that fate, rotting in front of the cameras while the terrorists jerked off.

“...That was day one. What are we on now? Four? I’m not saying we should trust no-one, just that ‘non-players’ is a pool that shrinks every day. And one person flipping out is gonna get everyone else hurt. We… when I got hurt, we had five-to-one numbers over Nancy. T-today… we had four-to-one. Where’s strength in numbers got us so far? The problem isn’t the numbers, the problem is that all those numbers are here.”

Clarice let that last sentence hang for a moment, just a moment. Internally wishing she’d learned morse code or something so she could communicate it through blinks or something weird like that.

“But maybe you pick better people than I do,” she finished.
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Kizi was forcing herself to look at Clarice's wound. Forced herself to endure the horrific sight, to not dwell on all the unsavoury insinuations staring at the aftermath of a violent act provoked in her imagination. She had to look at it. Partially to build up character, make herself more robust. More importantly, so that her bandage wrapping was accurate. Couldn't be sloppy with that. Couldn't have left it loosely fitting, or sagging, or the side of the bandage digging into the cut itself. She shuddered at that thought. Clarice deserved proper medical care.

And in a pinch, Bart and Kizi would have to do.

And then Clarice pooh-poohed her idea. Rather dismissively, at first. It hurt. She paused for a second, but carried on, finishing up the job regardless. And then the truth came out. And all the suffering that had been inflicted in the course of Clarice's past attempt. She looked down. It was dangerous. It was risky, asking them to indulge her in that little bit of utopian fancy. It was crazy. Reckless. There was no point to it, pursuing it would breed only damage.

She stepped away once the wrapping was done. Clarice had spoken wisely.

Kizi looked down, and bit her lip, and looked back up. She had to be firm. She inhaled loudly, bracing herself. "No. I'm not talking about just forming a big defensive team to fight against the players. No, I'm talking about something that hasn't been done before. Trying to establish a sanctuary, a refuge, a place of...calm in the storm." She looked down again, but carried on speaking. "It hasn't been done before, and there's nothing you can say to disprove that."
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"I think we should go along with Kizi's idea." Bart repeated his stance on the subject. "None of us are fighters, so we don't have any reason not to go for a peaceful route, you know?"

He couldn't really understand why Clarice wasn't going along with them. Well, actually he could, considering that she had a story behind her reasoning, and a pretty logical one at that. But even so, he didn't want to give up hope on their chances. Just throwing up their hands and saying that non-players couldn't be counted on would essentially be the equivalent of saying that they were doomed to die no matter what.

"Can you just, uh... give it some thought?" He asked Clarice. "We don't really have a lot of other options right now."
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“I am giving it thought, that’s why I’m questioning it! Look, I can appreciate the idea of a sanctuary, but you need protection to make a refuge. How are we going to stop anyone from ruining it? And how do you mean to bring them in? Approach them? Are you gonna keep the gun up, trade safety for mistrust? Or are you going to approach them unarmed and hope they don’t shoot you? Or are you going to bring them here? Ring the bell? Send a signal?”

Clarice blinked quickly a few times at that sentence, enough to be a little conspicuous, and hoped that the terrorists weren’t paying attention to eye blinks.

“And once you gather everyone, what are you going to do then? Are we just going to wait? And hope someone somehow finds us? Because that’s a long shot. Unless someone turns up—“ Blinkblinkblink. “—we don’t have a chance in hell of escaping, and if we stop killing we’ll only have a day left. Look, I don’t want to crush your ideas, but if I don’t voice it then we’re going to figure out the flaws in a very bad way.”

Clarice checked her shoulder once the bandages were on. Not bad. Better than Clarice could do on her own, for sure.

“Thanks. Much better.” Of course, the fever was still wrecking her, and who knew how long she could hold up with that going. But it was something.

“Also… you’re wrong, Bart.” Clarice looked at Bart. “I am fighting. Or I would have jumped off a cliff by now. Whatever happens, I intend to go out in a blaze—” Blinkblinkblink. “—not by just lying down and dying.”
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Kiziah was open to constructive criticism. She wasn't thin-skinned, not in the slightest. She could enjoy a bit of good-natured ribbing, could listen to critiques with an unprejudiced and receptive mindset, could accept disagreements without even a trace of resentment or ill will.

But, maybe it was the stress getting to her, but Clarice was actually...angering her? She hadn't been angry in years. Indignant, sure. Furious about distant injustices or manipulating tyrants? Yes, of course. Exasperated, sure. Even a bit irked or irritable sometimes. But angry? Angry at a friend, a loved one, standing right in front of her? That was a strange feeling. Not a novel one, or an alien one, but she herself had to blink a couple of times, just to be sure that, yes, this was what she was feeling. She couldn't say why she was angry or whether it was aimed at Clarice or the situation, but-

No. She had to stop lying to herself. She knew perfectly well why he was angry. And Kizi knew it was directed at Clarice. She was dismissing her ideas, pooh-poohing them with a slightly arrogant attitude. "Of course I've considered all of that," Kizi retorted, a bit more snappily than she intended. Such bite coming in her voice was a bit strange, but it was warranted. She had thought about all those questions. Not in a rigorous or systematic way, but she knew those questions mattered.

She didn't know which answers she favoured, but she talked anyway. Let her instincts settle the details. "For your information, recruitment could be done through messages. There would be protection still. And, once together, yes, we can drag this game out, and do more productive things, and work on bringing someone to us. Hell, we're on an island. An inhabited island. Eventually search will work." She stood up, and made to storm off, but that was a step too far for Kizi. So she turned back around. "I'm trying too, but I just don't want things to go badly without some organised. I want to bring this whole SOTF thing down in flames just as much as you."
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Oh no this really wasn't going in a positive direction. Kizi was starting to sound angry, and Clarice still wasn't on board with the plan. Not only that, but the frequency at which Clarice was blinking was starting to make Bart worry that something might have gotten into her eye. He wasn't necessarily afraid that the two would come to blows over this, but considering how stressful the situation already was with the isolation, injury, and losses that they had already suffered and would continue to suffer in the future, he couldn't completely count out the possibility.

"Hey, uh... can we just calm down?" He raised his voice to try to get the girls to pay attention to him, hopefully calming the quarrel just a bit. "We're all on the same side, okay? I don't wanna risk losing, uh... what little we have just because we can't come to a clean consensus here."

It was a weak argument, and he knew it. Thinking under pressure was never one of his strong suits. If he wanted to do something useful, them he needed to actually come up with an idea of his own.

"Hey, why don't we, uh..." His eyes moved around the room as he tried to find something that would help him come up with a suggestion. Nothing really got his brain going until he saw Clarice's freshly-applied bandage, which gave him some semblance of an idea. "Could we just stay put for a while so Clarice can rest, then, uh... we can get back to figuring this stuff out?"
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...Did Kizi understand? Bringing SotF down in flames… did she understand what Clarice had meant? Was this really an argument? Because Clarice had never heard that level of anger in Kizi’s voice. It wasn’t much, compared to someone like Clarice who spent about half their day yelling at people. But for Kizi? It was massive.

“Eventually, yes. But they don’t broadcast live anymore. The island being inhabited doesn’t matter, since there’s clearly no-one else here. They know we’re out here—hopefully—but we’d need… weeks. Months, maybe. And if we gathered everyone together we’d only have as many days as we had people.

“But… yeah.” Clarice looked over at Bart. “Yelling won’t help. And coming to a consensus is… yeah. Alright. We can settle that later. Tomorrow, maybe,” Clarice said. Her voice was snippy and pissed, and that wasn’t something she needed to act. She wasn’t pissed off at Kizi, but at the fact that waiting was necessary.

She could set the fire right now. But it was wet outside. And dark. No, daylight would be best. ...Plus, she was exhausted.

Clarice acted a little huffy for the rest of the day. She hoped that Kizi wouldn’t take it too personally.

-

They took watch in turns that night. Clarice’s was last, since she needed to spend a lot of the afternoon resting.

Once it was Clarice’s turn to keep watch, she sat quietly for a while. She couldn’t tell if her fever was going down. She felt too warm despite the lack of blankets or actual sources of heat. The best she could say was that her wound hadn’t been oozing.

She waited. And watched to see if Kizi and Bart were stirring. Once they weren’t, Clarice got up. She crept over, and did her best to look like she was trying to be subtle. Silent footsteps and hunched shoulders. She knelt near Kizi, reached out and unzipped her supplies. She rummaged through them, occasionally glancing at the other two.

She really was nervous that they might wake up. If she explained herself too well, the terrorists might catch on that she wasn’t really robbing them. If she explained herself poorly, they might kick her out to somewhere with less paper.

Clarice zipped back up Kizi’s bag. She tilted her head slightly as she grimaced. Good angle for the camera. She knew her shots, her angles.

Kizi’s gun sat close-by. In reach of Kizi, should something occur. Clarice glanced at Kizi before picking it up. She aimed it at the wall, with the air of a kid holding their desired nerf gun for the first time. Then she turned and stared at Kizi and Bart, still asleep, for a while. Long enough to make it look like she was thinking deeply on some moral quandary.

Maybe the terrorists weren’t even watching. But if they were, she’d give them their narrative.

Eventually, Clarice sighed and put the gun down. She moved to sort through Bart’s bag. She never took anything from either Kizi or Bart, just grimaced like the contents had disappointed her.

Before she settled back down, she wandered over to the bookshelves closest to the door, checking where she’d be just out of sight of Kizi and Bart. Enough books to set a decent blaze, she hoped. She didn’t linger there long, doing a quick loop of the entire room just to make it look like she was patrolling.

Then she sat back down and waited, hoping the rain would have dried up by the morning.

-

Kizi and Bart woke up. They ate. There was small talk, but nothing much.

And then the announcements.

Jennifer was on there, of course. Followed by another girl that Nancy had killed. And Isabel had murdered again. Same as the other announcements. A lot of the rest blended together.

Two names stood out.

Bernadette Thomas and Irene Djezari.

Clarice didn’t say anything. The announcements stopped, and Clarice’s fingers started picking at the bread she was eating. A lump had formed in her throat. Her eyes started to water.

But she pushed it back. She wanted to grieve, but she had no time.

This needed to happen now. While there was still the chance of saving someone.

Silently, Clarice started to put her food, and any other belongings that had been brought out during the last day, back into her bag. Tried not to show any urgency, like she was just tidying up.

She tilted her head down a little, trying to hide in case the liquid burning behind her eyes managed to spill.
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Kizi shook her head. Clarice was being obtuse! No, no, that was crude of her to think that. Misunderstandings arose, people had cognitive blind spots, there was no point getting angry or indignant about that. She was missing the point though. It wasn't mean to think that. "There's only so many islands, and only so many that once contained an asylum, and-" Okay, they wouldn't know about the asylum. Good point. But whatever.

"Eventually, they'll guess it was SOTF. They know the modus operandi by now. They probably have like, psychological profiles built up to the wazoo. There's only a finite number of islands capable of hosting...a group of students this size." It was hard talking about things in such an analytical and clinical way, but it was easier than emotive language. "They'll find us eventually. Even more so if there's some sort of signal." Her voice dropped at that, her tone lowered. It was a plausible long-term goal, to use the group as a means of organising some jury-rigged communications system.

Kizi crossed her arms when Clarice decided to postpone discussion. She didn't challenge it, no. Clarice had gone through enough that day, had witnessed enough torment and tribulation. Being forced into a high-stakes, highly-charged controversy, that was inconsiderate. She nodded, agreeing silently to accept that this would be kicked into the long grass.

As she turned away, to continue looking through the library, she felt bad. A pang of guilt in her stomach, that for a split second she mistook for a growl of malnutrition. She was doing right by Clarice, and that was important. That was kind. That was nice. But when the announcements would next blare, how many more deaths? How many more Jennifers? It was a chilling thought. She paused in her tracks. Maybe she was doing the wrong thing? Putting Clarice's feelings over the lives of others?

No. That was ridiculous. It was egotistical to think that she could have such a role.

She walked off.

-

For the rest of the day, Kiziah was introspective. Friendly, warm, but not gregarious. She didn't stick herself out there. She could be forgiven for that, she hoped. Occasionally she pulled away, to pray or to stare into the camera, as if trying to muster the courage to impart some belated final words onto her family. The former was easy. Praying was easy. But talking to her family? Leaving them a message? That was a struggle. She struggled to leave them voice mails, so dependent was she on a back and forth, that ultimately all she ended up doing was asking nobody in particular if her voice was a timbre that Olabode was able to hear.

She had found three bags. Had shoved them away. If her plan for community would come to fruition, she would need supplies.

In the final hour before nightfall, she tried compensating for her early reclusiveness. Tried being as friendly as possible, tried sparking up conversations about hope and inspiration, or small talk, or casual observations about the island's natural beauty. Leaving a nasty taste in the air, that was something that would only sow regrets. For all their recent clashing, Clarice was the best friend she had right now. And poor Bart, collateral damage in the dispute between friends. He definitely didn't deserve the cold shoulder.

She went to bed aware she had been a bit strong, both in her anger and her plea for redemption. It was a regret, but a bearable one. So much better than the spectre of unanswered questions. That haunted her. Most of all with Jennifer. Something about having seen her on the island made her fate, the permanence of her loss, all the more real. She said her goodnights, did her turn on watch, and then, once relief arrived, fell asleep. Rather soundly, it had to be said. She had trusted Jennifer and Bart, but something about knowing Clarice was there made her feel even safer.

-

Morning came. The announcements hurt. There really was nothing else to say. Kizi retreated into a quiet corner, giving thoughts and prayers to each of the names, killed and killer, that came up. All victims of this barbarity. She blinked back tears. A now common ritual for her.

She stood up. The people who had left the bags might want them back. Leaving her own possessions with Clarice and Bart, she slipped away, gathered them up. It was cumbersome, and she no doubt looked gawky and cloddish. She avoided any falls or more noisy stumbles, though, and began heading back to where she had found them. Oh. She'd forgotten already. The library was not exactly user-friendly.

No. It was. The library was fine. She was just forgetful.

She headed to the entrance, and tucked the bags behind the door, just out of sight. Not sustainable, but it would work while she rested. Kizi looked at the sky. Rested her shotgun on the wall beside her. The weather was clearer now.
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[Lili Williams continued from Demons Dance Alone.]

It wasn't leaving the warehouse that was bad. It was figuring out what to do after.

She didn't feel right about going straight to the Library. Natalie would probably be mad at her, if she was still there, and there was also a good chance that her hunter was still stalking the grounds. Even if neither of them had been there, it was entirely possible that another hostile group had started taking up residence in there, like a bunch of raccoons. What was a pack of raccoons called, anyway? A murder? No, that was crows. A flock? More birds. Why was she thinking about birds?

The air smelt of seagulls. Could have been that. She spent the rest of the day parading around behind buildings and through ruins, trying to stay out of sight, looking for left over food scraps and chasing seagulls. Eventually, they led her to the base of a cliff, where she found a corpse. Nothing work taking. Besides, she didn't want to get Su's shoes dirty.

By the time the sun was starting to set, Lili was starting to feel lonely, cast aside by the rest of the world, left to rot in a garbage bin on the side of the road. Or maybe she was just hungry. She couldn't really tell anymore. Lili was just tired, and her body was screaming at her for rest. In the end, she hid out in the slopes, hiding in a ditch. Some bugs crawled around her, so she set her sweater down to keep the grass off her back. Sleeping under the stars felt oddly meditative, like gazing off into infinity. At the same time, it was good because it took her mind off of smoking.


Morning came, and a speaker hidden in some bushes nearby began to rattle off names again. Lili perked up, listening for anybody she knew or any repeat offenders from the days before. Even though everyone had felt so far away the day before, only visible very distantly, she was drawn back to her friends by that same solitude.

"Darius Van Dyke finally shut up after William McKinley put a bullet in his brain."

...

But how could that be? Wasn't he just right next to her, dragging her sorry ass all across the island for no reason other than to show her a corpse? Now he was the corpse. He became what he so desperately wanted to find. It confused Lili so much that the rest of the announcement bounced off of her ears, falling flat onto the ground. He was there, and now he wasn't. She wasn't sure she understood.

On the plus side, though, now she couldn't feel bad about taking his stuff.

She started off toward the library. There were no more seagulls left to chase, nothing left to distract herself from the rumbling in her belly. She needed some kind of food, anything to put some more fuel in her. To Lili, that meant getting her stuff back, even if it meant possible danger.

Besides, she didn't really have any plan to this thing. Winning required killing someone. Losing required dying. She didn't like either prospect, so she figured she'd take things as they came.

As suddenly as she had started off for it, the library came into view. The same plain building it had been two days before. Looked a bit more weathered, strangely enough. Lili approached the doors calmly, scanning for anybody around. Nope, everything seemed in order. Just the door, the dark interior, a girl with a shotgun, some paper on the gro-

Wait.

Lili flinched back, slipping and falling on the wet grass. She landed upright, looking like the fool she was. The girl had a clear shot, whoever she was - without her glasses, Lili couldn't even tell from this close up. All she could do was smile, look nice enough not to kill, maybe rattle off a one liner or two, and hope for the best.

"You startled me," she said, as she began to cough violently into her sleeve.

Great.

Nice fucking last words, genius.
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Okay, things looked to be under control now. Well, that wasn't really the right term, since they never really spiraled out of control in the first place. Maybe it would be better to say that tensions had cooled between the trio, since they were taking a bit of a break from their debates.

Without any real plans for the rest of the day, Bart just sort of meandered around the library, checking the shelves to see if there were any books that looked interesting enough to pass the time with. Regrettably, the selection of titles regarding his specific interests was incredibly limited, bordering on nonexistent. With no other options at his disposal, he decided to read the book he had been assigned as a weapon, which he had surprisingly not even bothered to open yet.

Despite the title, it did very little to help him stop worrying.

-

The night was difficult. Bart elected to take the first shift to keep watch, hoping that staying awake longer would help him get to sleep once the time came to lay himself down. At this point, the guard work wasn't really disturbing to him anymore. It scared him the first time he had to stand guard while the others slept, but at this point it was just sitting in a nearly pitch-dark room and hoping that nothing happened. That didn't keep him from getting spooked every time he heard a sudden noise, though.

Once he handed off the guard post, he still couldn't find a restful sleep. He couldn't force himself to fall into slumber, so he simply laid motionless until sheer exhaustion pulled him under, still worrying about his surroundings as he essentially played dead on the ground. Even then, he couldn't escape the same memories of Jennifer's shooting that had plagued him since the incident, replaying in his mind in the form of nightmares. Not even his dreams could provide any respite from the harshness of the island.

-

With morning came the announcements, and with the announcements came a reminder of the previous day's events. He visibly flinched when the news of Jennifer's death was relayed over the intercom, but if either of the girls noticed, then they didn't see fit to point it out.

Once the announcements were finished, the girls dispersed to other areas of the library, leaving Bart sitting alone as he ate an energy bar in an attempt to counteract his poor rest from the previous night. He moved closer to his bag, since if something did arise, he would prefer to have it in arm's reach so he could access his supplies immediately.

He was hoping that wouldn't be the case, though. As far as he was concerned, the best thing that could happen right now was a day where nothing notable actually happened to them.
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Kizi got up and started to wander around. Bart remained where he was. Clarice continued to pack. She located her first-aid kit, open from when in the night she’d gone through it briefly looking for painkillers. She put her hands in it, under the guise of rearranging the contents a little, and palmed the lighter that came with the kit. The air freshener can was still sticking out of her pants. Keeping her hand closed around the lighter, she put it in her pocket with the can.

There was a noise from the entrance. A voice followed by coughing.

Clarice immediately shut her bag and got to her feet, slinging the strap of her bag over her good shoulder. The bad one didn’t feel as itchy today, but maybe it was because she had something to focus on.

She headed over, hoping like hell that it was someone peaceful. Or someone who wasn’t coughing because they’d been stabbed in the gut. She approached, and found Kizi there—not injured, not shooting—and a small girl who seemed to be being friendly.

Might as well be friendly back. Clarice didn’t have much trust left, but if she started turning people away she was one step away from making them go away with lethal force. It might be a little dangerous, but turning her away would be more likely to create a commotion anyway.

“If you’re friendly, you can come in,” Clarice said briskly. “This is a safe zone. Right, Kizi?”

She didn’t bother to suppress any tension in her voice. Worked for the cameras. Let them wonder which part she was tense about.
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Kizi was looking at the horizon, and jolted her eyes to the newcomer upon her arrival. Didn't recognise her, as awful as that was. She seemed friendly, non-violent, hospitable. Likely a junior, she hadn't hung out with too many of them. So, at least tentatively, Kizi would trust her. Would be hard for her not to. She still hadn't learnt to be sceptical. The only close call she had had (her relatively peaceful tenure on the island, statistically speaking, was a blessing, albeit a cruel one), the attacker had made no secret of their violent intentions. She remained hopeful that the other killers choreographed their actions as much.

Probably just wanted her bags back. Kizi smiled, a sincere smile, a reflex rather than a calculated move. "Sorry 'bout that. You alright? With the coughing and all?" Of course she wouldn't be alright. Nobody was. Awful situation. But still, the cough warranted concern. After giving Lili a space to respond, Kizi continued. "I'm Kizi. Kiziah. Guessing you were...are a junior?"

She had to choose her words carefully. She had to signal that she had no intention of being secretive or cagey, no malicious or selfish desire to keep hold onto the bags. But at the same time, she knew this game had incited some rather...duplicitous feelings in others. Not violent, not psychopathic, but ready to seize any advantage, to not abide by unspoken rules of fair play. It was the right thing to do, unless the girl was in some great state of distress, "So, is there something here you were looking for?"

Oh wait. No, that sounded rude.

Dammit.

"Like bags or anything?"

Clarice appeared over her shoulder. Kizi smiled at her words. An implicit admission that the change in strategy was warranted. "Yup. We haven't got any...hostile intent. Were thinking of starting a community, actually. A proper safe zone. Bring a stop to this madness."
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With his energy bar taken care of, Bart instinctively crumpled it up and looked for the nearest trash can. Surprisingly, despite the state of the room, he managed to find one that still looked to be in pretty decent shape in the corner. He walked over to it and tossed the little ball of plastic packaging inside.

While he was taking care of this task, he noticed the girls heading to the door to investigate a voice they heard outside Since he was already up, he elected to join them and see what was up. He stood behind Kizi and Clarice, trying to get a good look through the doorway to see who they were dealing with.

He had no clue who the girl on the other side of the doorway was, a situation that had become all too familiar to him on the island. Strange how it took being kidnapped for him to realize that he knew almost nothing about the vast majority of his classmates. She didn't look too dangerous, but he wasn't too sure if he could really put stock into first impressions anymore. Heck, he wouldn't have ever thought that he would have to be afraid of any of his classmates in the first place, but he was in a different world now.

The girls seemed to be doing a pretty good job of explaining what was going on, or at least better than he would have been able to. Feeling that he didn't have much to add, he waved from his position behind the other two.

"Yeah, uh... we're good here."
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No wait, hold on, I'm not dead.

In fact, they seemed to be good people! Very nice to her, almost happy to have her, in fact! More than she could have asked for, more than she ever could have hoped for given that she managed to attract the attention of not one, not two, but three other students. None of whom she recognized. None of whom had any reason to be as nice as they were to her. She still felt dizzy from the fall. So many voices from so many directions. A safe zone, apparently. Girl with the shotgun was named Kissy, apparently. Weird, but that was okay. The sound of a safe zone was music to Lili's ears, though. Like a hippy commune or a utopia somewhere out in the country, it was an idea she could get behind.

"I'm okay, am okay," she responded, moving her hair out of her eyes, "My butt hurts a bit, but I think 'm good."

Nice and structured, better than all the aimless wandering both her body and her mind had been doing the past few days. The boy looked kinda nervous as he walked out from behind the two girls. A bit quiet too. Weird, but better than Darius and his blabbering.

Then Kissy mentioned the bags, and Lili sat up straighter.

"That's exactly what I came over for, actually!" Lili said, smiling cheerfully as she picked herself back up and dusted off her knees, "Three of them, right? Belonged to me and my friends before someone nasty scared us away from here a couple days ago."

Her ears rang faintly. High 'A' natural. Sounded kind of shrill when she played it on the flute, almost wrong, like it didn't belong on the instrument. Made about as much sense to her as the process of formulating sentences that actually made sense.

"I'm guessing you guys found them, then?" She asked, trailing off into whispering the longer she spoke, "I mean, duh, there's no other way you'd know unless you guys were mind readers or something, but unless I hit my head really hard sometime yesterday then I doubt that's real or something."

She laughed awkwardly, touching her index finger to the side of her head.

The important stuff, Lili. Appeal to their good nature.

"I haven't had anything to eat or drink in a day, so, uhm, sorry if I'm a bit kooky."

...kooky?

Yup, that settles that. I've lost my mind.
~~~~~ Creativity's Burning Pyre ~~~~~

NOW: V7

DEAD: V6

MAYBE: V?
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Bart joined them. Kizi mentioned that other bags had been left here. Somehow Clarice hadn’t noticed them. In any case, the new girl seemed friendly enough.

The problem was that the entrance was getting a little crowded. And Clarice needed this area to be clear. It shouldn’t be too hard to escape the library—it wasn’t like the hospital area of the island, where everything was built for security. This area was for comfort.

“Listen. Maybe you two should… should take, uh… new girl… further in. Give her the bags. Tell her what’s up. Eat. Stuff. I, uh… I want to patrol for a bit. Get my feet moving?”

As Clarice spoke, she glanced around. There were some shelves not far from the door, though far enough so that they wouldn’t block it entirely if knocked over that way. One had already been knocked over, and there were books scattered across the floor. Clarice looked at that, then started eyeing the other shelves.

Yeah. This would work.
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