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Cast in the Name of God; Was day 6, then day 7, holy hell it's morning of day 8
Topic Started: Mar 23 2017, 08:46 PM (1,708 Views)
MK Kilmarnock
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She had no idea whose blood was on the couch.

((Coleen Reagan, continued from With Blood and Rage of Crimson Red))

Once upon a time, the room had probably looked nice. That was the story of this entire island, probably (as well as everybody stuck on it). Apart from the ruined couch, there were also several chairs arranged around an upended table, one of the legs missing. Holes perforated the plaster and paper of the walls, signalling either a firefight of kind involving an unknown number of people, or a really poor interior decorator who just couldn't decide where to hang the paintings.

She smiled a little at her own joke. She needed it. She needed a touch of laughter after the very worst day of her life. It all began with the discovery of Cameron's body, a foregone conclusion that came with some closure as well as a healthy dosage of shock and pain. Arthur's death followed, pursued by a nauseating hatred for Alessio. She had to comfort a dying Lizzie and watch her introduce the end of her life to the waves, then had to break down her companions when they came to check.

But the day didn't have the courtesy to end there, never to hurt her again, for the night was a sleepless one of wandering and avoidance, never daring to turn on her flashlight to avoid bringing attention to herself but being distrustful of the dark and what it could hide. Sleeping in the open was asking for death, a waste of everything she had done so far. Having to be strong for Lizzie, for Ty, that stuff sapped nearly every last ounce of strength she had left. Coleen didn't want to be strong for anybody else anymore. She desperately wanting to curl up in a dark hole... pretending she was on that dusty old woolen couch in Cameron's basement, screaming her frustrations of the day into a musty pillow that reeked of mothballs while BB droned on about why they should all listen to some weird bassist duo from Antarctica for inspiration.

But all the same, she wanted to live afterward. Unfortunately, there was one final cruelty from the day long dead, one that played out just a few hours prior when she was skulking around the building's perimeter.

"Arthur Bernstein met with some foul luck when he ended up being shot by Coleen Reagan. His own ally."

No.

"Arthur Bernstein met with some foul luck when he ended up being shot by Coleen Reagan. His own ally."

That isn't what happened. That wasn't what happened. She replayed the sentence in her head a few times to confirm that they were the proper words in the proper order to create a proper sentence, that somebody's name just sounded like hers, that the terrorist on the other side of the speaker wasn't tragically mispronouncing 'Alessio Rigano'.

She did it. They were trying to say she killed him.

"LIARS!" She remembered screaming, her throat cracking in the same instant and popping in a loud squeal. She didn't care who had heard her, who saw her hysterically kicking the exterior wall of the asylum. In that moment, anybody who approached her would have been liable to get an earful as she force-fed them her heart. But nobody approached, and there was nothing but the sun afterwards to base time off of. She would never be sure when she pulled herself from the grass after throwing herself onto it, cursing at anybody she could think of and any faceless being behind her personal hell but once she was done telling them all to go fuck themselves, the sun had warmed the island considerably.

She was tired.

Coleen found herself pulled back to the asylum as if magnetically drawn to it but in truth, where else could she go? Seclusion wasn't what she was looking for; she knew there would be plenty of kids near or inside the asylum. When she was outside for too long, though, she wanted to have the closure of the walls knowing that if she stayed within them for too long, she might feel trapped and seek the outdoors once more. It came off as an abusive relationship to her, between her and the creaky, dark old building. It always wanted her back and she would always come back to it, no matter how unkind it would eventually be.

This room, torn apart as it was, would have to do. It was still the best this place had to offer.

She clutched the spear and sprawled on the couch, ignoring the bloodstain. It was dry by now. If it wasn't and some got on her dress, that wouldn't matter either.

Everybody already thought she was a killer.
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"Welcome to yet another wonderful day. Congratulations to everyone listening on getting through..."

The shrill, creaking call of the morning announcements snapped Coleen from the first real bit of sleep she'd been able to grab ever since Arthur had died. If it weren't for the dreadful familiarity of the voice as the telltale proof of the time of day, she might never have believed it was morning; the asylum had the same dreadful, gloomy atmosphere that it always had and even being in the most cheerful-looking room Coleen had managed to find couldn't change that. Even less light had managed to find her in her napping spot underneath the gaudy yet surprisingly comfortable sofa.

It took just a few moments for her to fully wake up, which was thankfully the same amount of time allotted between the false friendliness of the disembodied voice's introduction and the actual 'meat' of the announcements. As it had five times before, the voices of her classmates were nonchalantly mentioned around horrific events such as shootings, stabbings, suicides, and other unpleasant things Coleen didn't have to imagine, since she felt like she had seen it all between the likes of Bradley, Mitch, and Arthur.

She found herself paying closer attention near the middle of the announcements, when the man began to speak disgustingly fondly of a big event that went down between several people in which several of them died. It was at that moment that Coleen remembered the quiet events of the previous day being broken apart by those sounds coming through the walls. Screams, gunshots, a general ruckus with multiple people shouting at each other. Maybe it was just a trick played on her by the building, but it sounded practically next door, and it sounded like something she wanted absolutely no part of. Even when the sounds of violence ceased and the screams faded away, she stayed hidden with her rifle tucked before her, praying nobody forced her hand by coming in.

Nobody did.

She was alive to see another day. Coleen supposed she was thankful, in some bittersweet sense, at the 'gift' of extended time to live her life. To go back on wanting that, she reminded herself, would be a slap in the face of everybody she had met and who could no longer be here to watch her struggle. She had to keep going. Step one in that glorious plan involved coming out from this couch... the top of it may have been comfy in spite of the bloodstains, but the underside had somehow managed to be both dusty and reeking of mildew. Coleen took a risk in pushing the AK out in front of her first, only releasing for a moment to dig her elbows into the floor. After a single pull the gun was back in her grip, and she continued pulling until her waist, then her legs, then finally her feet were out from under the furniture.

She rose to her feet just a minute or so after the announcement ended. It looked like this place wasn't designated as one of those 'danger zones' the terrorists kept talking about. Thanking her luck, the girl stepped backwards with her eye on the door, taking a seat.

"One more day," Coleen muttered to herself. "We can do this. One at a time."
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[[Fiyori Senay, continued from St. Elsewhere]]

Fiyori Senay was a murderer.

There was no way around that truth. It didn't matter whether she acted alone or not. Her actions have led directly to the death of Isabel Ramirez. Fiyori had expected to feel different about it. Not that she would have any regret, or feel some sort of sadness. Isabel Ramirez was a cunt, as simple as that, a cunt that killed Fiyori's friends - and for Danny's death in particular Fiyori swore revenge and succeeded in doing so. However, there was no triumphant swelling in Fiyori's breast either. Yet she also couldn't say that she felt empty or any of that.

No, Fiyori knew what empty felt like. And she didn't feel empty at all. A different sentiment had been born, a new kind of emotion, with which Fiyori could start very little. Her body at least had no idea how to express it, and frankly Fiyori had trouble pondering it's philosophical ramifications.

Her eyes rested on the door to the lounge. The smudge of blood was still present on the edge, but it was barely noticeable. In fact, she held her left eye closed most of the time, so she really didn't use that glass. Isabel's slash - thankfully - didn't hit the eyeball, but the eyelid was cut. She noticed when it began stinging that morning.

Then her hand rested on the handle, and she pulled it down. She waited for a moment. She wouldn't open the door just yet.

"Here's Fiyori Senay. I don't want trouble and I come in peace."
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Coleen looked up with a start. When had she begun to lose focus?

"Uh, Coleen Reagan." She emboldened her voice as she called to the other that had identified itself as belonging to Fiyori. She wasn't super close to the girl, but they were in the same class, so one was bound to run into the other. She was a face and a name, and little more than that. "You may have heard of me from such exciting things as 'yesterday morning's announcements' or local Kingman rock sensation 'Peyote Coyote'", she said, tucking her knees up with her on the couch.

"So, um, how can I help you today?"
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Coleen, alright. She managed to bring Fiyori to smirk. That was as good as a conversation starter as it could be, Fiyori guessed. At least with someone who, according to the aforementioned announcement, has killed 'their own ally'.

Fiyori knew not too put much stock into what the terrorists said. It was meant to rile them up, and what they said were generous interpretations of the truth at best.

"If you don't mind I'd like to enter."

She pushed the door open by a few inches.

"I was taught not to talk through doors, you know?"
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When the door cracked open and Fiyori asked to enter, Coleen pulled her feet up the rest of the way on the couch. Even with her sneakers on, her feet managed to feel cold. She was cold all over, hungry, a little thirsty, and her face hurt from having forgotten to apply moisturizer to it over the last day or so... if she even had any of it left in her bag, that was. All around, she had become quite miserable, while trying not to let it affect how she interacted with people. There had been plenty of time to refuel the social interactions 'gas tank', so it was time to tuck her innermost thoughts and feelings away in order to deal with others.

It was nice while it lasted.

"Sure, but leave guns put away if you've got them," Coleen said after a moment's pause. "Sorry, but I got this far by being careful. I need to keep being careful, or everything that's happened so far just becomes a waste." She wanted to mention Arthur specifically, but it just didn't seem right when she was partially responsible for him no longer being alive. She supposed it might have be punishment enough simply to no longer have somebody who she actually trusted around in order to watch over her while she did things previously taken for granted, such as napping or... hell, not having to look around her on full-alert every waking moment of her life. He could help do that for her.

Nobody left she could trust. They were either dead or not here, and she prayed that as many of them as possible were in that latter category. Fiyori fit into none of them. "Since you're probably curious, yes, I'm armed." She afforded the quickest of glances to the AK-47 in her arms while the spear laid on the couch beside her. Mild understatement, that. "But I can put the gun away. Trust, and all that."

Trust she didn't really have, but if Fiyori was taken off edge, it would take Coleen off edge. Maybe they'd get through today without anybody being brutally murdered.
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It was almost an 'I wish' Fiyori would've said to reply. She wished she had a gun. She didn't though. And she held up fairly well all things considered.

"I have lock picks and Isabel's sickle. The sickle's on my belt and I'd rather leave it there."

The reasoning was perhaps not too obvious, but Fiyori didn't feel it needed explanation. Isabel's sickle, the instrument of murder in so many cases. The blood of so many people stuck and dried. And yet the blade was still sharp enough. Not as good as it was once, Fiyori guessed, but still enough to - say - cut open a water bottle or contaminate her food.

If she put it in her bag, that is. Which she didn't.

Fiyori entered. At first, she didn't look at Coleen, but at the sorry damage in the wall caused by her and Alba's and Brendan's little marksman training a few days ago. Obviously, it still had to be there. Figured the terrorists wouldn't bother fixing the hole, but Fiyori still felt mild surprise upon seeing it.

"Thank you for not shooting me. I appreciate it. If it makes you feel better, you can keep the gun close." Her eyes drifted over to the AK-47, then fixated on the spear nearby for a moment.

She was a few yards away from Coleen. Fiyori halted, and then finally tried to make eye contact with Coleen.

"I'd like to rest a bit here. Just a few minutes then I'll bugger off. If that isn't a problem."
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Coleen noted Fiyori. She noticed the sickle, and the fact that Fiyori was kind enough to point it out. Lock picks didn't seem like they'd have much use; Coleen couldn't remember coming across any locked door that she found herself wanting to open. She offered a slight, yet still kind smile, and pulled her bag open to start stuffing the AK-47 inside even if Fiyori said she could keep it out. If things got sticky, the spear should have been more than enough to handle it.

"It's not a problem," Coleen said, haphazardly closing the bag and pulling it to the bit of floor in front of her, also reaching for the spear so that could be tucked onto her lap in the gun's stead. "Plenty of chairs. I can't recommend the couch, since it's covered in somebody's blood," she said with the best grin she could manage.

She wanted to add 'and because it's just a little bit too close to me', but there was no reason not to keep the atmosphere friendly.

"Saw you looking at the wall," Coleen said, trying to drum up some conversation. "I don't know how it got there either, but it was before all hell broke loose over there. If the sickle was... that means you were over there, right? I don't remember all the names I've heard."
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"Oh yes! Was passing by Isabel yesterday. Saw her and kinda got a bit pissed. Oh well, oh well, now the bitch is dead."

Fiyori had to reign herself in by that point. Her tone was too cheerful. Killing Isabel was a good decision, but perhaps it wasn't due to sound so pleased about it. Wouldn't want Coleen to get the wrong impression. The wound on her cheek was itching. Fiyori barely managed to stop herself from scratching.

Then, she looked for a chair. She got the hint. Understandable, she guessed. As good-natured their conversation was, a healthy distance both physical and emotional was probably the best for the two. They were just acquaintances. As bad as Fiyori could be with boundaries, some things just had to be respected.

What with the spear resting in Coleen's lap and all.

The chair Fiyori chose dragged across the floor. She turned it, so that when she sat down she could face Coleen.

"The wall's my doing as well." Fiyori paused for a moment. Then she remembered this little sentence would raise some questions. "Before you ask, I didn't shoot anyone. Just got the chance to train with a gun. Wasn't mine though." She shrugged. Keeping up the good atmosphere.
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"But you don't have the gun anymore?" Coleen asked, maybe just a tad bit more suspicious than she wanted.

"Sorry, just that you had it and now you don't. Did somebody take it from you?" she asked. "I guess I'm asking because I want to know who I should be looking out for. But I guess I know who isn't making that list anymore," she said to herself, eyeing the sickle on the belt again before bringing her eyes up to Fiyori's face.

It might have been her old paranoia flaring up again, but it almost felt like Fiyori had a hard time keeping eye contact. Before this week, before the events down the hall at the storage closet, maybe it would have made Coleen feel a bit self conscious. Now, the hair wasn't coming back in front of her face, though a small part of herself greatly desired to have it do so again. It was mercifully, again, a small part.

"Your face looks all cut up," Coleen said after a moment. "Sorry, I mean, if that seems rude. I should be the last person to talk about how their face looks." She let herself laugh at that one. "But at least you took care of them. If you need to go ahead and change the bandages, here's a good place."
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Fiyori regretted her words. The lack of tension in the room led her to say more than was perhaps necessary. Still, words said couldn't be taken back. She noticed the slight shift in Coleen's disposition. Well, with what was said it was probably in Coleen's right to be a bit jumpy. Coleen killed her 'ally'. Perhaps, and that was pure speculation, that 'ally' was actually someone who betrayed her trust in a critical moment.

No, she couldn't allow herself to get distracted by thoughts like these. Coleen was still friendly. All Fiyori had to do was be more careful.

"Oh, thank you but I think these bandages are still good." She smiled at Coleen. It was a bit of a forced smile, even though Fiyori did so involuntarily. "As for the gun I mentioned, that belonged to Alba Reyes. She, I and Brendan Harte had been together for a day until we lost each other."
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"Alba..." Coleen's eyes dropped.

"I wonder if Alba's still with Brendan after what he did to Bern." She chewed on her lower lib absent-mindedly, thinking back to the day at the cliffs. That had been the start to everything going from bad to worse, culminating in what she still remembered strongly as the worst day of her life. Not that today was shaping up to be much better, but nobody had died in front of her. Yet.

"Anyway. Um." Coleen pushed her feet out from under her and half-laid on her side, still clutching the spear.

"Guess I've run out of things to talk about for now."
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"...what he did to Bern?"

Fiyori echoed softly. She stared at Coleen. The thing with Brendan and Bernadette was a tragedy. Yet, ultimately an accident. She hadn't asked for details. It would've been unwise to bother Brendan, when Fiyori could think for herself how it went down.

He slipped. He fell unto her, and then her illness flared up. It was unfortunate. It was unbelievable. However, she read an article or something a while back. About something similar. About people who died just because they fell ever so slightly. Because that was how life was. Because sometimes accidents happen. Because Brendan would not simply 'shove' his friend. It was a tragic incident, but there was simply nothing Brendan could've done.

And yet, the words Coleen chose, the tone she picked...

"As far as I know... I mean, it was an accident. You can't fault someone for that."
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"He got angry and shoved her down, and she hit her head on a rock," Coleen responded. "Maybe he didn't mean to kill her, but she died because of it." She turned and looked at Fiyori's face, trying to read the girl. Was she angry at her, thinking that maybe she was lying? Or, in a better case scenario, was she merely astounded, surprised, maybe disappointed at learning somebody she thought she knew wasn't who she thought he was?

"I didn't see him again after that. Why, what did he or Alba tell you?"
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It hurt. Breathing hurt. Fiyori wanted to stop. Just stop breathing and drop dead on the spot. Coleen's words were incredible. Fiyori could just shake her head at them and yet she did not doubt them. She wished she could. She wished she could just call Coleen a liar. Be angry at her, tell her that she didn't know shit.

"I- I did not ask for details. He was sorry for it and I..." Fiyori hesitated. Keeping eye contact with Coleen was now impossible, her eyes darted across the dirt on the floor, as if the rest of her sentence was hidden somewhere.

"How do you know?"
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