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Gran Torino.; Open. Afternoon, Day 8.
Topic Started: Apr 26 2017, 11:08 PM (398 Views)
Espi
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((Blair Moore continued from The Plastic Ratio))

The vehicle depot had cars in it. An ingenious concept, to be sure, but they weren't paying Blair to provide insightful commentary. That was just a hobby.

Snark helped her feel better, distracted from the miserable situation she was in. Dead people, murderers, terrorists, the only thing that could make it worse would be like, zombies or vengeful ghosts or some spooky shit. At least that was unlikely.

Entering the office of the depot seemed reasonable. Nobody would look in there, or at least, if they did she'd see them coming from the window. So she'd found herself seated at the chair in the office, gun on the table, staring out that window.

She saw Scout Pfeiffer arrive, and it took a second to analyze the girl to realize a couple things. One, she'd killed Alvaro Vacanti, who himself had killed four people or something. Two, she'd also been involved in killing Isabel Ramirez, who had murdered herself to the highest killcount. Isabel had also killed Noah, so that earned Scout some respect.

However, four was that Scout was probably going after killers. She stood up and picked up the gun, considering aiming it through the window. No, that was reckless. Also stupid and did she mention psychotically murderous? Wait...

Scout had put it away, but she was definitely carrying Noah's sawblade contraption. Blair stood, trying to process the situation. Had Scout been with Noah before he died? It seemed likely. Then again, maybe she just looted his body, in which case Blair would probably want to kick her ass.

Still, Blair had spent all of yesterday shooting things. Maybe talking first might help. Blair stood still and watched as Scout opened the door. Suddenly, a familiar tightness in her chest.

"Sup." Was all she could muster before doubling over coughing.
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Blair waved a hand dismissively and stood upright again after a moment, clearing her throat. "Yeah, I'm fine." Scout's look of momentary concern surprised her, and was to an extent reassuring. If she was after Blair's blood, there was no way she'd have acted that way, right?

The loud footsteps from outside put Blair back on alert, though. She picked up the gun, did not remove the safety and definitely did not point it at anyone but the floor. Still, it was a show of force, if anything. Blair couldn't tell who was behind Scout, and couldn't make out what they'd said. Probably not about to murder either of them, but people had probably thought that about her.

Ugh. Okay, stick to the present.

"Who's your friend?" Blair tilted her head, but still couldn't quite tell who was standing there.
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Oh, it was Bart.

Blair knew his face, but almost nothing about him aside from people saying nasty stuff about him or his hygiene. Poor guy looked scared stiff.

"Depends. Who are they? They got names?" Blair looked between the two intruders. It was uncomfortable to be in a corner like this, even if nothing had indicated there was any violent intent. To make things even worse, Blair was the best-armed person in the room, which theoretically gave her a position of power.

That was a mixed blessing. Blair was happy to be in control, sure, but so far that hadn't worked out for her. The most sensible thing to do was avoid any confrontation before it could go down. Violence was risky, reckless, and reprehensible.

Cautiously, Blair fumbled the safety of the gun while holding it at her hip, and hoisted her daypack onto her shoulder. She started towards the door, moving with some hesitance but trying to appear confident, her expression blank.
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Well. That was interesting and lucky.

Blair relaxed and fiddled with the safety of the gun again until it was turned off. As the two hurried out of the room, apparently in search of Clarice Halwood (a name Blair was unfamiliar with but she might be wrong), she sat back down in the chair at the desk.

There wasn't any paper or pencils as far as she'd found, which was unfortunate. She hadn't really given much thought to her hobbies back home, but sitting at a desk reminded her of scrawling or typing some kind of poem or something while scrolling through Tumblr or watching videos. That got her thinking about home, something she'd been unconsciously avoiding.

For one, she was probably never going to do any of that again. No more skating, no more BBC, nothing. Hell, for all she knew back home a miracle scientific breakthrough was rocking the world and she would never witness it. Would her online friends even realize what'd happened to her? People vanished from forums all the time. Surely a few remembered her name and hometown, enough to put it together. As for her parents and siblings...

If she died here, all that'd remain of her was her memory and what she'd written during her life. No great accomplishments, not even many fond memories. Miley didn't hate her enough to be pleased by her death (probably), but she didn't exactly have a close bond with Blair. She and Cynthia would be sad, probably feel bad, but they'd get over it. Her parents would struggle, but they were strong enough to handle this.

...Was this supposed to be reassuring? That they could live on without her? Fuck that. She wasn't some kind of cherished pet whose entire life was just a chapter in theirs. A footnote? Bullshit. She was her own person, and she deserved a proper existence too.

Did that mean murder? Well, yes and no. As disgusting as it was to think of it as such, she'd met the prerequisite for winning and going home. Georgia Lee and Rene's deaths meant if she was the last one left, they'd probably let her go. They'd done it to all the previous survivors, so she doubted that'd suddenly change.

That all meant she never needed to hurt anyone else. Yay. Of course, assuming arbitrary events didn't align in her favor, eventually it'd be her and one other person, right? If she had to kill them, could she? On one hand, what was one more victim here, and if it was her or them...

On the other hand, that mindset was more than a little fucked up. Did she value her own being over someone else's, especially if they had another fifty-plus years and she only had twenty or thirty?

Blair stood back up and closed the door. She'd rest here for today, then go somewhere else. It was too cramped in here to hang around forever, and she'd probably go stir crazy. Because more people needed to develop some kind of stress-induced homicidal tendencies on this godforsaken rock.

Blair leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, hands clasped across her stomach, still holding Rene's gun.

((Blair Moore continued in Origin of Symmetry))
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