green hell | prj v. sunscorched snakeroot ; day two

rook
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who needs another thing to be sad about?

green hell | prj v. sunscorched snakeroot ; day two Mar 10, 2022 10:55:41 GMT -5

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Post by rook on Mar 10, 2022 10:55:41 GMT -5

The snakes lie still, like dead tree roots twisted in the earth. The danger, for now is over, so I relax a little, lowering my weapons and giving myself a chance to catch my breath.

It’s only after the fighting has stopped that I realise how much I’ve been sweating. It beads down my neck and clings to my chest. The inside of my mechsuit stinks of body odour and gasoline.

Across from me, Bowie stands gripping that knife oh so tightly, and I shoot him a foul glare, which is returned in full. If he had given me the knife, I wouldn’t have had to fire live ammunition that close to Izzy. I suspect that’ll be another thing that the boy from ten will blame me for.

I hold his gaze for a few seconds before walking onwards, after Isaac. I don’t have time for Bowie Gamble, but if I can get a Le Roux inside then at least I’ll sleep a little easier tonight knowing that at least someone has my back.

The morning sun casts long shadows across the overgrown gardens, basking us in a pink light. There’s a saying back home: red sky in the morning, farmer’s warning. It means that the weather is likely to take a turn later on. That said, none of this is natural, it would depend entirely on the needs of the Gamemakers.

I follow after Isaac, leaving Izzy and Bowie to their own discussion. I need to talk to someone who’s head isn’t either in the clouds, or up their ass.

[Kareem uses f/a, flees]

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an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

ryan
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over the moon, where all the wild things are

green hell | prj v. sunscorched snakeroot ; day two Mar 10, 2022 15:51:32 GMT -5

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Post by ryan on Mar 10, 2022 15:51:32 GMT -5

Isaac missed, and he sighed for a moment, realizing that rushing the mutts might not have been a good idea. Some of them flew to the side as the gatlin had fired past them, but it wasnt anything like Kareem had done.

The fact that Izzy was still very much out of her mech and throwing herself to the grind took the speech out of Isaac. It was clear that she was tough, but when she dragged her knife through the center of the amalgamation of snakes, they watched them all disperse. Isaac was impressed. "Nicely done Izzy." Isaac smirked as he realized that everyone that he decided to trust here were exactly like him. Well versed in being a killer. It would not be hard for any of them to take a life obviously. Isaac and Kareem had already admitted that to each other. Izzy finishing off the mutt, and Isaac was waiting to see what Bowie had to offer. He did not doubt the boy one bit.

He had so much fire.

He watched as the area grew clear, and then silent. Bowie had gotten out of there already, and then Kareem followed. There was no point in waiting around at this point. This would be the perfect time to at least try to get a little strategy after all. Isaac looks back at Izzy and smiles. "Lets get out of here before more come out of no where." He moved in his suit, following the same path as Kareem.

Maybe he would live to see another day after all.

[Isaac Le Roux Flees and does f/a]

heather - d2 [mylee]
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green hell | prj v. sunscorched snakeroot ; day two Mar 11, 2022 15:22:00 GMT -5

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Post by heather - d2 [mylee] on Mar 11, 2022 15:22:00 GMT -5

I S A B E L L A

There are days that it seems we have little use for our voices, but in this moment it seems to me it’s the silent plea of my heart that stops the swarm around me, not the knife I’m grasping tight in my hand. It wouldn’t have really mattered what I did—there’s will sure, but that’s not the half of it, fate and destiny said the snakes would still here, in today’s golden hour, and now I’m left to watch the boys trail off in their suits while I stand among the wreckage of bodies, the screams of the dead somehow still deafening, the writhing of their bodies capable of making a noise that still rings in my ears, and I want to take the knife to it, to carve this music out of myself and leave it in the dirt among this mass grave. But even when the boys are gone, becoming figures specked against the near distant, all I can manage to do is place the tip of the knife against the cartilage of my ear and inhale, once, then several times more.

[ How convoluted is the map of the path in dream logic from one part of the body to the next—never mind what lies even in what is just beyond. ]

I can’t do it.

And because I can’t do it I plunge the folding knife again and again into the bodies heaped around me, the movement they manage only made because I’ve put motion into them, and perhaps this is the heart of violence.

When I’m done with it all, this outrage that, on closer examination, isn’t actually outrage but some fear I can’t name, there’s still the carnage, irreversible and unapologetic, and myself in the middle of it. I don’t want to think of this as the future, but it seems impossible that the rest of my life will be anything but this, surrounded by what’s growing cold in withering light. All that’s apt to change is the shape of the bodies, but how important can that be after the fact?

[ Eventually, Izzy walks hesitantly to the metal body she abandoned. She prods its exterior, expecting it to shift and groan at her touch. When it doesn’t, she crawls quietly inside, shifts her body from all fours to the cramped in between of sitting and standing, her spine complaining. With movements unsure and tentative, she points her feet in the direction of the Bowie, Kareem, and Isaac, specks she means to once more make whole. ]

[ table: pogue ]

[ isabella bataille flees; does f/a ]