It's Already Too Late [Uprising Ranged Weapons]

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I knew I was in extremely, horrifically deep shit. Griffin had specifically said to not shoot anyone, and what do I do? Go off and nearly shoot someone. But not just anyone – Ceann, one of the people in the Uprising you had to respect. Well, in my opinion that was who she was. She had that aura about her to not mess with her or else you’ll be in for hell, and that’s what I knew I was in for. I had no doubt that Griffin would add in his two cents of punishment, but him I could deal with. Ceann, on the other hand, scared the hell out of me. The look that was on her face when she saw the hole in the wall sent icy shivers down my spine. I quickly set the gun down as if the metal were burning me, turning my head back around in time to see her arm moving in a quick blur. There was the sound of another gunshot and before I could register in my head what had happened, I found myself being knocked backwards by an unseen force, landing hard on my back.

Shocked, that’s what I was. The force of impact had knocked the wind out of me and I tried as hard as I could to suck in some air, but it took a few long, agonizing moments for my lungs to cooperate enough to expand and fill with air. With that air came a wave of a kind of pain I had never felt before. I could swear my entire shoulder was being torn off. Blood was soaking my arm and spreading across my shirt, feeling incredibly hot on my chest. My hand quickly shot up and clamped down on my shoulder, creating a spike in the pain that was already making my whole torso throb. Growling, teeth grinding, eyes shut tight, I instinctively curled up toward the pain, but when I opened my eyes to see if the bleeding was getting worse, I noticed Ceann coming my way. Terror made me move rather than pain, and I quickly uncurled and tried to scoot backwards as fast as I could, hardly making any progress before she caught up to me and dug the end of her gun into the bullet wound.

Mother of Ripred.

A sharp yelp escaped me and I quickly fell back lying supine, writhing in the pain, wishing more than anything that I could just sink into the ground to escape the gun. My breaths were coming in short, jagged gasps, trembling hand latching onto the gun, trying to pull it out at any cost. But because the hand was soaked with fresh blood, it kept slipping off. Who knows, maybe I could end up pulling the trigger and ending up shot again; I sure as hell didn’t want that to happen. Still keeping my shaking red hand on the gun, I turned my face away from her and shut my eyes tightly like a beaten animal. I knew I had made a mistake, but did she really have to shoot me and then just make it all worse by shoving the gun tip into the wound? How could I even tell her that I was sorry? Write it in my own blood? No. Well… what would a dog do? Whimper, of course. That was the only way I knew how to really communicate, so as I had my face turned away from her like it would somehow make her disappear, I whimpered as apologetically as I could. I doubted she’d understand me, but it was worth a try.


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If nothing else, nobody was dead yet.

Griffin barely had a second of pause to observe the few girls who were actually making an honest attempt without hurting others before one particular sound of a gun rang in his ears and the tension in the room became painstakingly obvious. He only just turned to see Devroux's wild attempt at shooting, and for a moment he was afraid the bullet would fly straight through Ceann.

Instead it flew by her, but that fact didn't change the look of determination on her face. Griffin stepped forward to stop her, to do something, but it was too late. One shot later, and Devroux had a hole in his body that wasn't at all natural.

Well then.

"STOP," he yelled just as Ceann approached her victim. She didn't seem to hear him, but more likely than not his voice was cut down by the sharp bursts of noise flying through the air. She didn't stop.

He barely registered a projectile sailing past his ear, or the boy waving at him in the corner, or the fact that if he had been a foot or so to the right just then he would have an arrow through his skull. Ceann had her back to him, facing Devroux. Her jaw moved; she was saying something.. but what?

Rushing forward, Griffin stepped in front of the two. He realized he had no weapon other than his presence, and somehow that seemed futile. Next to him were two opposites. Ceann with a fierce expression on her face, something cold and terrible, and then Devroux, whimpering and looking away.

"Give me your weapons," he said plainly.

Something behind him, a soft breeze or a ghost or just a boy he hadn't noticed before caught his attention.

Or, well, started poking him.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Mr. You. Excuse me. I'm late for class. Here's a note. Hey. Hey..."

A note?

Griffin raised his eyebrows, nodded, and pointed in the direction of the weapons laying on the table.

"Okay, so.. go get a weapon and do something with it," he said, his gruff tone tinged with annoyance. There were more important matters to worry about.

"Oh you're bleeding," he nodded at Devroux, suddenly disoriented. The stress pulled at him, tore away at the edges of his focus. What to do?

"I .. oh, fuck, you've got a bullet in you," was all he said. "Somebody go get bandages." He pointed in no particular direction and stared at the wound in his shoulder. He had seen wounds before, plenty, and that wasn't what bothered him at all. What bothered him was the intention, the purpose behind it. This was not an accident.

He turned to Ceann, his hands crossing against his chest. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Then again, at least nobody was dead.

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