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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 1:29 am Post subject: Fuselage Playing Thread |
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Playing thread for main beach characters
Posts will begin with the start of the most recent next day.
Last edited by BornToRun on Tue Jul 03, 2007 3:48 am; edited 1 time in total |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 2:32 pm Post subject: (originally posted by Jess) |
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Jessica
Beach/Jungle
Alone (?)
From time to time, she missed the colours of the world.
There could have been a threat, a bludgeoning hammer to strike upon its own force assembled, but to this waking occurrence the only expense given was the loss of dreams, and all things considered, it was a loss she was willing to allow release of. Had they been adorned with themes of pleasantry, the parting would have been more endowed with a sorrow, albeit sweet; knowing that even though she would return to the land of dreaming, the precise situation would not be presented; already lived.
Vivid in her awakened reality, the usurp of a deep breath managed to gather and bring her the intoxication of natures presence. The air was salty; fleeting against her as a warm breeze, wind carried as a stroke. It met with her hair, together creating an airborne dance - the wind leading and the strands of hazel moving with it, full of grace; full of life. Goosebumps rose along her skin; it was not the chill that caused the rise of smooth skin, rather an internal thought in arbitration with the external caisson that bound her soul to a skeleton, restricted her inner being -- feeling more alive than ever.
An implosion of dancing amber colours fired the sky in front of her, whisked red across the moving canvas of sky. The light cascaded from view, on its way here from having alighted the other side of the world - never letting humans forget its superiority. The sun could be resembled to a selfish bully, rising and falling over the world on its own behest to survive the entire world. It warmed her, where she sat resting upon the comfort of a sturdy cot, enjoying the occasional salient sun's presence, a warmth that would fade as darkness replaced the light, only to be reawakened with the rising of the sun the day after. A presence of sunlight looming alone, looking upon the sky, wondering -- were there ever two exact same views of the sky? With clouds moving, stars turning; shifting; could two person's view of the same cerulean wonder ever be adjoined and compared to the same view?
There's two sides to every sky.
Dismissing previous mind-boggles, a memory seeped through veins of her conscious; had this been the other beach and she would have found herself caught up in a boredom of situation, she would most likely venture into the deeps of the jungle; assigning herself with a self-appointed task. Foraging, collecting firewood, water -- all good reasons to squander about in a world of her own. But back on the former camp, she hadn't been offered to this state of injury - assured, minor ones sustained, but none rendering her incapable of major tasks for several days to come - nor this loneliness; finding that the only other person she knew on the camp was simultaneously the last one she wanted to meet.
A sigh; a protest at her own attained state -- she wouldn't last, sitting still. She knew that passing through camp would grant her gaping stares and ogles, a situation she would have been fit to handle, but in the moment lacked will for. A fool to the own mind, convincing herself that she could stay on this lonely end of the beach for more hours in passing; she wouldn't be missed, and no one would ask for her. There lay a comfort in the fact, a revel in this solitude, the fraction in the comfort lying in the knowledge that it would not be everlasting and that soon, she would find herself wishing for company; making excuses. Perhaps then would she find herself walking among the heatwave pits of centered camp, being the recipient of curious stares and wonder alike, but for now, that situation lay resilient and resistant beyond actual actions to take. A sigh drew the extraction from her, a deep released and envapoured; having been allowed space and now, she wanted someone to fill it.
There was Jack of course, the single soul she had been given a meet with; an effect of the circumstances that had landed her here on this cot, this little piece of land with a spectacular view, yet, nothing she hadn't already seen before. But he was a doctor, and from what she understood the only one -- he'd be needed otherwhere.
Comfort lined the decision to remain on the cot, but the ache rapturing through the better of her body told her that anything would be better than this position; a stretch of legs inevitable. With care she sat up - her shoulder protesting at once, creasing a line on her brow - and leant forward, almost feeling that the air held a new lightness instantly; fresh and invigorating. Thankful for the sling holding her left arm in composure, feet shuffled down into the sand, finding it cool in its thankfulness; paying tribute to the shadow. A smile played upon sleep-swollen lips, gentle as a whisper to the wind - coming and going as the playful streaks of sunshine upon the tarp and debris that made out this shelter -- a tinge of hostility meeting her conscious. Who's shelter was this? Stealing glances around upon the space, it held the trade marks of habitation; the suitcases ruffled about, clothes spread in one corner, distinctly male; whoever it was, did he mind her taking up his space now? Was she going to be met by the confrontation of that upon the passing of hours? No, she reasoned. Whoever the shelter belonged to had most likely been informed of her presence. Due to the uncertainty tainting her suspicion, relief spoke with the identity's absence.
Her feet holding her weight, she now rose to her full length; unsteady as she stood straight. With the move of other muscles her shoulder ached and to block it out completely wasn't an option, but she could dismiss most of it for the time being, as long as she concentrated upon other matters. Two steps forward and her feet embedded down into the warm sand, granules spreading between toes; a tickle and massage all in one. Sunlight put a pressure of heat against her skin, familiar waves cursing through her insides; an added warmth without need.
After moments falling into minutes and then moments again; the bathing in entered morning-sun held no comfort to last. Irritant and without rest, she arose yet again -- lapping water against pebbles holding no enduring mesmerizing bait. A gaze up at the rims of jungle, trees flecks to the meeting borders, and thoughts forming - walking in the utmost edges of jungle couldn't be so hazardous, could it now? A glance at her injury, knowing, that her shoulder may have done better with a still-life of her actions, but further knowledge; her mind wouldn't. A scan with her gaze along the edges of beach, finding herself alone and then without thin limitations restricting her progression, her steps gently tumbled her form into the canopies of lush spread out before her -- the brief shadows a blanket against heated skin; cooling her off. Another deep breath in usurp, nostrils filled up with the clinging humidity of deep jungle which she ventured further into by each step. Eccentric within reason, the divulged illusion that she could find comfort yet again within these free trappings of space, outlined by trunks and green vernations; these myriads of viridity's glow embossed into effulgent vegetation ordained by nature.
As the mists still lingered around the fronds she trot amongst, a certain chill bit to her legs; a lingering haze combined with the rays from above; raging waves of lights, now, vapourised. A waste of her time; a waste of energy. But until she found something better to appoint it in, a higher thing to waste it on, this selfish divulging of a questionable solitude in disarray would do. A sting of separation; it would have to, right? |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 2:33 pm Post subject: originally posted by Lauren |
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Shannon
Caves
Boone
Sometimes the transition between sleep and lucidity was so severe that it jerked Shannon between the worlds. But this was a different circumstance entirely; instead a gentle gasp was evoked through the blur of changeover. Shedding her recumbent state, her eyes pierced her surrounds. Clarity was a struggle to grasp, the world limited for breaths of time, the environment stoic in its silence and patient for her attention. Then the crispness, substances gaining edges and the ever-present shadows that liked to obtrude upon an unsuspecting space. The roar of consciousness ripened like a forbidden fruit, lethal and delicious.
Came then that sharp concentration that is only natural; the attempt that rarely succeeded in pulling through the thread of memory from dream to waking reality. A failure, like so much else in her life � an effort without justice. The swirling void that was her dream resembled a hurricane without solidity, a disaster of subconscious � but then, miraculously, she plucked from the mass, the whirlwind, a vein of sensations and sounds: dusty leather, deliciously aromatic like a comforting whisper - and his flesh, experienced and soothing, an assurance in the grating fibers of his skin. Heels scuffed against a stretch of wooden floor, a hand at her hip, the music racing with her heart. A seagull�s melancholy call rang out over the harbour as he secured her hair behind her temple. The sea crushed the rocks. She wished he could see the sunset. ��a ne fait rien.� It does matter. There�s no evolution here.
Scars of a past life, left to erode like a headstone exposed to a cruel saline climate. He�ll never know.
After a quick glance at Boone, she scrubbed the sleep � and, in vain, the dream - from her eyes vigorously. As she pulled her body into a vertical stance she wondered where her inhaler was. Sand was wedged into her pores, affecting everything like an epidemic, even here in the caves, so distant from the beach. How very quiet it was. The breeze was warm and violent as it paraded through the cave�s entrance and the animated sun worked its effulgent charm upon the motes that levitated in the air like miniature angels. Beautiful and yet so crude.
A repetition of the day before, she polished what little dirt there was on her face with the decidedly chilly water that swam its eternal circuit in the musical pond. Dripping solemnly, the water was in no hurry, opposing the wind as it fell in a balanced and relaxed rhythm from her chin. She stared at nothing and mused. Were Kate and Sawyer alarming deities with tales of this abandoned island? Or perhaps they were frolicking in a green pasture, illuminated with a wholesome glow, the field spotted with frilly sheep and polar bears that purred when people got too close. Shannon smirked at the thought.
Rested, yet haunted by her dream, she craved a distraction, preferably something that ventured far from the island�s supposedly civilised population. Her confrontation with Hurley had been more than enough to put her off the other survivors � procrastination very appealing; that conflict could wait. She saw Boone, engrossed still in the adventure of slumber, and approached him quietly through the hollow of the cave. A hand outreached, cupping his firm shoulder and shaking it. �Boone, wake up!� she prodded through a loud whisper. The action spoke of familiarity.
Flashback
Night-time was a breeding ground for nightmares. Real or fantasy, it didn�t matter, they each wreaked the same effect; fear, which she would only admit wholly to one person � herself.
She looked at the basement door, her bare feet placed on the exposed wood of the floorboards. Through the door had been her sanctuary, the one true place in which she had felt safe, protected in the secure and comfortable wrap of Boone�s epic adventure - the princess and her knight. But the asylum was destroyed, a victim to heated flames of destruction, now barely a blackened cusp of ash � gone.
He�d claimed later to Sabrina it had been accidental, but Shannon knew better! Between her screams she�d seen the deliberate aim of the lighter amongst the soft vulnerable toys lining the shelf, the flash of alcohol as he�d yelled boorishly and sluggishly in the dangerously confined space. �You think you kids can hide from me!� The fire had curled and unfurled, spreading like a caustic wave across a beach, gnawing furniture and anything that suited its hungry and vicious palate. Boone had tried to usher her out, but she was a slave to sobs, her ballet barre and miniature studio being eaten as she bashed her tiny fists against the elder's chest in an insubstantial protest. Finally her father had taken her by the hair, a savage grip that tore root from scalp as he�d shoved her up the smoky stairs. The asthma hadn�t struck until the living room. Impatient and in a fervor of rage, he�d taken off, leaving Boone in charge of the fire department and his ten-year-old step-sister who sputtered on the floor.
The orange of the fire and the red of her father�s face had intruded on her sleep, demons designed to provoke and leave a lasting impression. She�d tried to let them rest, though the fright lived on through her, overriding every thought. Vacating the sight of her ruined refuge, she tiptoed into his room, knowing better than to carry heavy steps past her father�s door. This was the only quick fix she had to her availability. �Boone, wake up!� A hiss in his ear as she climbed onto the bed, the request following. �Tell me a story.�
End flashback
She withdrew her hand, noting subconsciously just how much dirt was etched beneath her nails. An idea in place. �Boone, are you coming? I want to show you something.� |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 2:34 pm Post subject: originally posted by OutofPeroxide |
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Ford
Flashback/Beach [Hurley�s Tent]/Jungle
No one/Jessica
[ Flashback ]
There were lights flickering on, a scuffle of feet; then, luminous, piercing rays cracking against his half open eyes. The sound of malfunctioning music somewhere nearby, just barely audible over the incessant beeping.
"Why did you hit him so hard? You were told to knock him unconscious. If he dies, it's going to be your funeral."
Ford recognized the sharp aroma of a hospital. It was the smell of complete cleanliness, doused and scrubbed with antibacterial and all other manner of things that he couldn't think of right now. In fact, he couldn't think of much other than the fact that he was extremely apprehensive, worried beyond belief because of something his creaking mind just would not remind him of. With enormous exertion, he managed to force his eyes all the way open. The back of his head, just above his neck, exploded with pain. Stars detonated in his view, and for a few moments his senses swirled. But then, thankfully, mercifully, it subsided.
What hit him was this wasn't like any hospital he'd ever been in; it was small, and mostly chrome...but the thing that seemed strangest were the four people crowded in the doorway. Two looked as though they'd dressed up for a hobo parade. One man, the oldest of the group, was just pulling off a fake beard; he was obviously the one who had spoke before. He was staring down a normally dressed man who looked as though he might want to sink into the floor. The faux-beard man spoke again.
"Now that Ethan's gone we can't handle surgery."
At this point, the other of the normal-dressed person glanced over at him, making eye contact. She prodded faux-beard in the arm and then pointed a finger at Ford. Ford felt his apprehension growing, but was completely paralyzed there on the bed, unable even to lift a finger. The best he could manage was a flicker of the eyes, a hardening of the features. Ford knew, in this state, he was about as harmful as a kitten. The group moved forward as one, and each side seemed to be studying the other curiously, suspiciously. The man faux-beard had been chastising pushed to the front, an uneasy grin on his face. He fiddled with something beside the bed that was just outside Ford's realm of sight. But then his vision started to darken again, and he had a good idea what was happening. He fought for consciousness and lost miserably, hearing only one last, intelligible thing before he was completely down:
"Le sommeil bien, parce que le matin vous vous souhaiterez était toujours."
[ End Flashback ]
Ford awoke with a start, and his hand flew to the back of his neck, fingers grazing a fresh scar that slashed across there. The skin was healed over, but still tender to the touch, as if a small bruise still remained. With a few deep, trembling breaths he managed to calm himself, and nearly convince his scrambling mind that it had just been a strange dream, and the scar was a bizarre coincidence. If he had been wandering around in the jungle with amnesia for the last few days, there was a very good chance that he fell down and cut himself, or something else to that extent. If there was one thing he learned from over three years spent in the hospital, anxiety did strange things to people mentally and physically; there was no accounting for it, and docs tended to avoid stressful situations for their recovering patients. Encumbered healing, or something.
Now, he was feeling considerably calmer, so Ford had the opportunity to realize that physically the sleep had improved his state tenfold. The soaring vertigo no longer killed his concentration, and standing and walking seemed like they were well into the realm of possibility. A glance out the blowing tarp revealed an empty beach and a horizon drenched in sunrise. It was comforting to know that his sleeping patterns hadn't shifted with the amnesia. Even the amnesia itself felt looser, shaken by the strength of deep sleep. Memories were no longer just a blackened space, but gesture-drawings of grey people he couldn't recognize; it was entirely impossible that they weren't remembrances at all, and entirely a fabrication of something else. For now, he wasn't going to fight with it; already, the aching restlessness was sinking into his skin, and he had to get up and do something.
As he stood, he ran a hand over his shirt, a half-hearted and half-minded attempt at shaking loose the granules that had lodged themselves in the folds of cloth. It wasn't until then that he noticed the pattern that ran rampant across it, a loud statement of Hawaiian oranges and palm trees, lined against a crashing ocean. Ford couldn't help but to manage a tired grin at it, knowing full well that this was the first Hawaiian shirt he had ever worn...and it would probably be the last. Reaching for the water bottle Hurley had given him the night before, Ford exited into the freshly-minted sunshine. He didn't know how things were run here, what people did or what they needed, but he did not want to feel entirely useless. Outside, he felt even better; the dream seemed farther away now that the ocean stretched out before him. He studied it for a moment, enjoyed it, and then took a swig from the water bottle and started for the jungle. If nothing else, he could start collecting fire wood and then just place whatever he collected near a fire pit.
Carefully, he stepped into the trees, the coolness of the shade, and strayed almost immediately from the worn path, which had obviously been picked over many, many times. It was then, suddenly, that he realized he didn't have his backpack. The loss of those cheap suitcases he could take without a second thought - but that pack...He pushed the thought aside. There was nothing much he could do about that now. He pulled the first dry stick off the ground, and committed himself to the task.
A half hour later, he was weighed down with the pile he'd managed to hold, though it wasn't much considering he didn't have anything but his arms to hold the collection; it was piled high enough that he could just barely see over it. Ford had gotten pretty far from the path, but could recall which way to go to get back to it. He broke into the clear of it some ten minutes from the beach, and upon rounding a turn found that another was sharing the trail. He stepped to the side, out of her way, and said cheerfully, "Mornin'." |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 2:35 pm Post subject: originally posted by Jess |
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Jessica
Jungle
No one/Ford
The jungle breathed the scent of heavy nature, spurred on by the flush of daybreak sprouting through the canopies above. A light that never slept; alike the night kindling the stars. An eerie transcendence, yet such a natural occurring that it found inability in drawing a second breath from walking species, merely a background to the events upon earth's soil; forgotten, echoing to its own reply. Displays of wonders, rare beauty in wildlife spreading throughout the thickness of clinging desperado – mourning; it constantly tried to let people remember.
For her, it felt like one of those mornings that would last all afternoon, rendering its captivated hostages helpless to this affect of gloom; stuck inside. A lonesome melody had been hers to play, but at this stage she felt the refrains last verse grow thin, raspy and frail and sung too many times. Solitude only left an empty longing for a void to be filled; a void that resounded back its suffering and with a push of breath, she broke out from the random paths of unsteady soil, slippery and treacherous so soon after the previous rain; a territory affected and marked. A path laid strewn out before her, worn down by human heels and with the lack of knowledge to pinpoint herself to a location, with the path seemingly her best chance to get back to camp. Not that she had any particular good reason to – the doctor, Jack, he could wait to check up on her. But only a night had passed, there would be a severe limit to how much he could affect, considering; almost nothing. Or, with an inward amusement, that was just a wishful thought so she could be left alone. She'd take any excuse she could think of.
Irony peaking; the lonely solitude gnawing her insides thin, yet, all the company she could be offered held no comfort, not with everyone being strangers. On the other beach, they had all been more or less forced to share knowledge about each other - it helped cooperation, and in the end, for all of them to survive - but to do it all over again? She knew she had to, but not now. Pushed aside, it would have to wait.
With a flat ground her knowledge of in which direction she was heading was just a lure, an illusion she tried tying together ends of. Thoughts unraveling, locking her to her mind, eyes fell to the path and let it pass like a band underneath her, occasionally tipping her head upwards. Cascading, thoughts drenched her attention and nature was forgotten around her, shoved into a background that on occasion looked in motion; a fool to the mind of motion. Outward sounds were dulled encumbered into the might of a mind's lock, still there but faded, as if someone had pushed a mute button on waking life itself.
Otherwise, she might have heard the crack of wood underneath someone's feet. It wouldn't have passed by unnoticed like this, wouldn't have caused a presence to approach without notice, wouldn't have caused a reaction, wouldn't have caused her to lift her head, eyes fixed on a figure slightly hidden behind a pile of wood in arms --
"Mornin'."
The accent was half the thing.
A tug on her heart; a clench to her emotion. The cheer pushing on a voice deep and clear, cutting her deep, ringing with truism and with a comfortable familiarity that evoked and teased memories – cracked wood or not, she wouldn't have missed this for any other event catching reality. Globes raised their attribution and increased, pupils reducing into dots fixating the wonder in center and the brown irises surrounding them suddenly aflame; specks shining as if flecked by golden rays; reflecting what shone through within, this honesty of emotion without denial – no pale reflection, alike a new horizon within; a real thing.
His movement startled her, as if the action proved that which she had been unsure of; that he was actually real. Not the ghost of a figure, not a descendant spirit of the past coming back to mock her, he wasn't something that would disperse into thin air if she opened and closed her eyes. But her heart slowly followed that latter theory; pulse quickening, heart beating with an increased speed in her chest, taking a control of the breath caught in her throat; producing ragged gasps; reality never having felt so reanimated.
In the essence of moment, scents came rushing back to her; flitting against her face. The smell of wet tarpaulin after rain; a smell of freshly picked fruit, savoury with the dew of morning; scents of adrenaline and rush in mix in a flight from a hasty chase; the iron-stench reeking off pools of blood; a taste of fresh droplets against her mouth, replaced by the pressing of flesh against flesh, a devour in the meeting – a failing hidden desire revealed to the open, consumed by fire, spurted on by the rise of feeling's fuel. In the here and now, she choked on the name she knew so well; caught and stolen in her throat and the effort to push it out divided lips and let emptiness out; a nothing. Wanting to shout his name, all syllables and ability to speak and utter words seemed caught inside; other feelings erupting entirely; a wave that instead of dousing fires ignited them.
A whisk of air caused a sudden implosion in her lungs -- images hitting her vision with the same force she had once hit the man before her. Exploding to her vision like the flashlights of a camera, illuminating her entirety.
[Flashes]
A striking punch. "Flamin --" Then; an excuse. "God, I'm sorry! I didn't... I'm really sorry." Continuation; a remedy for the apology. "No worries. Keep me on my toes." -- First hit. Laughter with bodies swallowed into the ocean. "You walloped me. Once again." Amusement, replies of pleasantry. "I did, didn't I?" -- First race. A shout rising above the adrenaline. "Ford!" A rush that came with the whirlwind of running motion. "Go! Go! GO!" -- First escape. A question drenched in the evidence of crimson blood. "Are you okay?" A reply, stirred from the events. "Thanks. But are you?" -- First murder. Gratitude finding its way into words. "Thank for sticking up for me earlier." Striped in vision, yet true and warm. "You would have done the same. For me." -- First admittance.
Kissing goodbye to reason lacked words.
First contact.
Rapid hope loss had only held a scream; a desperate call knowing it would fall without an echo to catch it.
The very last loss.
A worn cliché, but nothing stemmed more true right now; it seemed that the world had stopped its revolving turning, excusing her for this moment. All the former dithering around they had succumbed themselves in was either fading away or finally coming together; a matter of choice. Ill equipped to make one in he current state, she pushed the thoughts away, took in the appearance of the man before her -- Ford. Unique; him. Ever without a brand. Had it been 5 days since he had been taken? Then how came it that it felt like weeks, weeks upon months?
But she shouldn't have been requested to estimate time in the moment. For her, it felt as if minutes had passed in the very lingering of suspension in motion lacking, but in reality, seconds turned into prolonged moments, though devoid of multiple minutes. Breath lay forgotten around the corner of this entered existence, this pause in emotional coursing, waiting for realization to kick in, finding it unbelievable that it could ever do so --
Then she feel it again, a little tug... a little pull on her heart.
It reminded her to breathe. It reminded her to live, and of the life standing in front of her; returned.
A myriad of rushing questions formed in her mind, all fighting for supremacy and survival -- how long had he been here? Was he alright? Why was he wearing such a hideous shirt? Had he been here all along? Why the firewood -- realizing, causing the reunion of lips and breath; this was how they had once first met. Torn apart, reunited; with the sun rising upon them. It was events like these that drew morning from dawn.
But a black cloud obscured any future promises on the outlay; his statement. As shock was emanating from her, nothing beyond surprise had been uttered from his form, his versatile face with dancing eyes that spoke of a thousand secrets – god, he was so beautiful. It worried her then; she wanted to rush into his arms and never stop holding on until he assured her he'd never let go, ever again. What had changed? Had he-- better to ask him.
Before syllables came, she found herself scared; as if her speaking would break this spell cast upon her; that the bubble would burst and all left would be empty trees and flat leaves; each their own but assured to belong. Logical reasoning having no part, yet her words came off as sane.
Starting as a whisper, hesitant but with the hint of a wish. "Ford?" His name; wishing for reaction. Any kind.
A curse of breath against herself, yet, eyes didn't dare to adjoin and limit her vision, still convinced that the only thing keeping her from leaping into his arms was the pile he held alike a wall between them. Had his embrace been open, she would have fitted herself into it. Hold on to me and never let me go. But... what if he would push her away? Why would he? Self doubt and inner conflicts on the mounting, a step forward marked the first real movement since he had entered her path; literally walked into her life again, soon followed by another. Like a dreamboat sailing through her head; his breath the mist of a still sea in the midst of sunrise. Touching, reaching out -- she was walking through the clouds where different shades of transparent white and grey met.
Observing; his appearance still a splendor; smooth skin draped over cheekbones adorned with light scruff, eyes resembling the ocean's calm after a wracking storm, russet locks that clung heavy to his forehead, curls long; obscuring the differences between the tame and wild -- he needed a haircut. Nails digging into the deep of her palms; it was all she could do to keep herself from reaching out to touch him. For a moment she even considered striking him again, just to get into his arms.
Filled with doubt, only in a dream could she wish for a complete essence and absence of it, a quiver shook her voice; a swallow once again coating it, the lighter flecks in her eyes dancing with worry, unable to shake these rising of feelings within; this banging of her heart against her ribcage, desiring to be free and received – forcing a calm upon herself. Time had been manipulated; a force of the world without substitute. They had already lost so much time.
"You... you were gone." Her voice trembled; shook.
The disbelief could only be natural. She feared that what she hoped for was too good to be true. |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 2:36 pm Post subject: |
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(shit, let's see if i remember how to do this lol)
Nikkos/Mia
Pearl Station
Each Other
He awoke quickly, his entire body tensing and pushing him halfway off his chair before he realized that his eyes were open. One of those rude segways between the lull of dreams and the harshness of reality that lasted far too briefly. By the time Nikkos caught his bearings Mia was already staring at him strangly. Not startled, just calmly amused. He noticed the red circles around her eyes even in the dimly cast light around them.
Leaning over and raking one hand through his thick hair, he spoke to her without looking up. "How long have you been up watching those things?"
She spun back around, pivoting until she was facing away from him and back at the objects of her curiousity. "Since you slept."
Nikkos stood, walking the short distance of the room so that he was directly behind her. He stared up at the screens splayed out before her, each miniature television screen flashing to another empty room, another mystery stretched out. They hadn't had too much trouble opening the grate that led into this place, Mia slowly them a bit on her downwards decent as she attempted the ladder. Neither of them had any idea what they were going to find below them, and both were equally surprised at what they actually did discover.
It was a room, no bigger then your average apartment's living area. Barely furnished, it had a worn couch and chair in one corner and two chairs set up on it's other end. The marvel of the room was the wall of television screens, clicking between phantom pictures. The marvel was the dull hum of electricity that ran through the place, something that seemed almost foreign to Nikkos after being so long on the island. Behind them an old dot matrix printer clicked out line after line of unindentifiable information. Nikkos had spent a few hours at first trying to place what they could have meant, but Mia had immediately planted herself in front of the screens.
The first big discovery came when they discovered that not all of the rooms were empty. They were mindlessly watching as the unoccupied rooms clicked past their vision until Mia shot up and pointed out to the screen. She hit a button, pausing the frame, hurriedly realizing that she didn't recognize any of the people in it. Nikkos pointed out quickly after that he didn't either, that none of them were on in their group as far as he knew. Then a face jumped out at him, a blonde woman with large eyes that he knew he had seen before. Stretching his brain to realize where he knew her from, he figured that he had run into her as he exited the plane bathroom months before. Which brought him to the conclusion that the people in the frame must have been from the tail section, that somehow they had lived through the crash just as he had.
"That means you've been watching since I've fallen to sleep."
She nodded absently, lost in her viewing of the mock world that was unfolding before her. "I gave some of them names."
He looked down at her, a little concerned at the lack of emotion in her voice. She had been completely tranfixed since first arriving there. As he pondered out loud about what finding the room could have meant, she just watched silently. He questioned a million theories--if this meant rescue, if this meant other people were on the island controlling these rooms, if they were closer to civilization then they had previously thought, if the things they were watching were even happening on this island or if they were somewhere else completely. She didn't give him a yes or no either way as he rambled on, simply unhealthily watched over the barrage of images as if some sort of answer was going to jump out at her from them.
"I am sure they all have names, Mia," he said, as gentle as he could manage. He cautiously set his hands against her shoulders. "Names we will find out when we meet them. We have to get out of here and tell the others that the Tail Section survived. They have to know what we've found here."
She spun around, finally snapping her eyes away from the televisions. "You want to leave?"
The tone was sharper then he had expected, she didn't seem ready to go. As if the entire place had grabbed some sort of hold over her. "You do not want to go?"
"There's still more to see here. I've figured out where they are, the other stations."
"How? How could you have?"
She reached down, reaching for a piece of paper. It had numbers all over it, hand written. The age of the paper told him she hadn't written it. He opened his mouth to ask her where she had found the paper, but she was already speaking again.
"They're longitudes and latitudes. See how each one has a symbol next to it? This one has a pearl, just like the one we saw when we came in. This other one has a swan on it, just like I saw in the room with all the guns. Each of these are the exact location of another station just like this one." She grabbed something else off the table, a circular item, and shook it in the air. Nikkos recognized it as a film reel. "I found this, too."
"Mia, what on this planet is that?"
"It's our orientation. Do you want to see? I've already watched it three times in there." She pointed to the door behind him. "Past the bathroom there is a film projector. It took me a little while to figure it out, but my dad used to have a projection screen in our theatre room. It wasn't exactly an advanced screening of Titanic, but I'm not exactly a 14 year old kid either. I got it working."
"I don't understand."
She held the tape out to him. "You will. You will understand once you see this."
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 2:37 pm Post subject: originally posted by OutofPeroxide |
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Ford
Jungle
Jessica
Ford had continued to walk for a few seconds after giving his short hello, but his momentum paused, hanging on an unrelenting gaze. His expectation had been a salutation from her side, possibly even silence, a nod of the head - but regular expectations here never seemed to float to the surface. Instead, she stopped dead in her tracks, her wide, doleful eyes flashing. It was a stare that he met with first a short uncertainty, then a curious suspense. His mind stirred, but then drew itself back up, allowing only a crack of information to spill through. He recognized her, but it equated as someone he would met only once, her face printed on his memory because of some pithy quote, or a fresh, unforgettable look. A shared experience, then never to speak again...that was her face, but then, it wasn't. It struck him that he never felt the need to shrink away from her, ask what she was doing, or to even interrupt her frantic searching.
Because that was what she was doing - she was searching. Her eyes begged to find something that he knew he wasn't understanding, wasn't grasping. But he should have been. If there was just a second more of information, he knew he'd understand. Everything would come together; it was like an upside-down puzzle. There was no picture, not until the last piece was in place, but then the picture was revealed, completely free. There was something so fragile about the way she stepped forward, something so comforting and beautiful. It relieved him, somehow; the air was easier to breathe, like some weight had been lifted up and away. There was nothing to put into words, though he wished for the right amount of articulation to tell her so. Ford picked at and pulled apart, finding one solid fact - he'd missed her. Desperately, though it wasn't possible, wasn't probable. There was nothing so baffling. He didn't study her as she studied him; instead, it was more like a watching. Ford watched her watch him, and found it utterly assuaging. To pause it all right here would be okay, he decided. Just pause it all right now.
The four words that tumbled, disbelieving, from her shot things back to reality. Ford tightened his grip on the fire wood, and shifted from one foot to the other, now infused with certain uneasiness. She wanted ? needed, even ? something more than an answer to that question. And she deserved it, too. But what it was...Ford did not know. He wanted to know. Disappointing her would destroy his day.
It would destroy his day.
"I was?" He began with the same uncertainty that he was feeling, but then tightened it up. "I was," it wasn't good enough. The seconds of silence seemed to stretch on into infinity. He suddenly felt foolish for all this speculating and guessing, when he wasn't even sure of her name. It was obvious that they'd met someplace; he was probably reading too far into her actions. There was nothing that Ford could go on that justified the oddness of this meeting, excluding her fierce gaze. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe she was crazy. How could he know for sure? Stranger things had happened. Ford unfurled a short laugh in attempts to fill up the space. He didn't exactly want to come straight out and say that he didn't really remember who she was, because that aired on the side of rudeness, but he was unaware of another way to go about it. It would just come out eventually, anyway. Still, there was that nagging in the back of his mind - think, think, think.
There it is. Triumphantly, he sunk his hands into the memory. "I sat next to you. On the plane, meanin'." But as soon as it was released from his throat, he knew that was wrong. Now he did pull away, immersed in his own fight. Let go! Let me remember! But he couldn't, and traces of apologies could be found in the creases of his expression. "I don't remember." |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 9:52 pm Post subject: originally posted by jess |
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Jessica
Jungle
Ford
This waiting, this exasperated anticipation drew the innermost workings out to the surface, making worry protrude and seep through layers like pushing droplets of perspiration throughout skin. It was there, too, but right now felt more like an added chill than anything else, but granted, that may just have been a confusion in the turmoil her emotions dragged themselves through; a churn in the tumble. There was no sense to find in the wracking of inner waves, no luke still upon these crashings, eroding highs of liquefied emotions searching for shore; lost in the havoc.
Swimming against the current, she broke through the surface of realization gasping for a response from him; a breath to her tilted existence. Oxygen entered into her system when she remembered to breathe, breaths pushed away as a need shoved to the side, her every found need standing in front of her now; dipped in a situation without foreseeing. The hesitance obstructing the continuing path like a layer cut down like a hinge in the events unrolling; a shadowy cloth to be removed. If all she could do was lift the veil from his eyes, she would, find out why he kept waiting, hesitating, building a suspense she couldn't fully understand --
"I was?"
As clear as the moons reflection on a silver plate, like a lightning bolt ripping apart an empty sky, it struck her -- he didn't remember.
A second passed, and he said something more. Something that might indicate that some information of substance had broken through, a coin falling into the slot. But the faint shadow of recognition came and went like how the shadow and light played with ghosts upon his face, and she found herself unable to tear her face away; mesmerized and captivated. His struggle wrote lines of confusion upon his face and she found herself patiently waiting, letting each heartbeat subside before she dared hope for another, it held her tongue and kept the muscle slack; anticipating. A chuckle broke the air of silence between them, now not only she, but both searching. She didn't know where to begin and Ford, it seemed, didn't know what to begin with -- matching each other, yet, feeling distanced. But there could be no denying to the connection alighted.
Another brightness in his face, eyes shining up and calling out to her – as if she had ever been able to take them off him. "I sat next to you. On the plane, meanin'." A relief; a tragedy, both in a single one reaction, the first pulling at the corners of her mouth for a smile she welcomed beyond knowledge, lower current seeping through. She'd been saving so many smiles for him without even knowing it. The tragedy to the confession stirred into the next concoction in emotion, a flavour leaving her with an acerbic taste in her mouth, burning at the back of her tongue as well as sending a chill down her spine -- he really didn't remember. Nothing of the greatest importance; what had once given her a reason to survive, and now, giving her a reason for further survival; for both of them. Then he tumbled a step backwards, creeping inwards, and she followed him; closing in as expressions grew and rested upon his face, shifting his entire exposure to a vulnerable position in front of her, yet he seemed unwilling to draw away. JJ understood then, lips adjoining in a swallow, knew that he was trying to swim through the dark depths of memory-ocean, and from the worry mutating his appearance, he was fighting against the waves. "I don't remember." Only confirming what she already knew, a mild surprise; how could she have known so easily? How come his emotions reflected off on her, making her feel his exasperation of straining to catch things just out of reach; a tease of the pivotal piece of information. But it went so beyond just simple information, and if he couldn't think of it, maybe he could feel it.
"But... I remember you." Maybe that was enough. Perhaps it would have to be.
She stretched her healthy arm out in front of herself, slowly picking the top pieces of wood away; each removed slowly, with her eyes shifting from the steady pieces of wood into the whiskey-hazed wonder of his eyes. Deep, with every meaning found; where she had once found them unsettling to gaze into - because of what they stirred inside her - now she couldn't tear herself from them. Couldn't tear them apart. Couldn't touch them.
Her hands shook. Every single finger trembled, twitched and stirred -- she felt the same inside. Piles of wood uncovered, leaving but a few, restricting her reach was no longer an option - unless ruled out. Their eyes locked; her heart asking for permission. The air around them seemed still for this very moment, allowing a treasure to be caught and encased; fleety sensations gone, if just for a moment. Excused to the rest of the world, the wind seemed to get caught and held by nature's grasp, put into row; waiting."I just--" need to do this. Another second passed and the excuse fell into worth, the leather of gentle fingers stroking against the slight stubble on his cheek; drawing a lazy finger along the sharp cheekbone, thumbs pressing on the cushioning of a lower lip; intense and soft. Her eyes fell close, just for a moment; overridden by emotion.
His skin... his skin still felt the same now as it had done pressed down into soil next to a rushing spring; pressed into each other.
It still felt the same.
Parting lids again, her return gave her no steadiness. And she didn't want it either, not when she could revel and live in this reel of fallen hopes rising into the air like animosities turned without malevolence into tangible material, not when he felt so close, not when she didn't want to let go— "I thought... I'd lost you." But he was right here. No longer a ghost attained into memory, placed into spaces where he would have to fit; here, he could do whatever he wished... provided he remembered. A question she had asked herself before; why him?
Then something tumbled within her. A quake of sharpness shooting throughout her shoulder, knocking her backwards and away from Ford; every nerve receptor aflame. Piercing; a white light flashed in front of her eyes, forcing them shut and a translucence to remain on her retina, as if the light wouldn't fade just yet. A scream erupted and wanted to be found throughout her throat, but quenched on the mounting it came out as a gasp, her left hand going to the shoulder; a dizziness spreading and hugging her every fiber - her eyes shot up into his; a desperate cry without words - the weakness of her stomach doubling her over, but never bowing down; otherwise taken over. A release of breath, her mind locking itself down, objects around her losing their sharp edge - not now - focus gone, her own weight feeling shifted and also gone - please not now - her knees releasing the strength; her whole world falling away.
Falling, knees giving rest to the weight of body. Tumbling...
Gone out of conscious, into pain. Her time to be sorry. |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 21, 2006 9:53 pm Post subject: joint IM post between amy (locke) and erin (mike) |
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Michael/Locke
The Hatch
Each Other
Michael:
Michael spent all night thinking about that plane, trying to make his mind wrap around every little mechanism in it. How far gone the controls could have been, if even Sayid would have been able to piece them together to get the thing running. Or potentially get it's radio up so they could call for help--it must have had more range then the damned walkie talkies they kept walking around with in vain.
The quicker the hours passed, the quicker night became day, the more Mike realized that Locke was absolutely right. There was no way in hell they were gonna be able to use that plane to get them off the island. Which led him right back to where he was before they found it, hoping like hell that hatch they had found in the ground was his ticket out. After all, since the raft was gone--it was his only way hope at finding a way out of this place.
He shifted over, watching Walt sleep soundlessly. The kid had told him, when Mike desperately tried for conversation on the plane, that he always slept in really late. And even on the island that had proved to be true. If Mike hurried up, he could get to the explosives they found and back to the hatch before Walt even woke up. Besides, even if he did, Claire was always right next to them and willing to watch over Walt for a while. He had bonded quick with Aaron, and had fun playing with the baby for hours.
So he headed out quickly, cautiously walking through the jungles back towards the hatch with the explosives in hand. Hoping against high hell that no one saw him and questioned what it was that he was
carrying. They were far too close now. Far too close to ripping that thing open and finding out what it held inside. His feet were steady and he found his way without incident.
For an hour Mike didn't work at all, simply stared at the exposed patch of metal before him. Tried to figure out where it had it's structural flaws, where it would be best to set the charges. He had just begun to lay a line out, using dry rope from inside of Mia's plane, when he heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind him. He swung around, not even slightly prepared to explain himself to any of the other castaways when they saw what he was doing.
Locke:
It came as no surprise to John when sleep would not come to him; it forgot him, it left him for the other inhabitants of the Island while he lay with his hands tucked behind his head, thinking of nothing but the Hatch. It did not surprise him simply because Locke hadn’t been able to sleep since the moment he had laid eyes on the metal shaft – its glorious mystery shrouded his mind until the fog of curiosity stirred him awake in the night. He rolled onto his side and released a sigh of discontent, itching to get off his cot and walk to the mouth of the jungle: just looking into the green foliage made him feel better, just stretching his legs made him feel useful.
On cue, the hunter spotted Michael silently entering the jungle, seriousness imprinted on his face, clear determination apparent. Twisting his body so he rested his head on his right hand, Locke frowned in concentration, before sitting up and lacing his shoes. He would hang back for five minutes or so, just in case Michael was moving at a slow pace, then follow his trail. Michael had awoken early, he was unsuspecting that anyone would follow him; his footsteps would be messy, it would betray his destination.
The temperature of the jungle was cool, the sun not yet burning over his head. It came as no surprise to John when his friend revisited Mia’s plane; it made him feel better knowing he was not the only one who tossed and turned at night thinking about it.
The briefcase of explosives was ferried by the artist’s hands to the Hatch, where Michael remained staring at it for what seemed like half a lifetime. Deciding to approach Mike, Locke stepped into the open ground where the Hatch lay seemingly dormant and coughed softly.
“What are you doing, Michael?”
Michael:
His face instantly spread into a grin when he saw the hunter before him, sure Locke would be pleased with his initiative. After all, John had been desperate to get the hatch open, and now they were just moments away from achieving his goal. He held out his arms open at their full width, nodding his head a little bit towards the direction of the ropes.
"I figured it out, man. I know how we can use the explosives to crack this baby sky high. We're gonna be inside before the day is over." Mike jumped deftly over a rock, moving closer to Locke. He pointed as he spoke, trying his best to explain to him what it was he had been doing. "The explosives are liquid, which means that a wick isn't gonna set anything off unless we get the initial blast to spark at just the perfect spot."
He pointed again. "See, there and there? Where the hull is low and round? We hit there and the spark will send the flame over to there." He pointed again, this time to the top of the structure, where Locke had initially found it staring back at him through the ground. "Now a few more drops of the chemicals there? And the top will pop right off, like a soda bottle you shake too much. All I gotta do is make sure i'm reeeeeal careful with these chemicals before I set off the first charge." He looked back to him, hoping for some signs of approval on the older man's face.
Locke:
Locke sniffed the air absent mindedly, and kicked the dirt with his heel, nodding his head at Michael. It hadn’t completely surprised him to see Michael here; he wanted to get off this Island, he wanted to protect his son. While parental instinct wasn’t wrong in any way, it sometimes meant that others safety had to be compromised. If Michael thought this was the best way to get Walt to safety, it may not mean that it was the safest way for all of them.
“Well Michael, it seems you’ve put thought into this.” He said, looking to the man and to the Hatch again. A moment passed that felt like a month, in which time the tension radiated from the shaft, tempting Locke to whatever lay beneath it, clouding his judgment a second. He wanted to crack this mystery now, he needed to discover what lay inside; it was his mission, his goal, his destiny.
“I need to get into this Hatch, Mike” Locke said, almost in a whisper, his eyes wide with wonder and raw passion, disregarding his previous thought to Mike and Walt and acting on his impulse to get into that Hatch as soon as possible.. “If you’re telling me that you can make use of these explosives, then we’ll start right away.”
A smile flickered upon his face, disappeared, replaced then by a more manic grin. “What do I need to do?”
Michael:
It was no secret that what they were doing was risky. Beyond risky considering that in all of his days in construction, Mike had never seen a chemical explosive that could survive a plan crash without denonating. That might have meant a promise of more stability, or it might have meant that the chemicals just had a different trigger that was completely foreign to him. For all he knew, one drop of that stuff was enough to level half of the island, and the people in it. He was grateful again that no one was near them, that the hatch was at least far away from the caves. Even more importantly, far away from the beach where his son now slept.
Walt was exactly the reason why they had to take this risk, though. Every day that passed moved them farther away from getting rescued. Thoughts of passing planes were long gone from any of the survivors memories. Even the bleak hope of using Mia's plane to some good use was gone entirely almost hours from when it first crash landed. And even Mike was unwilling to go through all the hard effort of creating another raft. So that meant this hatch was his only hope. This utter and complete mystery that John Locke had put so much faith into was now the only hope they had. Something, something inside of that thing had to be their ticket out of there. Otherwise....otherwise, they might just be doomed.
Mike rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Well, right now I'm just waiting to double check my lines. So what you can do? We want this to work? You can pray, man. Pray."
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Fri Sep 22, 2006 10:21 pm Post subject: |
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Mia
Pearl/Jungle
Alone
Flashback
The Supra rolled forward with one door flung open behind Mia as she raced down her driveway. A few moments later and there would be a soft crunch of metal as the car hit, but Mia was already rushing into her opulent mansion so fast it seemed like her feet actually managed to leave the ground. Overtly tall heels clicked hurriedly on marble as she darted from front parlor to kitchen to viewing room to a skidded stop in front of her father's office.
"I don't care, we are talking about human lives here. Your experiments are going too far, and this virus is just going to-"
Mia's father had gone through a lot of transitions during his extensive career. He began in his twenties as one of the rowdiest punk rock stars to ever trash a hotel. By the time he reached forty he was more the activist type that protested against trashing the enviroment. Through that time he had made powerful friends from Bono to Mandela. Of course not all of them were as innocent and peace loving--some were desperate money grabbing tycoons posing as the good guy.
Mia stood with uncharacteristic patience, something she only reserved to use in her parent's presence. She held her perfectly tanned arms behind her back, piece of paper gripped tightly between her hands and eyes cast downward as she watied. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, almost automaticlly blocking out her father's telephone conversation as she had learned to do years before.
He finally noticed her. Not necessarily looked up at her, since he had actually be staring in her general direction the entire time since she had arrived. Simply noticed that his only daughter had actually entered the room. Without anything more then a blink of recognition, he went back to talking--except now he bothered to turn his back to her.
Mia heard footsteps approaching, light and quick--signaling her mother's arrival. No one on earth moved as quickly as she did, no one walked as if they had a million desperately important things to do when they never actually did. She spun around, ignoring her father ignoring her, to catch up with her mother.
Which is what she was forced to do, since even when she saw Mia approaching she didn't slow down at all. Mia held out the piece of paper, an eager grin spread wide across her face. She waved the paper a little bit, almost tripping over her own feet as attempted to speak as she walked.
"Mom! I got the campaign! I'm going to be headline at the Badgley Mischka show during fashion week! And they want me to do eight print ads. Vogue, Cosmo, Teen Vouge, I'm going to be in them all! Can you believe? My first big con-"
Her mother stopped abruptly, cutting her off with a literal chopping motion with her hand through the air. "Stop! Mia, just stop." Mia stepped back a little bit without realizing it, shocked by her mother's barking tone. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to continue speaking, even if she knew what to say. Fortunately, she didn't have to say anything. "If you think I'm going to take five seconds out of my day to cater to congratulating you on your latest whim? You are mistaken, little girl. I don't have time to waste on your desperate need to look pretty to the masses."
Mia's mouth opened a little as she pushed for some form of a response. Some witty retort, some words in her own defense. Staring into her mother's cold, glassy blue gaze--nothing managed to make it's way out. She was accustomed to getting torn down by the woman--but that was when she wasn't doing good enough. This time she had been good enough, she was going to make her own money. Make her own way.
Finally her voice escaped, a little less then a squeak. "I made it."
Her mother rolled her eyes with enough exaggeration to make a Spanish novella actress jealous. "Mia, the only thing you've ever made is massive credit card bills. Now why don't you go do what you best and shop for something tacky and unnecessary."
Her arm faltered a little bit, the paper dropping limply at her side. Her mother was gone before the conversation could have continued. More pivoting on a foot then turning around, she dismissed her mother's words as well as she could and turned to focus again on her father. A feat not too difficult considering he was yelling so loud he bordered warranting echos across the cavernous front entrance to the home.
"Alvar, I will not discuss this any more with you! I am done with your criminalities and your dangerous practices--once and for all."
The conversation ended with a shattering of glass, and when Mia peeked her head into the room the first thing she noticed was one of her father's fabrege eggs splintered into pieces across their rug. His Blackberry was inches from the destruction, the short antenna atop it hanging as a mess of broken wire. Even from his silhouette he looked deflated, ready to fall apart at the seams.
This time around, he seemed to feel her silent presence in the room. He turned to look at her, his long platinum silver earring in one ear catching light to contradict the well-mannered businessman attire he so desperately tried to veil himself in. One hand brushed nervously through his graying long locks, getting trapped halfway through it's journey more from sheer force then knots.
"You needed something." It wasn't a question.
"I wanted to tell you. I've gotten a contract. I'm going to model for Badgley Mischka, wear the bridal gown at Fashion Week." She didn't lift up the paper, any excitement she might have been displaying earlier gone completely.
He reached into his cigar box. Slowly turning it in his hand, deftly chopping the end off before staring at it for a moment. There was no response, his eyes far away and lost before he gave her any sort of answer.
"Don't screw this up. Our faces will be plastered all over every magazine from here to bleedin Japan." He stuck the cigar in his mouth finally and looked up at her blankly. "Now why don't you head to Rodeo and celebrate? I'm going to need the house for some business affairs."
She nodded dutifully, eyes cast downward like a punished puppy. Mia turned away from her family, slowly naming off designers in her head until any thought of her parent was replaced by those of labels.
Another slow click and she was back at the Swan. Besides the Staff, which was the one swarming with people she didn't recognize--the Swan was one of the most elaborate of the rooms she was monitoring. It had a shower room that connected to a living area, a weapons conclave, and finally rounded off with a large domed room that sheltered an ancient looking computer. Since it had so many rooms and no activity she had seen, she hadn't paid much attention to it since arriving.
Until now.
"Someone's in there," she muttered softly to herself. Nikkos was still watching the orientation tape in the adjoining room.
Already familiar with the controls of the viewing screens before her, she twisted a knob to move her view in closer. Sure enough, there was a man walking about in the main living area of the Swan. She couldn't see much more then long, dark hair--but she was pretty sure he wasn't anyone she had recognized from who she had met on the island so far.
Suddenly the man braced himself as if jolted, his eyes cast heavenward. Mia slid back in her chair a little, his eyes now cast almost exactly at the camera she was watching him from. Except there was no way that was possible, and in seconds he was moving. He headed swiftly to the room with all of the arms, reaching for one of the rifles hung on the wall. With as much speed as he was possessing, Mia clicked the camera to an outdoor view above the station he was located in.
Which was when she saw it, someone she did recognize from her short time on the island. It was Locke, the man who helped her with her leg--and he was standing with a black man she was pretty sure someone had referred to as Mike. Mike had something in his hands and Locke was stringing out some sort of rope over a large metal structure. A thick pit formed in her stomach as she realized what it looked like they were doing, and what it the man inside the structure was doing.
A hand moved to her mouth. "Oh, god....he's going to shoot them." She got up off the chair finally, moving as fast as her feet could take her to the ladder up towards the surface. Her head spun at the thought that she would be too late to prevent anything. "I have to stop this."
She climbed the ladder, Nikkos not even realizing she had left until he heard the thick slam of the door that led to the jungle.
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Fri Sep 22, 2006 11:26 pm Post subject: |
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Michael
Hatch
Locke
The first moment he really realized he was a father was long before Walt was even born. The first moment he realized he was a father it felt like De La Hoya had just socked him in the gut with a prize winning punch. It was the scariest and greatest moment of his life. That moment he swore that he would do anything in his power to keep his child safe and happy.
He broke his own promise to himself. He let Walt slip through his fingers, go halfway across the world to grow up in a world without him. His mother always told him it wasn't his fault, but Mike knew that he could have done more in those years. He could have fought harder to get his boy back. Then, through the worst of luck he did get his chance to be in Walt's life again.
And he failed. Again and again, he failed Walt. He got him stranded on this island. He promised him that he would be able to go home. That the raft would work. And time and time again he kept breaking his promises. So now this was it. This was his chance. This was the last hope. This was the thing that had to work.
Mike stepped back from the Hatch, making sure that everything was set up precisely. One small mistake on his part was not gonna be good. It would mean the explosives would have gone to waste, and that Mike would have failed again. Or worse, it would mean that he was going to blow both of them sky high. When he was sure that everything was set up, he grabbed up the trigger.
He walked in slow, precise steps over to Locke. For a brief second, he thought he heard a voice far off, but he couldn't hear much of anything over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. His adrenaline was moving him at doubletime, and he wasn't sure if anything would stop him at this point.
"Well, man, let's get clear of the blast." He held out the ignition device, it's main button dancing before his eyes, to Locke. "You wanna do the honors, man?"
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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Amy
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| Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 3:26 am Post subject: |
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Locke
The Hatch
Mike
He licked his lips, gratefully taking the detonation pad from Michael, the mechanism weighing heavy in his hands; partially from the metal device, partially from the idea that the Hatch was about to be exploded. Both he and Michael smiled at each other: grins of satisfaction, looks of hope. Could this have been the last day when he looked upon the hatch as nothing but a far off dream? Looking down at the shaft, he appreciated its mystery, and how its overpowering aura seeped into the jungle, he could almost taste the scent of power.
“This is it.” He said quietly, more to himself – though Michael laughed and nodded, clapping Locke around the shoulders. He hooked his arm underneath the hunters, and dragged him off towards the shrubbery, quite a way away from the hatch, so that only the curved exterior was visible. John was overcome with sickness and nerves, for although he had been positive his other plans were potentially ‘the one’, this bomb (should it work) was flawless, nothing could wrong for them. His worn hand began to shake, causing Michael to stare down at it, raising his head to look at Locke.
“You can’t do it, man?” He asked, his brows creased in a confused look, his mouth one of growing concern. Locke in turn looked at his hand, then to the Hatch, before returning his eyes to Michael. There was no doubt in his mind that he could open the Hatch, it was all he had dreamt of for the last months, tossing and turning at night just visualizing the moment when the Island gave him the opportunity; and he always known It would, It would save John Locke. It would save every body.
“No, I can do it.” He replied bluntly, beginning to smile, holding the detonator more firmly. A jolt of excitement coursed through his body, and his eyes widened a moment, his smile widening. “Now?”
Michael nodded, pointing to the Hatch, and then making an exploding gesture. His arms went wide with the motion, and he laughed, before calming down to stare at John. “It’s been fun, John. It’s been fun.” He patted Locke on the shoulder, and nodded his head more firmly.
For Michael, at first – it had been a disaster, never becoming an opportunity truthfully until Locke had put confidence in him; John had given him faith to hold on to. The raft had been his only opportunity; he had only wanted to protect Walt, to indulge him once more in the life he had known, even if it was not to be with him. Perhaps ‘The Island was testing him’ as Locke had mentioned more than once, and perhaps he had succeeded in setting up the bomb. Perhaps Mike and Locke had helped each other.
And although exploding something with dangerous chemicals was in a word, terrifying; Michael felt at peace. He felt strangely relaxed. All for one moment.
In that one moment…
“John, stop.” Michael said in a hushed tone, then more firmly, “Stop it! Don’t push the button!”
Locke averted his eyes from the Hatch, the glare at Michael. “What are talking about? Michael, sit down, I’m pressing this button.”
Mike shook his head, until John grabbed his ankle, and dragged him to the floor from where he had leapt to his feet, looking to the furthest part of the jungle he could see. His eyes were wide, his jaw dropped open, and he viciously slapped Locke away from him when he was pulled to the ground. “Don’t push the damn button, man!” He shouted, grabbing Locke’s arm.
However, it seemed those days of boar hunting had benefited John Locke, for he pulled his arm away from Mike’s grip easily, and shifted away from the man, returning Mike’s scowl. His thumb twitched, and then rested on the red button; classic in colour and prominent against the black, cool texture. Locke laughed softly to himself, and then licked his lips. “One…”
“Don’t do it. Stop. John I-”
“Two…” He continued, sucking in his bottom lip, and biting down on it hard in concentration.
On ‘two’ Mike stood up again, and hopped over the branches they had strewn out to safeguard themselves, waving his arms manically to the jungle ahead. His gestures were manic and wide – stretching his arms as far as they could either side of his head. Locke, unfortunately remained oblivious to Michael moving now, his eyes were focused only on the button, only on his goal – that little button that held the power to his future.
“Three…” As soon as his thumb connected with the button, he heard another scream from Mike, and his stomach lurched as his scream was not next to him, but ahead of him, next to where the bomb was situated. John looked up to the man, who was flailing his arms madly, yet nothing could be seen or heard after the deafening cry of the bomb and the huge explosion it made; flames and smoke spiraling into the sky with full force. The atmosphere pulsed with the climax of tension, the force of the explosion forcing Locke onto his back, leaving him to cover his face and scream; scream for Mike, scream for the Hatch, scream for himself.
After a minute or so, the worst of the bomb died down, leaving billowing clouds of smoke surrounding the Hatch, and a prominent ringing in Locke’s ears. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, flex his muscles and sit up. He uneasily stood up, and dusted the small shards of metal, wood and grass from his trousers. He rubbed his eyes and coughed nervously, about to look for the Hatch when that feeling of dread consumed his body again.
Michael?
“Michael?” He called softly, his voice croaky from the dust that had invaded his lungs. “Michael?” In reply to his second call, a strained moan ensued just in front of his feet. Locke crouched down, and laid his hand on a foot, a shoeless foot. Then a leg, followed by a bloodied torso and face.
“Michael” He said more firmly, placing his hands on the mans shoulders. His face took a look of shame and guilt as he had realized his awful mistake. “Michael, why did you run away? Why did you do that, Michael? You knew it wasn’t safe.”
Mike was beyond speech, his body writhed in agony, he choked, he bled, and he was dying. All he could do was gasp for breath, hoping to get his words out, praying he could connect with Locke, wishing that magically the wise man would understand what he was trying to tell him.
Three Minutes Earlier…
Mike stopped waving his hands and let them droop to his sides. Between the tree’s he saw a figure, a fast figure that weaved steadily between each tree, progressing to the Hatch. The panic was not that he or she would discover his and John’s plan, it was because only they knew what the Hatch was, this person would not understand that in a matter of seconds they would be blown to high heavens.
“No man” He whispered to himself, “Please stop.”
As the figure gained a more feminine outline, Mike’s brow creased; he couldn’t let this happen. He felt like he was invisible, or Locke was deaf. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to him, why couldn’t he just have himself heard?
“Lady, don’t move!” He screamed, running towards her with his arms open again.
Beyond caring about the approaching count of ‘three’, Michael flung his arms around the woman’s waist, and squeezed his eyes shut as the impact of the explosion struck him full force, the sensation of burning, unbearable burning hit his skin, forcing him to release whatever he held in his hands, and rolled instinctively to his right, shielding his face for the world of good it didn’t’ do him.
As he felt his clothes set alight, he thought of nothing but his boy: And what would happen to him now that the inevitability of Mike’s injuries or death took hold of him.
Present
“John man…” Mike wheezed, grabbing Locke’s hands, “Did you see her?”
John frowned.
“Take it easy. It’s ok.” He whispered, trying to assess the wounds, though they seemed unfixable, Mike’s breathing was deteriorating fast, too fast to understand anything he was now saying.
“Listen to me. Look for the girl. Look for the girl, John.”
Locke simply nodded his head, “Ok Mike, I’ll look for her. It’ll be ok. You’ll be ok.”
Mike smiled, and grabbed Locke’s hand, his eyes becoming glassy,
“So help me God John…” He said through periods of coughing up crimson liquid, “If you don’t look after my boy… I’ll haunt your ass for years to… To…”
Mike’s head slowly turned to its left, his mouth remaining wide and eyes open. Locke bit his shoulder and suppressed a wail of anger and humiliation to what had happened. He was meant to share this moment; surely the Island had wanted him to have someone to share it with him as well?
As the smoke cleared, he coughed finally, and released himself from Mikes vacant grip, and stood to his full height.
As if this moment couldn’t be more confusing, he saw it. Saw her, what Mike had told him to look for; a girl.
Mia.
Her scorched body lay not far from Mike, a surprise he hadn’t seen her first now that he thought about it.
As he stood amidst the death and discovery; Locke could not help but feel that three truly was a magic number. He shook his head, and this time let a cry out, his cry of infuriation and anger. He kicked something on the floor, expecting to shift it, though only a metal sounding ‘clank’ sounded. He looked down and saw a metal patch with the word ‘Quarantine’ printed on it. He twisted his head, then took a couple more steps forward, and looked down into the open Hatch.
All he saw was darkness.
All he felt was confusion.
“Mike? Mia? Look at it.” He whispered, looking to both bodies expecting some kind of reply.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 3:53 am Post subject: (yay first post!) |
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Nikkos
Hatch//Cave
Mia/Locke/Mike//Jack (& whoever)
This woman was an unpredictable mystery from the moment he had met her not too long before. So when he heard the tell tale signs that she was leaving their newfound shelter, he wasn't surprised. Unfortunately, he also wasn't anywhere near quick enough to act. In his hurry, he slipped twice heading up the rusty ladder back to the surface.
He followed her as quickly as he could through the jungles, but she seemed to have an almost prenatural idea of her destination. Nikkos was left struggling desperately to try and catch up with her. Her small frame disappeared completely before him into a thick patch of brush. He was mere steps from reaching the bush when it hit him.
With a powerful gust Nikkos was knocked backwards, hitting the ground hard. He looked upwards at the now smoky sky, trying to figure exactly what had just happened. Explosion, his mind registered. There had been some sort of explosion, and he had been caught in the path of it. If he had been in the path then what about--
"Mia." His voice came on strong, a hint below a yell.
He flipped quickly upwards, back onto his feet without a second's hesitation to the pain he felt a moment before. Stumbling through the thick brush, he recoiled at the sight before him. Michael was on the ground, empty eyes staring at nothing. He was gone, beyond rescue--Nikkos could tell this just by the vacancy of his face. John Locke was standing over some massive gaping metal structure, his back turned to him.
And Mia--where had Mia gone? Nikkos studied the ground for her, praying quickly and silently that she hadn't suffered Mike's fate and was instead still walking around like Locke was. His prayers weren't answered when he found her only seconds later. Falling back to his knees before her, he scooped one arm under her broken body. He tried his damnedest not to notice how severe her wounds were--how different it looked then you'd expect. It wasn't red, there was so much blood it was black, the entire left side of her body from neck to torso burnt deep. Skin peeled back to reveal angry patches of wounds.
"Mia, Mia you have to speak to me."
Her eyelids fluttered open then. The pale blues of their irises a stark, blinding comparison to the burnt state of her body. Somehow, even through this hideous accident, her face had remained almost entirely unblemished.
Her voice choked out, a sickly thick gurgle sputtering out first. "It hurts. It hurts so bad."
"Shhhhh, don't talk. We're going to make the hurting stop. I promise. I promise." He got momentarily upset with himself when he realized that he had just spoken to her in Greek in his panic. That she had not even understood what he was saying to her. He switched quickly to English. "I'm going to get you help. I'm taking you to Jack."
She didn't register if she heard him or not, instead intook air and winced instantly at the new wave of pain it brought on. Nikkos lifted her up swiftly into his arms, knowing that the trek to find the doctor wouldn't be an easy one for her--but that he had no choice but to get her to safety with haste.
He moved like a whisper through the jungle, his feet carrying him faster then even he thought he could have managed. Without stumbling even once, he realized quickly that he was at the Caves already. Leaping inside, trying to remember best he could where the infirmary was, he searched the crowd of staring faces. A crowd was already beginning to circle, curious and inferioratingly in his way. He pushed people aside with a complete lack of manners, sliding her onto one of the cots inside the infirmary.
"Where is Jack? Where is Jack?! Quickly!! Hurry!! We need him now!" He yelled out to no one, everyone--just hoping someone would heed his call and save her before it was too late. He looked back down at Mia again, his voice a bit softer. "Mia! Stay awake, Jack is coming! Stay here Mia!"
He looked up again, praying that their doctor would arrive soon. Knowing but not wanting to admit to himself that it was probably already far too late.
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:05 pm Post subject: |
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Ford
Jungle/Caves
Jessica/Jack (Nikkos, Mia)
“But...I remember you.” What little breath he’d managed to hold on to left him then, the depravity of oxygen something he was used to, but usually it was something that he fought to right; it didn’t count as a positive on the grand scheme of things. Here, now, he let it be, smashed in its familiarity amidst all these things he didn’t understand. There wasn’t a single thing that he could turn his mind to that didn’t burn with fiery intensity, bellowing in sheer confusion at the bombardment. Ford was heady with the strange feel of inconsistent time. Her step forward to match his step back, agile, careful, and quick, seemed like a million times faster paralleled to the reach of her arm, the grace of her hand as it picked away at the pile of sticks in his arms. Not resisting, not helping; just watching, again. All at once he wanted to just drop the rest, the wait stressing him in a million directions; he wanted to hold her, ached for something more than a soft, accidental touch. But he didn’t, held back by a small bit of reason that still rang just loud enough for him to hear; you don’t know her! Her name! What’s going on?!
Still, he couldn’t stand to step away again. Ford was cemented by the delicious mystification that accompanied every second. He’d just have to wait and see, now. The confusion was veiled in his face, caught behind the intangible grey shapes that passed as the most viable memories he possessed. He couldn’t get his head around the hugeness of everything, how he was suddenly stranded on an island, plans of Los Angeles foiled (probably forever.), and this mass of people that had survived alongside, and her – this nameless, stunning, chance that seemed like it dropped from the sky right at the moment it was needed. I just... Then, there it was...a spot of contact. He still hadn’t taken a breath. She didn’t need permission. His gaze watched hers close off for a moment, and at that moment the world started rushing past, instead of tilting at the dawdling pace it had chosen before.
The floodgates opened. He forces his bag into the overhead compartment, flashing a short grin to the girl already seated. He didn’t offer a name, and neither did she. That’s right. They hadn’t spoken more then ten words to each other the entirety of the roughly shortened flight. Funny how that worked. He staggers to the beach, nearing collapse, and just manages to stay equalized. It’s strange how his heart beats louder then the screams. That day he’d spent most of the day sitting on a dune, in a daze. He remembered thinking he’d repaid his debt to society, but apparently karma decided a deceased family wasn’t enough. Working on something, as usual. Ford steps forward but is suddenly restricted by a practiced but luckily glanced punch – firewood spills in a scattered pile from his arms. Well, coincidence had a good time with that one. And so had fate. Polar bears, grotesque pictures, hidden guns, dead friend. Flash, flash, flash. He wakes with a start, and readily felt another’s presence. Run, fight, blood, death. Ford wondered where everyone else was. Were they still alive? A stream – a kiss. Washing away memories that wouldn’t fade completely – now with each other to lean on. He held that remembrance for a moment before allowing himself to slide on to the next one. He insists on taking watch, she insists that he stay. What had possessed him to leave her? Whispers spring out of the air, but the footsteps are silent until they are upon him. The lights go out. Idiocy, is what possessed him.
Jessica gasped, and her hand fell away. Ford snapped to, the remainder of wood falling from his grasp. He noticed, for the first time, that one of her shoulders was bound neatly, albeit crudely. It was easy to see the pain on her face, and now it was his turn to move forward.
“Jessica?” He watched her sway, and stepped around just in time to break her fall, and lowered her to the ground as carefully as he could manage, careful of her shoulder. Ford felt weak, like waking after a high fever that breaks in the heaviness of sickly sleep. But it didn’t matter in the face of this. He had no idea what to do, and he looked franticly up and down the path for some sign that would point him the correct direction. Hadn’t Hurley told him that fresh water came from the caves? It would make sense that they had a path from the beach to the caves. Water was good, wasn’t it? Ford hesitated at his sudden decision to leave her. There was nothing else to do. “I’ll be right back, J.J.” He didn’t know if she could hear, but couldn’t run with nothing. Ford lifted himself to standing position and sprinted down the path, breaking ground at the caves in less than a minute. It surprised him somewhat to see that so many people were there; he hadn’t even guessed they would be inhabited. A few people looked at him curiously, puzzling, he guessed, at his dramatic entrance and the fact that they didn’t recognize him.
“Is - ” he gasped for breath, and abandoned the water plan. With all these people there had to be better help than that. “therea doctor? I need a doctor.” Ford spoke to the general crowd, and no one moved at first. But then another entered the scene, also asking for a doctor. The doctor. Someone named Jack. Ford pushed through the crowd of onlookers and into the cave where the other needing the doctor had disappeared. The doc was already there, banging through cabinets, searching franticly. Ford caught sight of the injured girl – she was burned, bloody. “It’s not usually like this.” Yeah, right. But he was on a single track.
“You’re the doc?” The doctor stopped his frantic movement for only a movement, studying Ford with an obvious apprehension, but then apparently decided that a new face wasn’t the biggest of his problems, and whirled away to the burned girl, nodding. “J.J. collapsed in the jungle,” Ford said quickly.
With another glance, the doctor directed him, voice heavy. “Bring her here. Be careful when you move her.”
Without a second more of stillness, Ford took off again, pounding towards the spot on the path. The adrenaline wiped away the last of the cloudiness, and now was able to concentrate clearly, forcefully, on one thing; getting her back. |
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:10 pm Post subject: |
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Jack
Caves
Nikkos, Mia & Ford
The night had been unlike those of others because he managed to get no sleep at all; usually, Jack could manage an hour here or there, probably managing the longest run between five and eight AM. But in this instance, there was just too much to do (or too much that he was forcing himself to do in order to prevent dwelling on recent events.) and rest had not been an option. First, he’d checked to be sure that Shannon and Boone were still okay, still breathing, but hadn’t managed to find them until after they’d gone to bed. The rise and fall of their slumber was all that he needed for now. Jack knew that if there had been a problem with Shannon, Boone would have gotten him immediately and vice versa; the pair, while guilty, would never hesitate to bother him if they thought that the other would benefit from it. He’d also checked on Jessica several times during the night for the same reason, though he wasn’t incredibly worried. The shoulder would hurt, that was for sure, but not to the point where she’d be in excruciating pain constantly. Sleep would be a great benefit, and the few times he looked in on her, she seemed like she was resting as comfortably as someone with her injuries could. Jack even looked for Sayid and Jace for a while, but in vain. He would have been more worried about their absence, thinking first of trigger-happy Jace, and then on the flip side the danger of Sayid when he was angry. Jack’s faith rested with Sayid. And, quite frankly, wouldn’t have minded if Jace came back to camp with a few extra bruises.
After the first round of check-ups, Jack guessed it to be somewhere around midnight, the cave area was silent, and he found himself without much to do. Here, the memories crept on him, threatening to take over and hold him in his solitude, drive him to his knees and kick him once he was completely down. He teetered on the edge of the abyss,(Jane and Kate) actually considering the option of annihilation. Between the bottles of Nyquil, which ran at about forty proof, and the bit of liquor he’d found in Sawyer’s old tent, he’d manage to forget where it was that he was standing. Forget, but not step back, still running the risk of falling. With a sense of self-disgust, he tore himself away. Christian resorted to alcohol, not Jack. Jack knew better; that path would just lead him quicker to the bottom, not to the surface that he so badly wanted to break. Determined now to keep busy, he had re-arranged and re-organized the infirmary, and made some new bandages out of some of Sawyer’s old shirts.
Now, it was getting well into the morning, and people were milling around, doing jobs that now seemed innate. Jack took a moment to pause, plan out what he was to do now. Making sure that Jessica had slept well would be first, then he’d really have to go find Sayid and Jace. They had to figure out what they were going to do with the murderer. He’d just barely taken a step out of the mouth of the infirmary when there was chaos off to his left. Someone shouted his name, the voice one that Jack couldn’t place for a few moments. The crowd suddenly swarmed around him, blocking his entrance to the infirmary, but it didn’t take much to get back in; people parted quickly to allow him admittance.
The sight hit him hard, and hit him instantaneously.
Jack rushed forwards, and pushed Nikkos out of the way. “What the hell happened?!” he demanded, swinging his pack off and kneeling before Mia, trying to get a grasp on the extent of her injuries. Just from a moment of observation, the worse descended on him - without a miracle, she wasn’t going to make it. And Jack didn’t believe in miracles. He rammed through a few drawers, pulling out fresh bandages and what little antibacterial agents he could get. Peroxide and rubbing alcohol would rip her skin to shreds, so he’d rather not use it – but what else did he have? The burns, at some parts, looked chemical. How had she gotten chemical burns?
Suddenly, a figure blocked his progress. An unfamiliar figure. Jack stopped for a moment, frozen with unhappy surprise. You’re the doc?. He nodded curtly, and moved on. If this guy was going to cause any trouble, better it be while Jack was in motion. He didn’t have a second to spare. He hardly heard what was said about Jessica, and stumbled over his thought process.
“Bring her here. Be careful when you move her.” And then his head shot back down to Mia, concentration re-distributed. “Mia? Mia, stay with me. I know, I know, but you can’t lose it, okay? Stay here.” He dipped a clean rag into a bucket of water he’d boiled last night; it was the cleanest they were getting. “Just concentrate on my voice.” |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:13 pm Post subject: |
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Nikkos
Caves
Jack, Mia, anyone else around
"There was an explosion. We were underground....she ran....." He tried to find the words, feeling terribly hurried and ashamed at how quickly his grasp of English was leaving him in his panic. "I did not see it, it was Locke. Michael is.....Michael is dead." He put his hands to his head nervously.
He moved backwards, unaware of anybody else around. It had been a long time since Nikkos had seen someone in this sort of pain. Seen someone this close to death. He wanted to help her, heal her with some magic that none of them possessed. There was nothing he could do, not much he even thought that Jack could do. Every breathe made tears pour down her cheeks, ever slight movement made her wince inadvertantly. For a brief second Nikkos thought of an injured horse, one beyond repair--and shut his own eyes. Swearing at himself for thinking as he had.
Why the hell had he told Jack about Michael? It wasn't helped the situation now. It would probably have distracted him further. Still, Nikkos didn't know how to help. So he continued to give what he could--the small bit of information that he had. "Locke is there. He is alright. He...he, I thought he followed me." Nikkos spun around searching for the man. He was babbling now, unsure if Jack was even listening to him. "Can I help? Please, can I help her? I tried to....find her.....I tried to stop her."
He moved in a little bit closer, making sure to stay far enough away from Jack so that he wasn't disturbing what it was that the doctor was trying to do for her. Suddenly he watched as Mia's arm shot up, more movement then Nikkos thought she could have safely managed. She grasped Jack's forearm into her burnt hand. Her blue eyes stared deeply into Jack's, a strength there and in her voice that for a moment Nikkos was taken aback by.
"Dr.Jack." Her voice came out just barely audible. "You have to be my hero. You have to help me. I don't want to die....I'm not ready. Please."
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Mon Sep 25, 2006 9:22 pm Post subject: |
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Jack
Caves
Nikkos & Mia
Jack could hardly understand what Nikkos was saying, the man’s harsh accent coming out in his panic. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Nikkos was in no good state; there was lots of moving and gesticulating. The only things he caught from the rant was the word ‘explosion’ and the phrase...Michael is dead. Jack’s abyss sunk lower, and he stole a glance at Nikkos, wishing that he had heard wrong. He craved a break from reality, the feel of looking at the surface of the water from beneath it. He wanted to be away, in every sense of the word, leave this constant on-call, though a break he had already taken just days ago after the news of Kate’s death. And there was no one to hand the reins off to; what was he thinking? The selfishness of his speculations wincingly wiped away the ideas themselves. It wasn’t even his time to think that. It wasn’t ever the time to think that.
He had managed to cleanse the dirt off a large area of Mia’s burns, and he could hardly bring himself to do more, knowing that without proper pain medication just pressing upon the partial thickness burns would cause extreme agony. Some, and sadly little, parts had easy, first-degree burns. But most – most were partial thickness or full thickness burns. Her skin was swollen, purple, blistered, and in some places, completely black. She needed a crash cart, an intravenous line, and more antibacterial soap then he had. Possibly, even massive skin grafts. Even with a full medical team...prognosis looked poor. Wait - how dare he. His demeanor could not show. She needed to believe that he believed she would survive. He had to believe that she would survive. There was little to work with, for sure, but there had to be something; he couldn’t afford to let her go, for his own sanity. For her life.
“Nikkos,” he said sharply, cutting off the man’s frantic plead to do something useful. “right now, you need to stop. I want you to get everyone out of here; I don’t want to hear a noise near the entrance of this cave. And I need you to find me a mosquito net. Can you do that?” He didn’t even bother to tune in to see if Nikkos responded, or even if he left; he just stepped back over to the medical carts.
The last of the betadine (just over half a bottle) rested atop one of the metal trolleys. The best he could, Jack scrubbed his arms up to his elbows and poured the rest of the bottle into clean, recently boiled water. He needed to clean and dress the wounds, find if she had any other injuries, and get some fluid into her. He looked down at Mia, and with a jolt, realized that she was watching him with her crystal blue eyes wide open and blazing. Her voice was small, but firm. Jack leaned down to her.
“I know, Mia. Remember when your plane crashed? How strong you were to stay awake the entire night?” His thoughts echoed her words Please Mia, I’m not ready to let you die. Help me. “That’s how I need you to be now, okay? You can do it.” But she wasn’t listening anymore; her eyes had closed again, breath now coming fast and shallow. Compromising the cleanliness of his hands (and realizing that cleanliness was all relative here, anyway), Jack scrambled for a water bottle, and swung back over to her.
“Mia,” he spoke firmly, swallowing back the horror that rose like bile in the back of his throat. “Mia, stay here.”
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I want to be there when you hit the ground. |
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Claire
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| Posted: Tue Sep 26, 2006 6:40 pm Post subject: |
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Claire
The Beach {Her tent}
Aaron and anyone else
A bunch of things had to be done, but first things first..
“Aaron, shh!” Claire Littleton said, trying to hush her crying child. The boy just didn’t seem to want to stop. She thought they were past this whole stage of him crying for hours on end, but, apparently not. Letting out a sigh, Claire picked her baby boy up and held him up near her shoulder. As the baby made his way up there, he grabbed a piece of his mother’s long wavy blonde hair and gave it a good yank. Refraining from yelling out, Claire just grabbed her son’s hand and moved it away, before flipping her hair completely behind her back. The baby’s tiny fists now pounded on his mother’s shoulder as he cried even more.
“What? What is it?” Claire asked, her voice rising a bit. She was clearly getting frustrated, but she couldn’t help it. If the baby didn’t tell her what he wanted, she couldn’t help me, and she knew that the baby would not be able to tell her that, so it was hopeless.
No one seemed to be around to help and this was a time when Claire needed it the most. She sighed, now pacing in her tent, trying to calm down the baby. What had gotten him so shook up in the first place? She didn’t get it. Oh well, she was stuck trying to get him to sleep now. The cries never seemed to get any quieter.. Only louder. That didn’t really help Claire, seeing as she barely got any sleep for the past few nights so staying awake during the day was an extra challenge for her. Right now, she just wanted to lie down, leave Aaron with someone else, and go to sleep, but she couldn’t. She was a mother now. She had responsibility now and she had to follow through with this.
Wait. It wasn’t /her/ fault that she got pregnant, so why was she blaming herself? That was just stupid. Oh well. Either way, she had the baby and now she would keep him, forever. She had grown attached to him, what mother wouldn’t? When she would think about the fact that she was planning on giving him up, it practically made her feel sick, but now she knew that she would never give him up.. Not in a million years.
She must have been daydreaming or something because the next cry let out by baby Aaron was so loud, it made Claire jump. She sighed once more and lay Aaron down in his blanket, trying to swaddle him quickly. Of course, as she was trying to do it quickly, she messed up a bunch and it was never right, thus, never calming the child. Where was John when you needed him? Or even Charlie? Anyone would do right now, she didn’t care, so long as they knew how to hush a child.
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Jess
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| Posted: Tue Sep 26, 2006 9:55 pm Post subject: |
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Jessica
Jungle
Ford
With darkness her view, seeing the light dragging for conscious seemed tilting on eternity's margin. Thankfully, that was far from it.
Flashback
She couldn't keep her hands off the amber piece of cloth.
Swirling into a figure, ascending orange hues sprinkled into nuances of sunset-yellow and cherry-red, all concoctions of colours ultimately making out a figure on the blanket. The ends were dipped in the selfsame colours as before, all without an end or a beginning. Phoenix birds had none.
Immortal, she had heard the story before. She didn't mind the repetition of hearing it again, not even as a ten year old. Content, she crept closer to her storyteller. The times in between were far and few, but each one treasured. "It never dies, and never does it truly descend." Her storyteller added to the imagery by the sculpturing of fabricated images with his hands. "It's always consumed in some kind of fire. Then, when you least expect it, it rises out of the ashes." She'd asked this question before, and now did it again. "So it returns?" A smile fitted into the lines of the storytellers face. It was still young enough to not have lost its elasticity, and as he spoke retracted. "Every time."
"But what if it doesn't know it's way back? What if it gets lost?" This was new. It wasn't like her to continue beyond the answers she had been given, and his eyebrows rose upwards in a moment, taken aback. Yet, after the clearing of a dry throat, he answered. "Then it needs to find a reason that's good enough for it to survive. Then it'll find its way." He straightened his back, not expecting her voice to cling out again-- "But what if it doesn't?" Her adolescent voice rang out into the clear of the room, ridding forgotten space, intruding his every fibre. So little to the world, yet so great in affect to him, without even knowing it. But to need this reassurance was unlike her. Could she already detect the changes he needed to make? "You don't have to worry about that. You see, when the phoenix has found a reason good enough for returning, then nothing deters it. One day," and he patted her thigh, "you might even get to see it. Just you wait and see, dear."
Eyes bored into his, hope a sparkle behind white globes, giving colour to irises: a fuel. "Wait and see?" His response: a nod. "Wait and see." With another pat, this time to the girls back, her mostly-absent father made his leave. Looking after him, tracing his disappearing body with wondrous eyes of a child in blossom – he could never be her phoenix. Not even close. She would have to find another.
One that would come back.
Flashback End
Breaking through the cracks of opening lids, a blinding light of viridian brightness met her pupils, forcing a squint. Dawn had already broken her in, she knew it was a realization that needn't no passing time to occur. She couldn't have been out of it for too long, otherwise her eyes surely would have protested exceedingly more, but there was something else probing beneath the surface, stirring and waiting to be granted attention. The pain breaking throughout the nerves into the fibres of her shoulder was blocked out, put on a waiting list as she searched her mind for the top layers, finding it ringing through all, shattering all other thoughts -- where was Ford?!
Her healthy arm propped her upwards, haziness of mind ignored as she tore her search throughout the nearest space. Empty without a reward, she instead held herself still, waiting for a sound. Only hearing herself breath, she soon held that too. And then waited. And waited.
A silence so severe and with company - the occasional flutter of a bird, or of some animal moving through the leaves of trees, a branch discarded for the sake of another - yet, it managed to leave her in a howl of abandon. Undercurrents of a panic rose within, mounting over logic but not entirely capturing common sense as well; still being able to think. Her own thoughts came rushing to her like how the whispers one had caught them, whisking past with a rush that made them unable to grasp; intangible for reason. All she knew, all she found common in the whirlwind was the constant, clear tone of him throughout them all; a silver bell to frayed ends burned out. But hope wasn't all gone, far from it. Not only her blood pumped at a frantic rate, her muscles stirred and shook; adrenaline pumping. This wasn't supposed to have happened, this situation was awry to every wishing behest, ever hope. But not like this – not having him gone again, not removed, taken; snatched away; not again. She couldn't go through this once more.
Please god, or whoever listened, not again.
Barely above the soft whisking of the wind, barely rising against the motionless state; frail and emotional. "Please."
Soft palms blanketed her face, hiding her appearance from the outer world. It didn't matter, she didn't care. A roll to the side, hands gliding down, away -- footsteps.
"Ford?" she called out, more a beckon than anything – a plea for existence. Chirping songs of birds held no comfort, bending leaves without comfort or grace, all a lost display to the ignorance by preferable choice; attention shifted elsewhere. Seconds accosted minutes of time, expenses pulling breaths from her, the lack thereof and breathing lay forgotten and pushed behind automatic motion bound to flesh – whoever said they couldn't handle despair? Despair, that she could handle. It was the hope she had trouble with.
Then she saw him, breaking through the ferns giving way for his existence, parting for his excuse. Standing before her: a poetry of presence.
There were no tidal waves to wash relief over her. She was already soaked.
In a rush of emotion, time seemed locked to the present, seconds excusing this rare moment where everything faded and clung to sweet sensations of moment's worth. His chest was heaving, and her eyes were once again drawn to the hideous shirt hugging the skin in a shame – she knew what lay underneath. A territory unexplored, scarred and with a story written into the flesh, and it didn't even matter, not when he was here again, retuned upon the second time, words falling short, lighting running through her veins – he'd said her name before.
He was back. Ever truly so, within her grasp... but she couldn't clench just yet.
A hand covered her mouth as her gaze fell downwards, a rising eruption of bewilderment inside, yet with clear hope shining through; a silver lining she had searched for in all the wrong places - before his arrival. Here and now, she was close to being blinded by it, enveloped. Rising eyes, seeking to find his - why was there still a distance between them? It made no sense, just like -- they made sense. That was all she ever needed to feel.
Whiskey-hazed irises caught their own reflection in fire-doused ones, emanating rays from above encircling this moment and giving it back to the ones deserving it. More than captured by the moment - flooded in the coursing of it - a shiver trying to rid the tremble within, vibrating skin. Passing, what was left of her felt on fire, everya last nerve and muscle-knot caught in a fiery glow, spurted on by the supplier in front of her; a mirror to her own reflection. Overpowering, it teased her feet and urged her forward; magnetism choking.
One arm fitting around his neck, hands digging into the thick of his hair, the other one resting behind his back. Could she keep him like this for the entire day? She wouldn't mind. Just melting into each other as ashes were blown to the stroke of wind - was that his heart beating so wildly? Was it hers? - holding on to this lifeline, clinging to this life support. No excuses, no deviations - only a sense of belonging. "I've missed you." She breathed in his familiar scent, letting it warm her to the bone; bathing in rising goose bumps. "So much." |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Wed Sep 27, 2006 1:42 am Post subject: |
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Mia
Caves
Jack (etc)
I'm touching him and I can't feel it. I am touching him....my hand is grabbing his arm. And I can't feel it. It was the only thought that pushed through her brain past the sheer pain of the moment. The powerful paroxysms seizing her and forcing her into shudders that more resembled violent chills than anything. She let her arm drop, unaware that it had even done so. Her mouth was working fast, sputting out prayers to no one and everyone.
"Please, no. No more. It hurts so much. Please." Her voice was a thin whine, a desperate plea. Eyes rolled back to pure ivory before snapping back to attention with violent intensity. "I can't die yet. Please. I can't..."
....die yet."
There was a whoosh of air, the world pulling her tightly as if she were thread being forced into a needle's eye. She was standing now on a long field with argently jade grass and breathtakingly cerulean skies, nothing around her. As if the world, this world she stood in, had no ends and promised to continue forever if she willed it so. Clouds dipped their smokey tendrils low to the ground--too thick to be declared fog, solid enough that she had to resist the urge to try and step up them and climb into the firmaments above.
The pain was gone, but the lack of touch hadn't escaped. It wasn't disturbing like watching her flesh touch flesh only to no response. It was warm and comforting, like emersing yourself in the sea on a tropical day. Mia looked around, confusing and misplaced but not incredibly wrought over it.
She simply announced herself once again, to no one in particular. "I'm not supposed to die."
"And who said you decide, girl?"
She spun to catch the voice, baffled at how someone could have appeared close enough to be heard. She had just watched every side of herself, and no one was there. She caught partial sight of a man--almost comically lean and made of little more then grotesquely long limbs. A glipse of abright canary yellow suit, a mischievous grin, and nothing more after that. She turned again and again, but always he managed to catch her thoughts before she had them and remain in her peripheral vision. Finally she gave up on their game of cat and mouse and instead spoke again to the air.
"Well, I do! It's my life, after all."
"No one got a choice before you. What makes you so special?"
Her bottom lip extended in a childish pout at this question. "Lots of things."
"Mia, dear Mia, you look so lost."
"I am! I told you, I don't belong here."
"That isn't your choice. No one's choice, really. Everything exists so that we may fully appreciate it's opposite. It's the way of the world. Life without death would not be life worth living, I fear. You're part of something bigger than yourself."
"Then why don't you tell me what purpose this serves? What good is it that I should die now?"
"You can't know that yet and you can't know that here. This isn't the end of anything. You feel that. This is just where you make a choice."
"I choose to live."
"Not an option."
She pursed her lips tightly closed, mind racing through where she was. She had to agree, she could feel that this wasn't the end. That this wasn't a final fate, no matter what happened to her. She was also slowly starting to understand that she was arguing against nothing. That begging against what was happening wasn't going to work--and wasn't necessary.
"Mia. Let go so you can go home."
She began to feel again, her sense of touch pushing it's way back into her body. Pricking each pore and invading her until she began to feel hot again. Burning up in her own skin, she shook her head violently knowing far too well what was going to happen next....
"I'm ready. I'll..."
Her eyes jerked open again, back from the temporary relief of unconciousness. She was back to reality, snapped into her body and all of the pain that came with it. More of her felt numb now, which somehow only managed to extend the depths of agony that scorched it's way through the rest of her small body.
Mia stared up at Jack working above her, hardly sure at what it was he was doing. He talked to her in that soft manner of his, but his words weren't coming through to her. Maybe he was giving her instructions, ways that she could push through all of this pain. She didn't want them, though. She was tired, and with a frightening clarity she knew what was going to happen next. Once again, she willed her voice to work.
"Jack....it hurts so bad. I have to go."
There was no time for objections. She was already gone.
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Thu Sep 28, 2006 1:35 am Post subject: |
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Desmond
Hatch
No One
The hammerin had scared the blood right outta him, deep eyes cast upwards as the very foundation around him shook. He stumbled backwards a bit, hand grabbin out for the nearest table for leverage. Just moments before, he had dutifully punched in his numbers and planned nothin more then a quick read of one of the books he had read ten times over. Another day with not much more to do then what he always did, moment in and moment out. Til he heard the noises from up above.
When the food came he never heard anything like all this. This....this was sounds like footsteps. Tools chipping away from above. People. The thought electrified him, brought a dull and tired mind acutely back to surface. His first stop was a defensive one--the sorta thing they taught him wee on in the military. When he was hardly out his mama's house they had taught him right quick to go first for your weapon, ask questions later.
He had just tightly grasped a Heckler & Koch G3 assault rifle off one wall, one of his personal favourites out of the collection. With a roller delayed blowback mechanism and a muzzle velocity of 2,600 feet per second, it was also the quickest gun he had at his disposal. Desmond was right aware that he had been down in that bleedin place for an age, and even when he arrived the weapons were a few decades behind his arrival. No tellin what kind of guns these new intruders coulda had.
Then the blast from the explosives shook the underground habitat so hard that he dropped down to one knee. The momentary setback just made him grit hard down on his teeth, slide his weapon to the ready, and make a determinded glance around the room. It would take at least another ten minutes before anyone could make it down, enough time for him to find a place to hide to catch them by surprise. Desmond wasn't sure if the infiltrator knew he was there, but even if they did that didn't mean they were bound to know where he was hiding. Sliding into position, he did a final check to make sure the weapon was ready.
"Don know who you are, brutha. But I ken you ain't gettin me without a fight," he muttered to himself, the only other sound in the hatch the mechanical click of a bullet slipping to ready.
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
Last edited by BornToRun on Sun Oct 01, 2006 6:27 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Amy
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| Posted: Fri Sep 29, 2006 1:15 pm Post subject: |
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Locke (Helen)
The Hatch/ The Caves
Alone/Ghostly Helen, Cave people
It seemed like he was watching some sort of movie – simply sitting back and watching as Nikkos carried Mia away to the caves, leaving himself and Mike in the open grounds, surrounded by shards of metal from the exploded hatch. His weary eyes looked at the charred corpse of Michael, his face frowning slightly. He certainly hadn’t expected this to happen, he had been so focused on getting inside the hatch that he hadn’t put thought into what would happen if he was unsuccessful. He pinched the skin between his eyes and released a sigh of despair. What would happen to Walt when he eventually headed back to camp? He’d be blamed, the boy would be distraught and Locke would not be able to put Walt’s best interest first.
He shuffled to the small door, just about able to fit his stacked body – and knelt in front of it, looking down its long, winding dark passage. Taking a rock from the floor, he positioned it over the black hole and taking a breath, released it. There was a soft whooshing noise, before it hit a puddle a way below the hatch’s entrance. With the ladder useless, there was no way Locke could make his way down there without some kind of rope. He bit his lip in thought, and grabbed the torch by the shrubbery he and Mike had hidden behind not moments ago, and lowered it into the black abyss. He could hardly see anything, save for the outline of the four walls of the long passage that would inevitably lead him to his future.
Making his decision to hunt for some kind of vine, or better – the remaining wire from the fuselage in the caves, he stood again, and went to walk past Michael, trying his hardest to ignore the smoke emitted from his carcass. However, a bright patch of pink on the man caught Locke’s eye, and he turned his head sharply, gasping as the body was replaced with that of Helen.
It was completely impossible for her to be on the Island and for that to be her body yet none the less Locke rushed to her side, and grabbed her charcoaled hand, his breathing now rapid and shallow.
“Helen!” He shouted, taking his other hand and resting it on her face; and it was her face, she was real, and her chest fell and rose softly so it took him a while to realize she was still alive. It was his fault that she was like this; his own selfishness had resulted in the destruction of the only thing that truly mattered to him, above all else. She made no response; only continued to breathe quietly, Helen’s face a mixture of pain and discomfort. It killed him to see her like this.
“Please say something.” He whispered, a tear creeping into the corner of his eye. He shook her hand forcefully, growling in frustration; and upon realizing he was hurting her, calmed his grip and focused on his own breathing; keeping himself controlled as taught. “Helen” He repeated, striving to get a reply, needing to see her eyes open and see him. He wanted her to see him, so she could see that even in her terrible condition she still looked like the most beautiful woman in the world to him. She needed to know that.
Slowly, after what seemed like a millennia, Helen stirred, moving her head slowly to left, and then centre; before opening her eyes to see Locke leaning over her, stroking her hand rhythmically. Words didn’t form properly in her mouth, and instead was replaced with a series of stuttering and groans. Locke’s mouth tightened, and so did his grip on her, yet he persevered.
“It’s alright Helen, I’m here now. It’s going to be ok.”
Helen didn’t reply, didn’t even try to – she knew it was beyond useless, they both did. Instead they both stayed as they were, looking into each other’s eyes; though he was certain it meant a lifetime more to him then it did to her. The certain death of his loved one didn’t matter as much now; the company was enough for him to deal with. He would smile at her every few minutes, looking around the jungle suspiciously, making sure no one was there to interrupt their time together. However, after ten minutes or so, Helen stirred and returned his hold.
“You need to take Michael back to the caves, John” She said in a calm voice, her face changed from pain to sincerity. She was no longer the victim of a dynamite explosion, but a savior from another reality, come to steady Locke in his ways. Locke hesitated, and shook his head questioningly.
“You need to make sure Walt knows he died helping the Island. The Island is pleased with you, John.”
Locke looked up to the jungle around him; suddenly feeling uneasy – the light seeming to disappear quickly. A moment passed in which he took a deep gulp of air, and when he looked down to reply to Helen, the body had returned to Michael. He was not alive, and he was not in any way moved from the position he had died in. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t real, and yet it had felt so. Locke stared down at Michael, almost tempted to beat the dead body for ruining his last moments of his fantasy, but instead flicked some dirt from the mans face, and standing up, calmly began lifting him onto his back in the Fireman’s carry.
Though it had not lasted long, the sign from the Island had instructed Locke what to do, and obeying it, he made his way to the Caves.
Upon arriving there, the first thing he saw was Jack leaning over Mia, her last words but a whisper echoing around the cave’s walls. A sweat had broken from carrying Michael, and the mans blood had fused with Locke’s shirt, turning it to a rotting brown colour. He coughed to gain attention, and shifted Michael to a more comfortable position against his shoulders.
The thing that confused him however, was what the Island had meant. That it was pleased with Locke for bringing Michael back to the caves to have the proper ‘attention’ needed, or that he had come to the caves to get the cable while no one was watching him? Because that was what he planned to do. It was what he had to do.
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Fri Sep 29, 2006 8:29 pm Post subject: |
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Jack
Caves
Mia
Mia begged him to stop, just like he was afraid that she would, but he had to get the wounds clean. He had to, and ward off her shock, and fix the trauma and pray to a God that he didn’t believe in. A fire awoke in Jack’s veins, screaming at him to work faster, that he was losing, losing, losing! He didn’t push away her small hand as it gripped his bicep, for the grasp was hardly enough for him to feel. Jack tilted her head upwards, re-arranging the water in one hand, and poured the liquid down, pressing gently on her throat to get her to swallow. The fear, the lack of plan had passed. Now, burns were clean. The lesser ones needed to be wrapped, and the larger ones may need surgery – a leap he wasn’t thinking of just yet. She had to stabilize first, and to drink more. Shock required containment. Her frightened eyes jumped from side to side before closing once again, and he threw aside the water bottle and reached for a blanket, rapid fire with instruction.
“C’mon Mia. Don’t you dare. Wake up, wake up. You’re not done yet. Remember that charity ball? You still haven’t made it there yet.” Carefully, he threw the blanket over her shaking form, powerless in the face of shock such as this. The lack of movement was killing him, killing his breath and thought. Jack did not wait well. If she wakes back up from this, he convinced himself, she’ll make it. You’ll make her make it. Clean, hydration, shock oppression. As the seconds passed, he pressed his middle and pointer fingers to the inside of her wrist. Her heart rate was slowing, sluggish now. He screwed his eyes shut to count the beats, urging them forwards. One, wake up. two stay here. three Clean, hydration, shock oppression. four...her eyes opened. A false relief filled him.
“Jack...it hurts so bad. I have to go.” The light began to fade from her eyes. Jack shook his head violently, words stuck and mind refusing to let go. If she wouldn’t breathe, he would do it for her. This wasn’t fair; she was a superstar, wasn’t she? The queen of sarcasm? Jack hardly even knew her, he needed to get to know her better. This couldn’t be the end of the time. Mia had already survived the plane crash, with minimal injuries; she’d make it through this. He tilted her head back and plugged her nose, sent air to her encumbered lungs, just enough for her chest to rise. With practiced placement, he pressed quickly, intermittingly, on her breastplate. “Mia,” breath, push. “Mia, no,” breath, push. “No, no, no.” breath push.
Stop.
Jack sat up, dizzy from hyperventilation. “Time of...” his voice cracked and he swept a hand across her eyes to close them. “Time of death...” But he wasn’t wearing a watch. He never was. Jack stood up, world tilting and horizon skewing. He felt like he could be sick; he felt like he was fading away. But knees refused to buckle, and there was no food to speak of sitting in his stomach. So, instead, he grabbed two corners of a silver-colored cart and brutally flung it into the side of the cave. The sound of cracking, cheap metal and plastic against rock precisely echoed the magnitude of the scream pounding against his skull. Except his, inside, was constant – and the one here was temporary and quick. Some unnamable bottle had broken, because fluid trickled down the wall. He rammed both hands over his head, locking fingers behind, pressing down. “God damnit!”
What was he supposed to do now?
_________________
I want to be there when you hit the ground.
Last edited by OutOfPeroxide on Fri Sep 29, 2006 8:31 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Fri Sep 29, 2006 8:30 pm Post subject: |
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Ford
Jungle
Jessica
It seemed to take him forever to get from the caves back to the path, running through wet cement, footsteps loud and taboo against the backdrop of the quiet jungle. Was it possible to be so relieved and so worried at the same time? The reprieve was a strange thing, coming in waves that butted against the feverish insides of his mind, coated in something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But the worry – the worry was easy to recognize. It spun off with questions; what happened to her shoulder? How had she ended up here? Why had she collapsed? She had to get up again, because...because they had come too far for it just to stop here. He didn’t even bother to inspect the damaged parcels of memory that fell off their shelves, exploding in indistinguishable piles. There was a time and a place for him to sort through the paper, but now he passed over them without a second glance. They already had their fair share of obstacles; there couldn’t be more for a while. It wasn’t balanced. Ford evenly placed his faith there, pushing noisily through a thicket and slowing his frantic pace, unable to catch air but far from caring. On the other side was Jessica.
Ford? It rang as he stepped to the clearing, and that nagging trouble fell back; the tone of her voice swept it away. He meant to make some kind of notion of existence (“I’m here.”) but it stuck in his throat, hidden behind the quieted struggle for breath. She fell into the most graceful forms, and he was frozen to watch, calmed to watch; like lines of elegance. Finally – finally – they were touching. He caught her behind the back, knowing that he was supporting more than her weight. There melted the stress of days apart, days that might have been months, years; he wondered where it had all changed. There existed an element of sacrifice between them, a rule that was completely undefined and unsupported. But it was there because they were. They looked out because it made sense to do so, because it worked for them. What did it all mean, really? Ford didn’t know, but he would like to stay around and find out. He hoped she would too.
A slow smile worked its way across his face. Their gazes hadn’t broken; mirror images. “I’ve missed you...so much.” Ford had been showed many things, told many things, but nothing so short, simple, and sweet. He withdrew a hand from her back and quietly traced it down the purple bruise on her cheek, face knitted in question for a moment. Again, his articulation failed him; he couldn’t speak anything that would add up to half of what it should have. So he fitted his hand to the back her neck, the skin there cool to the warmth that had pounded through his own veins minutes ago. Their faces were so close that he could see flecks of gold in the amber of her irises, and for the answer he couldn’t speak he gave this, leaning the breadth that separated them to kiss the curve of her mouth, remembering and now living the softness of it, her taste. There was something so different about this contact with her; nothing was like what he thought to be the rules, nothing was like what other experience dictated. Now, he felt as though he’d taken for granted that kiss by the stream, and he wouldn’t be making that mistake again. Ford savored every moment, holding the silver sunlight in a cup of hands.
No more forgetting.
His heart slowed with the time, and sped with it, over-wrought but elated. No better place. With great difficulty, he broke away, another smile already in place. Their foreheads still touched. “D’you need to see the doctor?” He, of course, could still recall the rush through the jungle, his frantic panic, but lay the decision at her feet. Every second counted, and now they had time, that abundant and hard-to-find commodity always taken for pre-fixed to the owner’s caprice. There would be no risking it; if she needed to see the doctor, she would.
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Fri Sep 29, 2006 10:07 pm Post subject: |
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Nikkos
Caves
Jack, Locke, assorted corpses
Everything happened too fast, faster then Nikkos could react. One moment he was watching Jack work, happy that the doctor had given him a job to do. He took too long to move, though--he just took far too long. He spun around just a moment before he heard the metallic clang of the cart hit the cave's walls. Without turning around, Nikkos winced and moved his hands to his face.
He had seen death before, more times then he would admit to any person living. Never had he seen death so undeserved. Never had he seen someone beg for their life--a life they deserved--only for god or the fates deny them so violently. He hadn't known her, known her probably as well as anyone else on the island might have. In that way that we all know celebrities, as if their interviews gave way to who they really were. As if seeing them in private moments made them a friend, an insider to the person's life. So in that mock intimacy, in the thought of her cruel end, Nikkos found himself crying for her. Crying like he hadn't since his mother....
His hand moved slowly through his hair, his face a tear-stricken mask of hurt awe. Mid motion he stopped, eyes growing wide as saucers as he realized who was standing before him. Nikkos pointed accusingly at Locke, hardly noticing the limp form draped over one of his shoulder's. John Locke was the only one still standing from whatever the hell had happened in the jungle. While Mia and Michael died, he stood idle standing over a damnable hole in the ground.
Unsure of what to say, Nikkos turned to see who else in the cave had noticed Locke's arrival. Eyes everywhere were cast upon the new arrival. Finally, Nikkos looked down again to Mia's unmoving body, twitching at how much it looked everything and nothing like her. Then, finally, he looked to see if Jack had seen Locke. There was little love lost between the two men, and Nikkos knew damned well that this wasn't going to help that situation.
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B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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Lauren
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| Posted: Sat Sep 30, 2006 10:32 pm Post subject: |
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Jace
Beach
(Jane), Alone
He’d lost count of the hours, engrossed in the monotonous task of driving the spade into the ground, shifting earth one heavy shovel after the next. Silence had been his company, serenading him through the tunnel of the night, shifting only for the slight and insignificant rustles of the breeze and the indistinct animal calls that weaved through the jungle’s terrain. The stars had served as guardians, keepers of the dark, acting as pale and stoic overseers to this self-proclaimed duty, and the sun long since gone, leaving a mask of gloom in its wake.
How had it come to this? The burial of his sister. An accident of great magnitude that really favoured him no forgiveness. The gun – how had it slipped? His tedious hours of training with a patient brother put to waste, put to shame with one reckless incident; consequences to quite literally die for. How had this hunt for a relative ended in this induced solitude? How had he fucked up so badly? The stars gave no answers, only a mute critique which they kept amongst themselves, whispers never stretched.
Splinters, blisters and sores; such things grew callous on his skin, burnt by pressure, grinding against the miniature ridges that constructed his fingerprint. And still the crust of her blood stuck to him like a reminder of sin, dank with the odour of death, heavy as a burden assigned until his demise. Did he imagine it, or was it seeping into his pores? Burning a testament to a grave mistake, etching her ruination into the defenceless liberty of his soul; forever.
Weary with this repetitious deed, feeling the culmination of fatigue and grief as a mounted pull on his shoulders, he wished for a reprieve of reality, but none was granted. Instead the dreaded action of committing her poor undeserving body, naked of life and spirit, into the shallow and makeshift pit that looked like a stain on the earth. Trembling as he aligned her face to the sky, her legs neat and parallel, prepared for the burial. Frozen and immortalised by the drifting starlight, it burnt dully in a mute shade of white along her edges, crisping the image into his memory like a lens to its negative. Blood on her elegant face, smeared by the tips of his own fingers during her final moment, the desperate clutch to her skin that had awarded no result. So wrong.
This the very expansion of a nightmare made true. Without a wish for contradiction, no jolt of lucidity, this space in which he existed was as real as anything before experienced, genuine as the adventurous sky. Lacking a reason for denial, he plunged into simple and complicated sadness, feeling it suffocate his every breath, specks of tears addressing his eyes as he mourned for her. Who else would mourn for her? These people who slept in their tented settlement? Did they, in this matter of weeks approaching months, believe they knew her? They didn’t come close. It was he who had shared with her the big moments, all the firsts that made events of her life; the times of significance.
He cursed that there would be no more.
Bending and scooping some of the granules into his palm, he with purposeful grace dotted the first grains of sand onto her. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Spoken only in his mind, the old accustomed prayer. Adopting again the shovel into his possession, he gently lowered clumps of sand onto her, hating the dull thud of each delivery, and how unresponsive she was to every intrusion -- not even a flinch to save her. He realised he should have at least wrapped her in something, a preserve around her rigid frame, but now it was too late. A mound was rising, a long bump that sat camouflaged in the sand – her final finality. Not even a marker to be placed at her head. What a pitiful excuse for a funeral this was – she deserved so much more.
Weary beyond saving, he smeared the residue from his eyes, despising the undertaking just committed, finding no assurance or peace in it; just the hurt that was rightfully deserved, a plague to be nurtured for moments to come with no excuse for departure. His blame to be felt.
Now the dawn burnt full and ripe, an ecstasy of erratic commotion that strummed its vertical dance in the face of awakening. The incandescent glow was verification to heaven’s existence; proof that perhaps a god existed after all, ever fitting a palette of colours to the eternal sky. But how inappropriate it seemed that his sister’s eyes could not address such splendour and yet he could, with his virginal sight. Wrong; all of it wrong.
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What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun |
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Jess
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| Posted: Sun Oct 01, 2006 1:30 pm Post subject: |
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Jessica
Jungle
Ford
Chances came few and far in life. Many fell to the circumstance of being missed, some blew through fingers before fitting into the complete grip of being caught; granules spread to the sands of time, a stroke of wind and change dismissing it. In some events, however, the circumstances afforded themselves of being fitted, recognized and implemented. If she herself had took a moment to consider and ponder, she doubted she would have made much sense out of the situation, and wouldn't be able to find answers to those ponders, after all, they didn't matter. Invigorating like few situations before, the only thing that mattered was the situation now in her hands, firm, warm and breathing. A whisp of air drew past them, going unnoticed – the air felt so true. Once before had she gotten a sensation of this, a recollection of favourable memories detangling themselves from the sorrow that had bound them, and being here to feel it again - this time multiplied - caused a warm feeing to spread and root inside; heating and welcome. Finding home again.
The wordless actions served as echoes of his true self, assuring her that his presence was as true as what she felt inside. A support of strong arms wrapping themselves around her and it bristled a smile – he held onto her as if her never intended to let go. An honest smile; she didn't want him to.
He drew his hand from her back, without it ever actually leaving skin contact. Smoothed over from her back, fingers and palm on a route, gracing over the deep, green fabric that covered her upper body, along the naked skin of an arm; drawing goose bumps and her eyes flicked together. Only briefly; now that he was here she never intended to close her eyes upon him again. The texture of his hands was so gentle against her coloured spot, and for a short moment she wondered what she had to look like. An injured shoulder - wrapped with bandages still new enough to be white - presumably a face coloured with a dark bruise, perhaps even further scratches, hair undone and clothes ruffled up. But a comfort spread over the thought like a crust, realizing that it didn't matter and that it never really had. Sure, her appearance would raise questions begging for answers, as reflected in the questioning of his face, the wonder of his eyes, but she hoped he knew that they would come. Every such he wanted; it would come.
His eyes stunned her, so without a limit to the deep shown in them, and inside a spark flared, stirred by emotions. She was no mindreader, couldn't exactly define all that was inside of him, but she knew. Knew through a mutual transmission that this feeling was shared because it simply couldn't feel this intense if it would have been one-sided, couldn't send these warm waves throughout her entire body, couldn't cause this heart to beat, this need for him --
His lips covered hers. Nothing else mattered.
No origin had ever felt so true as this, no energy so pure and crystalline in sanctity; a truism of an emotional representation. His fingers fitted to her neck commenced in a soothing massage to her senses – could he feel the shiver in his hand? - and the outward world melted away, figures all around losing defined shapes, edges smoothed over and ignored; a rough pattern moulding out what lay as a scene in the background. Only the centre, their shared completion of something that had begun what felt so long ago amongst other leaves and ferns; nothing but this, the here and now, mattered. All else faded into oblivion and spread through pixels of reality, not forgotten, but dismissed – his lips were so soft - and now she, like autumn leaves in their tint of gold, fell for him; again.
Like an air of fresh breath he drew against her, every single shard of a second illuminated by this fire inside, flickering to the shifting of them against each other; this residence of harboured and saved feelings now released; a full flare of a storm, one meeting the other. There were no proper words, no correct thoughts that could map out how much she had missed this, how much she was feeling in this moment, simply, because nothing could be compared. This was alone and to its own right, so special and unique that her head started to spin; suddenly feeling light-headed - both her hands were at his face now - finding all the support she ever needed in him. Had it ever been like this; making her nerves shudder and shake, breaking into him; letting him know exactly how well she responded to his kiss; his touch? A last close; him finding her upper and she his lower lip and it wasn't until they parted she realized she had been out of breath and that oxygen now rushed in. Ignoring it, it couldn't be allowed to intrude, no allowance, not now; she didn't want to disturb this moment, ruin it with any words that wouldn't fit. She just wanted him, and nothing else.
"D'you need to see the doctor?" Instead of skipping a beat, her heart thumped with an increased force. His concern touched her beyond feelings and she wanted him closer than ever, shifting herself even more so - barely possible - into his arms, so that their bodies fitted into the frames of each other completely; every curve felt and moulded together and they fitted perfectly. Two pieces of a puzzle lost from each other, now together again to complete the whole image. The sweet dreams in between had never been enough. Neither had illusions. "Probably." Her eyes held close for a moment, in savour, as she swayed against his frame, the hand on her healthy arm tracing up and down his arm, playing with the ends of the appalling fabric, finally settling for her thumb to caress his jawline, fingers playing into the soft skin of his neck. He smelled so good.
Vision returning, foreheads still matched; knowing that sooner or later they had to move, but wishing that the moment could linger on through the stretches of time; them eternal. One corner of lips pulled upwards, releasing the amused thought-- "Doesn't mean I want to, though."
Containment was something she knew she would rid herself from now, around him. Through the smile an emotion spread and she went along with it, riding on the high it sent off. A gentle press with the fingers on his neck and his lips was her throne to claim, a reprise of their previously shared devour, now in a shortened version -- she couldn't get enough. Their separation ensured that she wouldn't let further moments go to waste.
Parted, they held each other's eyes captive for a moment; willing hostages in a war both surrendered to. Affected – she was mesmerized by his serenity. His embrace and arms felt like a slize of comfort, so she fitted herself there; side of face pressed against his chest, coming to rest against the side of his neck, drawing in his scent with eyes closed. Hearing the confirmation of every shared affect, his heartbeat sped up as she breathed in again; her grateful to know that she was not the only one left with such an havoc in the internal landscape. Enjoying the retrieve, she let a moment pass. "Where are you staying?" Of course, the more logical question would have been to ask him how long he had been on this specific beach for, but she wasn't too big on logic now.
Besides, it didn't matter; time had been of such relevance that for now, that which passed inbetween could be ignored, if only for a moment. Here, or anywhere else, it lacked matter. She really just wanted to be alone with him now.
Last edited by Jess on Mon Oct 02, 2006 9:48 am; edited 1 time in total |
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Jess
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| Posted: Mon Oct 02, 2006 8:43 am Post subject: |
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Hurley
Beach
Claire & Aaron
Having fallen asleep by a log, he but awoke when a passing form's steps had sprayed sand upon his still form. Already warmed by the sun, but without any soothing sense to be found; hydration already having been set on a go in his body. Hours had flown past like smoke to the screaming wind, each passed on with the swiftness of gravity and mutability in a closed system; natures order of falling and rising. Pleasurable to rising views, the fadings of former velvet black replaced by the empty voids and lured on the beginning of day, now; night since long departed. Stirring and flinching, he had rose, joint to the sand with the steadiness of the a pair of feet, searching for the ground as he stood straight, still. Eyes hid from the sun, meeting and excluding the intrusion until lucidity would up its margin and break through to the light of day – it took him a couple of moments, and the emptying of half a water bottle, but soon he was there.
The scenes from yesterday still knocked on consciousness door, a bang and wish to be heard; seeping through the cracks and splinters of a worn door, peaking through and highlighted by a sense of guilt, although knowing; there had been nothing he could do apart from beholding such a gruesome scene; a display he had never wished for his eyes to see. He only understood the ends of it, since granted, that was all he had seen, but it had been enough. An accident - so had the words among the whispers of rumour been - and until he had gotten an updated, more accurate version of the telling, he would hold his attention to that, acclaim that it was the truth of actions. He couldn't handle yet another layer to doubts, and as such, thought of them nay.
Instead, he cast a look over to his shelter. The flaps serving as the sheltering door to his abode held a lot of vacancy, alone – Ford wasn't there anymore. And sure, hours had already passed and midday come, so surprise did not affect his features and colour his thoughts; an acceptance overlapping the progress. He had probably just wanted to explore this new surroundings he had found himself in, and all being given, that wasn't something Hurley could deny him. Better to leave him alone, for now.
A shriek disrupted his attention and he flinched, fingers going to rub at a nose; he was awake since long now, but some creations invaded more sharply than others. His feet started there move towards the source, the young woman's voice reaching his ears before sight did; a smile burrowing itself into features before vision certified the identity. "What? What is it?" Her Australian accent only reminded him of the guy he'd met yesterday again, both sharing the same heavy cling to the English; easy-going and without effort, smooth. But the frantic cry of her son sent shrapnel throughout the empty sky, cutting it to pieces, residues empty and heavy; all the more than nothing. It brought a blink from his eyes as he rested his arms in a cross heavy upon his chest, comfort taken, not the parting. Instead finding a log stretching from the tree close to her tent, shelter; whatever the space where they had a few belongings, a few clothes and the self-created bed lay. He rested an arm upon it, supporting his weight with a rest as he nodded to greet the young woman. "Hey Claire!"
An indication towards Aaron in his cradle, rocked by his mother. "Nice and quiet, huh?" To notice the frantic look of exasperation upon the blonde's form wasn't hard, all it took was a pair of open eyes. He looked around them, but random people seemed scattered elsewhere, caught up in a situation that had passed them by. Somehow, he felt lucky to have fallen out of it.
Basked in the warmth and comfort of a cradle, Aaron seemed safer than what most of them felt like. This constant worry of intruders, that there was no place safe; safe havens excluded and openness raw – was rescue ever going to come? They had been here so long now. A mental shake and thoughts were added to dismiss, the situation before him acute to his temper. Assistance offered-- "Look, is there anything I can do?" Compared to anything, the baby looked so small. Even in comparison to the gold-tinted granules spread through the wind by their feet, he was still tiny; a huge responsibility and yet, so small upon existence in the earth. He needed his mother; someone to guide him and lead him. A continuance of his sentence fell forward. "Cause I may not be, like, a runner-up for Nanny of the year award, but maybe he needs some... male assistance? Or something?" There was no action Hurley would take without Aaron's mothers consent, and until she gave it, he remained steady, vision shifting between the frustrated pair; mother and son.
A smile, meaning well. They all needed someone to look after them from time to time. |
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Claire
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| Posted: Mon Oct 02, 2006 9:14 pm Post subject: |
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Claire
Her tent
Hurley, Aaron
After awhile, the cries of her baby son seemed to grow more natural. He wasn’t planning on stopping anything soon, and Claire knew that. She just paced back and forth, gently patting his back, hoping he’d just cry himself to sleep at this point. She had tried everything, well, everything she could think of. Nothing had worked, so the only other thing to do was let him cry himself out. She was about to open her mouth, let her singing voice come out to sing a lullaby, but she heard a voice.
“Hey Claire.” Hurley said. She had almost not heard him at all, what with the baby crying more and more. She nodded a bit in his direction, letting him know she had seen him. She lifted her hand from Aaron’s back for a moment to wave a bit, then went back to gently rubbing and patting.
“Look, is there anything I can do?” He then asked. Claire finally stopped pacing just to look at Hurley. Charlie was… Well, she didn’t really know where Charlie was, so he couldn’t help her. No one else had asked to help her, not like she expected them to or something, because of course she didn’t, but it would be nice. A smile crossed onto her face and she nodded.
Walking over, she placed Aaron in Hurley’s arms, before putting her hands on her hips. “Maybe you’d be able to do something?” She said, then realized that “do something” wasn’t really good instructions. “Maybe.. you could..” Think, Claire. “I dunno. Make him laugh. Sing, make faces, anything. Really, anything that could make him stop crying right now would be an absolute miracle.”
There was always a catch, wasn’t there? You could have something so good in your life, something that makes your life absolutely complete, but something that makes it such hard work is always attached to it. Always. Of course, everything about Aaron was fine and he’d be the absolutely BEST baby in the world if he never cried, but she knew that would never happen. Oh well. She knew she would be able to deal with this. She’ll just learn from this time to never wake him up while he’s sleeping.
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Tue Oct 03, 2006 8:03 pm Post subject: |
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Jack
Caves
Nikkos & Locke [Mia & Michael]
A numbness spread from the tips of Jack’s fingers and up his arms, trickling like an internal liniment through sluggish veins. His head wouldn’t allow straight thought, and it angered him to find in the mess of tired that he was that throwing the cart had taken more exertion then he was willing to admit. The liquid that before had been a mystery now pooled around the rubber soles of his sneakers, and the pungent odor of rubbing alcohol wafted aimlessly up into his face, making his eyes water, nose clear. How had he lost four people in two days? How had he allowed it? He made these sorry excuses of not having the right equipment; it meant nothing. If he had wanted it bad enough, tried hard enough, they’d be okay. In recovery. If he had checked on Jane earlier, she would have been out of harm’s way, on a different path...If he had reacted quicker, with more resolve to Mia’s burns, she’d still be breathing...If he’d bothered to talk to Michael in the last few days, perhaps disaster would have been averted...If he had just asked Kate to come with him to the golf tournament, he would have noticed her absence from it. All so simple. So simple.
Over the smell of rubbing alcohol came a new stench, one that Jack was sure that no one but those associated with death could sense. Maybe it was more of a feeling, cold wind directly following a warm breeze. It reminded him of failure, of home, of family. It was all he could do to not lose consciousness.
Slowly, Jack forced himself to calm down. He could sense eyes on the back of his head, though the gaze was hard to gauge. If it was guidance they were looking for, his well of wisdom was dry; it had been filled with poison from the start, anyway. With a deliberate, forced frame of mind, he counted slowly to five, allowing the numbers to rise and then fall, drop perfectly from one to the other. Lowering his hands, he turned around, taking a few steps away from the destroyed cart and towards the pile of blankets; his shoes left wet marks of rubbing alcohol on the cave floor. From the selection he ripped open a plastic bag holding a fresh, new airplane blanket, and, with heavy reluctance, threw the cloth over Mia’s body, one of many that he didn’t want to see; one of many that would haunt him. There was no way to say goodbye with dignity here.
Finally, a glance was thrown to the infirmary’s entrance, and Jack’s eyes hardened instantly, defensives ripped up. Locke stood there, a body draped over his shoulder...Michael’s body. It his desperate attempt at saving Mia, he had forgotten the key character in all of this – Locke. Jack’s steps were suddenly no longer hindered by weight of grief; that was temporarily pushed down in the face of another, stronger need; fury. He now recalled Nikkos’s words..."It was Locke." It was indeed, and the corpse over his shoulder painted him the guilty one.
With venom. “What did you do?"
Jack was ready to tear John Locke apart.
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