A door marked "nevermore" that wasn't there before. [ic, closed]
|| The face, the height, the voice, never being able to find his gun--they were getting to him. He realized that he was a lot more on edge than usual. He was spending more time locked up in a room that wasn't really his, than he did outside yelling at people and drinking his beer. Too much could go wrong out there. Too many people could figure
( Read more... )
He always wanted to believe those convenient shut outs of memory were things he just forgotten over time, like how would simply forget about a putting a pencil on your ear and forgetting you have did so - so you spend hours looking for it only to find it when you look at your reflection in a mirror. In retrospect that was a terrible analogy and at this point he had no idea what he was going on as he was walking to each room, making an ever so detailed list of the rooms of Headquarters - he had no desire to find an escape through something 'temporary' such as a change of form which has happened one too many times by accident in his case.
Either way the notebook he carried was a ridiculous sight, his penmanship was sloppy, illegible, sometimes tearing through the paper due to putting too much stress on the pen. (He learned over time that pencils broke a lot more easily and he could rip the paper up with an eraser otherwise with how much he second guessed himself. Better to just turn a page if you did a mistake or go back and correct it later. )
Continuing to wander the hallways, slightly staggering with each step, only to look up - lo and behold, he was back where he started. Maybe he didn't even move at all. Who knows? Either way, it was clear about one thing - he hated it here. He hated being closer to so many places that he despised and wanted nothing more but to go back to the unpredictable weather that he grew to live with and learned to eventually be mildly amused by. He wanted to go home, yet everyone here was falling in love, relying on each other, and crying about things everywhere he turned. Saying some stupidity that would shake him up that they cared for him and wanted him to be happy. Idiots. All of them.
... This is easily why he remembered why he started drinking. Thinking too damn much.
Nervously biting at that pen to calm his nerves, it decided to thank him by splashing ink into his mouth - disgusting. Why the hell did he do that in the first place?! There was only one word to summarize how he was feeling. ]
Shit!
Reply
Montana was not one who was prone to nervousness, although there were the occasions where it happened. The idea of trying to calm himself down was about as foreign to him as living in a place where the seasons never changed and it was always beach weather every day. It just didn't happen, especially not when he didn't have a pack of smokes handy to cool his nerves. When his arms muscles tightened and his lips pursed and his heart started thumping dramatically, he had no way of knowing how to stop those reactions from happening. The difficulty only compounded itself when his back pain flared and the black splotches in his vision spun with every blink of his eyes.
But with Wisconsin waiting just around the corner, he had no choice but to try to quell those pains and aggressions.
The cheap wooden panels on the walls were the tiniest bit soothing, probably because they reminded him of home, he reflected as he walked down the hall towards where he had heard Wisconsin's voice. He let his eyes rest on them, standing in the hall a few moments longer than he needed to, before bursting out to where Wisconsin was fidgeting around. ||
Wisconsin. || He spoke the name with as much authority as he could muster. || You promised me a fight--I'm here to collect.
Reply
As he spit out as much ink he could that had now coated his mouth, he heard someone call his state's name - or rather his name. The word - the name 'Gabe' always seemed so alien to him in these last months he had heard it. Fighting the urge to even make a noise in irritation. As that headache was pounding in his head, he screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds while it quickly subsided into a bearable dull ache. He could barely remember that voice, too many people to keep track of here, and his information that he once took extreme pride in has now long became insufficient, useless, and of little value to the overflow of intellect and culture that he was unaware of filling up this building to the brim.
It was now getting slower to process those words that were said to him, a fight? A promise? Collection? He made a loud snort, gagged as he tasted the ink in his mouth and turned around to face whoever it was that was talking to him. His eyes blinking needlessly, focusing on the other person --
Oh. It was the idiot who started the damn fire to - who knows what the hell he was trying to do in the first place. Now it all made sense. His eye ever so slightly twitched, he wasn't going to bother acting this time, too many slip ups, and he was sure this fucker was another one of those damn geniuses who would be able to read him either way.
... But what promise did he speak of? He didn't remember anything like that. He continued to spit out the ink that remained in his mouth even as he had that smug look on his face. Make it look like you were trying to be a dumbass on purpose, though he sardonically thought there was no point. His reputation for years, even before arriving here was ruined. It wouldn't matter if he would remain a joke now. Instead, he let out a quick chuckle, before replying back with mild amusement - tilting his head lazily to the side as he did so. ]
Now? Oh, you have absolutely terrible timing!
Reply
No. None of that. || His words were snarled no matter how hard he tried to smooth them out. || If you don't fuckin', look, if you just--
|| This was pointless. There was no use trying to reason with the dumbass. Surtsey relaxed his shoulders, snapped his head to one side, effectively popping the bones in his neck, and then reached out to put a heavy hand on Wisconsin's shoulder. He grips on tightly to that should. He might not have the height advantage that he used to--goddamn, they were practically eye-to-eye--but he was sure that he was still stronger than anyone else in HQ. Let that be his source of intimidation. ||
I'm sick of all your shit, Wisconsin. You agreed to fight me at any time I wanted. I want now. You're gonna listen to me.
I'm gonna have this fight no matter what, dumbass. It's up to you whether you're a voluntary participator or the jackass I beat to death in his sleep. || Maybe "voluntary" wasn't quite the right word, but Burch had never been big on vocabulary. Whatever got his point across was good enough for him. ||
Reply
So instead, he decided to bide time, with asking questions - as much as he causally thought of the end of his own state in his own various ways (mostly having to deal with nuclear fallout from those idiots out west and south of him.) he didn't have any plan to be beaten to death anytime soon. ]
Beating me to death? Now isn't that a little extreme? Now what do you need me to die for exactly? If you're actually going to kill me because you're one of Illinois' cities I'll be very upset.
Reply
It's not that difficult, dumbass. || Deep, relaxing breaths. Try to loosen your grip on his shoulder. Atta boy. Now, just put your arms at your sides and try to look nonchalant. Eh, close enough. || I just need to relieve some stress, and either I blow stuff up or I get ta fight with someone.
Now, c'mon or I fuck you up. || Points in the direction he came. || We're not fighting here.
Reply
Well I suppose, but I do have one question to ask you - are you that miserable here that you have to kill someone? [ He is beginning to walk in that direction that the man pointed, and decided to use his favorite weapon. Rambling. Inwardly he hoped that he cared to listen. Reveal parts of the truth, to see if you can stop him. ]
I'll fight you if it relieves your boredom, I personally want to get the hell out of here too and was just looking for a way out... But most people are useless here and falling in love, which is beyond my understanding anyway...
Reply
He leads Wisconsin around HQ, up to the floor where, in one of the abandoned-looking halls no one goes in, there stands the door covered in soot. The hall, which is usually empty, is filled with all sorts of things now. There are power tools and lumber strewn all over the place. Surtsey motions towards them proudly. ||
This is my workshop since I can't go in my old one without people being suspicious. || No need for subtlety anymore. He would be gone soon. He walks up to the blackened door covered with hand prints and surrounded by barefoot human tracks. || And the old Yellowstone room.
Dreary place. || Smirk. || Can't help but like it.
Reply
Once it did sink in though, there was nothing of value in those words. Other than it reminding his place in the system, a back-up, a fail safe, the net to catch others when they fall or disaster strikes. To soften the blow for others around him. He wouldn't take those words personally on the principle he wasn't allowed to take the commentary personally from those who was set to protect. In fact, these words were nothing compared to what he heard in the past. And if he did hear that commentary under his breath, it would only give him more reason to smile.
However, regardless of hearing these things he decides to needlessly lean his head to the side, feigning ignorance. Widen your eyes, pretend to be absolutely incapable of understanding and comprehending what is going on - even as the pieces have already come together. Either way, this always annoyed him. He added the voice as well. ]
... Why would ya find a place so depressin' likable?
Reply
He makes a large, sweeping motion with his hand and speaks loudly, the most theatrics he has ever used in his life. || Do you hear anything? Do you see anybody? Isn't the air a little thinner?
|| There's a pile of wood sitting off to one side of the hall. He steps over this to get to what might be considered a "work bench." Here, he digs around for a few moments, and then uncovers a small, blue bag. The bag is small enough to fit in his hand, and if one were to look closely enough, he would see the initials "MT" on it, underneath that the name "Michel." ||
Only personal item I got left here. Huh. || Those words aren't directed at Wisconsin. He doesn't really care about the other state. Wisconsin is acting stranger than normal. || You wanna go home? I can help with that. I can...
|| Oh, yeah. He was talking to someone. He turns back to Wisconsin and grins. || Yeah. Won't even need fire this time. But you still gotta fight me.
Reply
Obviously, it never turned out that way. His constitution was declined and made more 'moderate' and 'fitting' to the the other states. Meaning, more fitting to be of use for others. Though in retrospect it's not like he was able to stop it at that point of course - most states had half his amount of population and were allowed to become so. They probably just wanted to get it out the way, he thought with that bitterness consuming his thought process. He pushed those useless thoughts away, they always made him act unreasonable.
Instead he decided to lean in to see that bag that he was talking to. He figured he was talking to that and not him because whoever would? Other than a cheap laugh of course.
However, noticing that Surtsey was turning around, he simply went back to his usual stupid expression. He had seen enough to come to his own conclusion. The talk of Yellowstone and 'MT' - he figured out the possibility of who Surtsey was now, and it made his anger began to slowly boil, he caused a fire on that very day to...
... it proved nobody could be trusted here. But it was best to continue to play up his stupidity. ]
...What did ya need fire for to begin with?
Reply
I'm Montana, dumbass. Fire doesn't scare me. || Of course. He just lets those forest fires blaze. || I don't mind using it as a punishment. People stole my horses, including you, fuckhead, so I got pissed. The first time I used fire was because I wanted to hurt HQ, tryin' to get home. It didn't work, and that's why-- || Motions to his face. || --I have this shitty face now.
It helped me figure something out, though, and It can throw me in that damn room as many times as It wants. || The last part is yelled so HQ can hear. ||
Are you going to fight me or what? I'm getting sick of fuckin' around.
Reply
He relaxed to these thoughts flowing, allowing his mind to race - only for it to come to a complete stop. He'd give up all control and trained restraint put that into the hands of whatever consumed him. A weight lifted from him, as he looked back at Surtsey - no, Montana.
Yes, he did promise a fight, didn't he? If the other tried to kill him, so be it - there was more than enough various things around to do damage to him otherwise. The older state, although he was possibly at one time more experienced in war and fighting - it had long gone rusty, feeble, and chances are alone wouldn't be able to take down the man standing before him. Wisconsin while once a terrifying and respectable figure in his own right in terms of politics, fighting, ideals, and other various subjects - those ages have long gone. He had slipped into mediocrity.
However Wisconsin made his attempt either way, rushing towards him - calculating, processing, watching for any sudden movements Montana did. He would begin with swinging his fist towards him with as much energy as he could maintain without falling over due to drinking too much. ]
Reply
As soon as Wisconsin started charging, Montana’s hand went to the work bench behind him and picked up the hunting knife he had left there. Without so much as a second thought, he let the knife fly towards Wisconsin.
There had never been any need for Montana to know how to throw a knife. His gun was for aiming; his knife was for cutting and gutting. His time in HQ had changed that. The hours of boredom had him seeking new ways to keep him occupied. It had started with target practice; it had evolved into a skill he wanted to perfect. It wasn’t until recently that he realized there would come a time where he would run out of bullets, or when his guns would just be gone. Once again, he wasn’t a planner, but an opportunist. Far be it from him to waste a good opportunity to use his new skill.
Any other time, his gut reaction would have been to reach for his gun, but with the few seconds he had only his knife would do. He wasn’t aiming for Wisconsin; he was aiming for the air just left of Wisconsin’s head. He knife flew with accuracy, but his hand was once again reaching for another weapon just in case Wisconsin did something strange. ||
Reply
If Wisconsin worked as he usually did, he'd would have attempted to dodge, he would panicked and ended up getting hit with that knife. He would have ended up over thinking things and would have been struck in the head due to his moments of hesitation. However, luckily for Wisconsin - he wasn't thinking the way he usually would. Like he would in cowardice, in stepping back, in whimpering and running in the opposite direction - a system that was long conditioned into his system. He was only focusing on the fight, swinging - no not swinging - reaching, aiming to grasp Montana's throat with his terribly mangled left hand that he damaged days prior.
In the past there were humorous commentaries on how the forced passivity of the midwest had made them quite vicious in fighting, when aggression came around - however this may have been hard to tell for Montana. One could even argue that Wisconsin now might have even been having fun but that could be debated simply because his expression didn't change he had not said a single word yet. ]
Reply
While normally he would pistol whip the guy out of quick convenience, he couldn't risk Wisconsin being unconscious. Having to start all over would ruin the mood for his plan. Instead, he puts the gun up level with Wisconsin's eyes and pulls the hammer back. ||
I'll kill you right now and find some asshole to take your place. || Which was a bluff. If Wisconsin didn't let go, Burch would force him to let go somehow. Both of his arms were working and they could still punch pretty hard when he wanted them to. Though, yeah, the crushing of his windpipe did hurt and he would like that to stop as soon as possible. || I'd rather not, though. Like I said, more good to me alive than dead.
Reply
Leave a comment