Quarantine Day Twenty-two
Entry Four
The downtime had done everyone good. Everybody was more relaxed now, chatting with their neighbors, trading jokes and stories, and, best of all, being a bad influence on those younger than they were.
You see, one of the refugees that had staggered her way into the mall was a young girl named Mary O’Halloran. Mary couldn’t have been a day over sixteen. She’d gotten separated from her parents about two weeks ago, when the grocery store they and a few others were hiding in got broken into. In the confusion, she’d managed to get away, but she’d lost track of her folks in the process. She’d thought they were dead. Thankfully, they weren’t. They’d shown up at the mall a few days later, a little worse for the wear, but still breathing. While they healed up with the other wounded, the rest of the Woodroffe cast had taken the teenager under their wing, and were doing their best to look out for her. They’d also taught her more dirty words in a half hour of Drunken Scrabble than she’d ever learned before in her entire life.
All in all, everyone was trying to make the most out of the general reprieve we’d all been given. You know, that old movie cliché: “Hey, we’re surrounded by death, now it’s time to remember what life’s like” kinda thing. As for Jeff and me, well, our relationship was on the road to recovery, and that was all that mattered to me.
“Knight to King Four…” I took my finger off the piece. In the absence of one of those fancy chess clock… timer… thingies, it’d been decided that taking your finger off the piece was the official signal that you’d made up your mind about your move… and I was pretty sure about this one. I had a good line of attack, my defense was solid, and if I played things right, I could have this guy mated in a half dozen turns… maybe less.
My chess opponent was a bit older than me: not by a lot, but he was definitely a few years my senior – probably in his early to mid 30s at the most – roughly around Clara’s age, actually. He was pretty tall, and a little lanky, but with that really lean, powerful build that you saw in a lot of non-football-playing pro athletes. He looked like the kind of guy who was just built for the power forward slot on a basketball team, or maybe even the rugby type. Fast, nimble, and with enough punch in that wiry frame to knock you on your can if you were dumb enough not to take him seriously. Black hair, cut short, and a little spiky at the top. Light tan, nothing too ostentatious. In terms of looks, he was the kind of guy mothers dreamed of for their daughters: all handsome and honest-looking. This one’s name was Eric, (I hadn’t caught his last name,) and he’d been with the crew that had gotten kicked out of Hildrebrand and had been forced to relocate to Woodroffe.
Since the early morning, Eric had pretty much been camped out on one side of that chessboard, thrashing all comers, and I, too, had decided I’d attempt to match my pitiful skills against him, hoping somehow that I stood a chance at avoiding complete and utter humiliation. To be honest, I expected total embarrassment to be a foregone conclusion, but the funny thing was, even after a half hour’s worth of play, it still looked (to me, at least,) that I might actually be holding my own… perhaps even winning.
Of course, I was -wrong- about that.
Perched atop one of the food court’s tables, legs dangling just above the floor, was Jeff. He was sitting quietly and watching the game… or rather, he was sitting quietly until I took my finger off the knight and ended my turn. “Well, that’s a bold move…” he commented with a small smile. He had an open box of Goobers (probably swiped from the movie theater concession stand) resting on the table next to him. He held it out and offered me and Eric some – an offer I gladly accepted.
I shrugged at him, fired a confident smile of my own right back, and reached for a handful of candy. Chocolate-covered peanuts are awesome, by the way, just in case you didn’t know. “I like to live on the edge,” I said to Jeff with a small, puckish smile. “Eric, my friend, you are going down like a five-dollar hooker.”
And that was when Eric, who was too busy concentrating on the game to partake of the candy goodness, or, incidentally, respond to my taunting, crashed a bishop through my supposedly solid defenses and hauled me out to the curb like it was trash-day-Thursday. He smirked. “Checkmate.”
And Jeff started laughing at my expense. Again. “Nice work, Coll.”
Stupid boys.
Stupid, smirking boys.
I cleared my throat loudly and tried to salvage some semblance of dignity. I didn’t succeed, really, but… well… yeah. “You know… I’ve been thinking about moving off the edge… it’s not the ideal location. Maybe get a place somewhere in the middle.”
Eric laughed good-naturedly, packed up his chessboard, and headed off to find someone else to challenge to a match. Jeff responded to my comment with a rueful shake of the head. He smiled and gave me an affectionate pat on the shoulder, then handed me the box of chocolates, and closed my fingers around the cardboard container. “Here. I think you need these more than I do right now.” He reached up and tousled my hair with his hand. I just have that kind of hair, I guess – the kind that people feel instinctively compelled to mess with.
“You sure know how to charm a girl, Jeff,” I joked, nudging him with my hip. But just as quickly as it had come, my good mood was out the door. “Listen. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
He looked at me, his face suddenly ashen with concern. One look at me, and he knew something was up. I wasn’t making any efforts to hide my feelings, after all. He reached out and gently rested a hand on my shoulder. “What?”
My mouth felt dry, but I still managed to get out what I wanted to say. “Look, I… I still don’t want to talk about what happened… but I will tell you why I don’t want to talk about it. I think I owe you that much.”
The memories were still… too fresh, and too painful. As much as I wanted him to know what had happened, to hear his thoughts, to have him give me some advice… as much as I wanted all that, I knew I wasn’t ready for it. But I wanted him to know I wasn’t ready, wanted him to know why… wanted him to understand why I’d blown up at him and why I had been so… angry. I needed to get that out in the open, and as hard as that would be, I wasn’t going to back down from it. Not this time.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Yeah… but… but you’ll need to give me a minute.”
He didn’t say anything – just took his arm, wrapped it around my shoulders, and folded me into a hug.
I took most of that minute running the thoughts around in my head, trying to sort out the wheat from the chaff, and come up with a coherent explanation for just why my brain and I had been having such trouble communicating lately… well… more so than usual, anyway. The words started tumbling out, almost at random, and I prayed they made some sort of sense. “You see, it’s just… I’m not all… here… right now. You understand? My head isn’t in a good place. I guess… dying will do that to you,” I quipped, my mouth tasting sour, like bile, as I said it. “And if I stop and take the time to try and remember what happened, if I stop to really think about how I… how I died… well, I don’t know what’ll happen.”
Actually, I had some faint idea. Images from old cartoons, where a character would stare blankly at the camera, then twiddle his lips with his finger while making weird, unidentifiable noises, came to mind. Only… you know… it wouldn’t be nearly as funny if it were me.
I continued on. “I know I’ll have to deal with this eventually. I know that, and I’m not saying this is something I can just forget about forever. But I can’t deal with it now. I mean, I’m barely hanging on to my sanity here, and yes, I still have some, so don’t you even think about suggesting otherwise.” I waved a finger at him, daring him to make the joke. In his place, I might have done just that.
Instead, he flashed me a small, warm smile, and squeezed tighter. “I could, but I wasn’t planning on it.”
“But you were thinking about it.”
That same gentle, understanding smile. “No, not really.”
I fired back with a small grin of my own. He was going to such… lengths to be nice to me, and while I knew part of it was just him being careful to avoid a repeat of what had happened before, I also knew that the rest of it was him genuinely trying to make me feel better… and I appreciated the efforts. The best part of that, though, was I didn’t even have to tell him how much I appreciated them. He just knew. “Well, anyway… the point is… I can’t… relive that stuff right now. If I start thinking about it, and worse, talking about it, it’ll be like the little Dutch boy pulling his finger out of the dam… and I… we… can’t afford that right now.”
“I hear ya,” he said, nodding his head in understanding. “But uh… now what do we do?”
“That’s a good question. I really don’t know.”
Quarantine, Day Twenty-Two, Entry Four
Started by
Guest_AlphaMonkey_*
, Nov 13 2006 09:37 PM
6 replies to this topic
#2
Guest_Theodur_*
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Posted 14 November 2006 - 09:56 AM
Somehow I did not really expect Coll to be all that great at chess. Might I suggest checkers or perhaps snakes and ladders for the next time? Or pin the tail on a donkey?
Nice to see Coll starting to talk about her... issues. Wonder if her ressurection would be anything like in the BG-setting... like the romantic interest being revived from their vampirism and then spending their time angsting over whether they killed and drank someone's blood while they were Turned.
And didn't that little Dutch boy die horribly in the end? Or at least got his hand sawn off? Eeek.
Nice to see Coll starting to talk about her... issues. Wonder if her ressurection would be anything like in the BG-setting... like the romantic interest being revived from their vampirism and then spending their time angsting over whether they killed and drank someone's blood while they were Turned.
And didn't that little Dutch boy die horribly in the end? Or at least got his hand sawn off? Eeek.
#3
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Posted 16 November 2006 - 09:26 PM
Somehow I did not really expect Coll to be all that great at chess.
She could be. She's actually pretty intelligent, she just has no patience and little foresight.
like the romantic interest being revived from their vampirism and then spending their time angsting over whether they killed and drank someone's blood while they were Turned.
It's... not a subject she's going to be comfortable with, and it might come up later... you'll have to see.
And didn't that little Dutch boy die horribly in the end? Or at least got his hand sawn off? Eeek.
Probably. Fables like that always end badly.
#4
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Posted 17 November 2006 - 02:06 AM
You see, one of the refugees that had staggered her way into the mall was a young girl named Mary O’Halloran. Mary couldn’t have been a day over sixteen. She’d gotten separated from her parents about two weeks ago, when the grocery store they and a few others were hiding in got broken into. In the confusion, she’d managed to get away, but she’d lost track of her folks in the process. She’d thought they were dead. Thankfully, they weren’t. They’d shown up at the mall a few days later, a little worse for the wear, but still breathing. While they healed up with the other wounded, the rest of the Woodroffe cast had taken the teenager under their wing, and were doing their best to look out for her. They’d also taught her more dirty words in a half hour of Drunken Scrabble than she’d ever learned before in her entire life.
I had to go and referee a Scrabble game last week. My brother (age 23) was playing my niece (age 9), and she got upset because he was writing swear words. How did she know what those words meant (as well as how to spell them), thats what I ask myself.
“Knight to King Four…” I took my finger off the piece. In the absence of one of those fancy chess clock… timer… thingies, it’d been decided that taking your finger off the piece was the official signal that you’d made up your mind about your move… and I was pretty sure about this one. I had a good line of attack, my defense was solid, and if I played things right, I could have this guy mated in a half dozen turns… maybe less.
Edwin: Hmmph... Now I on the other hand have won sixteen master trophies.
Imoen: You only won that last one though because your opponent forfeited the game.
Edwin: He knew he had no chance to recover.
Imoen: What, after you turned him into a newt?
I shrugged at him, fired a confident smile of my own right back, and reached for a handful of candy. Chocolate-covered peanuts are awesome, by the way, just in case you didn’t know.
Strange, I like peanuts and I like chocolate but I've never liked them together.
I fired back with a small grin of my own. He was going to such… lengths to be nice to me, and while I knew part of it was just him being careful to avoid a repeat of what had happened before, I also knew that the rest of it was him genuinely trying to make me feel better… and I appreciated the efforts. The best part of that, though, was I didn’t even have to tell him how much I appreciated them. He just knew. “Well, anyway… the point is… I can’t… relive that stuff right now. If I start thinking about it, and worse, talking about it, it’ll be like the little Dutch boy pulling his finger out of the dam… and I… we… can’t afford that right now.”
“I hear ya,” he said, nodding his head in understanding. “But uh… now what do we do?”
“That’s a good question. I really don’t know.”
Imoen: I'd suggest ice cream, but I guess the freezers aren't working.
Edwin: Yes, they'd only find more mush.
Good chapter... not very helpful comments I know but it's 2 am here.
#5
Weyoun
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Posted 18 November 2006 - 10:16 PM
The downtime had done everyone good. Everybody was more relaxed now, chatting with their neighbors, trading jokes and stories, and, best of all, being a bad influence on those younger than they were.
Ah, love to be a bad influence.
All in all, everyone was trying to make the most out of the general reprieve we’d all been given. You know, that old movie cliché: “Hey, we’re surrounded by death, now it’s time to remember what life’s like” kinda thing. As for Jeff and me, well, our relationship was on the road to recovery, and that was all that mattered to me.
Heh, where's Ken Foree when you need him?
I shrugged at him, fired a confident smile of my own right back, and reached for a handful of candy. Chocolate-covered peanuts are awesome, by the way, just in case you didn’t know. “I like to live on the edge,” I said to Jeff with a small, puckish smile. “Eric, my friend, you are going down like a five-dollar hooker.”
LOL! I'm tempted to suggest the retort 'And so will you when the syphillis kicks in!'
Eric laughed good-naturedly, packed up his chessboard, and headed off to find someone else to challenge to a match. Jeff responded to my comment with a rueful shake of the head. He smiled and gave me an affectionate pat on the shoulder, then handed me the box of chocolates, and closed my fingers around the cardboard container. “Here. I think you need these more than I do right now.” He reached up and tousled my hair with his hand. I just have that kind of hair, I guess – the kind that people feel instinctively compelled to mess with.
LOL! She should bite anyone who tried.
Actually, I had some faint idea. Images from old cartoons, where a character would stare blankly at the camera, then twiddle his lips with his finger while making weird, unidentifiable noises, came to mind. Only… you know… it wouldn’t be nearly as funny if it were me.
It'd be fun if you could have the speed of the Road-Runner, or the overwhelming resilliance of the Coyote, though.
I fired back with a small grin of my own. He was going to such… lengths to be nice to me, and while I knew part of it was just him being careful to avoid a repeat of what had happened before, I also knew that the rest of it was him genuinely trying to make me feel better… and I appreciated the efforts. The best part of that, though, was I didn’t even have to tell him how much I appreciated them. He just knew. “Well, anyway… the point is… I can’t… relive that stuff right now. If I start thinking about it, and worse, talking about it, it’ll be like the little Dutch boy pulling his finger out of the dam… and I… we… can’t afford that right now.”
Ahum, that would be 'dike', not 'dam'.
“I hear ya,” he said, nodding his head in understanding. “But uh… now what do we do?”
“That’s a good question. I really don’t know.”
You're in a mall surrounded by hungry zombies. There's not really much you can do. Just ask Ken Foree.
TnT Enhanced Edition: http://www.fanfictio...rds-and-Tempers
---
Sith Warrior - Master, I can sense your anger.
Darth Baras - A blind, comotose lobotomy-patient could sense my anger!
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"The New Age? It's just the old age stuck in a microwave oven for fifteen seconds" - James Randi
---
Sith Warrior - Master, I can sense your anger.
Darth Baras - A blind, comotose lobotomy-patient could sense my anger!
---
"The New Age? It's just the old age stuck in a microwave oven for fifteen seconds" - James Randi
#6
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Posted 20 November 2006 - 06:18 AM
I had to go and referee a Scrabble game last week. My brother (age 23) was playing my niece (age 9), and she got upset because he was writing swear words. How did she know what those words meant (as well as how to spell them), thats what I ask myself.
Good question. It's a shame, but kids tend to learn that stuff real young. I didn't, but most kids do.
Edwin: Hmmph... Now I on the other hand have won sixteen master trophies.
Imoen: You only won that last one though because your opponent forfeited the game.
Edwin: He knew he had no chance to recover.
Imoen: What, after you turned him into a newt?
CN: "See, I could win, too, if I decided to be a cheating hack. But I'll leave that to you. Enjoy those trophies you didn't actually earn through your own merit. I'm sure that your existence is so meaningless and pathetic that the only pitiful joy you derive comes from defrauding others out of stuff they deserve."
Imoen: I'd suggest ice cream, but I guess the freezers aren't working.
Edwin: Yes, they'd only find more mush.
Well, it is getting close to winter... but still not cold enough for ice cream to sit outside and not melt.
#7
Guest_AlphaMonkey_*
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Posted 20 November 2006 - 06:37 AM
Ah, love to be a bad influence.
I try not to corrupt young, impressionable minds.
Heh, where's Ken Foree when you need him?
You know, I had to look that name up. I've actually never seen Dawn of the Dead.
LOL! I'm tempted to suggest the retort 'And so will you when the syphillis kicks in!'
Nice. Real nice.
But Eric isn't talking smack. He doesn't need to.
LOL! She should bite anyone who tried.
CN: "Nah. It's ok. I don't mind that much, actually. I mean, I like my hair neat, like most girls, but that's why I keep it kinda short, so it doesn't take much futzing with. That, and people can play with it a little and it still looks fine."
It'd be fun if you could have the speed of the Road-Runner, or the overwhelming resilliance of the Coyote, though.
CN: "You know what'd be cool? If you could shoot me in the face with a shotgun and all it would do would be to make my nose spin around on my face. That'd be a neat cartoon power, I think."
Ahum, that would be 'dike', not 'dam'.
I know "dike" is the word that's actually used, but I was paraphrasing and I use "dike" and "dam" pretty much interchangeably.
You're in a mall surrounded by hungry zombies. There's not really much you can do. Just ask Ken Foree.
I really want to play Dead Rising... you know, that zombie game for the X-Box 360? (Sigh) Stupid X-Box 360...
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