It's... quiet. The morning is quiet and dull and even the animals rustling in the jungle or skittering on the beach seem a bit at a loss for what to do. The beach as a whole seems to be waiting. It'll soon be obvious what-for.
At this point, the Chiefs have pretty much given up on the whole pit roasting aesthetic and just let whoever's gonna die do their own thing. But they'll show up at the appointed time and Hal glances over at the few stray seagulls perched on trees, watching with beady, greedy eyes before looking to the huts. Then he calls out, louder than naturally possible,
"Execution time, folks! Magilou and Bellamy have been chosen as executioners. Come on down and watch."
And then, as indifferent as ever, he steps to the side and waits.
[. . . guh. stupid protagonists!1 she hates how this island has endeared her to this sort of thing now. she's surrounded by way too many do-gooders who preach the importance of bonds and trust. it's softened her heart way too much for her liking]
[then again. . . maybe that isn't all bad. after all, they wouldn't be where they are now if she hadn't let down her walls just a little bit]
[she listens to Akira's speech dispassionately, arms folded, mask still in hand. there's a brief moment of hesitation when he addresses her, brows raising in curiosity, but. . . in the end, he doesn't have to go to Magilou. she steps forward willingly, feet moving without permission from her brain. her arms fall to her side, free hand touching the knife that waits for its time to shine]
Aw, I get my own little message? Way to make me feel special, Trickster. ☆
but he's grateful that magilou makes this just a bit easier on him by stepping closer.]
Yeah, well. Some things are too important to announce to the other ten people hanging around.
[he knows what comes next, after all. and he can largely predict how she's going to react to what he's going to say to her—so he's already braced himself for that outcome; he probably will deserve what's coming to him in that respect.
so akira will act swiftly, closing the gap between them. he leans over to her height, so their faces are very close. it might even look like a kiss from the right angle, but you know, it's not. instead, he shifts so his mouth is close to magilou's ear, and he whispers his final words to her.
there's nothing else to say, after all. just that. there won't be any words to share, no platitudes or quips, no outdated pop culture references or memetic phrases. death is all that awaits him now, so he'll just take the faintest step back, offering her a knowing gaze and waiting for his end.]
[her fingers tighten around the handle of her knife, knuckles white, and for the first time that morning her detached expression begins to crumble. frustration, irritation, and anger, all directed at him and at his stupid stupid confession. him stupidly getting himself killed at the final hour, when she had tried so hard to protect him]
[and then there's the uncertainty, her hand beginning to tremble as she draws her knife]
[she closes the distance between them again, grabs him roughly by the shoulder, head bowed and unable to meet his gaze. her bangs and the brim of her hat appropriately hide whatever final emotions are present in her gaze]
. . . I can't believe you--
[she's balking, and if she doesn't do this fast, then. . .]
[she shoves at his shoulder, draws her weapon up, and promptly slips the blade right between his ribs, and through his heart, trying her best to ignore the way that her breath hitches in her throat]
[maybe it's for the better that she doesn't meet his gaze, or she'll see the way his expression shifted into a bittersweet sadness, how his eyes glazed over despite there being no trace of any actual tears this time.
he was as ready as he was ever going to be.
he manages one last endeared chuckle at her reaction—as expected—before he feels the knife pierce through his chest. his mind races in those moments of consciousness. of his life back home, his friends and family, his confidants... the people he met on this island, and magilou, of course. there's no coherent thought, just the overwhelming pain of the blade cutting through his heart and the imagery of all the people he holds so dear to him.
it's quick, though.
she makes it merciful with her aim, and it's not long before he goes completely weak; his consciousness fades amid that blinding pain, and his last truly conscious thought as the light fades from his eyes is "fall backwards, don't crush her," because he owes magilou at least that much. but that's it. the life drains from him completely then, and though his eyes are peaceful and his lips remain curved in a faint smile....
[she's small. way too small to support his weight had he slumped forward, so the fact that he goes backwards is a good thing. but even so, she releases the knife in his chest and snatches at his wrist to catch him so he doesn't collapse. using what little strength she has (the woes of being a mage), she lowers him to the ground, before gently placing his arm at his side and kneeling right next to him]
[. . .]
[her expression is blank now, but she's holding onto the mask with both hands, resting it gently in her lap. she ignores the dark stains of blood that coat the fingers of the hand that handled the knife, though she tries her best not to get that all over the mask, too. it wouldn't be polite to paint it red now]
. . . well.
[her voice is even. almost a monotone]
I suppose this means it's time for the both of us to wake up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
[then again. . . maybe that isn't all bad. after all, they wouldn't be where they are now if she hadn't let down her walls just a little bit]
[she listens to Akira's speech dispassionately, arms folded, mask still in hand. there's a brief moment of hesitation when he addresses her, brows raising in curiosity, but. . . in the end, he doesn't have to go to Magilou. she steps forward willingly, feet moving without permission from her brain. her arms fall to her side, free hand touching the knife that waits for its time to shine]
Aw, I get my own little message? Way to make me feel special, Trickster. ☆
no subject
but he's grateful that magilou makes this just a bit easier on him by stepping closer.]
Yeah, well. Some things are too important to announce to the other ten people hanging around.
[he knows what comes next, after all. and he can largely predict how she's going to react to what he's going to say to her—so he's already braced himself for that outcome; he probably will deserve what's coming to him in that respect.
so akira will act swiftly, closing the gap between them. he leans over to her height, so their faces are very close. it might even look like a kiss from the right angle, but you know, it's not. instead, he shifts so his mouth is close to magilou's ear, and he whispers his final words to her.
there's nothing else to say, after all. just that. there won't be any words to share, no platitudes or quips, no outdated pop culture references or memetic phrases. death is all that awaits him now, so he'll just take the faintest step back, offering her a knowing gaze and waiting for his end.]
1/3
[oh]
no subject
[and then there's the uncertainty, her hand beginning to tremble as she draws her knife]
[she's balking]
no subject
. . . I can't believe you--
[she's balking, and if she doesn't do this fast, then. . .]
[she shoves at his shoulder, draws her weapon up, and promptly slips the blade right between his ribs, and through his heart, trying her best to ignore the way that her breath hitches in her throat]
no subject
he was as ready as he was ever going to be.
he manages one last endeared chuckle at her reaction—as expected—before he feels the knife pierce through his chest. his mind races in those moments of consciousness. of his life back home, his friends and family, his confidants... the people he met on this island, and magilou, of course. there's no coherent thought, just the overwhelming pain of the blade cutting through his heart and the imagery of all the people he holds so dear to him.
it's quick, though.
she makes it merciful with her aim, and it's not long before he goes completely weak; his consciousness fades amid that blinding pain, and his last truly conscious thought as the light fades from his eyes is "fall backwards, don't crush her," because he owes magilou at least that much. but that's it. the life drains from him completely then, and though his eyes are peaceful and his lips remain curved in a faint smile....
akira kurusu is dead.]
no subject
[. . .]
[her expression is blank now, but she's holding onto the mask with both hands, resting it gently in her lap. she ignores the dark stains of blood that coat the fingers of the hand that handled the knife, though she tries her best not to get that all over the mask, too. it wouldn't be polite to paint it red now]
. . . well.
[her voice is even. almost a monotone]
I suppose this means it's time for the both of us to wake up.