red

[aunter]

R E D > You enter the door and find yourself in a glass box, suspended in the sky. Bright blue skies, white fluffy clouds, even birds pass by in the air around you. One look down and you see grass fields and sprawling lakes as far as the eye can see. Some wild horses running across the fields, some cows, just exactly what you'd expect. It's idyllic as fuck. Then the words appear:

Comments

[lost_first]

[ It's a difficult thing. Harder than Peter knows; there's centuries of having trusted someone, someone who seemed to have the answers, who always knew how to make him believe time after time after time even as countless boys died all around them. His fingers tighten on the wheel.

It doesn't feel right. He's certain there's a trick, not to winning but to losing.
Some way to make even Peter's plan fall through.

But he closes his eyes, nods... and spins the wheel.]

[cutlery]

[ ...this is definitely a continuing conversation while the wheel is spinning ]

I believe I do understand? My point was more that while we are thinking this through, can we assume the same of the other side? Statistically, that is the optimal choice, but simply more optimal if the gifts remain in this group where it has been reasoned out.

[ As the wheel starts to slow, he waves his hand dismissively. ]

...Well, regardless, let us see.

[wheatcake]

It doesn't matter, because... oh, God. That kid's like thirteen.

[lost_first]

[ Jamie grits his teeth and it's hard. He doesn't really have much.

But he'd always been taught: from the least, what little you have is more for it.

Which is why he offers the last piece of Sal he really has, what was born on that moonlit night as they walked together through the trees, on the night where he'd realized what he might feel for her that he'd felt for no other beyond Peter.

His hope of escape.]