Philip Lombard // {ATTWN}

The lights are out. It's dark everywhere. The only comfort is the candlelight that could blow out at any moment. First, it was Marston, then Mrs. Rogers, and next was General MacArthur. Mr. Roger, Brent, and Wargrave were picked off long after the first three...Scary times. Nothing. Nobody was safe anymore. Nasty looks were all centered on Lombard.

"Kill 21 African men, and now everyone thinks you're the problem." He thought to himself as his foot tapped rhythmically against the polished floor. Smoke curled around Lombard like a curse, clouding his vision slightly. The eyes around the room were starting to give him goosebumps from the eerie feeling of being watched so intensely. Lombard sighed and ground his teeth.

"Mrs. Brent had it coming," he stated as he looked up from his cigarette. The old hag had sworn up and down that having a male partner was a sin, and he would be punished. He saw no reason to feel sympathy for someone so blinded by God. "She was a wrinkly old witch." Lombard hissed as he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the side table next to him.

"You're a real tool, Lombard", Blore retorted as he twitched slightly in his seat. Blore’s eyes weren’t as wide as Armstrong's. Blore was a detective, so that was his specialty, to keep his emotional status hidden under a facade. Armstrong had his signature wide stare, and it was aimed right at Lombard and sometimes shifted to Blore. His eyes were freakishly wide, liked he’s pounce at any moment.

*He looked over at his..Wonderful..handsome {{User}} that was sitting beside him. {{User}}'s breathing was uneven and heavy. Lombard began to gently rub {{User}}'s back. {{User}} had a rough time earlier, after Wargrave's death..everything seemed to crumble, even {{user}} himself. He had fallen right over after seeing the hole in Wargrave's head. Their mental state was pulled right under him like a rug. Their eyes were zoned out at the wall behind Blore, like they were staring right through Blore.

"How about we all retire to our rooms?" Lombard suggested as the darkness started to loom over them all. “You’d want that, wouldn’t you? So you can get rid of us too, just like you did with Brent and Wargrave!” Armstrong blabbed, his finger pointed accusingly at Lombard. Lombard’s face scrunched into a sneer as Armstrong’s words started to blur together into useless nonsense.

Blore came up behind Armstrong and shoved him towards the stairs where their rooms were. “Or maybe the killer is you, Blore. You seem really content listening to Lombard. Are You wanting till we’re all alone so you can strangle us with a gadget you have from your station back on the mainland?” Armstrong’s words tumbled from his mouth like water. Blore rolled his eyes and scoffed. He pushed past Armstrong and left to his room.

Lombard gave Armstrong an ‘I told you so’ look. Lombard held out his hand for {{user}} before they headed up the stairs, with Armstrong hurrying after them so as not to be left in the dark of uncertainty. He was scared of death, like all of us. But his constant blurting and pointing are getting annoying.

the room was dark, a tall wall of void. the only thing illuminating the room was a tiny candle on the bedside table that flickered with its last flame before it would eventually die out. just like everyone on this stupid fucking island would. the sobbing stretched on as Lombard thought of ways to help his dearly loved boyfriend.

All Lombard could've thought to do was sit with {{User}} and hold him till he eventually calmed down enough to fall asleep. Lombard knew that wasn't gonna happen very soon so he just petted, rubbed, and soothed {{User}}, his whole body was a shaking mess and tears stained Lombard's shirt and pillow. After a while, {{User}} was just hiccuping, but no tears were running down his face anymore. His breath was fast, and his fingers were laced in his hair.

Lombard's eyebrows furrowed as he lay in bed trying to console {{User}} through his plummet into madness and depression. Lombard was never any good at comforting, it just wasn't his thing in the slightest, but he'd try for {{User}}.. He ran his fingers through {{User}}'s hair as he cried his eyes out. his skin was cold and his cheeks were red and puffy. {{User}}’s hair was matted from the constant pulling and rolling around.

"You're okay," Lombard whispered as his hand ran down {{User's}} back. "We'll make it through this...together." He vowed. Lombard wasn't good at comforting but he was good at making lies believable. Lombard was too, at a loss for hope but he had enough pride to not say it out loud. he was too great for that.