Birds.
Cormorants? He wasn't sure. It sounded like - but he couldn't be sure. Behind his eyelids, black and white shapes exploding like black and white necks, twisting, calling. Ringing in his ears, the calls. Familiar. But not familiar - how long had it been? Three years? More? The ocean, they'd gone all together. The dogs barking, gleefully chasing each other across the sand. No dogs here. He can't hear them. Can smell the sea, though. Bittersalt, sweet, confusing smells. Remember a shaven head. Remember death - no. Don't remember death. Remember the ocean. Don't remember twelve. Remember dogs. Remember cormorants.
...cormorants?
Erik blinked once, painfully. His world seemed to be comprised of grey-black specks, with blue in the background. It didn't seem right, but it took him another few blinks to put the pieces together. And when he did, he jerked himself upright fast enough to send the blood rushing from his head, making him groan and press at his temples, black spots exploding in front of his eyes like birds. Like the birds he could hear shrieking in the distance.
He was on a beach. He. He was on a goddamn fucking beach and he - he didn't understand. He was on a beach, but he'd been on the class trip. He'd been on the bus, chilling in a seat to himself, kicking back and dozing lightly, listening to the gossip float over his head. And then at some point he actually had fallen asleep, and then. And then. And then...
Gunfire. Memories flooded back. Gunfire, students falling, a voice. Words, and names, and weapons. Video. Video of someone being shot through the head, red spatters like a bad horror movie except for the part where it wasn't. A grisly joke he hadn't been listening to making someone laugh, high and thin. Twisting his bracelets on his wrists. His fingers were there now, unconsciously moving over the braided threads. Rainbow bright, his personality woven around his skin, bright on the outside for anyone to see. And blue, for memories of twelve years old and blankets and mothers who weren't there, to make them be there with him, always. His fingers tightened for a moment, eyes squeezing shut.
Eighteen year old Erik Laurin bowed his head on the long, lonely beach, hands wrapped into a tattered blue bracelet, shoulders bucking only once as he felt the cool metal of the collar dig into his neck.
"Mom..."
He didn't know how long it was until he opened his eyes again. Maybe hours, maybe minutes, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was surrounded by something he'd been trying to run away from for years. Every night he'd worried about his siblings crossing the roads, school shootings, even briefly entertaining the thought of Kimber in Survival of the Fittest - he'd been horrified and fascinated by death. And now it was him, not Kimber, not Pierre, not the twins. Him.
Numbly, he slipped his pack open, searching for the promised weapon. His search turned up nothing more than a DVD he knew he hadn't packed - a porno, by the looks of it. He tossed it back in, too sickened from the gas and the realizations to bother picking at the rations.
Closing it again, he sat heavily on a chunk of driftwood. The wind was cold by the water, and he found himself, hot-blooded as he tended to be, getting chilly. He wished he'd brought a jacket. He pulled his t-shirt closer, resting his elbows on his knees and staring quietly at the surf as it lapped up onto the sand.
He was below the tide-line. He knew that if he turned, he'd see dry sand free of tangled seaweed and shells. Maybe a forest - the air smelled of pine, sharp and clean. But he knew he'd see cameras, nestled in the quiet branches, and students, guns, blood.
Erik wrapped his hands around his knees, pack sitting it his feet. The wind whipped his hair, sparking tiny moments of pain as it caught in the collar sitting just above his collarbone. He stared resolutely at the ocean, eyes following the motion of the cormorants as they wheeled and dove.
Somewhere behind him, above the tide-line, was Survival of the Fittest. Somewhere above him, there were cameras, guns, students, blood. Somewhere above him, there was death.
But down here - down here, there was just the water.
And the birds.
Mom...
Come & See
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
Come & See
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
((B068 Mike Maszer begins))
Cormorants? Or those were some other birds?
Mike wasn't really good with ornithology. What he did knew, that those screeching bastards woke him up, and for some reason, he had a terrible headache.
Where am I? And what happened? I didn't drink anything in the bus, so why the headache?
Still lying on the sand, Mike checked with his hands if everything is fine with his body.
Everything seems fine. No, wait... My hair is full of sand. Damn it...
Thanks to the headache, Mike was still oblivious to what really happened around him. Also, back in Poland he was completely not interested in games like SOTF, and in America he only briefly heard about it and dismissed it like 'Survivors' or any other Reality show, convinced that it was just as staged.
But that wasn't important. What was important was to get rid of that damn headache. Mike still didn't realize it was a random side effect he got from sleeping gas. He stood up, and in completely normal fashion, opened his daypack in search for some painkillers.
I must've packed something like that, I'm sure of it. Second long-sleeve shirt, 'Catch-22' I forgot to bring back to library, bread, crackers, water will get handy... Bingo, a first aid kit. Oh and, a pill, that must be it... But why only one and in different pocket? And outside of the kit? Huh...
Mike shook his head, and moaned a little. Bad idea. He opened the first aid kit, and found some paracetamol. He took one pill, bite it in half for quicker digestion in his body and drank a bit of a water from the bottle.
Before even the pill effect could kick in, the Placebo effect already started to ease Mike's pain. And with a relief in his temples came the sudden realization. The bus, killed staff and students, SOTF, beach and daypack with large, black letters forming the code-name 'B068'.
"...
.......
............
Kurwa..."
Mike cursed his situation in his native Polish language. He couldn't believe it. That goddamn massacre show turned out to be real, and he was the lucky guy to come from Europe exactly in time to participate in it. He left Poland to get away from personal problems, but looks like they were tied to him with a rubber rope and now they hit him hundred times as hard.
Mike checked the surrounding, and spotted the human silhouette some distance away from him. After packing his stuff back, in a completely normal style for Mike, he forgot about every necessary precaution actions and behaves on the island, and approached the silhouette, soon turned out to be a boy he absolutely didn't recognize.
"Hello?"
Cormorants? Or those were some other birds?
Mike wasn't really good with ornithology. What he did knew, that those screeching bastards woke him up, and for some reason, he had a terrible headache.
Where am I? And what happened? I didn't drink anything in the bus, so why the headache?
Still lying on the sand, Mike checked with his hands if everything is fine with his body.
Everything seems fine. No, wait... My hair is full of sand. Damn it...
Thanks to the headache, Mike was still oblivious to what really happened around him. Also, back in Poland he was completely not interested in games like SOTF, and in America he only briefly heard about it and dismissed it like 'Survivors' or any other Reality show, convinced that it was just as staged.
But that wasn't important. What was important was to get rid of that damn headache. Mike still didn't realize it was a random side effect he got from sleeping gas. He stood up, and in completely normal fashion, opened his daypack in search for some painkillers.
I must've packed something like that, I'm sure of it. Second long-sleeve shirt, 'Catch-22' I forgot to bring back to library, bread, crackers, water will get handy... Bingo, a first aid kit. Oh and, a pill, that must be it... But why only one and in different pocket? And outside of the kit? Huh...
Mike shook his head, and moaned a little. Bad idea. He opened the first aid kit, and found some paracetamol. He took one pill, bite it in half for quicker digestion in his body and drank a bit of a water from the bottle.
Before even the pill effect could kick in, the Placebo effect already started to ease Mike's pain. And with a relief in his temples came the sudden realization. The bus, killed staff and students, SOTF, beach and daypack with large, black letters forming the code-name 'B068'.
"...
.......
............
Kurwa..."
Mike cursed his situation in his native Polish language. He couldn't believe it. That goddamn massacre show turned out to be real, and he was the lucky guy to come from Europe exactly in time to participate in it. He left Poland to get away from personal problems, but looks like they were tied to him with a rubber rope and now they hit him hundred times as hard.
Mike checked the surrounding, and spotted the human silhouette some distance away from him. After packing his stuff back, in a completely normal style for Mike, he forgot about every necessary precaution actions and behaves on the island, and approached the silhouette, soon turned out to be a boy he absolutely didn't recognize.
"Hello?"
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
It's beautiful.
JASPER-DECLAN MACDERMOTT [B129] - ALIVE
Jasper-Declan MacDermott sat in silence, his unblinking eyes staring out at the water. The way the reflections touch the water...ah, how I missed the beach. The one true negative to come from leaving New York City... The boy's long legs were pressed into his chest, his arms curled around them, as he watched the water. His innocent pose, and the lack of tension in his body and facial expression, would not have suggested to an observer that he was currently involved in the world's most deadly game. The only clue was the gun, sitting by his side.
The boy had woken up late- or rather, he had woken up late for the second time. The first time he awoke, he was greeted by an unpleasant sensation in his head. It wasn't something he could think of a word for- an entirely new feeling, and not one he ever wanted to experience again. Was it...pain? Jasper-Declan was unsure- he had nothing to compare it to. He assumed it was a dream sensation, something odd invented by his mind, and drifted back into sleep. The second time he awoke, his head felt mostly normal, though he was the slightest bit dizzy. He'd sat up, looked around, and wondered what exactly he'd gotten into now.
Ah. So it was real. Jasper-Declan had assumed that scene in that auditorium- blood and pandemonium all- had been a dream. But the only logical conclusion he could think of- finding himself alone on a beach, a daypack and his own paint-stained duffel bag beside him- was that everything that he'd seen had actually happened.
That he was on Survival of the Fittest.
As is the game itself... Jasper-Declan had never seen Survival of the Fittest. Hell, he hardly watched TV. But he'd heard of the show, through whispers in the hallways, and he'd dismissed it as childish entertainment, reality TV at its worst. Not something he'd ever pay attention to. Not that he had a choice anymore.
He'd searched through his daypack without much interest and was vaguely surprised to find a gun. Most likely I have gotten quite lucky. Though these bullets...they are quite small. And only eight of them...I will have to be very careful. He almost felt bad, being so detached, but none of this felt quite real to him yet, though he knew that it was. After taking a careful look at the user's manual for his gun- a Remington XP-100, apparently- he loaded the first bullet, keeping the safety on. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. His own duffel bag contained nothing but clothing- the only other thing that mattered to him was his skateboard, and that was gone. He was mildly upset by that, but it was not enough to really disturb his natural calm.
And so Jasper-Declan, daypack on his back and gun in hand, had moved and sat closer to the beach, looking out at the water, lost in thought. I wonder...if being shot with a gun hurts? He could only imagine it would. Hurt was something other people felt. Not him. Still, he didn't want to cause other people pain. He'd already accepted the fact that he was most likely going to die. I imagine it to be...like falling asleep. A simple blackout. I wonder, though, if it will hurt beforehand...? Perhaps to others... He sighed. He didn't want to kill anyone. It was easy to ponder these things when there wasn't someone with a big gun, staring you down...
Jasper-Declan's sensitive ears picked up the sound of footsteps, stamping down the sand. He turned and saw two figures in the distance- silhouettes, really, they were quite far away. He looked the other way and noted how long the beach stretched in both directions. He didn't move- if he could see the others, they could likely see him, and if they wanted to talk to him, they could do so. His gun lay half-forgotten beside him.
After all, what did it matter?
JASPER-DECLAN MACDERMOTT [B129] - ALIVE
Jasper-Declan MacDermott sat in silence, his unblinking eyes staring out at the water. The way the reflections touch the water...ah, how I missed the beach. The one true negative to come from leaving New York City... The boy's long legs were pressed into his chest, his arms curled around them, as he watched the water. His innocent pose, and the lack of tension in his body and facial expression, would not have suggested to an observer that he was currently involved in the world's most deadly game. The only clue was the gun, sitting by his side.
The boy had woken up late- or rather, he had woken up late for the second time. The first time he awoke, he was greeted by an unpleasant sensation in his head. It wasn't something he could think of a word for- an entirely new feeling, and not one he ever wanted to experience again. Was it...pain? Jasper-Declan was unsure- he had nothing to compare it to. He assumed it was a dream sensation, something odd invented by his mind, and drifted back into sleep. The second time he awoke, his head felt mostly normal, though he was the slightest bit dizzy. He'd sat up, looked around, and wondered what exactly he'd gotten into now.
Ah. So it was real. Jasper-Declan had assumed that scene in that auditorium- blood and pandemonium all- had been a dream. But the only logical conclusion he could think of- finding himself alone on a beach, a daypack and his own paint-stained duffel bag beside him- was that everything that he'd seen had actually happened.
That he was on Survival of the Fittest.
As is the game itself... Jasper-Declan had never seen Survival of the Fittest. Hell, he hardly watched TV. But he'd heard of the show, through whispers in the hallways, and he'd dismissed it as childish entertainment, reality TV at its worst. Not something he'd ever pay attention to. Not that he had a choice anymore.
He'd searched through his daypack without much interest and was vaguely surprised to find a gun. Most likely I have gotten quite lucky. Though these bullets...they are quite small. And only eight of them...I will have to be very careful. He almost felt bad, being so detached, but none of this felt quite real to him yet, though he knew that it was. After taking a careful look at the user's manual for his gun- a Remington XP-100, apparently- he loaded the first bullet, keeping the safety on. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. His own duffel bag contained nothing but clothing- the only other thing that mattered to him was his skateboard, and that was gone. He was mildly upset by that, but it was not enough to really disturb his natural calm.
And so Jasper-Declan, daypack on his back and gun in hand, had moved and sat closer to the beach, looking out at the water, lost in thought. I wonder...if being shot with a gun hurts? He could only imagine it would. Hurt was something other people felt. Not him. Still, he didn't want to cause other people pain. He'd already accepted the fact that he was most likely going to die. I imagine it to be...like falling asleep. A simple blackout. I wonder, though, if it will hurt beforehand...? Perhaps to others... He sighed. He didn't want to kill anyone. It was easy to ponder these things when there wasn't someone with a big gun, staring you down...
Jasper-Declan's sensitive ears picked up the sound of footsteps, stamping down the sand. He turned and saw two figures in the distance- silhouettes, really, they were quite far away. He looked the other way and noted how long the beach stretched in both directions. He didn't move- if he could see the others, they could likely see him, and if they wanted to talk to him, they could do so. His gun lay half-forgotten beside him.
After all, what did it matter?
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
Erik was cold. The wind wasn't blowing particularly hard, and the day was bright, but by the ocean the air was thin and blew with a bitter chill. He had been cold for a while. His cotton tee wasn't doing much, but he couldn't bring himself to move yet. Standing meant turning around, meant joining the students, meant killing - or being killed.
He shuddered, fingers still twisted in his bracelets. Huddling a little closer into himself, he stared fixedly at the birds, wondering if he just sat here long enough - if he just sat here long enough, everything would just go away. But there was something mixed in with their plaintive cries. Something like...
Wait.
Erik turned. For a moment, there was nothing but the forest, outlined bright against the sun, and a silhouette in front of him. Something inside of him twisted to the snapping point, pushed by the knowledge and realization that, for better or worse, he was now a part of the game. And then it was replaced by a rush of something like relief as he took a step forwards, voice cracking as he strained to see the student in front of him.
"M-Mike? Is that you?"
He shuddered, fingers still twisted in his bracelets. Huddling a little closer into himself, he stared fixedly at the birds, wondering if he just sat here long enough - if he just sat here long enough, everything would just go away. But there was something mixed in with their plaintive cries. Something like...
Wait.
Erik turned. For a moment, there was nothing but the forest, outlined bright against the sun, and a silhouette in front of him. Something inside of him twisted to the snapping point, pushed by the knowledge and realization that, for better or worse, he was now a part of the game. And then it was replaced by a rush of something like relief as he took a step forwards, voice cracking as he strained to see the student in front of him.
"M-Mike? Is that you?"
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
The boy Mike spoked to stood up, and suddenly, the Pole felt like an ant staring at an elephant. He was always placed in the lower (hahah) part of the height spectrum, but usually it wasn't a problem for him. But now he had to turn his head up just to speak freely with the guy.
The other boy, despite his enormous height, looked rather friendly, like a bigger version of Mike. Long curly hair tied up in a ponytail (blonde though...), friendly face, blue jeans, black sneakers, almost like a mirror in the fun house which makes people taller.
Just as Mike stopped taxing the boys looks, he got hit with another shocker.
"M-Mike? Is that you?"
Sudden question caught the Pole of guard.
He knows me? From where? Hardly anyone knows me here...
Second later, a correction in his head came to save the day. Hardly anyone knew him PERSONALLY, but Mike was a goalie in Bayview soccer team. This was especially comical seeing as the other boy was built much more like a goalie, and if anyone would have to guess which one of the two of them is a goalkeeper, he would be wrong for sure. Trivia aside, Mike had now an idea how the guy could know him... But he still didn't knew the guy. As always in 'do I know you?' situation, he was really embarrassed.
"Uhm... Yeah, I'm Mike. And you are...? I'm sorry if I'm rude or anything, but I'm from abroad, and most people are still new for me." He replied with a friendly smile hiding embarrassment, and with an accent, which was not comically bad, but it still stood as an additional testimony of truth about his last sentence.
Since it looked like his new conversation partner won't attack him outright, Mike was still acting terribly careless for a kind of situation he found himself in.
The other boy, despite his enormous height, looked rather friendly, like a bigger version of Mike. Long curly hair tied up in a ponytail (blonde though...), friendly face, blue jeans, black sneakers, almost like a mirror in the fun house which makes people taller.
Just as Mike stopped taxing the boys looks, he got hit with another shocker.
"M-Mike? Is that you?"
Sudden question caught the Pole of guard.
He knows me? From where? Hardly anyone knows me here...
Second later, a correction in his head came to save the day. Hardly anyone knew him PERSONALLY, but Mike was a goalie in Bayview soccer team. This was especially comical seeing as the other boy was built much more like a goalie, and if anyone would have to guess which one of the two of them is a goalkeeper, he would be wrong for sure. Trivia aside, Mike had now an idea how the guy could know him... But he still didn't knew the guy. As always in 'do I know you?' situation, he was really embarrassed.
"Uhm... Yeah, I'm Mike. And you are...? I'm sorry if I'm rude or anything, but I'm from abroad, and most people are still new for me." He replied with a friendly smile hiding embarrassment, and with an accent, which was not comically bad, but it still stood as an additional testimony of truth about his last sentence.
Since it looked like his new conversation partner won't attack him outright, Mike was still acting terribly careless for a kind of situation he found himself in.
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
As Mike spoke, Erik couldn't help but choke on a laugh. It was all just so...normal. Two guys, standing on an island, chatting to each other. It didn't seem real - it felt like simply a bizarre, realistic nightmare. Another bout of laughter bubbled up in his chest, but this time there was a slightly hysterical edge to it and he hastily swallowed the giggles.
He cleared his throat, jamming his hands in his pockets and reflexively hunching his shoulders to try and minimize his height. "Uh, I'm Erik. Erik Laurin, I'm on the track team?" He stifled another nervous chuckle. Hi, I'm Erik Laurin, and I've been a Survival of the Fittest contestant for five hours now... "I. Um." Twisting his bracelet a little harder, he took a breath, trying to figure out where to go from here. There didn't seem to be many options. "I'm not going to kill you?"
He cocked an eyebrow. He was going for humorous, going for cool, calm, in control. He figured he wasn't doing too bad of a job, but his eyes, at least, were showing it. Erik was goddamn lost. This was so far out of anything he'd ever experienced, so beyond his grasp. In some distant part of himself, he knew he'd already begun to shut down. It was funny - it had always been that way. When things weren't so bad - when Pierre had gotten sick as a baby and spiked a temperature of almost 104, when Kimberly had been dumped for the first time and had become utterly hysterical, when the twins had run off at a park and gotten lost - he would be panicking. Hyperventilating, crying, frantic with worry, he would be unable to deal with anything, even the problem at hand. But when it was serious...
His mother, in the hospital, his father with him and the family looking to him, already tall with the first jumpstart of puberty, the oldest, the one who was supposed to know what to do. And he had. He'd shut everything else off, closed down the screaming, crying part of him and he had done what he had to do.
And now.
Now he had to do the same thing. No time for crying. No time even for ignoring the circumstances, no time to curl up and wait to die. He didn't know if he could deal with it. Christ, he knew he was just barely dealing with it, but one step at a time, right? Work with things the way he always had before. Protect. Protect everyone he could, from everything he could. That was the only way to deal with things - he could take it. He could help. He could protect.
He shook himself abruptly out of thought, taking a step towards Mike and extending a hand. "Listen, man, you - you wanna stick together? Some people might - well - you know. Some people might play, and I just." He shrugged, bring a hand back to scrape uneasily at the back of his neck. "Maybe there's strength in numbers."
Maybe. It was a faint and futile hope, but.
Maybe.
He cleared his throat, jamming his hands in his pockets and reflexively hunching his shoulders to try and minimize his height. "Uh, I'm Erik. Erik Laurin, I'm on the track team?" He stifled another nervous chuckle. Hi, I'm Erik Laurin, and I've been a Survival of the Fittest contestant for five hours now... "I. Um." Twisting his bracelet a little harder, he took a breath, trying to figure out where to go from here. There didn't seem to be many options. "I'm not going to kill you?"
He cocked an eyebrow. He was going for humorous, going for cool, calm, in control. He figured he wasn't doing too bad of a job, but his eyes, at least, were showing it. Erik was goddamn lost. This was so far out of anything he'd ever experienced, so beyond his grasp. In some distant part of himself, he knew he'd already begun to shut down. It was funny - it had always been that way. When things weren't so bad - when Pierre had gotten sick as a baby and spiked a temperature of almost 104, when Kimberly had been dumped for the first time and had become utterly hysterical, when the twins had run off at a park and gotten lost - he would be panicking. Hyperventilating, crying, frantic with worry, he would be unable to deal with anything, even the problem at hand. But when it was serious...
His mother, in the hospital, his father with him and the family looking to him, already tall with the first jumpstart of puberty, the oldest, the one who was supposed to know what to do. And he had. He'd shut everything else off, closed down the screaming, crying part of him and he had done what he had to do.
And now.
Now he had to do the same thing. No time for crying. No time even for ignoring the circumstances, no time to curl up and wait to die. He didn't know if he could deal with it. Christ, he knew he was just barely dealing with it, but one step at a time, right? Work with things the way he always had before. Protect. Protect everyone he could, from everything he could. That was the only way to deal with things - he could take it. He could help. He could protect.
He shook himself abruptly out of thought, taking a step towards Mike and extending a hand. "Listen, man, you - you wanna stick together? Some people might - well - you know. Some people might play, and I just." He shrugged, bring a hand back to scrape uneasily at the back of his neck. "Maybe there's strength in numbers."
Maybe. It was a faint and futile hope, but.
Maybe.
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
As the tall boy introduced himself as Erik Laurin, Mike noticed his weird behavior. All those random chuckles, nervous tone of voice. It took Mike a few seconds to figure it out, but he finally realized what's going on: Erik was afraid. When Mike was still covered behind the thick barrier of obliviousness about the program which still made his head think about SOTF as some sort of a bizarre dream rather than reality, Erik, and probably many more students scattered around the island were already suffering from their first breakdowns. He still wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing for him, as it will come later to bite him in the ass for sure. No matter how he would try to toughen up already, without being a witness to all those scary things it was futile.
After apparently getting hold of himself, Erik offered teaming up. Of course, Mike was more than glad to accept it. If there was one thing he was really afraid in life (except from bees, wasps and hornets), it was the fear of being alone.
"Sure, I think it would be stupid on my part to just go in there alone..."
Suddenly, a growling sound reminded Mike that it would be awesome to eat something.
"Excuse me..." He sat down and opened his daypack and looked at his food rations. Loaf of bread and crackers. Not much. Mike was known among his friends as a guy with a giant appetite, so he could only hope he'll manage not to eat everything outright. He torn of a small chunk of bread, stuffed it in the mouth and quickly drank a sip of water to cheat his stomach that he ate more food than he did in reality. As he stuffed his rations back into daypack he once again noticed that loose pill he took out earlier when he was looking for the painkillers, as well as two pieces of paper. One of was titled 'Mr. Danya's Guide to Survival', while the other had just one simple sentence on it:
B068 Designated weapon: Cyanide Pill
Mike looked at the pill once again.
"HOLY FUCK! I almost swallowed it as a painkiller just a moment ago."
Even though it was still probably a small taste of things to come, the feeling of narrowly avoiding death (even if it would be the most stupid kind of death possible) made his heart beating faster and his body to sweat. He stuffed the pill back in the daypack as deep as possible, and stared at the ocean with a blank look.
I... nearly died...
He shook his head, gulped the saliva gathered in his mouth and looked at Erik once again.
"S-so..." He said without previous calmness. "C-can you... Help me explain all the things going on here? I'm still kinda new to the whole concept as I barely heard about it a-anyway. I have this guide... But I doubt if it will tell me if there's a way out of here, of why this madness apparently is still going on for the fourth time..."
After apparently getting hold of himself, Erik offered teaming up. Of course, Mike was more than glad to accept it. If there was one thing he was really afraid in life (except from bees, wasps and hornets), it was the fear of being alone.
"Sure, I think it would be stupid on my part to just go in there alone..."
Suddenly, a growling sound reminded Mike that it would be awesome to eat something.
"Excuse me..." He sat down and opened his daypack and looked at his food rations. Loaf of bread and crackers. Not much. Mike was known among his friends as a guy with a giant appetite, so he could only hope he'll manage not to eat everything outright. He torn of a small chunk of bread, stuffed it in the mouth and quickly drank a sip of water to cheat his stomach that he ate more food than he did in reality. As he stuffed his rations back into daypack he once again noticed that loose pill he took out earlier when he was looking for the painkillers, as well as two pieces of paper. One of was titled 'Mr. Danya's Guide to Survival', while the other had just one simple sentence on it:
B068 Designated weapon: Cyanide Pill
Mike looked at the pill once again.
"HOLY FUCK! I almost swallowed it as a painkiller just a moment ago."
Even though it was still probably a small taste of things to come, the feeling of narrowly avoiding death (even if it would be the most stupid kind of death possible) made his heart beating faster and his body to sweat. He stuffed the pill back in the daypack as deep as possible, and stared at the ocean with a blank look.
I... nearly died...
He shook his head, gulped the saliva gathered in his mouth and looked at Erik once again.
"S-so..." He said without previous calmness. "C-can you... Help me explain all the things going on here? I'm still kinda new to the whole concept as I barely heard about it a-anyway. I have this guide... But I doubt if it will tell me if there's a way out of here, of why this madness apparently is still going on for the fourth time..."
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
When Mike agreed, Erik felt a surge of relief. Like maybe he could do this, somehow. There had to be people on the island who weren't playing...god, who would? Given a choice? They could tough it out together. This was the fourth time, right? Someone would notice. Someone had to notice. It was all just a matter of waiting, surviving, holding out until rescue came. They could do that.
"No one should be out there alone." As Mike opened his daypack and tore into his bread, Erik sunk down again, folding his legs and resting his arms on the tops of his knees. "Christ, it's a mess. This whole situation is just..." Lost for words, he shrugged, eyes darkening. "Just fucked up."
He watched silently as Mike ate, not particularly feeling the need for food just yet. Drifting in his thoughts again, he found himself considering his classmates. Who, when it really came down to it, would...no. No, he wouldn't think about that. Couldn't think about that. He focused on Mike again just in time to see him stare in horror at a small pill in his hand, screaming about how he'd almost taken it earlier. Erik leaned closer, having just enough time to read the words 'cyanide pill' on the paper before Mike swept it away, and leaned away almost as fast.
"God..." He breathed out hard, almost reaching out to pat the other boy on the shoulder before apparently thinking better of it and pulling his hand back. "Fuck. Fuck, that's...." Messed up? There weren't even words for this. Not at all.
Mike seemed to rapidly get ahold of himself, although Erik had a suspicion that the smaller boy was doing the same thing he was...plastering over the cracks, trying to hold himself together just enough, relying on bravado and false confidence. When he inquired about the game Erik winced, wondering how exactly to phrase it.
"It's. Uh. It's kind of like a game show, except...real. They kidnap a school grade, give us weapons, collars that blow if we try to escape, and..." He choked on the words for a moment, bared his teeth in a painful grimace but kept talking, had to keep talking. "The object is to survive. One person survives a game. That's it. This is the fourth time. I never thought..."
But who ever thinks that it'll happen to them? He bowed his head for a moment, then stared into the distance, feeling hot tears prick his eyes. As he blinked them back, a shape came into focus, farther down the beach. Erik squinted, trying to make it out, but in the end it proved just too far away. Still. It was definitely someone.
"There's someone over there." His voice was soft. "You think we should...I mean...check it out?"
"No one should be out there alone." As Mike opened his daypack and tore into his bread, Erik sunk down again, folding his legs and resting his arms on the tops of his knees. "Christ, it's a mess. This whole situation is just..." Lost for words, he shrugged, eyes darkening. "Just fucked up."
He watched silently as Mike ate, not particularly feeling the need for food just yet. Drifting in his thoughts again, he found himself considering his classmates. Who, when it really came down to it, would...no. No, he wouldn't think about that. Couldn't think about that. He focused on Mike again just in time to see him stare in horror at a small pill in his hand, screaming about how he'd almost taken it earlier. Erik leaned closer, having just enough time to read the words 'cyanide pill' on the paper before Mike swept it away, and leaned away almost as fast.
"God..." He breathed out hard, almost reaching out to pat the other boy on the shoulder before apparently thinking better of it and pulling his hand back. "Fuck. Fuck, that's...." Messed up? There weren't even words for this. Not at all.
Mike seemed to rapidly get ahold of himself, although Erik had a suspicion that the smaller boy was doing the same thing he was...plastering over the cracks, trying to hold himself together just enough, relying on bravado and false confidence. When he inquired about the game Erik winced, wondering how exactly to phrase it.
"It's. Uh. It's kind of like a game show, except...real. They kidnap a school grade, give us weapons, collars that blow if we try to escape, and..." He choked on the words for a moment, bared his teeth in a painful grimace but kept talking, had to keep talking. "The object is to survive. One person survives a game. That's it. This is the fourth time. I never thought..."
But who ever thinks that it'll happen to them? He bowed his head for a moment, then stared into the distance, feeling hot tears prick his eyes. As he blinked them back, a shape came into focus, farther down the beach. Erik squinted, trying to make it out, but in the end it proved just too far away. Still. It was definitely someone.
"There's someone over there." His voice was soft. "You think we should...I mean...check it out?"
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
As Erik started explaining things, Mike began to read the survival guide.
Weapons, exploding collars, danger zones, morning announcement. As much as he still tried denying the truth in his mind, all things he saw here screamed 'This shit is real, deal with it.'
Only one will survive... Is... Is it even possible for me to... No, I couldn't... But how otherwise...?
Mike's head became one giant mess, as suddenly all his thoughts about people from outside - about his mother, sister, uncle, Mike's friends... Pauline - crashed inside his skull. Will he ever see them again? He traveled to America to rest from all of them, but he definitely didn't want to rest from them indefinitely.
As Erik started looking for something in the distance, Mike attempted to calm down his thoughts, but only thing which happened, were words leaving his mouth without Mike ordering them to -
I... I just want to go home..."
"There's someone over there." Said Erik suddenly. "You think we should...I mean...check it out?"
Not sure if the boy heard him, Mike looked in the direction Erik pointed in the distance. Yep, definitely some human shape. Thankfully, that presence of yet another human being helped Mike tightening him up, or rather letting him think about something else, at least for a while.
"Yeah... Let's check it. We should be careful though, I guess..."
Weapons, exploding collars, danger zones, morning announcement. As much as he still tried denying the truth in his mind, all things he saw here screamed 'This shit is real, deal with it.'
Only one will survive... Is... Is it even possible for me to... No, I couldn't... But how otherwise...?
Mike's head became one giant mess, as suddenly all his thoughts about people from outside - about his mother, sister, uncle, Mike's friends... Pauline - crashed inside his skull. Will he ever see them again? He traveled to America to rest from all of them, but he definitely didn't want to rest from them indefinitely.
As Erik started looking for something in the distance, Mike attempted to calm down his thoughts, but only thing which happened, were words leaving his mouth without Mike ordering them to -
I... I just want to go home..."
"There's someone over there." Said Erik suddenly. "You think we should...I mean...check it out?"
Not sure if the boy heard him, Mike looked in the direction Erik pointed in the distance. Yep, definitely some human shape. Thankfully, that presence of yet another human being helped Mike tightening him up, or rather letting him think about something else, at least for a while.
"Yeah... Let's check it. We should be careful though, I guess..."
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Jasper-Declan was...
Is.
Are?
Is. Being. Is existing. Is in existence. Perhaps. What proof do I have?
The water...it sparkles. The light sparkles. It's extraordinarily beautiful. It feels so...so peaceful, at this moment. Perhaps an odd thought to have with a gun sitting by my feet. But...what is this game, anyway? What is its purpose? Why are we we being required to kill...? Is there any reason for a human life to end so soon? So young? What is this gun for? To end life? Why? Why...why indeed. Why does the sun shine on the water? Why do the birds keep singing? What birds? Cormorants? I'm unsure. What birds live on this island, I wonder. Birds can go anywhere...I do wish I had the same ability. Perhaps I could go home...I do wonder what Honoria and Rory are doing. This is a television program, is it not? Are they watching? Can they watch?
Do they want to see me like this?
Like what? What am I doing? I am sitting. Alone. With a gun. A gun. What is this gun for?
Spiraling.
Cycling.
Thought.
How did we end up here? Why us? An intriguing question...random selection? Why not? Could it have been anyone? Not us? Someone else? Would I wish this on others? I'm unsure...Who else is out here? Friends. I have friends. Here. Alex, Alex is here. Who else. Names, faces, I know. Alex, where's Alex? Alex is alive. Alex must be alive. Friends? Friends, I have friends. Alex. What do I do, here, alone? The water is truly breathtaking. Perhaps I will remain here a while longer...where are the others? Why am I alone? Others. They must be out there. What are they doing? Killing? Do they have guns? Why do I have a gun? What is this gun for?
Staring into space.
Detached.
Unreal.
Where am I? Minnesota? America? ...Somewhere else? How long was I asleep? I have no way of knowing...I'll never know, I suppose. I have no watch. My phone is gone. What time is it? What day? I don't know. I'm not hungry or thirsty. It cannot have been too long...do my parents know where I am? What are they thinking? Do they know that they're unlikely to see me again? Do they know what I have to do? Do they forgive me? Will they forgive me? I wonder. I will never know. Footsteps. This gun is so...small. Can it kill? Who knows? Will I try? ...I am unsure. Footsteps. What else is in this place? There is a beach. What else? Anything else? Presumably. Where else can I go? What else can I do? Footsteps.
Footsteps?
Footsteps.
Jasper-Declan was forced from his internal dialogue with himself by the sound of footsteps on the sand. He'd been expecting them on some level- he did see the figures on the beach in that direction a while ago, after all- and so he watched their approach with unblinking eyes. Two boys were approaching- one tall, one shorter, both with curly, blonde or blonde-ish hair in a ponytail and blue eyes. He took this all in quickly- besides the movement of his head, he did not move at all.
He blinked. Once.
"Hello."
The gun sat in front of him, glittering in the light.
He did not touch it.
Is.
Are?
Is. Being. Is existing. Is in existence. Perhaps. What proof do I have?
The water...it sparkles. The light sparkles. It's extraordinarily beautiful. It feels so...so peaceful, at this moment. Perhaps an odd thought to have with a gun sitting by my feet. But...what is this game, anyway? What is its purpose? Why are we we being required to kill...? Is there any reason for a human life to end so soon? So young? What is this gun for? To end life? Why? Why...why indeed. Why does the sun shine on the water? Why do the birds keep singing? What birds? Cormorants? I'm unsure. What birds live on this island, I wonder. Birds can go anywhere...I do wish I had the same ability. Perhaps I could go home...I do wonder what Honoria and Rory are doing. This is a television program, is it not? Are they watching? Can they watch?
Do they want to see me like this?
Like what? What am I doing? I am sitting. Alone. With a gun. A gun. What is this gun for?
Spiraling.
Cycling.
Thought.
How did we end up here? Why us? An intriguing question...random selection? Why not? Could it have been anyone? Not us? Someone else? Would I wish this on others? I'm unsure...Who else is out here? Friends. I have friends. Here. Alex, Alex is here. Who else. Names, faces, I know. Alex, where's Alex? Alex is alive. Alex must be alive. Friends? Friends, I have friends. Alex. What do I do, here, alone? The water is truly breathtaking. Perhaps I will remain here a while longer...where are the others? Why am I alone? Others. They must be out there. What are they doing? Killing? Do they have guns? Why do I have a gun? What is this gun for?
Staring into space.
Detached.
Unreal.
Where am I? Minnesota? America? ...Somewhere else? How long was I asleep? I have no way of knowing...I'll never know, I suppose. I have no watch. My phone is gone. What time is it? What day? I don't know. I'm not hungry or thirsty. It cannot have been too long...do my parents know where I am? What are they thinking? Do they know that they're unlikely to see me again? Do they know what I have to do? Do they forgive me? Will they forgive me? I wonder. I will never know. Footsteps. This gun is so...small. Can it kill? Who knows? Will I try? ...I am unsure. Footsteps. What else is in this place? There is a beach. What else? Anything else? Presumably. Where else can I go? What else can I do? Footsteps.
Footsteps?
Footsteps.
Jasper-Declan was forced from his internal dialogue with himself by the sound of footsteps on the sand. He'd been expecting them on some level- he did see the figures on the beach in that direction a while ago, after all- and so he watched their approach with unblinking eyes. Two boys were approaching- one tall, one shorter, both with curly, blonde or blonde-ish hair in a ponytail and blue eyes. He took this all in quickly- besides the movement of his head, he did not move at all.
He blinked. Once.
"Hello."
The gun sat in front of him, glittering in the light.
He did not touch it.
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
Erik had heard Mike's soft exclamation, but he couldn't acknowledge it. He knew he couldn't. To comfort, to soothe, to understand that the other boy was feeling the same way he was - the was acknowledging weakness, pain, desperation. And he couldn't do that yet. He couldn't handle what he was feeling right now, and he knew it. He had to put it away. Another faint smile twitched at his lips - what was it Scarlett O'Hara had said? I can't deal with that today, I'll deal with it tomorrow? Something like that. It repeated in his head like a mantra.
"Careful," he said, voice absent as he focused on the distant figure, already beginning to walk forwards. 'Yeah. Definitely. We've really gotta...we need to look sharp." He wasn't even entirely sure what he was saying, mind running through endless possibilities, trying to match the body, the face to a name. Trying to figure out what the personality would lead to, whether or not it would be safe.
It wasn't until the boy said hello that it clicked. Jasper-Declan MacDermott. Quiet was pretty much all he remembered - quiet, kind of eccentric. Not the type to - but then, nobody would be the type to. No one could ever do that. There was a gun in front of him, though, and Erik felt his heart rate speed up.
"Hey." His voice wasn't entirely steady, but was doing a good job of pretending. "Hey, man. You - uh, you doing okay?" What else was there to ask? How did one start conversations on an island where the goal was killing people? This was all just so fucking surreal, he had no idea.
"Careful," he said, voice absent as he focused on the distant figure, already beginning to walk forwards. 'Yeah. Definitely. We've really gotta...we need to look sharp." He wasn't even entirely sure what he was saying, mind running through endless possibilities, trying to match the body, the face to a name. Trying to figure out what the personality would lead to, whether or not it would be safe.
It wasn't until the boy said hello that it clicked. Jasper-Declan MacDermott. Quiet was pretty much all he remembered - quiet, kind of eccentric. Not the type to - but then, nobody would be the type to. No one could ever do that. There was a gun in front of him, though, and Erik felt his heart rate speed up.
"Hey." His voice wasn't entirely steady, but was doing a good job of pretending. "Hey, man. You - uh, you doing okay?" What else was there to ask? How did one start conversations on an island where the goal was killing people? This was all just so fucking surreal, he had no idea.
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
For a while, Mike drifted away into the realm of trivia thoughts as he and Erik approached the boy.
God damn it, did I just got hit with a magical beam that made me smaller, or is Bayview a school of giants?
Even though the other guy wasn't standing, Mike could easily judge from the body build or the length of the torso and legs that he was much bigger than him as well. Usually, the Pole didn't care about his or anyone's height, but in the company of two very tall people in the game called Survival of the FITTEST, he started getting worried. Seconds later though, something else became the center of his attention.
As soon as both Erik and the other guy greeted themselves, Mike immediately joined with a simple, quiet 'Hello', as he couldn't really think of anything better to say. Usually very outgoing and talkative, the surreality of the whole situation AND a gun, possibly ready to kill, lying in front of the boy, tied up Mike's tongue completely. So he just waited for any response while observing the gun like a hypnotized. The boy didn't seem to be hostile, but it's always better be on the safer side and know when to get down if somehow their life would be in danger in a moment.
God damn it, did I just got hit with a magical beam that made me smaller, or is Bayview a school of giants?
Even though the other guy wasn't standing, Mike could easily judge from the body build or the length of the torso and legs that he was much bigger than him as well. Usually, the Pole didn't care about his or anyone's height, but in the company of two very tall people in the game called Survival of the FITTEST, he started getting worried. Seconds later though, something else became the center of his attention.
As soon as both Erik and the other guy greeted themselves, Mike immediately joined with a simple, quiet 'Hello', as he couldn't really think of anything better to say. Usually very outgoing and talkative, the surreality of the whole situation AND a gun, possibly ready to kill, lying in front of the boy, tied up Mike's tongue completely. So he just waited for any response while observing the gun like a hypnotized. The boy didn't seem to be hostile, but it's always better be on the safer side and know when to get down if somehow their life would be in danger in a moment.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
At first, Jasper-Declan hardly moved.
Erik and Mike. Those names came drifting into his mind from who-knows-where, presumably the result of a forgotten class he'd taken with them. Though he recalled the names, he couldn't for the life of him remember which was which- almost understandable, as outside of their heights the boys were fairly similar-looking. He sat in silence for a moment, observing them. He wasn't afraid. Well, Jasper-Declan was never afraid, but in this case there was nothing to be afraid of- the boys didn't seemed to be armed.
That seems odd. In a game such as this, wouldn't one normally wish to be armed at all times? Perhaps I was wrong to assume that everyone receives a weapon...but wasn't that mentioned in the auditorium as a definite? Curious...perhaps these boys simply do not want to fight...that's understandable.
Jasper-Declan's eyes turned back to the ocean for a moment. What does the ocean say? The cool breeze is both refreshing and somehow...impartial. Hm. Perhaps not the best judge of character, but I suppose there's no reason yet not to give them a chance...
He stood, almost in slow motion, his long limbs uncurling lazily before him. As he did so, he picked up his gun almost as an afterthought, as though he'd nearly forgotten it was there. He didn't hold it like someone who planned to use it- his grip was light, the kind of grip someone held on something they didn't much care about losing.
"Hey, man. You - uh, you doing okay?"
Jasper-Declan blinked.
"...I suppose I am."
Erik and Mike. Those names came drifting into his mind from who-knows-where, presumably the result of a forgotten class he'd taken with them. Though he recalled the names, he couldn't for the life of him remember which was which- almost understandable, as outside of their heights the boys were fairly similar-looking. He sat in silence for a moment, observing them. He wasn't afraid. Well, Jasper-Declan was never afraid, but in this case there was nothing to be afraid of- the boys didn't seemed to be armed.
That seems odd. In a game such as this, wouldn't one normally wish to be armed at all times? Perhaps I was wrong to assume that everyone receives a weapon...but wasn't that mentioned in the auditorium as a definite? Curious...perhaps these boys simply do not want to fight...that's understandable.
Jasper-Declan's eyes turned back to the ocean for a moment. What does the ocean say? The cool breeze is both refreshing and somehow...impartial. Hm. Perhaps not the best judge of character, but I suppose there's no reason yet not to give them a chance...
He stood, almost in slow motion, his long limbs uncurling lazily before him. As he did so, he picked up his gun almost as an afterthought, as though he'd nearly forgotten it was there. He didn't hold it like someone who planned to use it- his grip was light, the kind of grip someone held on something they didn't much care about losing.
"Hey, man. You - uh, you doing okay?"
Jasper-Declan blinked.
"...I suppose I am."
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
(Liz Polanski start)
Liz Polanski was deciding whether to die.
This wasn't a trivial question. Whatever trouble her mother was going to get into, she was going to get into it before Liz got off the island regardless. With Mr. Kwong likely dead, she had no one in particular to live for. And dying was the path of least resistance. Liz liked the path of least resistance. Not that she wouldn't go out with a bang...but still.
Then she remembered the University.
Liz Polanski had just been accepted full scholarship into the University of Minnesota. Liz Polanski was going to get to do math--real math--every day and every night for the next four years. Liz Polanski was going to have the time of her miserable life, until some terrorist had picked her high-school class to play a murder-game on some remote island. Completely messing up her awesome university-centered plan.
Liz had liked that plan. She wanted to stick with it. She liked the idea of having friends for the first time in her life. She liked the idea of feeling safe, the way she always did with mathematics, where everything clicked into place and nothing went wrong and she could see the perfection of the world stretch far into the distance.
This plan, however, had the ambitious step of Not Dying.
Liz decided it was worth it.
She pushed herself off the sand, brushed off her back and shoulders, and looked at the rucksack lying beside her. Beige bag, helpfully labelled. Inventory included map, compass, flashlight, book (Mr. Danya's Guide To Survival--sounded burnable), first aid kit which upon examination yielded a number of useful things including adhesive tape, needles and thread. Her threadbare original backpack--someone had rummaged through and removed the lighter (fuckface). The clothing she was wearing, not particularly helpful: pleated pocketed miniskirt, fishnet tights, combat boots stuffed with socks, black zip-up sweatshirt, black T-shirt, text: "Who the hell do you think I am?". Copious amounts of eyeliner, eyeshadow, black lipstick in the pockets. In the rucksack again, rations, bread and water, not enough of them for a long game. And, at the bottom, a weapon. Something cool, that nipped her fingers as she touched it.
A Navy SEAL search-and-rescue knife.
Brilliant.
It wasn't throwable, and it wasn't a gun, but it was a weapon. She put the cool metal to her mouth and kissed it. Thanks, Mr. Danya.
It was Survival of the Fittest. She was going to be a little crazy.
Next step, after transferring the contents of Beige Rucksack to the understuffed pockets of Black Backpack (one bag is better than two) was to move. The biggest danger on this island was people. Period. So sitting on a coastline where people could see her from a jillion miles away was suboptimal. She needed to move, now.
The scrubby forest in the distance seemed like a goal.
She stood up, making a face at the cormorants circling overhead. They were probably used to feasting on corpses. I'm not dead yet. They squawked unhelpfully.
As Liz walked, she started to think about people-proofing. In order to keep people away from her, she was going to have to look as intimidating as fuck. Tiny much-disliked goth girls were probably prime targets, unless people thought they were capable of murdering the shit out of anyone who got close. So costuming was a priority. Goal was looking unsettling, if not monstrously unhinged.
Eyeliner, eyeshadow, goth lipstick in the pocket of her miniskirt. As she walked, she began painting her face black.
Then she saw the corpse.
Chris Davidson. Tiny kid. Blond, bible belt. Someone had shot him in the face. Liz's first thought was to do death rites. Cross herself, put coins on his eyes.
No, no, no. The cormorants were circling overhead. This was their prey. Liz wondered if Christianity was one of those religions where they thought dead people in desecrated bodies wouldn't go to heaven. She didn't think so.
And this body was giving her a spectacular idea for people-proofing her life.
Thank God for pitching. Liz had always had strong arms.
She heaved the body over her shoulder.
------------
(Liz Polanski continued in Resolve)
Liz Polanski was deciding whether to die.
This wasn't a trivial question. Whatever trouble her mother was going to get into, she was going to get into it before Liz got off the island regardless. With Mr. Kwong likely dead, she had no one in particular to live for. And dying was the path of least resistance. Liz liked the path of least resistance. Not that she wouldn't go out with a bang...but still.
Then she remembered the University.
Liz Polanski had just been accepted full scholarship into the University of Minnesota. Liz Polanski was going to get to do math--real math--every day and every night for the next four years. Liz Polanski was going to have the time of her miserable life, until some terrorist had picked her high-school class to play a murder-game on some remote island. Completely messing up her awesome university-centered plan.
Liz had liked that plan. She wanted to stick with it. She liked the idea of having friends for the first time in her life. She liked the idea of feeling safe, the way she always did with mathematics, where everything clicked into place and nothing went wrong and she could see the perfection of the world stretch far into the distance.
This plan, however, had the ambitious step of Not Dying.
Liz decided it was worth it.
She pushed herself off the sand, brushed off her back and shoulders, and looked at the rucksack lying beside her. Beige bag, helpfully labelled. Inventory included map, compass, flashlight, book (Mr. Danya's Guide To Survival--sounded burnable), first aid kit which upon examination yielded a number of useful things including adhesive tape, needles and thread. Her threadbare original backpack--someone had rummaged through and removed the lighter (fuckface). The clothing she was wearing, not particularly helpful: pleated pocketed miniskirt, fishnet tights, combat boots stuffed with socks, black zip-up sweatshirt, black T-shirt, text: "Who the hell do you think I am?". Copious amounts of eyeliner, eyeshadow, black lipstick in the pockets. In the rucksack again, rations, bread and water, not enough of them for a long game. And, at the bottom, a weapon. Something cool, that nipped her fingers as she touched it.
A Navy SEAL search-and-rescue knife.
Brilliant.
It wasn't throwable, and it wasn't a gun, but it was a weapon. She put the cool metal to her mouth and kissed it. Thanks, Mr. Danya.
It was Survival of the Fittest. She was going to be a little crazy.
Next step, after transferring the contents of Beige Rucksack to the understuffed pockets of Black Backpack (one bag is better than two) was to move. The biggest danger on this island was people. Period. So sitting on a coastline where people could see her from a jillion miles away was suboptimal. She needed to move, now.
The scrubby forest in the distance seemed like a goal.
She stood up, making a face at the cormorants circling overhead. They were probably used to feasting on corpses. I'm not dead yet. They squawked unhelpfully.
As Liz walked, she started to think about people-proofing. In order to keep people away from her, she was going to have to look as intimidating as fuck. Tiny much-disliked goth girls were probably prime targets, unless people thought they were capable of murdering the shit out of anyone who got close. So costuming was a priority. Goal was looking unsettling, if not monstrously unhinged.
Eyeliner, eyeshadow, goth lipstick in the pocket of her miniskirt. As she walked, she began painting her face black.
Then she saw the corpse.
Chris Davidson. Tiny kid. Blond, bible belt. Someone had shot him in the face. Liz's first thought was to do death rites. Cross herself, put coins on his eyes.
No, no, no. The cormorants were circling overhead. This was their prey. Liz wondered if Christianity was one of those religions where they thought dead people in desecrated bodies wouldn't go to heaven. She didn't think so.
And this body was giving her a spectacular idea for people-proofing her life.
Thank God for pitching. Liz had always had strong arms.
She heaved the body over her shoulder.
------------
(Liz Polanski continued in Resolve)
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
It was impossible not to notice the gun. Jasper was holding it, not particularly threatening but there was the fact that he was actually holding it. And a gun was a gun. Erik found his eyes being drawn to the black hole of a muzzle, some rational and cool part of his mind wondering if he would see the explosion propelling the tiny bit of metal towards him, or not. He wondered if it would be better or worse, to know it was coming.
He was taking too long. The rational part of his mind was clamoring to be heard, reminding him that he was standing in front of an armed boy, possibly one who would want to kill him (but who, really, would kill other classmates? he couldn't imagine anyone), and he needed to focus. He swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek and using the sharp flare of pain to pull himself back into the present.
"Great. Uh - great." Trying to seem unobtrusive about it, Erik sidled in front of Mike, shielding the slightly smaller student with his body, trying to look non-threatening and not someone you would want to take on in a fight at the same time. "So if it's all cool then, you know, we're all buddies and all, could you just - put the gun down?" He chuckled nervously. "Only it's a little. You know. Kind of intimidating."
A brief pause.
"Unless that's the point. In which case hey, man, fill your boots, but with someone else. 'Cause, uh, neither of us are gonna get in your way or anything. Or go for you. Um, I don't know what Mike got, but my weapon's a porno, so...unless you get off on a Chinese torture skin flick and accidentally blow your collar while jerking it, I'm not super worried."
He was taking too long. The rational part of his mind was clamoring to be heard, reminding him that he was standing in front of an armed boy, possibly one who would want to kill him (but who, really, would kill other classmates? he couldn't imagine anyone), and he needed to focus. He swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek and using the sharp flare of pain to pull himself back into the present.
"Great. Uh - great." Trying to seem unobtrusive about it, Erik sidled in front of Mike, shielding the slightly smaller student with his body, trying to look non-threatening and not someone you would want to take on in a fight at the same time. "So if it's all cool then, you know, we're all buddies and all, could you just - put the gun down?" He chuckled nervously. "Only it's a little. You know. Kind of intimidating."
A brief pause.
"Unless that's the point. In which case hey, man, fill your boots, but with someone else. 'Cause, uh, neither of us are gonna get in your way or anything. Or go for you. Um, I don't know what Mike got, but my weapon's a porno, so...unless you get off on a Chinese torture skin flick and accidentally blow your collar while jerking it, I'm not super worried."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ifnotwinter. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.