((G019 Hermione Susan Miller television debut))
Hermione had a dream. She was beautiful, graceful and stunning on the catwalk of the grand prix of Paris fashion week. Photographers took photos of her as she strutted down the runway...
...and then activists threw pigs blood all over her fine mink coat...
...and the teachers were gunned down...
...and the fat man said, "Welcome to Survival of the Fittest."
"Nuh... nuhmmmn..." Hermione moaned a groggy protest to her treatment as her big blue eyes fluttered open.
Something was around her neck. She raised a hand to feel it. A choker necklace? No. A collar. Like a dog. She was on this show for real then. Hermione gasped and looked around, taking stock of her surroundings. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breath coming out of her mouth in short gasps.
She was lying in a soft, down bed in a plain room with lavender wallpaper. Two duffel bags were stacked next to her, one bearing the word G019 on it. Hermoine lunged for it and pulled it towards her, unzipping it and emptying it of its contents. Inside, she found food, water, a number of small packets and an easybake oven.
She used to play with one of these when she was younger, but she burned her finger on the lightbulb once and her father had launched some sort of lawsuit against the store that sold it to them. Her wistful childhood memories were quickly replaced with the sudden urge to be anywhere but here. She wanted to run, to scream, to cry.
Overwhelmed, Hermione grabbed the oven and hugged it to her chest, her eyes shut tight as she tried to will this nightmare away.
Don't go breaking my heart...
...I couldn't if I tried... (G019 start)
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selphie_trabia†
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Don't go breaking my heart...
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General Goose
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(B142 - Harun Kemal START)
How the HELL could this have happened?
Harun weren't one for conspiracy theories (he was too pragmatic for most of them, as he saw it), but he had always strongly believed SotF was probably true, and the whole "TV show" thing was just a ploy by the government to cover up the fact they were too incompetent to stop such a blatant act of terrorism.
As much as Harun believed SOTF was non-fiction, he weren't expecting it to happen to him. OTHER people had bad things happen. Other people lived in poverty, or were targeted by terrorists, or were disabled by accidents, or had diseases. Harun, on the other hand, was going to have a nice, relatively normal life, hopefully getting a career in journalism or the games industry.
As Harun lay there, awake but with his eyes still closed tight, he didn't even try to delude himself into thinking it was a dream. If it was a dream, he'd wake up soon enough and get a pleasant surprise. But, until then, he'd just have to act like it was real.
Finally, Harun opened his eyes. He was in a corridor. An old, decrepit, abandoned corridor. Alone. His eyes hurt. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he began to scramble to his feet, half-expecting the building he was in to fall down and crush him. Looking around, he saw two things of interest: his bag, and a dufflebag that weren't his. The infamous daypack he'd heard so much about, the characters B142 printed on it. He was now a number, a statistic. He couldn't even keep his name in death. Probably got rolled a pen lid or a jar of jam or something....
Pulling the zip open, Harun peeked inside. Most of it was good. The rations, however. Crackers. Bread. Presumably all laden with rich, wonderful gluten, begging to just destroy Harun's insides. Harun had an intolerance to gluten, and while it only caused short-term consequences physically, those short-term consequences were really not the sort he wanted to suffer with cameras looking at him. Yeah, he did pack a few snacks for the trip, but no proper food; nowhere near enough to last the three or four days Harun expected to survive. Actual food, as well as most other supplies that would have been useful on the isle, were all at the campsite itself.
Harun had been so preoccupied in his concerns about the rations it took him a second to register the sword. Pulling it out, he gazed at it. It was a weapon. A fatal weapon. And....was that a revolver attached to it? Harun smirked. Sure, as a gun it was probably one of the worst on the island, but he'd rolled quite a nice weapon at the end of the day.
Wait, was he actually thinking about using this?
Harun shook his head, biting his lower lip. He would only use it in self-defence.
Putting it on the ground next to the bag, he found two other things of interest. An instruction manual for the gun and a survival guide, written by Mr. Douchebag Danya himself. Harun always read the manuals when he got something like a video game; not only was it helpful, but Harun enjoyed reading, even if it was something as mundane as a manual. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, he read both of them. He also decided to load the 6 bullets he had into the chamber of the revolver sword, just in case he needed them.
He didn't even feel the collar around his neck, but with his basic knowledge/morbid interest of SOTF, he guessed one was there.
Harun then decided to quickly dump the contents of the dufflebag into the much larger bag he himself brought along, before chucking the now empty dufflebag to the side. Carrying one bag around seemed easier and more practical than two. It didn't look anything had been confiscated from his bag; his toothbrush, clothes, towel, shampoo, soap, books and snacks remaining intact. Climbing to his feet again, slinging the bag around his back and holding the sword in his hands, Harun decided to see if anyone else was there. Crying or throwing a temper tantrum didn't even occur to Harun, right now he was focused purely on pulling himself together and surviving for as long as he could, hoping a rescue would arrive before too many had died.
Pushing open the nearest door, Harun saw a girl lying on a bed and hugging something to her chest. The girl Harun recognised as Hermione Miller, easily one of the most attractive in the school, and the thing to her chest?
An oven.
"Err....Hermione? You okay?"
How the HELL could this have happened?
Harun weren't one for conspiracy theories (he was too pragmatic for most of them, as he saw it), but he had always strongly believed SotF was probably true, and the whole "TV show" thing was just a ploy by the government to cover up the fact they were too incompetent to stop such a blatant act of terrorism.
As much as Harun believed SOTF was non-fiction, he weren't expecting it to happen to him. OTHER people had bad things happen. Other people lived in poverty, or were targeted by terrorists, or were disabled by accidents, or had diseases. Harun, on the other hand, was going to have a nice, relatively normal life, hopefully getting a career in journalism or the games industry.
As Harun lay there, awake but with his eyes still closed tight, he didn't even try to delude himself into thinking it was a dream. If it was a dream, he'd wake up soon enough and get a pleasant surprise. But, until then, he'd just have to act like it was real.
Finally, Harun opened his eyes. He was in a corridor. An old, decrepit, abandoned corridor. Alone. His eyes hurt. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he began to scramble to his feet, half-expecting the building he was in to fall down and crush him. Looking around, he saw two things of interest: his bag, and a dufflebag that weren't his. The infamous daypack he'd heard so much about, the characters B142 printed on it. He was now a number, a statistic. He couldn't even keep his name in death. Probably got rolled a pen lid or a jar of jam or something....
Pulling the zip open, Harun peeked inside. Most of it was good. The rations, however. Crackers. Bread. Presumably all laden with rich, wonderful gluten, begging to just destroy Harun's insides. Harun had an intolerance to gluten, and while it only caused short-term consequences physically, those short-term consequences were really not the sort he wanted to suffer with cameras looking at him. Yeah, he did pack a few snacks for the trip, but no proper food; nowhere near enough to last the three or four days Harun expected to survive. Actual food, as well as most other supplies that would have been useful on the isle, were all at the campsite itself.
Harun had been so preoccupied in his concerns about the rations it took him a second to register the sword. Pulling it out, he gazed at it. It was a weapon. A fatal weapon. And....was that a revolver attached to it? Harun smirked. Sure, as a gun it was probably one of the worst on the island, but he'd rolled quite a nice weapon at the end of the day.
Wait, was he actually thinking about using this?
Harun shook his head, biting his lower lip. He would only use it in self-defence.
Putting it on the ground next to the bag, he found two other things of interest. An instruction manual for the gun and a survival guide, written by Mr. Douchebag Danya himself. Harun always read the manuals when he got something like a video game; not only was it helpful, but Harun enjoyed reading, even if it was something as mundane as a manual. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, he read both of them. He also decided to load the 6 bullets he had into the chamber of the revolver sword, just in case he needed them.
He didn't even feel the collar around his neck, but with his basic knowledge/morbid interest of SOTF, he guessed one was there.
Harun then decided to quickly dump the contents of the dufflebag into the much larger bag he himself brought along, before chucking the now empty dufflebag to the side. Carrying one bag around seemed easier and more practical than two. It didn't look anything had been confiscated from his bag; his toothbrush, clothes, towel, shampoo, soap, books and snacks remaining intact. Climbing to his feet again, slinging the bag around his back and holding the sword in his hands, Harun decided to see if anyone else was there. Crying or throwing a temper tantrum didn't even occur to Harun, right now he was focused purely on pulling himself together and surviving for as long as he could, hoping a rescue would arrive before too many had died.
Pushing open the nearest door, Harun saw a girl lying on a bed and hugging something to her chest. The girl Harun recognised as Hermione Miller, easily one of the most attractive in the school, and the thing to her chest?
An oven.
"Err....Hermione? You okay?"
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selphie_trabia†
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Hermione whimpered and hugged the oven tighter. She could still feel the softness of the mattress underneath her. She thought hard, trying to transform the walls of the lavender room into the familiar pop-art covered walls of her own bedroom. That frame would be the brightly coloured little flying bird motif that her mother had spraypainted onto the wall with her. The corner of the room, a shelf with all her trophies. She could picture it in her mind, so why couldn't it be reality?
She shivered as she heard someone speak, uncurling slightly. She'd already started to cry, her eyes redrimmed and brimming with tears. She heard someone speak. She squinted through her tears, then rubbed them off, still keeping one arm around her oven. She hadn't even checked the rest of her other duffle bag, although her rations were strewn over the bed around her.
Blinking again, she stared at Harun, then slowly tried to regain her composure.
"I'm sorry. I'm really scared." she admitted.
She stared at Harun, hoping that he wasn't going to kill her. If he was, she knew that the oven in her hands was fairly hefty and she could probably hit him with it.
She shivered as she heard someone speak, uncurling slightly. She'd already started to cry, her eyes redrimmed and brimming with tears. She heard someone speak. She squinted through her tears, then rubbed them off, still keeping one arm around her oven. She hadn't even checked the rest of her other duffle bag, although her rations were strewn over the bed around her.
Blinking again, she stared at Harun, then slowly tried to regain her composure.
"I'm sorry. I'm really scared." she admitted.
She stared at Harun, hoping that he wasn't going to kill her. If he was, she knew that the oven in her hands was fairly hefty and she could probably hit him with it.
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General Goose
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It took a few seconds for Hermione to register his presence and respond. She looked a mess. "I'm sorry. I'm really scared."
Well, that was good in a way. Terrified girls armed only with their fists and a child's oven (then again, she could probably drop it on his feet or something) weren't exactly going to be playing the game on the first day. Harun didn't know Hermione that well (she seemed nice and friendly, if a bit dim at times), but she could be a potential ally; safety in numbers, after all.
"So..." Harun responded. He just realised that his voice was a bit shaky and meeker than usual, but shrugged it off. Fortunately for Harun, the full impact of what had happened was taking longer to sink in than it was with most students. He still hadn't registered that he would never see his parents again, or that several of the teachers he had been with for the last few years were now dead, brutally slaughtered. "Erm...think we should stick together? Just in case someone wants to attack us?"
Lowering his sword and resting it on a mouldy section of the wall, he carefully walked over to Hermione, not wanting to make too much noise just in case someone with more hostile intentions was in the house. "Erm....you alright? Hurt at all?" He sat on the end of the bed, burying his head in his hands and letting out a loud sigh.
Well, that was good in a way. Terrified girls armed only with their fists and a child's oven (then again, she could probably drop it on his feet or something) weren't exactly going to be playing the game on the first day. Harun didn't know Hermione that well (she seemed nice and friendly, if a bit dim at times), but she could be a potential ally; safety in numbers, after all.
"So..." Harun responded. He just realised that his voice was a bit shaky and meeker than usual, but shrugged it off. Fortunately for Harun, the full impact of what had happened was taking longer to sink in than it was with most students. He still hadn't registered that he would never see his parents again, or that several of the teachers he had been with for the last few years were now dead, brutally slaughtered. "Erm...think we should stick together? Just in case someone wants to attack us?"
Lowering his sword and resting it on a mouldy section of the wall, he carefully walked over to Hermione, not wanting to make too much noise just in case someone with more hostile intentions was in the house. "Erm....you alright? Hurt at all?" He sat on the end of the bed, burying his head in his hands and letting out a loud sigh.
((Premiere B144))
He had been awake long enough to see the sun rise and shine through the windows of the dining room, waking him up to find he had been seated, and slumped forward on a magnificent dining table almost as if he had fallen asleep during a boring lecture. He had been awake for a while, long enough to go through the same series of revelations that 200 of his classmates were already probably going through, and to realize that the previous lecture was not at all boring but one that immediately instilled a sense of utter paranoia in his soul. One that all the politics and Patriot Act at home couldn't do.
He had also been awake long enough to - out of that same reflexive action that gripped all those that didn't die instantly - check through the bag that was assigned to him, only to find that his assigned weapon wasn't even a weapon. He had actually been given iodine pills and - as a 'manual' now sprawled across the table with them, - several unstapled pages printed from the internet in "draft" quality describing how to purify water with them.
In those five minutes of waking time, he had gone from complete shock to despair, and knowing the full burden of his predicament had practically been preordained, he stood up, moved to an empty space on the floor beside the chair, and raised his hands to the level of his face.
Rashid Hassan had, despite the immediate trauma, been awake long enough to remember to pray, the way his parents and resident imam had taught him. Or rather, praying in as much as he could remember from what his parents and imam taught him.
He could have been excused for missing the time of day, as he had been in and out of consciousness for who-knew-how long. It was probably already Friday, or maybe it was past that.
And he was probably pointing in the wrong direction. After all, his GPS had already been confiscated, and probably rewired and given to someone that would end up killing him. That and there was never really any indication as to what part of the world an island like this was in.
His posture was wrong, trembling as he bowed, dropping merely to his hands and knees as he reached those parts of the Dawn prayer instead of fully prostrate. And, as of right now anyway, there was nobody to turn to, to wish peace upon. Peace would be an elusive gift, one found most likely in death brought to him by someone who would inevitably take notice of the fact that someone's prayers in Arabic was echoing across such a vast hall.
Prayers that were also tainted with the depression from the realization that he would never see his parents or little sister again, that all their prayers and the grace of God (and most certainly all the curses many were uttering at the man who had them all place here) would probably not bring him back alive. In the miraculous chance that he did come back - no, miraculous was far from the right word for it - the only way to do so would have been to change so much, to do so many unforgivable things, that there would be no salvation at the end of that tunnel either.
But despite all the things he was already doing wrong with procedure the regular daily prayers, it was the only thing he could do as he finally sat up and stared out the window at the golden dawn, finally mustering the strength to hold back tears.
He didn't know if God would heed his pleas for mercy and guidance. He didn't know what his own future had in store for him. But as he propped himself up against the table, wiping his tears off with his sleeve, he knew that he would have to deal with whatever would happen next, and in the event that his prayers didn't fall on deaf ears (he didn't even know if his own family were watching this right now) he would have to deal with them to the best of his ability.
Which, given that he was struggling to stand from the depression settling in, was going to be a challenge.
He had been awake long enough to see the sun rise and shine through the windows of the dining room, waking him up to find he had been seated, and slumped forward on a magnificent dining table almost as if he had fallen asleep during a boring lecture. He had been awake for a while, long enough to go through the same series of revelations that 200 of his classmates were already probably going through, and to realize that the previous lecture was not at all boring but one that immediately instilled a sense of utter paranoia in his soul. One that all the politics and Patriot Act at home couldn't do.
He had also been awake long enough to - out of that same reflexive action that gripped all those that didn't die instantly - check through the bag that was assigned to him, only to find that his assigned weapon wasn't even a weapon. He had actually been given iodine pills and - as a 'manual' now sprawled across the table with them, - several unstapled pages printed from the internet in "draft" quality describing how to purify water with them.
In those five minutes of waking time, he had gone from complete shock to despair, and knowing the full burden of his predicament had practically been preordained, he stood up, moved to an empty space on the floor beside the chair, and raised his hands to the level of his face.
Rashid Hassan had, despite the immediate trauma, been awake long enough to remember to pray, the way his parents and resident imam had taught him. Or rather, praying in as much as he could remember from what his parents and imam taught him.
He could have been excused for missing the time of day, as he had been in and out of consciousness for who-knew-how long. It was probably already Friday, or maybe it was past that.
And he was probably pointing in the wrong direction. After all, his GPS had already been confiscated, and probably rewired and given to someone that would end up killing him. That and there was never really any indication as to what part of the world an island like this was in.
His posture was wrong, trembling as he bowed, dropping merely to his hands and knees as he reached those parts of the Dawn prayer instead of fully prostrate. And, as of right now anyway, there was nobody to turn to, to wish peace upon. Peace would be an elusive gift, one found most likely in death brought to him by someone who would inevitably take notice of the fact that someone's prayers in Arabic was echoing across such a vast hall.
Prayers that were also tainted with the depression from the realization that he would never see his parents or little sister again, that all their prayers and the grace of God (and most certainly all the curses many were uttering at the man who had them all place here) would probably not bring him back alive. In the miraculous chance that he did come back - no, miraculous was far from the right word for it - the only way to do so would have been to change so much, to do so many unforgivable things, that there would be no salvation at the end of that tunnel either.
But despite all the things he was already doing wrong with procedure the regular daily prayers, it was the only thing he could do as he finally sat up and stared out the window at the golden dawn, finally mustering the strength to hold back tears.
He didn't know if God would heed his pleas for mercy and guidance. He didn't know what his own future had in store for him. But as he propped himself up against the table, wiping his tears off with his sleeve, he knew that he would have to deal with whatever would happen next, and in the event that his prayers didn't fall on deaf ears (he didn't even know if his own family were watching this right now) he would have to deal with them to the best of his ability.
Which, given that he was struggling to stand from the depression settling in, was going to be a challenge.
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selphie_trabia†
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((ooc: Wow, really lucky to get in contact with a gluten-intolerant person in 2008 – that was the height of the gluten-free diet craze! XD))
Hermione looked at the boy in front of her, now more careful than ever. She clutched the plastic oven, her fingers gripping its sides. She wasn't sure if she could trust him just yet. The video they'd watched during those sleepy moments of being forced to watch their teacher's execution had warned her of the dangers of being too trusting.
"No, no I'm not hurt." Hermione nodded at Harun, carefully dodging his other question, "I'm just really scared..."
Hermione was not exactly the brightest bulb in Bayview. She knew this. She knew that she was stupid and that no matter how hard she tried, she'd never ever make it to community college. She also knew that being stupid usually led people to underestimate you. One did not need Mathematics or super intelligence to read what others were thinking when their body language gave them away and most people were open books to Hermione.
From the tone of Harun's voice, Hermione could tell that he was nervous, probably just as frightened as she was. From her initial assessment of him, she figured that he would be oversensitive if she'd forgotten his name. Most people would be.
Hermione kept a small social diary in her head, an encyclopaedia of sorts, cataloguing all the names and faces of as many Bayview students as she could remember. She consulted this encyclopaedia now, taking a few minutes to pull out the relevant entry for Harun.
Harun Kemal. Male. Geek. Gluten intolerant.
Hermione thought a little harder, but could find nothing else. She vaguely remembered asking the cafeteria about him during her yearly party information gathering. Come to think of it, Harun had never attended any of her parties before. There was no way she could trust him based on that tiny amount of information.
Still, all was not lost. Gluten-free diets were the latest craze in the modelling world and she'd definitely brought a number of soups with her – enough for the three days she was staying at the school trip. She wasn't about to eat the greasy, fattening food from the school trip. A professional had to watch her weight, after all.
But the rules had changed. The diet no longer mattered. What mattered now was survival. Hermione thought quickly and decided on a plan of action. She could follow Harun, but she wasn't going to stay with him. Maybe later, if he proved to be trustworthy. For now, she didn't know what sort of person he was.
She thrust her hand into her other duffel bag, hoping against hope that it contained her stuff. She breathed a sigh of relief when her hand made contact with her the items she was looking for. Hermione pulled out a number of gluten-free soup packets. She held the soup packets out to him, hoping to trade food for a short amount of safety.
"Harun, I'm... I'm really sorry but I can't... I don't want to well, team with a boy. I'll follow you... uhm... for a while but..." she stuttered, drawing out her pauses to show him how very sorry she was, "But... look... if we get... separated, I won't look for you... and I know you can't eat the bread, so I'll trade you these for the bread."
Hermione looked at the boy in front of her, now more careful than ever. She clutched the plastic oven, her fingers gripping its sides. She wasn't sure if she could trust him just yet. The video they'd watched during those sleepy moments of being forced to watch their teacher's execution had warned her of the dangers of being too trusting.
"No, no I'm not hurt." Hermione nodded at Harun, carefully dodging his other question, "I'm just really scared..."
Hermione was not exactly the brightest bulb in Bayview. She knew this. She knew that she was stupid and that no matter how hard she tried, she'd never ever make it to community college. She also knew that being stupid usually led people to underestimate you. One did not need Mathematics or super intelligence to read what others were thinking when their body language gave them away and most people were open books to Hermione.
From the tone of Harun's voice, Hermione could tell that he was nervous, probably just as frightened as she was. From her initial assessment of him, she figured that he would be oversensitive if she'd forgotten his name. Most people would be.
Hermione kept a small social diary in her head, an encyclopaedia of sorts, cataloguing all the names and faces of as many Bayview students as she could remember. She consulted this encyclopaedia now, taking a few minutes to pull out the relevant entry for Harun.
Harun Kemal. Male. Geek. Gluten intolerant.
Hermione thought a little harder, but could find nothing else. She vaguely remembered asking the cafeteria about him during her yearly party information gathering. Come to think of it, Harun had never attended any of her parties before. There was no way she could trust him based on that tiny amount of information.
Still, all was not lost. Gluten-free diets were the latest craze in the modelling world and she'd definitely brought a number of soups with her – enough for the three days she was staying at the school trip. She wasn't about to eat the greasy, fattening food from the school trip. A professional had to watch her weight, after all.
But the rules had changed. The diet no longer mattered. What mattered now was survival. Hermione thought quickly and decided on a plan of action. She could follow Harun, but she wasn't going to stay with him. Maybe later, if he proved to be trustworthy. For now, she didn't know what sort of person he was.
She thrust her hand into her other duffel bag, hoping against hope that it contained her stuff. She breathed a sigh of relief when her hand made contact with her the items she was looking for. Hermione pulled out a number of gluten-free soup packets. She held the soup packets out to him, hoping to trade food for a short amount of safety.
"Harun, I'm... I'm really sorry but I can't... I don't want to well, team with a boy. I'll follow you... uhm... for a while but..." she stuttered, drawing out her pauses to show him how very sorry she was, "But... look... if we get... separated, I won't look for you... and I know you can't eat the bread, so I'll trade you these for the bread."
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General Goose
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"No, no I'm not hurt. I'm just really scared..."
Think we all are.
Harun, his right leg shaking out of a mixture of fear and anticipation, was confused when Hermione began rifling through one of her bags, only to produce what looked like packets of soup. For a split second, the anxious expression on Harun's face was replaced by one of curious bemusement, failing to understand where this was going. Finally, she opened her mouth, voice shaking, obviously doing an even worse job at hiding her feelings than Harun was. "Harun, I'm... I'm really sorry but I can't... I don't want to well, team with a boy. I'll follow you... uhm... for a while but...But... look... if we get... separated, I won't look for you... and I know you can't eat the bread, so I'll trade you these for the bread."
Huh. Harun initially thought it was quite silly not trusting him because he was a boy, but then again, they didn't really know each other that well, and she was probably worried about trusting a boy she hardly knew, which was understandable. Then again, her offer sounded reasonable, so nodding in agreement, he slowly took the bag off of his back (his back had began to hurt quite a bit, along with his left leg, but Harun shrugged it off as simple cramp, or he'd just been sleeping badly) and pulled out the bread. Taking the soup from Hermione, he offered her a quick "Thanks" before putting it in his bag. Harun weren't exactly soup's biggest fan, and it was hardly the most practical of food in this dire situation, but then again, at least he would be able to eat without relying on snacks and hunting.
As he got up to his feet, bag back on his shoulders, he heard something that cut off his train of thought. Someone talking. It was too far away to make it out much, but it was definitely male. "Wait a sec..." he whispered to Hermione. "Someone's here. Come with me if you want." Going out the door, he was about to head towards the stairs when he remembered his weapon, so popped back into the room to retrieve it. If the voice was a hostile psychopath, he better be prepared.
As he got closer (damn, this house was big. Now that Harun thought about it, it was probably an old mansion), he began to hear the words. Arabic. And, while Harun had gotten rusty on his faith, he'd been to the local Mosque enough times to recognise it as a prayer. It was probably Rashid, who Harun knew to be one of the few Muslim students at his school. Sounded like him too.
As he climbed down the stairs, he turned a corner to find his fellow activist club member in a room, having finished his prayer. "Uh....hey Rashid. You alright?" Harun already knew the answer, judging by the way Rashid looked and the situation they were both in.
Think we all are.
Harun, his right leg shaking out of a mixture of fear and anticipation, was confused when Hermione began rifling through one of her bags, only to produce what looked like packets of soup. For a split second, the anxious expression on Harun's face was replaced by one of curious bemusement, failing to understand where this was going. Finally, she opened her mouth, voice shaking, obviously doing an even worse job at hiding her feelings than Harun was. "Harun, I'm... I'm really sorry but I can't... I don't want to well, team with a boy. I'll follow you... uhm... for a while but...But... look... if we get... separated, I won't look for you... and I know you can't eat the bread, so I'll trade you these for the bread."
Huh. Harun initially thought it was quite silly not trusting him because he was a boy, but then again, they didn't really know each other that well, and she was probably worried about trusting a boy she hardly knew, which was understandable. Then again, her offer sounded reasonable, so nodding in agreement, he slowly took the bag off of his back (his back had began to hurt quite a bit, along with his left leg, but Harun shrugged it off as simple cramp, or he'd just been sleeping badly) and pulled out the bread. Taking the soup from Hermione, he offered her a quick "Thanks" before putting it in his bag. Harun weren't exactly soup's biggest fan, and it was hardly the most practical of food in this dire situation, but then again, at least he would be able to eat without relying on snacks and hunting.
As he got up to his feet, bag back on his shoulders, he heard something that cut off his train of thought. Someone talking. It was too far away to make it out much, but it was definitely male. "Wait a sec..." he whispered to Hermione. "Someone's here. Come with me if you want." Going out the door, he was about to head towards the stairs when he remembered his weapon, so popped back into the room to retrieve it. If the voice was a hostile psychopath, he better be prepared.
As he got closer (damn, this house was big. Now that Harun thought about it, it was probably an old mansion), he began to hear the words. Arabic. And, while Harun had gotten rusty on his faith, he'd been to the local Mosque enough times to recognise it as a prayer. It was probably Rashid, who Harun knew to be one of the few Muslim students at his school. Sounded like him too.
As he climbed down the stairs, he turned a corner to find his fellow activist club member in a room, having finished his prayer. "Uh....hey Rashid. You alright?" Harun already knew the answer, judging by the way Rashid looked and the situation they were both in.
The sound of footsteps caused Rashid to suddenly duck under the table, probably causing more noise from sliding chairs around than his prayer in trying to get a more concealed vantage point of the people stepping into the dining room.
The bad news was that from the way that person responded, he had been spotted before he created the ruckus. The good news was that what he heard next was a voice he recognized before he could make out the figure whose mouth it came from.
"Uh....hey Rashid. You alright?"
Rashid's gaze met Harun's as he slowly peered above the tabletop, unable to reply.
He almost immediately wanted to thank God that the first person he'd found was also Muslim. Almost. He couldn't blame him if religion was one of the first things that flew out the window when faced with a kill-or-be-killed proposition you couldn't refuse. Still, he got up to his feet, safe with the knowledge that Harun wasn't the type to decide to go on a cold, calculated rampage. Not immediately, anyway.
Neither, it seemed, did he know Hermione Miller, ever the supermodel, as the type for killing. At least unless she slept with someone first. Another one of those things that transcended fundamentalism into SOTF was the fact that the sexiest girls were usually the most deadly. But that almost never happened on the first day. Not to Rashid's knowledge so far.
"Peace be with you, brother, man...sister..." he said with a smile to both of them. "We're just all about to have breakfast."
He had nothing to hide. His 'weapon' and its manual were still on display on the table, though being the only one within reading distance of the label on the bottle of pills would probably have made it look like he had been using them all morning to get him as emotional as he was.
Of course, Rashid couldn't hide his emotions either. Almost as soon as he was done greeting them, he looked down on the table and sniveled.
The bad news was that from the way that person responded, he had been spotted before he created the ruckus. The good news was that what he heard next was a voice he recognized before he could make out the figure whose mouth it came from.
"Uh....hey Rashid. You alright?"
Rashid's gaze met Harun's as he slowly peered above the tabletop, unable to reply.
He almost immediately wanted to thank God that the first person he'd found was also Muslim. Almost. He couldn't blame him if religion was one of the first things that flew out the window when faced with a kill-or-be-killed proposition you couldn't refuse. Still, he got up to his feet, safe with the knowledge that Harun wasn't the type to decide to go on a cold, calculated rampage. Not immediately, anyway.
Neither, it seemed, did he know Hermione Miller, ever the supermodel, as the type for killing. At least unless she slept with someone first. Another one of those things that transcended fundamentalism into SOTF was the fact that the sexiest girls were usually the most deadly. But that almost never happened on the first day. Not to Rashid's knowledge so far.
"Peace be with you, brother, man...sister..." he said with a smile to both of them. "We're just all about to have breakfast."
He had nothing to hide. His 'weapon' and its manual were still on display on the table, though being the only one within reading distance of the label on the bottle of pills would probably have made it look like he had been using them all morning to get him as emotional as he was.
Of course, Rashid couldn't hide his emotions either. Almost as soon as he was done greeting them, he looked down on the table and sniveled.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
Hermione took the bread and put it into her pack, sweeping the rest of her things back into the dufflebag and zipping it up. She knew from the feel of the pink one that it was hers and that it was full of clothes and fat-free foods.
She heard Harun call out to someone. Picking her bags up, she followed him to the dining room, her heels making clicking sounds on the woodwork. Hermione frowned and pulled them off, then continued to follow Harun at a safe distance. If the intruder was hostile, he could shoot Harun first.
It was then that she heard Rashid's odd greeting. He'd already seen her. She stepped into the room behind Harun, her shoes missing now. A glance at the table showed that Rashid had a bottle of pills. Poison? Who knew? She couldn't quite see the manual from here.
She looked over at Rashid, making a quick assessment of him.
Rashid Hassan. Male. Muslim activist. Declares jihads on everyone. DANGEROUS.
Hermione knew Rashid through the student grapevine. She'd seen him around in school and thought about adding him to the party circuit, but he was some sort of weird muslim activist and he declared jihad on supermodels once. She wasn't sure if he was serious about that, but he seemed like a pretty angry guy. At least, the rumours made him out to be. In any case, she didn't want to be anywhere near him.
She didn't know much about the muslim faith. She'd never really grown up around it, but she heard that they had really strange ideas when it came to women. Something about making women wear veils and stuff or they'd get stoned to death. She bowed her head demurely.
"Hello..." she said, "I'm not really that hungry so, I'll pass, thanks."
She heard Harun call out to someone. Picking her bags up, she followed him to the dining room, her heels making clicking sounds on the woodwork. Hermione frowned and pulled them off, then continued to follow Harun at a safe distance. If the intruder was hostile, he could shoot Harun first.
It was then that she heard Rashid's odd greeting. He'd already seen her. She stepped into the room behind Harun, her shoes missing now. A glance at the table showed that Rashid had a bottle of pills. Poison? Who knew? She couldn't quite see the manual from here.
She looked over at Rashid, making a quick assessment of him.
Rashid Hassan. Male. Muslim activist. Declares jihads on everyone. DANGEROUS.
Hermione knew Rashid through the student grapevine. She'd seen him around in school and thought about adding him to the party circuit, but he was some sort of weird muslim activist and he declared jihad on supermodels once. She wasn't sure if he was serious about that, but he seemed like a pretty angry guy. At least, the rumours made him out to be. In any case, she didn't want to be anywhere near him.
She didn't know much about the muslim faith. She'd never really grown up around it, but she heard that they had really strange ideas when it came to women. Something about making women wear veils and stuff or they'd get stoned to death. She bowed her head demurely.
"Hello..." she said, "I'm not really that hungry so, I'll pass, thanks."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. 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.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
As Harun entered, Rashid, probably scared witless and looking just a little bit worse for wear, had tried ducking behind some chairs, but by the time Harun finished asking his question, Rashid had probably worked out Harun had spotted him, and greeted him and Hermione, who was tagging behind him at quite a distance. "Peace be with you, brother, man...sister...We're just all about to have breakfast." Hermione, sounding even more nervous than she had been when alone with Harun, had muttered a polite refusal.
Quickly turning around to check on the now shoeless Hermione, he responded to Rashid. "Erm...sure. Anything in particular we're having?" He let out a small, nervous laugh, staring at the floor. To tell the truth, Harun didn't feel that hungry. He just felt a mess. The specifics of the memory of the abduction were still cloudy and hazy, and Harun decided that it was probably for the best. He had enough on his mind to worry about without thinking of the auditorium or the bus trip or whatever.
Harun pulled up a nearby chair and sat down, motioning for Hermione to do the same. It had a weak, wobbly leg (he had a habit of picking the wobbly chairs) and it was less than comfortable, but it'd do. He let out a heavy sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with his right hand while his left held his weapon. "So...Rashid..." The boy looked like he'd been crying. While Harun wouldn't consider Rashid a best friend, he was still a friendly guy and they got on well enough, and Harun was kind of surprised to see him be so sombre and melancholy. Hoping for an icebreaker, he pointed at the pills and asked "What 'weapon' did you get?"
Quickly turning around to check on the now shoeless Hermione, he responded to Rashid. "Erm...sure. Anything in particular we're having?" He let out a small, nervous laugh, staring at the floor. To tell the truth, Harun didn't feel that hungry. He just felt a mess. The specifics of the memory of the abduction were still cloudy and hazy, and Harun decided that it was probably for the best. He had enough on his mind to worry about without thinking of the auditorium or the bus trip or whatever.
Harun pulled up a nearby chair and sat down, motioning for Hermione to do the same. It had a weak, wobbly leg (he had a habit of picking the wobbly chairs) and it was less than comfortable, but it'd do. He let out a heavy sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with his right hand while his left held his weapon. "So...Rashid..." The boy looked like he'd been crying. While Harun wouldn't consider Rashid a best friend, he was still a friendly guy and they got on well enough, and Harun was kind of surprised to see him be so sombre and melancholy. Hoping for an icebreaker, he pointed at the pills and asked "What 'weapon' did you get?"
Rashid didn't want to look like he was giving off the wrong impression. He seriously believed he was genuinely trying not to scare anyone off or worse, provoke them into putting HIM at peace. In fact, his famous 'random fatwa' against supermodels went that they should 'eat at least 1 large hamburger a week, or end up as beef jerky' from all their anorexia and tanning obsessions. There was no more time for fatwas or hamburgers or anorexia here, but that was beside the point.
Unfortunately, being wracked with who knew how many kinds of depression didn't give him an appearance that gave off any 'good' impressions whatsoever. In fact with the golden rays of dawn shining on his back, a few bangs of his hair draped forward, it was almost as if he was concealing vampire fangs in his shadowed face whenever it wasn't turned toward the two.
"Erm...sure. Anything in particular we're having?" Harun asked, to which Rashid somehow knew the reply.
"We're having whatever we can find..." he replied, his voice forcibly relaxing, echoing through the relatively empty dining hall like the clichéd creepy butler. He looked down at his assigned duffel bag, the stenciled "B-144" just visible from the shadowy corner where it lay with the sun forcing him to squint to see it. "...I'm sure we've got enough for breakfast." He looked up at the two again and smiled before quickly wiping away more tears on his sleeve while Harun sat down. At least the other boy was approaching him in a(n apparently) friendly manner, which was a start.
"So...Rashid... what 'weapon' did you get?"
Rashid looked down at the bottle of pills, upturned on the papers but not opened from shaking the table earlier.
"Iodine pills." Rashid replied, able to mask his depression with more forcible cheeriness this time, "Apparently you can purify water with them..." As far as he knew, he couldn't even poison people with them unless he was able to force-feed someone that many. It was more shocking - to him anyway - that he was even considering how he could poison people with them in the first place.
Whatever went on in his mind continued to end up in reality mistranslated, as he suddenly started to tremble a bit. He took a seat himself - the same seat he had 'woken up' from. Gravity seemed to follow as his expression became quite glum, no outward sign of the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind (and what sounded like a ringing in his own head) trying to figure out what to do after the immediate.
Unfortunately, being wracked with who knew how many kinds of depression didn't give him an appearance that gave off any 'good' impressions whatsoever. In fact with the golden rays of dawn shining on his back, a few bangs of his hair draped forward, it was almost as if he was concealing vampire fangs in his shadowed face whenever it wasn't turned toward the two.
"Erm...sure. Anything in particular we're having?" Harun asked, to which Rashid somehow knew the reply.
"We're having whatever we can find..." he replied, his voice forcibly relaxing, echoing through the relatively empty dining hall like the clichéd creepy butler. He looked down at his assigned duffel bag, the stenciled "B-144" just visible from the shadowy corner where it lay with the sun forcing him to squint to see it. "...I'm sure we've got enough for breakfast." He looked up at the two again and smiled before quickly wiping away more tears on his sleeve while Harun sat down. At least the other boy was approaching him in a(n apparently) friendly manner, which was a start.
"So...Rashid... what 'weapon' did you get?"
Rashid looked down at the bottle of pills, upturned on the papers but not opened from shaking the table earlier.
"Iodine pills." Rashid replied, able to mask his depression with more forcible cheeriness this time, "Apparently you can purify water with them..." As far as he knew, he couldn't even poison people with them unless he was able to force-feed someone that many. It was more shocking - to him anyway - that he was even considering how he could poison people with them in the first place.
Whatever went on in his mind continued to end up in reality mistranslated, as he suddenly started to tremble a bit. He took a seat himself - the same seat he had 'woken up' from. Gravity seemed to follow as his expression became quite glum, no outward sign of the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind (and what sounded like a ringing in his own head) trying to figure out what to do after the immediate.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.
((Enter MIA KUIPER, Girl of 49th))
Mia woke, slowly easing her eyelids open. The rosey fingers of dawn had crept their way further down the wall in the half hour or so she'd been asleep. She'd woken up on that bed earlier, quickly came to terms with the fact she could, no, likely was in the midst of a game of Survival of the Fittest, and promptly decided sleep had evolved for a reason.
Ungodly hours, early or late, were not her forte.
Nor was the loud arabic chanting coming from just on the other side of the wall.
She rolled over in the bed to glance around the room. The door was still firmly jammed with the chair, 'her' bags sat on the floor. Her small suitcase was nowhere to be seen, but the duffel bag looked as if it was full, probably with books, clothes, and little else. The hideous green tinged duffle bag crudely emblazoned with "G049".
She shifted out of bed and crouched over the bags. There was meant to be a weapon in there somewhere right? That's how this worked? The organisers would have to forgive her if she hadn't been paying strict attention during the briefing. She'd been somewhat distracted by the sacharrine performance of her teachers. The ones who'd died heroically, dramatically, with such pathos, while she'd sat there gazing quietly on in disbelief.
Disbelief was such an appropriate word for the situation. For instance, it described exactly how she felt when she opened one of her bags to find a plunger.
She packed it back in, who knew, maybe later she could use it for some poetic end or another. In the meantime her main priority was to go elsewhere, somewhere she wouldn't have someone's prayers interrupting her sleep.
She stood, made a half-hearted attempt to correct her now rumpled pleated skirt, grabbed her bags and glided over to the door. She carefully unhooked the chair from under the doorknob and took a quick peek around the side, only to see a girl moving her way. She ducked back, and eavesdropped a moment. Three of them, something about food, pills, that sort of thing. She surreptitiously peaked around again, and it looked like they were all in the room minding their own business.
She crept out into the corridor, keeping close to the wall. She got the impression there would be stairs further down the hallway, and even if they heard her she very much doubted they'd follow. So, with the soft gait long familiar to her, she swiftly slipped down the hallway.
She was barely 3 metres past the open door frame when some of the floorboards gave way under her foot. With a crash and a loud, uncharacteristic squeal she found herself lying on her back, one of her legs knee deep in rotten wood.
Mia woke, slowly easing her eyelids open. The rosey fingers of dawn had crept their way further down the wall in the half hour or so she'd been asleep. She'd woken up on that bed earlier, quickly came to terms with the fact she could, no, likely was in the midst of a game of Survival of the Fittest, and promptly decided sleep had evolved for a reason.
Ungodly hours, early or late, were not her forte.
Nor was the loud arabic chanting coming from just on the other side of the wall.
She rolled over in the bed to glance around the room. The door was still firmly jammed with the chair, 'her' bags sat on the floor. Her small suitcase was nowhere to be seen, but the duffel bag looked as if it was full, probably with books, clothes, and little else. The hideous green tinged duffle bag crudely emblazoned with "G049".
She shifted out of bed and crouched over the bags. There was meant to be a weapon in there somewhere right? That's how this worked? The organisers would have to forgive her if she hadn't been paying strict attention during the briefing. She'd been somewhat distracted by the sacharrine performance of her teachers. The ones who'd died heroically, dramatically, with such pathos, while she'd sat there gazing quietly on in disbelief.
Disbelief was such an appropriate word for the situation. For instance, it described exactly how she felt when she opened one of her bags to find a plunger.
She packed it back in, who knew, maybe later she could use it for some poetic end or another. In the meantime her main priority was to go elsewhere, somewhere she wouldn't have someone's prayers interrupting her sleep.
She stood, made a half-hearted attempt to correct her now rumpled pleated skirt, grabbed her bags and glided over to the door. She carefully unhooked the chair from under the doorknob and took a quick peek around the side, only to see a girl moving her way. She ducked back, and eavesdropped a moment. Three of them, something about food, pills, that sort of thing. She surreptitiously peaked around again, and it looked like they were all in the room minding their own business.
She crept out into the corridor, keeping close to the wall. She got the impression there would be stairs further down the hallway, and even if they heard her she very much doubted they'd follow. So, with the soft gait long familiar to her, she swiftly slipped down the hallway.
She was barely 3 metres past the open door frame when some of the floorboards gave way under her foot. With a crash and a loud, uncharacteristic squeal she found herself lying on her back, one of her legs knee deep in rotten wood.
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
When Hermione heard the crash, she whipped around, spinning on one foot in a ballet-like manner, though not enpointe.
"I'll go check that out." She offered, suddenly a lot braver than she would normally be.
Without another word, she walked towards the other doors, carrying her bags with her. If anyone was trapped or wounded, they were unlikely to hurt her. She walked through the open door frame, checking for signs of an actual door. If there was one, she'd close it behind her.
Mia Kuiper. Female. Snarky, rude and not very nice. Has lots of friends and boyfriends.
Hermione looked at the girl in the floor. She never really got along with Mia. Mia never really hung out with her and she had never felt the urge to hang out with Mia either. Still, a classmate was a classmate.
"You all right, Mia? Let me help you up." She said with a smile, holding her hand out for Mia to take.
As she bent down closer to Mia, she whispered, "Harun and Rashid are in the other room. I think Rashid has poison pills and he's offering to feed us. He looks pretty dangerous."
"I'll go check that out." She offered, suddenly a lot braver than she would normally be.
Without another word, she walked towards the other doors, carrying her bags with her. If anyone was trapped or wounded, they were unlikely to hurt her. She walked through the open door frame, checking for signs of an actual door. If there was one, she'd close it behind her.
Mia Kuiper. Female. Snarky, rude and not very nice. Has lots of friends and boyfriends.
Hermione looked at the girl in the floor. She never really got along with Mia. Mia never really hung out with her and she had never felt the urge to hang out with Mia either. Still, a classmate was a classmate.
"You all right, Mia? Let me help you up." She said with a smile, holding her hand out for Mia to take.
As she bent down closer to Mia, she whispered, "Harun and Rashid are in the other room. I think Rashid has poison pills and he's offering to feed us. He looks pretty dangerous."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. 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.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
To be honest, Rashid was kind of creeping Harun out. He was acting a bit like those deranged butlers that were in horror films all the time, and Harun had no idea whether Rashid was just putting on an act for a laugh or had already lost more than a considerable bit of his sanity. But, he was a good guy, and definitely wasn't playing. And he had iodine pills, which made him a pretty good asset to any team that may start up. As Harun took his bag off to pull out a small bag of biscuits they could snack on while waiting for something to happen, his train of thought was interrupted by a loud sound from the hallway. As Hermione offered to go check it out and left the room, Harun decided to follow her just in case it was someone dangerous or someone he knew, signalling to Rashid to stay where he was.
As he turned round the corner, he saw a girl lying on the floor, one of her legs having fallen through the floorboards. "You alright?" he asked, as Hermione held out a hand to help the girl up. It took Harun a second to remember who she was. Mia something. Harun then noticed Hermione whispering something into Mia's ear, the only words he could make out sounding like "offal" and "dangerous". Dangerous? What was? Who was? Rashid? No, he was just a bit kooky right now, he wouldn't harm a fly. Then was Hermione talking about him?
What the hell had he done to appear dangerous?
Well, Harun had no idea why Hermione was being so paranoid about him when all he'd done was been helpful and tried to keep his head on but meh. Her problem. Returning to Rashid, he put his bag back on his bag, quickly explaining the situation. "Mia Kuiper fell over. Nothing strange. Hermione's dealing with it." Staring at the iodine pills, then at a spider on the table (which Harun moved a few steps away from. It looked big, and he didn't know whether the spiders on this island were poisonous or not, and he had enough to worry about without his arachnophobia), he then asked Rashid "So, wanna stick together or something? I mean, I got a weapon, you got iodine pills, we could do quite well together." Hermione was too paranoid about the boys to be in a group, and going in the corridor to ask Mia out of the blue would just seem weird.
As he turned round the corner, he saw a girl lying on the floor, one of her legs having fallen through the floorboards. "You alright?" he asked, as Hermione held out a hand to help the girl up. It took Harun a second to remember who she was. Mia something. Harun then noticed Hermione whispering something into Mia's ear, the only words he could make out sounding like "offal" and "dangerous". Dangerous? What was? Who was? Rashid? No, he was just a bit kooky right now, he wouldn't harm a fly. Then was Hermione talking about him?
What the hell had he done to appear dangerous?
Well, Harun had no idea why Hermione was being so paranoid about him when all he'd done was been helpful and tried to keep his head on but meh. Her problem. Returning to Rashid, he put his bag back on his bag, quickly explaining the situation. "Mia Kuiper fell over. Nothing strange. Hermione's dealing with it." Staring at the iodine pills, then at a spider on the table (which Harun moved a few steps away from. It looked big, and he didn't know whether the spiders on this island were poisonous or not, and he had enough to worry about without his arachnophobia), he then asked Rashid "So, wanna stick together or something? I mean, I got a weapon, you got iodine pills, we could do quite well together." Hermione was too paranoid about the boys to be in a group, and going in the corridor to ask Mia out of the blue would just seem weird.
If there had to be one thing snapping Rashid out of his trance cliché, it had to be the sound of someone crashing through...something. He poked his head up as Hermione, then Harun headed down a nearby hallway to check out who it was. Rashid chose not to follow them, simply standing up and observing as the two left him alone again. He didn't know - and didn't know if he wanted to know if whatever made that crash was human, if it was still alive, whether that crash was accidental, and in case all three were true, if that person was paying.
And at cowardly as that sounded, he wanted to be the first one to escape if that happened to be true too, because they'd have to get through those two first. After them, he'd have as much time as it took for him to grab the pills and get the fuck out.
Rashid breathed contentedly to himself when Harun came back, completely intact. Now wouldn't be the time for cowardice, at least.
"Mia Kuiper fell over. Nothing strange. Hermione's dealing with it."
Rashid wasn't in a particularly active state of mind to remember the traits associated with names. The one thing he could figure from whatever memories he could dredge from the whirlwind that she leaned just a little it toward the type to deceive people through accidents to lure them into a trap to kill them. But that didn't give him quite enough motivation to move away from where hew as standing.
That was provided by the sight of a rather large spider crawling up onto, and then skittering across the tabletop, approaching the bottle of pills and the scattered mess of papers on the table. With barely more than a muttered "ohfuck," he reached out both arms and scooped the entire pile of papers and pills back toward his chest as he pushed away from the table, knocking the chair over.
As soon as both of them thought they were a safe distance from the spider, which seemed to enjoy going about its own business, Harun continued.
"So, wanna stick together or something? I mean, I got a weapon, you got iodine pills, we could do quite well together."
"Uh...sure, okay." Rashid replied gasping, having been jolted into (a semblance) of his senses by the spider. He looked down, finding it rather awkward that he resembled some kind of hypochondriac student. "We could probably stun somebody with these..." he replied, slowly holding up the bottle of pills as his voice regained (some semblance of) its composure, "If there any after cleaning the water."
The thought of exactly how he was going to stun someone, let alone kill someone with iodine pills, seemed a little less frightening to consider. A little.
And at cowardly as that sounded, he wanted to be the first one to escape if that happened to be true too, because they'd have to get through those two first. After them, he'd have as much time as it took for him to grab the pills and get the fuck out.
Rashid breathed contentedly to himself when Harun came back, completely intact. Now wouldn't be the time for cowardice, at least.
"Mia Kuiper fell over. Nothing strange. Hermione's dealing with it."
Rashid wasn't in a particularly active state of mind to remember the traits associated with names. The one thing he could figure from whatever memories he could dredge from the whirlwind that she leaned just a little it toward the type to deceive people through accidents to lure them into a trap to kill them. But that didn't give him quite enough motivation to move away from where hew as standing.
That was provided by the sight of a rather large spider crawling up onto, and then skittering across the tabletop, approaching the bottle of pills and the scattered mess of papers on the table. With barely more than a muttered "ohfuck," he reached out both arms and scooped the entire pile of papers and pills back toward his chest as he pushed away from the table, knocking the chair over.
As soon as both of them thought they were a safe distance from the spider, which seemed to enjoy going about its own business, Harun continued.
"So, wanna stick together or something? I mean, I got a weapon, you got iodine pills, we could do quite well together."
"Uh...sure, okay." Rashid replied gasping, having been jolted into (a semblance) of his senses by the spider. He looked down, finding it rather awkward that he resembled some kind of hypochondriac student. "We could probably stun somebody with these..." he replied, slowly holding up the bottle of pills as his voice regained (some semblance of) its composure, "If there any after cleaning the water."
The thought of exactly how he was going to stun someone, let alone kill someone with iodine pills, seemed a little less frightening to consider. A little.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.