((Clio Gabriella continues from Caged In Like Animals))
He didn't die.
As Clio made her way up the hills that lead away, well away, from the cliffs behind her, she was still fuming over the latest announcement.
Clio Gabriella, killer of 4 people, threw Garry Villette, a freaking hockey player and fucking furry, off the top of a goddamn cliff, and he STILL didn't die?
It was simply one less name to her conscience now, this revelation of his survival. But what part of her conscience was truly relieved?
Not one bit. He was still alive.
Despite her best efforts, she couldn't really understand how anyone could have survived such a fall. If he did manage to survive the fall, she doubted he would be living much longer. He was on the edge of the island, and any wrong move on his part would render him dead from either collar detonation, or shot by one of the many patrol boats surrounding their prison.
She couldn't think about how else he would make it out of there.
She didn't ponder anymore. She took everything he had, and threw the rest to Neptune. He was dead whether or not he even made it back to solid land. Someone like Garry would never survive.
Bruised.
Beaten.
A goner, in the simplest terms.
Being built like a bear wasn't going to help stop bullets.
The mansion, only recently cleared as a danger zone, sprawled in front of her. She knew that nobody was here, unless they could run really really fast or had a suicide wish the moment they heard Danya's snivelling voice. Clio had arrived there only minutes after the announcement. She'd even watched her collar stop beeping once she stepped into their boundaries. So she was going to be safe here, even if only for a little while.
Clenching her sword/spear and gun, she twisted open the old, antique doorknob, pushed the door open quickly with the tip of her spear, and walked in.
Creeeeak.
They never made that anymore, did they? That sound?
Clio examined the main hallway, and her fears were dismissed; she knew she was safe. Instead of doing her normal routine and checking the place out, she headed up the long staircase that graced her.
Steps.
Rooms.
A bedroom.
Without even batting a lash or taking a proper look inside, she threw her things on the floor to the side of the bed, and passed out on the blankets.
Out and In
Content Warning.
((Maxwell Lombardi continued from Lean on Me))
If there was one thing Maxwell hated more then the ghastly island he was trapped on, one thing despised more then the imbeciles he had to contend with to survive, one thing he loathed more then that repugnant little cow... It was the fact that for the past few days he'd been reduced to sleeping in the wilderness like some kind of wild animal.
It wasn't just the cold that bothered him. Or the fact that sleeping against trees and rocks was insanely uncomfortable, or the fact that he was always left out in the open for some cretin to come along and slit his throat whilst he was asleep. It was the indignity of the act that bothered him the most. Maxwell was the kind of person who was used to sleeping on nothing less then the most exquisite and satisfyingly comfortable beds and mattresses which money could buy. In his own home, on his own terms, and for as long as he damn well liked. So the fact that he was now reduced to taking naps in the middle of some godforsaken forest was practically hell for the young man.
Hence the reason why the sight of a luxurious mansion almost brought tears of joy to him.
Well, luxurious was something of an overstatement. It looked old and decrepit, as if it had been abandoned for the past several years or so. But nevertheless, its was far more inviting then that dreadful cave he'd slept in the other day.
It had been almost 24 hours since he had left that ginger prick riddled with bullets back on the dirt path, and during that time Maxwell had done nothing but march in a generally south-eastern direction. He had stopped a couple of times, mainly to catch his breath and have a bite to eat. And before he even knew it, the sun had died down and he was beginning to feel tired once more.
So, like he'd been forced to do before, he slept under a tree. A tall oak tree to be exact. It wasn't quite as bad as some of the other naps he had taken, but the same lingering feeling of shame still pestered him to no end. He had the same dream from last night returning as well to make matters worse... Only this time, there was a sixth silhouette amongst the five that had originally been there. Not that Maxwell particularly cared... The pain from the injury inflicted on him by Simon was still his top concern at that moment in time.
The announcement woke him up as usual, informing him once again of the all the people who'd been slain the night before. He ignored it for the most part, listening out only for mentions of his name and the current danger-zones. As he noted down the names of all the killers and their respective kills, he was surprised to find that his own name happened to be the one with the highest "score" so to speak. He wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that realisation... On the one hand, being the "top killer" made him feel somewhat special and significant, like he was really making an impact in this game. On the other hand, this also meant that he'd be the top priority for all the "heroic" players who only targeted killers. Hell, he'd be the No1 target for all the regular killers too for that matter. Half the island out there was probably swearing bloody vengeance against him for killing their friends right at that very moment... And Maxwell would be ready for every single one of them.
After a brief breakfast, he headed southward once more, and continued walking through the endless sea of trees until they abruptly stopped. And there, standing tall as if it was the last reminder of civilisation left on the island, was a mansion fit for a king. Or, at the very least, a wealthy celebrity.
Finally! Now THIS is more like it! I could use a break... And a nice bed, a roof over my head, and maybe even an intact wine cellar is just what I need right now!
The thought that other people might have the same idea did cross his mind at that moment... Albeit briefly. At that very moment, he was far too relieved by his discovery to think too deeply about that possibility, so he brushed the thought aside for now. All he cared about at that very moment was the fact that for the first time in four days he'd stumbled across a decent place to take refuge within. And nothing was going to stop that... Not a single damn thing.
Well, no point in standing around gawping like an idiot...
And on that note, the young Brit began to make his way through the tall gate which was left open ajar entered through the front door into a large foyer. It was at that point as he stood there on top of an old and dusty carpet that he realised just how abandoned this place really was. The walls and floor was covered in a thin layer of dust, and there were cobwebs littered about the place in a haphazard fashion. But apart from that, it was quite homely compared to the shack he'd started out in. It was more then enough to satisfy Maxwell anyway...
First things first, find a bathroom so I can wash all this blood off...
He walked through an opening to his left, passing through the corridor with a confident stride about him. There were some subtle signs of people having already been here before, such as footprints and a recently made hole in the ceiling. But Maxwell wasn't worried. After all, according to the announcement this place had been a dangerzone for the past 24 hours, so the chances of running into people were substantially small. Nevertheless, the building had an eerie familiarity about it. It reminded Maxwell of the time he went to visit his uncle Henry, who lived in a huge mansion not unlike this very one in the countryside back in Britain. He remembered fondly the memories of what it was like to run around through the corridors as a child, pretending to chase away ghosts and goblins with a handheld vacuum cleaner he found whilst rummaging through some cupboards. The nostalgic memory briefly brought a smile to his blood-stained face, only to then fade away again when he remembered where he was. Stuck in the middle of an island far away from home with nothing to comfort him except a TEC-9 submachinegun and a pair of pistols. All the more reason for me to get off this damned rock as soon as possible...
He eventually found what he was searching for... Namely a bathroom wherein he could wash the wound he'd received from that ginger-haired bastard. He looked at himself in the mirror, expecting to see his entire face all messed up and distorted beyond belief. As it turned out though, it wasn't QUITE as bad as he'd first assumed. There was a small graze mark on his right cheek where the bullet had whizzed past his face, which was made to look worse then it actually was by the amount of blood that had poured from the injury. Although, sure enough, his earlobe was indeed gone. He could see in the mirror where the bullet had grazed past his cheek and underneath his ear, taking his earlobe with him.
Sighing to himself, Maxwell then went about the task of washing off all the blood that had stained his hands and face. Unsurprisingly, the taps weren't working. So he was forced to use up some of the water he had gathered from his various victims in order to wash it off. The blood had all but dried out by this point, so the task proved easier then he'd first suspected. He also got the opportunity to grab a bar of soap from his bag to use as well in order to get the smell of blood off of him. Eventually, he finally managed to wash off all the blood from his face and hands, drying himself on a spare towel as he stared at himself in the mirror for a while longer.
Whilst his face was more or less clean, the injury he had received from Simon stuck out like a sore thumb. It was at that moment that Maxwell fully realised just how permanent this injury really was. It wasn't like a scratch that would heal over time. This was a scar, a constant reminded of what it was like for him on the island... But in a way, Maxwell didn't regret it. This scar would serve as a reminder of what could happen if he was to start getting cocky again. Serve as a lesson for him being so careless... Besides, one little scar was nothing compared to what he'd inflicted upon several people for the past few days. Nearly everyone who had ever dared to cross him was now either scared out of their wits or lying face down in the dirt. He'd cut through the competition like butter, taken down almost every opponent who had the balls to stand up to him. He was the top killer on the island. He was the one who was going to win this damned game. So sure he had a little, insignificant and unhindering scar to remind him not to be an idiot. At least he wasn't dead, which considering what he'd been through so far was an achievement worth being proud of.
Now then... I wonder if there's a decent bed around here? I'm feeling knackered...
After leaving the bathroom, he spent the next couple of minutes or so looking long and hard for a decent bedroom to take refuge in. It took a while, but after checking the doors of a study and two broom closets, he eventually found a door which he was sure belonged to a bedroom of SOME description. There better be a damn bed in here...
So, on that note, he opened the door and looked inside.
If there was one thing Maxwell hated more then the ghastly island he was trapped on, one thing despised more then the imbeciles he had to contend with to survive, one thing he loathed more then that repugnant little cow... It was the fact that for the past few days he'd been reduced to sleeping in the wilderness like some kind of wild animal.
It wasn't just the cold that bothered him. Or the fact that sleeping against trees and rocks was insanely uncomfortable, or the fact that he was always left out in the open for some cretin to come along and slit his throat whilst he was asleep. It was the indignity of the act that bothered him the most. Maxwell was the kind of person who was used to sleeping on nothing less then the most exquisite and satisfyingly comfortable beds and mattresses which money could buy. In his own home, on his own terms, and for as long as he damn well liked. So the fact that he was now reduced to taking naps in the middle of some godforsaken forest was practically hell for the young man.
Hence the reason why the sight of a luxurious mansion almost brought tears of joy to him.
Well, luxurious was something of an overstatement. It looked old and decrepit, as if it had been abandoned for the past several years or so. But nevertheless, its was far more inviting then that dreadful cave he'd slept in the other day.
It had been almost 24 hours since he had left that ginger prick riddled with bullets back on the dirt path, and during that time Maxwell had done nothing but march in a generally south-eastern direction. He had stopped a couple of times, mainly to catch his breath and have a bite to eat. And before he even knew it, the sun had died down and he was beginning to feel tired once more.
So, like he'd been forced to do before, he slept under a tree. A tall oak tree to be exact. It wasn't quite as bad as some of the other naps he had taken, but the same lingering feeling of shame still pestered him to no end. He had the same dream from last night returning as well to make matters worse... Only this time, there was a sixth silhouette amongst the five that had originally been there. Not that Maxwell particularly cared... The pain from the injury inflicted on him by Simon was still his top concern at that moment in time.
The announcement woke him up as usual, informing him once again of the all the people who'd been slain the night before. He ignored it for the most part, listening out only for mentions of his name and the current danger-zones. As he noted down the names of all the killers and their respective kills, he was surprised to find that his own name happened to be the one with the highest "score" so to speak. He wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that realisation... On the one hand, being the "top killer" made him feel somewhat special and significant, like he was really making an impact in this game. On the other hand, this also meant that he'd be the top priority for all the "heroic" players who only targeted killers. Hell, he'd be the No1 target for all the regular killers too for that matter. Half the island out there was probably swearing bloody vengeance against him for killing their friends right at that very moment... And Maxwell would be ready for every single one of them.
After a brief breakfast, he headed southward once more, and continued walking through the endless sea of trees until they abruptly stopped. And there, standing tall as if it was the last reminder of civilisation left on the island, was a mansion fit for a king. Or, at the very least, a wealthy celebrity.
Finally! Now THIS is more like it! I could use a break... And a nice bed, a roof over my head, and maybe even an intact wine cellar is just what I need right now!
The thought that other people might have the same idea did cross his mind at that moment... Albeit briefly. At that very moment, he was far too relieved by his discovery to think too deeply about that possibility, so he brushed the thought aside for now. All he cared about at that very moment was the fact that for the first time in four days he'd stumbled across a decent place to take refuge within. And nothing was going to stop that... Not a single damn thing.
Well, no point in standing around gawping like an idiot...
And on that note, the young Brit began to make his way through the tall gate which was left open ajar entered through the front door into a large foyer. It was at that point as he stood there on top of an old and dusty carpet that he realised just how abandoned this place really was. The walls and floor was covered in a thin layer of dust, and there were cobwebs littered about the place in a haphazard fashion. But apart from that, it was quite homely compared to the shack he'd started out in. It was more then enough to satisfy Maxwell anyway...
First things first, find a bathroom so I can wash all this blood off...
He walked through an opening to his left, passing through the corridor with a confident stride about him. There were some subtle signs of people having already been here before, such as footprints and a recently made hole in the ceiling. But Maxwell wasn't worried. After all, according to the announcement this place had been a dangerzone for the past 24 hours, so the chances of running into people were substantially small. Nevertheless, the building had an eerie familiarity about it. It reminded Maxwell of the time he went to visit his uncle Henry, who lived in a huge mansion not unlike this very one in the countryside back in Britain. He remembered fondly the memories of what it was like to run around through the corridors as a child, pretending to chase away ghosts and goblins with a handheld vacuum cleaner he found whilst rummaging through some cupboards. The nostalgic memory briefly brought a smile to his blood-stained face, only to then fade away again when he remembered where he was. Stuck in the middle of an island far away from home with nothing to comfort him except a TEC-9 submachinegun and a pair of pistols. All the more reason for me to get off this damned rock as soon as possible...
He eventually found what he was searching for... Namely a bathroom wherein he could wash the wound he'd received from that ginger-haired bastard. He looked at himself in the mirror, expecting to see his entire face all messed up and distorted beyond belief. As it turned out though, it wasn't QUITE as bad as he'd first assumed. There was a small graze mark on his right cheek where the bullet had whizzed past his face, which was made to look worse then it actually was by the amount of blood that had poured from the injury. Although, sure enough, his earlobe was indeed gone. He could see in the mirror where the bullet had grazed past his cheek and underneath his ear, taking his earlobe with him.
Sighing to himself, Maxwell then went about the task of washing off all the blood that had stained his hands and face. Unsurprisingly, the taps weren't working. So he was forced to use up some of the water he had gathered from his various victims in order to wash it off. The blood had all but dried out by this point, so the task proved easier then he'd first suspected. He also got the opportunity to grab a bar of soap from his bag to use as well in order to get the smell of blood off of him. Eventually, he finally managed to wash off all the blood from his face and hands, drying himself on a spare towel as he stared at himself in the mirror for a while longer.
Whilst his face was more or less clean, the injury he had received from Simon stuck out like a sore thumb. It was at that moment that Maxwell fully realised just how permanent this injury really was. It wasn't like a scratch that would heal over time. This was a scar, a constant reminded of what it was like for him on the island... But in a way, Maxwell didn't regret it. This scar would serve as a reminder of what could happen if he was to start getting cocky again. Serve as a lesson for him being so careless... Besides, one little scar was nothing compared to what he'd inflicted upon several people for the past few days. Nearly everyone who had ever dared to cross him was now either scared out of their wits or lying face down in the dirt. He'd cut through the competition like butter, taken down almost every opponent who had the balls to stand up to him. He was the top killer on the island. He was the one who was going to win this damned game. So sure he had a little, insignificant and unhindering scar to remind him not to be an idiot. At least he wasn't dead, which considering what he'd been through so far was an achievement worth being proud of.
Now then... I wonder if there's a decent bed around here? I'm feeling knackered...
After leaving the bathroom, he spent the next couple of minutes or so looking long and hard for a decent bedroom to take refuge in. It took a while, but after checking the doors of a study and two broom closets, he eventually found a door which he was sure belonged to a bedroom of SOME description. There better be a damn bed in here...
So, on that note, he opened the door and looked inside.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. 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.
-to find Clio Gabriella, gun in left hand, sai in right, held right at the brit's throat.
*
Almost five minutes ago, she heard the door to the mansion open again after she closed it tight behind her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but it was a long time, she was sure of that. Thankfully, no one that looked like her, or even resembling her victims, was haunting her dreams to the point of driving her insane. She could be thankful that once she got off here, she wasn't going to be haunted by guilt or anything like that. She'd already crossed that line long ago.
As the door creaked, she jolted awake with a start. She realised that leaving all her stuff in the corner, away from her for so long, was plain idiotic. She'd listened to the announcements. Clio was, according to Danya, tying second for the top killer on the island. The psychotic lesbian ice skater had since died down with her killings, but another person she hadn't expected had skyrocketed to the top: Maxwell Lombardi. She remembered him actually arriving at Bayview, seeing him at Prom, and occasionally around the hall. He had an air of smugness around him that was too pompous to ignore.
Well, it seemed like England had produced some cracker results for this game, since he'd killed about 5 people at that point.
Clio's pondering was interrupted by footsteps. Sneaking silently off the bed, she found a crack in the bedroom wall, looking straight out into the hallway. Tightening her lips, she spied. Someone was there. Someone familiar was now occupying her space. She couldn't see his face, but the fact remained that if Clio wanted to remain alone, she had to make a good choice here. Wait. See what he does. Make sure that you remain unseen.
The boy passed her in the hall, and yet from her point of view, the crack obscured his face. She couldn't recognize him at all.
Thankfully, he passed by the door.
And in the next few minutes he'd taken in a nearby bathroom to do whatever a growing young boy like himself needed to do, Clio had prepared herself for the worst possible outcome.
Walther PPK: Reloaded.
Sai: wiped down.
Sword/Spear: found out the right way to hold it...of course that one failed, so it was now behind the door.
As she heard him come down the hallway, she took a humungous bite from one of her new gains, a loaf of bread. It wasn't as stale as hers, since it had probably not worked up the miles that her own bread had, but at least it wasn't moulding. Most of the people who stuck around the ocean for long whiles probably had mould in their bread anyway, what with the moisture building up inside and all that jazz.
Each door was checked. When the guy in the hallway approached hers, she raised her gun and sai to the newcomer.
*
...huh.
It was Maxwell Lombardi.
It was only a matter of time until she started running into fellow killers, she supposed. But it had to be such a big coincidence that she run into the top killer on the island right now. 5 deaths to his name, and maybe one or two more she didn't know about.
Clio knew it would be such a waste to kill him right now, seeing as he'd already done people like her such a big favour.
So instead, she spoke, keeping a focus on how she needed to speak and act. No blast-outs this time.
"Hello Maxwell. I hear you've been busy," Clio started, before chuckling "Don't worry, I have too."
*
Almost five minutes ago, she heard the door to the mansion open again after she closed it tight behind her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but it was a long time, she was sure of that. Thankfully, no one that looked like her, or even resembling her victims, was haunting her dreams to the point of driving her insane. She could be thankful that once she got off here, she wasn't going to be haunted by guilt or anything like that. She'd already crossed that line long ago.
As the door creaked, she jolted awake with a start. She realised that leaving all her stuff in the corner, away from her for so long, was plain idiotic. She'd listened to the announcements. Clio was, according to Danya, tying second for the top killer on the island. The psychotic lesbian ice skater had since died down with her killings, but another person she hadn't expected had skyrocketed to the top: Maxwell Lombardi. She remembered him actually arriving at Bayview, seeing him at Prom, and occasionally around the hall. He had an air of smugness around him that was too pompous to ignore.
Well, it seemed like England had produced some cracker results for this game, since he'd killed about 5 people at that point.
Clio's pondering was interrupted by footsteps. Sneaking silently off the bed, she found a crack in the bedroom wall, looking straight out into the hallway. Tightening her lips, she spied. Someone was there. Someone familiar was now occupying her space. She couldn't see his face, but the fact remained that if Clio wanted to remain alone, she had to make a good choice here. Wait. See what he does. Make sure that you remain unseen.
The boy passed her in the hall, and yet from her point of view, the crack obscured his face. She couldn't recognize him at all.
Thankfully, he passed by the door.
And in the next few minutes he'd taken in a nearby bathroom to do whatever a growing young boy like himself needed to do, Clio had prepared herself for the worst possible outcome.
Walther PPK: Reloaded.
Sai: wiped down.
Sword/Spear: found out the right way to hold it...of course that one failed, so it was now behind the door.
As she heard him come down the hallway, she took a humungous bite from one of her new gains, a loaf of bread. It wasn't as stale as hers, since it had probably not worked up the miles that her own bread had, but at least it wasn't moulding. Most of the people who stuck around the ocean for long whiles probably had mould in their bread anyway, what with the moisture building up inside and all that jazz.
Each door was checked. When the guy in the hallway approached hers, she raised her gun and sai to the newcomer.
*
...huh.
It was Maxwell Lombardi.
It was only a matter of time until she started running into fellow killers, she supposed. But it had to be such a big coincidence that she run into the top killer on the island right now. 5 deaths to his name, and maybe one or two more she didn't know about.
Clio knew it would be such a waste to kill him right now, seeing as he'd already done people like her such a big favour.
So instead, she spoke, keeping a focus on how she needed to speak and act. No blast-outs this time.
"Hello Maxwell. I hear you've been busy," Clio started, before chuckling "Don't worry, I have too."
...Jesus Christ!
It was at that moment, as Maxwell stood face to face with a girl wielding a gun in her left hand and a sai in her right, that he realised just how careless he'd been. He'd been so relieved by the discovery of the mansion that he hadn't prepared himself for the possibility that someone might of already gotten there first. And sure enough, that's exactly what had happened...
And this wasn't just any girl he'd bumped into. Back at Bayview, before any of this Survival of the Fittest business, he hadn't gone out of his way to learn the names of any of his fellow classmates. That being said, as he sat alone in the lunch hall helping himself to the expensive pack lunches he would prepare for himself in the morning, he couldn't help but overhear the gossip of his fellow students. And from this gossip, he was occasionally hear certain names being repeated over and over. Most of the time he would simply ignore such petty gossip, but nevertheless he always made sure to keep note whenever he overheard conversations about the more attractive and promiscuous girls at Bayview. Girls such as the apparently well-endowed Charlene Norris, or the Italian flame Rosa Fiametta... Or a certain femme fatal with purple streaks in her hair by the name of Clio Gabriella. The same Clio Gabriella whose name was mentioned at least three times in the previous announcements as being one of the top killers on the island.
And sure enough, the well-armed yet VERY beautiful girl before him had purple streaks in her hair.
Almost immediately after realising this, Maxwell jumped back a foot or so and lifted up his own gun, aiming it directly at the girl's face as she aimed her own gun at his. Great... Just fucking perfect. And here I was thinking that I might be able to take a break from all this ridiculousness only to find myself in a bloody Mexican standoff with the most stunning psychopath i've ever laid eyes on...
...Well, now what? Are we just supposed to stand here and wait like a bunch of morons or...
"Hello Maxwell. I hear you've been busy,"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry, I have too."
This... Was unexpected. Sure, engaging in polite conversation was a much better alternative to shooting each other in the face, but the amount of respect he was receiving was more then a little surprising for the young Brit who had just gotten used to be the subject of bitter scorn for the past few days... Not to mention it was very refreshing to be able to speak to somebody who a complete and total prick for once.
Well, go on. Say something!
"So i've heard... Clio, is it? I don't believe we've had the pleasure of introducing ourselves." he replied, using his charming British accent to his advantage as best as he could. If there was one thing Maxwell took pride in above everything else, it would have had to be his way with words. More then a couple of attractive women had fallen prey to his charming voice and demeanor in the past, especially in America where his accent was seen as being exotic rather then upper class. And Maxwell just loved taking advantage of the "Handsome Englishman" stereotype that he'd all but mastered over the years.
Of course, whether or not he really was that charming or good with words was up to personal opinion. There had been several girls in the past who found his advances to be more lecherous and misogynistic then they were elegant or captivating. And whilst Maxwell didn't deny for a second that he was something of a misogynist (At least, he didn't privately deny it), he simply brushed off these rejections as being philistines who can't tell true charm when they see it.
Anyway... Seeing as she's not about to try and gun me down any time soon, perhaps I can try to calm the situation down a little. I could do with a civilised conversation that doesn't end with bloodshed for once...
"I... Don't suppose you're up for the idea of a truce, are you? I'd rather we didn't have to continue this conversation whilst aiming firearms at each other..."
It was at that moment, as Maxwell stood face to face with a girl wielding a gun in her left hand and a sai in her right, that he realised just how careless he'd been. He'd been so relieved by the discovery of the mansion that he hadn't prepared himself for the possibility that someone might of already gotten there first. And sure enough, that's exactly what had happened...
And this wasn't just any girl he'd bumped into. Back at Bayview, before any of this Survival of the Fittest business, he hadn't gone out of his way to learn the names of any of his fellow classmates. That being said, as he sat alone in the lunch hall helping himself to the expensive pack lunches he would prepare for himself in the morning, he couldn't help but overhear the gossip of his fellow students. And from this gossip, he was occasionally hear certain names being repeated over and over. Most of the time he would simply ignore such petty gossip, but nevertheless he always made sure to keep note whenever he overheard conversations about the more attractive and promiscuous girls at Bayview. Girls such as the apparently well-endowed Charlene Norris, or the Italian flame Rosa Fiametta... Or a certain femme fatal with purple streaks in her hair by the name of Clio Gabriella. The same Clio Gabriella whose name was mentioned at least three times in the previous announcements as being one of the top killers on the island.
And sure enough, the well-armed yet VERY beautiful girl before him had purple streaks in her hair.
Almost immediately after realising this, Maxwell jumped back a foot or so and lifted up his own gun, aiming it directly at the girl's face as she aimed her own gun at his. Great... Just fucking perfect. And here I was thinking that I might be able to take a break from all this ridiculousness only to find myself in a bloody Mexican standoff with the most stunning psychopath i've ever laid eyes on...
...Well, now what? Are we just supposed to stand here and wait like a bunch of morons or...
"Hello Maxwell. I hear you've been busy,"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry, I have too."
This... Was unexpected. Sure, engaging in polite conversation was a much better alternative to shooting each other in the face, but the amount of respect he was receiving was more then a little surprising for the young Brit who had just gotten used to be the subject of bitter scorn for the past few days... Not to mention it was very refreshing to be able to speak to somebody who a complete and total prick for once.
Well, go on. Say something!
"So i've heard... Clio, is it? I don't believe we've had the pleasure of introducing ourselves." he replied, using his charming British accent to his advantage as best as he could. If there was one thing Maxwell took pride in above everything else, it would have had to be his way with words. More then a couple of attractive women had fallen prey to his charming voice and demeanor in the past, especially in America where his accent was seen as being exotic rather then upper class. And Maxwell just loved taking advantage of the "Handsome Englishman" stereotype that he'd all but mastered over the years.
Of course, whether or not he really was that charming or good with words was up to personal opinion. There had been several girls in the past who found his advances to be more lecherous and misogynistic then they were elegant or captivating. And whilst Maxwell didn't deny for a second that he was something of a misogynist (At least, he didn't privately deny it), he simply brushed off these rejections as being philistines who can't tell true charm when they see it.
Anyway... Seeing as she's not about to try and gun me down any time soon, perhaps I can try to calm the situation down a little. I could do with a civilised conversation that doesn't end with bloodshed for once...
"I... Don't suppose you're up for the idea of a truce, are you? I'd rather we didn't have to continue this conversation whilst aiming firearms at each other..."
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Oh how the guy could talk. It wasn't just his voice, or his accent, but it was the way he had with the words that blurted out of his mouth that seemed like it really could belong to a mass murderer on an island full of school children. Of course, she wasn't really paying attention to his sleazy attempt at undermining her ability to make her own decisions, but more of the fact that he seemed to be missing part of his ear.
Making a slightly slant-mouthed expression, like a blonde girl in a perpetually deep thought, she tilted her head slightly and tried to see whether or now it was simply damaged or just blending into the pale wall behind the boy...somehow, despite the fact that the wall behind him was a ghastly shade of khaki brown, thus taking a lot of effort for him to accomplish such a thing. No, his earlobe was indeed gone. She smirked a bit, considering herself lucky that the island had simply rapidly eroded away at her looks, her hair, and her slight amount of make-up rather than her own body.
But of course, there was the ever more pressing matter to attend to at the moment, and the wonderous fact was that the boy wasn't going to kill her. Clio really sympathised with the killer in front of him, really. Being number one at anything, even in such a blood sport that they competed in now, meant that targets never knew more fitting places than on one's back, especially a back so well-fitted as Maxwell freaking Lombardi's.
And it seemed as though his state of mind agreed with her. He proposed a truce. A wave of relief washing Clio down like a gale, she slowly lowered her two weapons in synchronization with the man in front of her.
"You know, as much as I'd like to shoot you right now, I can certainly say that it might do me some good to not be the most wanted female killer on the island to someone I share a room with. So...sure then, Maxwell, a truce it is."
It now came down to the important decision of where the hell she was going to put her gun now. Her sai lay rested in her hand, loose enough to not be a threat but tight enough to not get yanked out unexpectedly, while her gun hung awkwardly at Clio's side.
She would figure it out later. Who cared about that at the moment that she finally earned herself a temporary ally?
"Now, since we both seem to know each other already, even if only briefly, I agree when you say we need some introductions," Clio said with a smug air, trying to almost imitate the man who stood in front of her. Instead of laughing like she wanted to, she kept a little satisfied grin on her face, piled the Sai into her gun hand, and held it out in front of her.
"Clio Gabriella. I suppose I'm the top girl around these parts. Unless that bull dyke's offed someone I don't know about."
Making a slightly slant-mouthed expression, like a blonde girl in a perpetually deep thought, she tilted her head slightly and tried to see whether or now it was simply damaged or just blending into the pale wall behind the boy...somehow, despite the fact that the wall behind him was a ghastly shade of khaki brown, thus taking a lot of effort for him to accomplish such a thing. No, his earlobe was indeed gone. She smirked a bit, considering herself lucky that the island had simply rapidly eroded away at her looks, her hair, and her slight amount of make-up rather than her own body.
But of course, there was the ever more pressing matter to attend to at the moment, and the wonderous fact was that the boy wasn't going to kill her. Clio really sympathised with the killer in front of him, really. Being number one at anything, even in such a blood sport that they competed in now, meant that targets never knew more fitting places than on one's back, especially a back so well-fitted as Maxwell freaking Lombardi's.
And it seemed as though his state of mind agreed with her. He proposed a truce. A wave of relief washing Clio down like a gale, she slowly lowered her two weapons in synchronization with the man in front of her.
"You know, as much as I'd like to shoot you right now, I can certainly say that it might do me some good to not be the most wanted female killer on the island to someone I share a room with. So...sure then, Maxwell, a truce it is."
It now came down to the important decision of where the hell she was going to put her gun now. Her sai lay rested in her hand, loose enough to not be a threat but tight enough to not get yanked out unexpectedly, while her gun hung awkwardly at Clio's side.
She would figure it out later. Who cared about that at the moment that she finally earned herself a temporary ally?
"Now, since we both seem to know each other already, even if only briefly, I agree when you say we need some introductions," Clio said with a smug air, trying to almost imitate the man who stood in front of her. Instead of laughing like she wanted to, she kept a little satisfied grin on her face, piled the Sai into her gun hand, and held it out in front of her.
"Clio Gabriella. I suppose I'm the top girl around these parts. Unless that bull dyke's offed someone I don't know about."
Maxwell had half-expected Clio to deny his offer at first. After all, in hindsight he realised that flatly asking for a ceasefire was perhaps a bit TOO forward of him... He even went as far as considering a list of arguments in his head for why it wouldn't be a good idea for them to exacerbate things any further.
But thankfully, Clio seemed to have the same idea. Perhaps he wasn't the only smart person on the island after all... Although, her brutal honesty did surprise him a little. Not that he could really blame her. Part of him wanted to pull the trigger the second she dropped her guard and get it all over with. One less competition for his ride out of here... And yet, there was something about the girl standing in front of him that made the very idea seem abhorrent at that moment in time. Probably something to do with the fact that she was ironically the first person he'd come across in a while who was neither rude, ignorant or trying to kill him.
They both lowered their weapons in near unison, the young Brit taking the opportunity to adjust his tie as he did so. Now that they had established something of a temporary truce between them, Maxwell couldn't help but take the opportunity to briefly check out the apparent top female killer who stood before him. It was just a brief glance, barely even noticeable, but it was enough for Maxwell to tell that Clio had to be one of the most gorgeous women he had ever come across. Far more beautiful then that comparatively plain Osborne girl... She had a thin, almost ethereal look about her. Not exactly the most impressive bust he'd ever seen, but who was he to complain. But most of all, it was her eyes that drew his attention the most... One hazel, and one green. He'd heard about people with different coloured eyes in the past (Hetrochromia or something like that?) but never had he ever expected to actually bump into somebody with the condition. He suspected that the chances of coming across someone with differentiating eyes on the island had to be quite phenomenal.
"Now, since we both seem to know each other already, even if only briefly, I agree when you say we need some introductions,"
The girl before him smiled, raising her hand and offering to shake Maxwell's. An offer he couldn't help but accept with an equally satisfied grin, placing his gun into his left hand as he extended his right to shake Clio's like a true gentleman.
"Clio Gabriella. I suppose I'm the top girl around these parts. Unless that bull dyke's offed someone I don't know about."
"Maxwell Lombardi, at your service... And I have to say, its been both an honour AND a pleasure to finally meet the top girl herself in the flesh..." he replied, chuckling inwardly to himself when she referred to Reiko as being a bulldyke. There was something comforting in the fact that he wasn't the only person on the island who detested the pint-sized bitch.
"May I?" he then added, gesturing to Clio that he'd like to enter the room. After acknowledging her agreement, the young Brit wasted no time in entering the reasonably sized bedroom. It reminded him a lot of one of the many guest rooms Uncle Henry had in his own mansion that he reserved for visitors such as relatives and close friends. It had all the basic essentials more or less intact: A chest of drawers, a dusty mirror, a broken old clock, a wide cupboard, a private bathroom and of course a comfy double bed to finish it all off.
"Well, I've got to admit, I admire your taste in comfort. A little dust and cobweb or two aside, this room seems fit for a king... Well, okay, maybe not a king per se. But you get the idea..." he said as he circled the room, stopping by the chest of drawers to place his TEC-9 on top of it. All the while, he kept his eyes on Clio. Whilst the two of them had agreed to a truce, the fact remained that they were still in the middle of a game which only allowed for one winner. Sooner or later, they were going to be forced against each other. And as much as Maxwell didn't want to start killing again so soon, he still had to be cautious around this girl. She didn't score four kills by being an innocent airhead after all...
Nevertheless, he did well to mask his caution as he spoke to her. He couldn't let on that he had suspicions about her after all...
"So, i'm curious... At what point did you realise that escape wasn't a viable option?" he asked, genuinely interested as to what led her to start playing. She started long before him, that was obvious. But he was curious as to what excuses other people hide behind because they were too afraid to admit that all they really want is to get off this damn island alive.
But thankfully, Clio seemed to have the same idea. Perhaps he wasn't the only smart person on the island after all... Although, her brutal honesty did surprise him a little. Not that he could really blame her. Part of him wanted to pull the trigger the second she dropped her guard and get it all over with. One less competition for his ride out of here... And yet, there was something about the girl standing in front of him that made the very idea seem abhorrent at that moment in time. Probably something to do with the fact that she was ironically the first person he'd come across in a while who was neither rude, ignorant or trying to kill him.
They both lowered their weapons in near unison, the young Brit taking the opportunity to adjust his tie as he did so. Now that they had established something of a temporary truce between them, Maxwell couldn't help but take the opportunity to briefly check out the apparent top female killer who stood before him. It was just a brief glance, barely even noticeable, but it was enough for Maxwell to tell that Clio had to be one of the most gorgeous women he had ever come across. Far more beautiful then that comparatively plain Osborne girl... She had a thin, almost ethereal look about her. Not exactly the most impressive bust he'd ever seen, but who was he to complain. But most of all, it was her eyes that drew his attention the most... One hazel, and one green. He'd heard about people with different coloured eyes in the past (Hetrochromia or something like that?) but never had he ever expected to actually bump into somebody with the condition. He suspected that the chances of coming across someone with differentiating eyes on the island had to be quite phenomenal.
"Now, since we both seem to know each other already, even if only briefly, I agree when you say we need some introductions,"
The girl before him smiled, raising her hand and offering to shake Maxwell's. An offer he couldn't help but accept with an equally satisfied grin, placing his gun into his left hand as he extended his right to shake Clio's like a true gentleman.
"Clio Gabriella. I suppose I'm the top girl around these parts. Unless that bull dyke's offed someone I don't know about."
"Maxwell Lombardi, at your service... And I have to say, its been both an honour AND a pleasure to finally meet the top girl herself in the flesh..." he replied, chuckling inwardly to himself when she referred to Reiko as being a bulldyke. There was something comforting in the fact that he wasn't the only person on the island who detested the pint-sized bitch.
"May I?" he then added, gesturing to Clio that he'd like to enter the room. After acknowledging her agreement, the young Brit wasted no time in entering the reasonably sized bedroom. It reminded him a lot of one of the many guest rooms Uncle Henry had in his own mansion that he reserved for visitors such as relatives and close friends. It had all the basic essentials more or less intact: A chest of drawers, a dusty mirror, a broken old clock, a wide cupboard, a private bathroom and of course a comfy double bed to finish it all off.
"Well, I've got to admit, I admire your taste in comfort. A little dust and cobweb or two aside, this room seems fit for a king... Well, okay, maybe not a king per se. But you get the idea..." he said as he circled the room, stopping by the chest of drawers to place his TEC-9 on top of it. All the while, he kept his eyes on Clio. Whilst the two of them had agreed to a truce, the fact remained that they were still in the middle of a game which only allowed for one winner. Sooner or later, they were going to be forced against each other. And as much as Maxwell didn't want to start killing again so soon, he still had to be cautious around this girl. She didn't score four kills by being an innocent airhead after all...
Nevertheless, he did well to mask his caution as he spoke to her. He couldn't let on that he had suspicions about her after all...
"So, i'm curious... At what point did you realise that escape wasn't a viable option?" he asked, genuinely interested as to what led her to start playing. She started long before him, that was obvious. But he was curious as to what excuses other people hide behind because they were too afraid to admit that all they really want is to get off this damn island alive.
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Oh, and the guy was apparently very polite as well, what with the most elegant way of introducing yourself formally to someone being thrust upon her. Of course, she had adjusted herself to be used to such overwhelmingly out-of-place demeanour, and as such she didn't do the usual thing she suspect most girls would do upon coming across someone so polite, such as heavy breathing, fanning oneself with the hand, all that formal bullshit that she saw people do in movies after meeting someone so handsome and well-mannered.
She welcomed him into her temporary sanctuary, and now that she got a good look at it, the sunlight from the hall finally creeping inside, she could see that the room wasn't half bad, compared to the rest of the house. The boy put some kind of large machine gun on the chest of drawers besides the bed. Clio smiled briefly, realising that he did have to be fairly loaded if he were to rack up such an impressive kill count. 5 people, wasn't it? Well, he probably had a lot more than she did. Clio started to feel a bit inadequate with just a gun on her. The sai and giant sword stacked behind the door wasn't going to provide much protection in the long run, after all.
"So, i'm curious... At what point did you realise that escape wasn't a viable option?" the boy asked her. Clio had to truly smile this time, and let off a small laugh.
"Escape? I didn't think that was an option. I've been watching this show since I was 15, and in all that time, I've never seen a successful escape attempt. You're not American, right? I dunno if you've seen it before, but no one's ever escaped SOTF without cutting down a massive amount of people in between. Adam Dodd? 12 people. Calvert? 10 people. JR Rizzolo, the kid that we saw on that clip from last seaons? 11 people. Sure, there was that whole escape thing last time, some kids managed to get the collars off, but...come on. That was a year ago. The SOTF system is like a spider web. Whenever a part is weakened, the spider makes sure that when it makes the new web, that the weakened part is stronger and more durable than before."
Clio, after finishing her little impromptu speech, closed the bedrooom door behind her. It was well into the day now, and as such a lot brighter than when she first arrived, allowing the occupants of the room to see the rather large Chinese halberd laid agains the wall.
"To answer your question, escape's never been an option, right from the moment I woke up. I don't know if you can tell, but there's a difference between us and the ordinary people out there, apart from the amount of people we've killed. There's people out there, people who've actually spent their whole life at Bayview, who are trying to play, and they're gonna crash the hardest. They have friends to lose, they have more enemies than friends, more often than not, and at one point, it's gonna bite them. People like us," Clio pointed at her chest with the loosely held Sai, and then at Maxwell, letting the point linger for a few moments "The loners, the people with a lot of demons to hide, the newly arrived at our school with no such friends to think about, we've got the best advantage over them in that we only loose ourselves, and nothing more, to the game. None of that moping about friends bullcrap, no mourning over lost loves, nothing. We apply," Clio held the sai in front of her throat, and moved it through the air in a cutting motion "And we execute."
Clio stood there solemly for about 5 seconds, and then started to giggle.
"How was that? If I get back home, I'm gonna go into acting, it's a lot easier than science studies."
She welcomed him into her temporary sanctuary, and now that she got a good look at it, the sunlight from the hall finally creeping inside, she could see that the room wasn't half bad, compared to the rest of the house. The boy put some kind of large machine gun on the chest of drawers besides the bed. Clio smiled briefly, realising that he did have to be fairly loaded if he were to rack up such an impressive kill count. 5 people, wasn't it? Well, he probably had a lot more than she did. Clio started to feel a bit inadequate with just a gun on her. The sai and giant sword stacked behind the door wasn't going to provide much protection in the long run, after all.
"So, i'm curious... At what point did you realise that escape wasn't a viable option?" the boy asked her. Clio had to truly smile this time, and let off a small laugh.
"Escape? I didn't think that was an option. I've been watching this show since I was 15, and in all that time, I've never seen a successful escape attempt. You're not American, right? I dunno if you've seen it before, but no one's ever escaped SOTF without cutting down a massive amount of people in between. Adam Dodd? 12 people. Calvert? 10 people. JR Rizzolo, the kid that we saw on that clip from last seaons? 11 people. Sure, there was that whole escape thing last time, some kids managed to get the collars off, but...come on. That was a year ago. The SOTF system is like a spider web. Whenever a part is weakened, the spider makes sure that when it makes the new web, that the weakened part is stronger and more durable than before."
Clio, after finishing her little impromptu speech, closed the bedrooom door behind her. It was well into the day now, and as such a lot brighter than when she first arrived, allowing the occupants of the room to see the rather large Chinese halberd laid agains the wall.
"To answer your question, escape's never been an option, right from the moment I woke up. I don't know if you can tell, but there's a difference between us and the ordinary people out there, apart from the amount of people we've killed. There's people out there, people who've actually spent their whole life at Bayview, who are trying to play, and they're gonna crash the hardest. They have friends to lose, they have more enemies than friends, more often than not, and at one point, it's gonna bite them. People like us," Clio pointed at her chest with the loosely held Sai, and then at Maxwell, letting the point linger for a few moments "The loners, the people with a lot of demons to hide, the newly arrived at our school with no such friends to think about, we've got the best advantage over them in that we only loose ourselves, and nothing more, to the game. None of that moping about friends bullcrap, no mourning over lost loves, nothing. We apply," Clio held the sai in front of her throat, and moved it through the air in a cutting motion "And we execute."
Clio stood there solemly for about 5 seconds, and then started to giggle.
"How was that? If I get back home, I'm gonna go into acting, it's a lot easier than science studies."
Maxwell was beginning to like this girl.
Barely seconds after he'd made his little inquiry, Clio began to go on about how she used to watch SOTF when she was 15. And that every time, the winner had always been someone who cut through the competition like a hot knife through butter. Admittedly, Maxwell didn't know that much about the previous games. He had always half-assumed that it was all staged like in Professional Wrestling and The X Factor... It wasn't until he found himself partaking in one these supposedly fake games that the bitter truth dawned upon him.
As Clio closed the door behind her, the young Brit couldn't help but note the large halberd that lay against the wall. Obviously the spoils from some encounter with one of the more well-armed students... He briefly considered the possibility of stealing it when the time came that they would have to go their separate ways, but shot down the idea when he realised how awkward it would be to carry both a halberd AND a machinegun around the island. Besides, he had more then enough tools to remove the competition anyway...
She then went on about how she had decided to play barely seconds into the game, and that it was people like her and Maxwell who had the advantage because they weren't slowed down by their friends and relatives. That people like them had no one who would act as a moral anchor weighing them down and stopping them from playing the game wholeheartedly without a hint of remorse. Which, in Maxwell's case, was partially true. The idea of being forced to gun down his former colleagues and lovers back home in England was a disheartening prospect for the young Brit... And yet, he was absolutely certain that if push came to shove, he would play on regardless of whatever ties he once had. Because when it really came down to it, only one life mattered to Maxwell... His own. And he would slay his own flesh and blood in an instant if it meant he could get off this damned rock alive and well.
Still, he couldn't help but respect this girl's philosophy when it came down to the game. No doubt. No worries. No regrets... It was like a match made in heaven.
After she had finished her monologue, there was a brief pause wherein she let out a giggle which Maxwell couldn't help but find especially cute. A little deranged, maybe, but cute nevertheless.
"How was that? If I get back home, I'm gonna go into acting, it's a lot easier than science studies."
He chuckled inwardly to himself. Yes... IF you get back home indeed......
"I'm sure you'd be an absolute bombshell." he said with a satisfied smile on his face.
"Well, from the sound of things, you certainly didn't faff around as much as I did the second I woke up. It all seems so silly now that I think back on it... I'd actually gotten it into my head that if I was to play along, it would make me a pathetic sheep who only does as he's told. Its a ridiculous philosophy, I know. I mean, what's so sheepish about wanting to stay ALIVE of all things? In all honesty, I highly suspect I was more scared if anything... Not of dying, of course. But of taking away another man's life. That the sheer emotional strain of such an apparently awful act would cause me to break down out of guilt or something pathetic like that..."
He couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the very idea of being so weak minded.
"...Of course, once I was forced to defend myself against some punk who got it into himself to try and mug ME of all people, I quickly figured out that killing people wasn't so hard after all... And to think, I actually assumed that I could try to signal a boat or something stupid like that!"
Naturally, he made sure to not mention the fact that he could have easily spared Augustus back at that beach... Wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea or anything, after all.
"After that, the rest is pretty much history... Apart from bumping into that pint-sized Japanese bitch Reiko now and again, what you've heard on the announcements is pretty much what i've been doing for the past few days... That, and this one ginger bastard who managed to clip my ear, as you've probably noticed..."
He felt the spot where his earlobe once was, the injury still stinging him to no end.
"Still, a small price to pay for survival. No?"
Barely seconds after he'd made his little inquiry, Clio began to go on about how she used to watch SOTF when she was 15. And that every time, the winner had always been someone who cut through the competition like a hot knife through butter. Admittedly, Maxwell didn't know that much about the previous games. He had always half-assumed that it was all staged like in Professional Wrestling and The X Factor... It wasn't until he found himself partaking in one these supposedly fake games that the bitter truth dawned upon him.
As Clio closed the door behind her, the young Brit couldn't help but note the large halberd that lay against the wall. Obviously the spoils from some encounter with one of the more well-armed students... He briefly considered the possibility of stealing it when the time came that they would have to go their separate ways, but shot down the idea when he realised how awkward it would be to carry both a halberd AND a machinegun around the island. Besides, he had more then enough tools to remove the competition anyway...
She then went on about how she had decided to play barely seconds into the game, and that it was people like her and Maxwell who had the advantage because they weren't slowed down by their friends and relatives. That people like them had no one who would act as a moral anchor weighing them down and stopping them from playing the game wholeheartedly without a hint of remorse. Which, in Maxwell's case, was partially true. The idea of being forced to gun down his former colleagues and lovers back home in England was a disheartening prospect for the young Brit... And yet, he was absolutely certain that if push came to shove, he would play on regardless of whatever ties he once had. Because when it really came down to it, only one life mattered to Maxwell... His own. And he would slay his own flesh and blood in an instant if it meant he could get off this damned rock alive and well.
Still, he couldn't help but respect this girl's philosophy when it came down to the game. No doubt. No worries. No regrets... It was like a match made in heaven.
After she had finished her monologue, there was a brief pause wherein she let out a giggle which Maxwell couldn't help but find especially cute. A little deranged, maybe, but cute nevertheless.
"How was that? If I get back home, I'm gonna go into acting, it's a lot easier than science studies."
He chuckled inwardly to himself. Yes... IF you get back home indeed......
"I'm sure you'd be an absolute bombshell." he said with a satisfied smile on his face.
"Well, from the sound of things, you certainly didn't faff around as much as I did the second I woke up. It all seems so silly now that I think back on it... I'd actually gotten it into my head that if I was to play along, it would make me a pathetic sheep who only does as he's told. Its a ridiculous philosophy, I know. I mean, what's so sheepish about wanting to stay ALIVE of all things? In all honesty, I highly suspect I was more scared if anything... Not of dying, of course. But of taking away another man's life. That the sheer emotional strain of such an apparently awful act would cause me to break down out of guilt or something pathetic like that..."
He couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the very idea of being so weak minded.
"...Of course, once I was forced to defend myself against some punk who got it into himself to try and mug ME of all people, I quickly figured out that killing people wasn't so hard after all... And to think, I actually assumed that I could try to signal a boat or something stupid like that!"
Naturally, he made sure to not mention the fact that he could have easily spared Augustus back at that beach... Wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea or anything, after all.
"After that, the rest is pretty much history... Apart from bumping into that pint-sized Japanese bitch Reiko now and again, what you've heard on the announcements is pretty much what i've been doing for the past few days... That, and this one ginger bastard who managed to clip my ear, as you've probably noticed..."
He felt the spot where his earlobe once was, the injury still stinging him to no end.
"Still, a small price to pay for survival. No?"
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The handsome british guy...no, man...in front of him seemed to know how to really work her, didn't he? Maxwell, just befoe regailing her with his story, actually complimented her on her looks. Clio realised, almost briefly, that this would probably be the last time someone actually did that. She knew she had a real fighting chance to get off this island, but it was nice for someone to actually pay attention to the littlest things, such as her looks.
The story of Maxwell's was also interesting. He'd taken a lot longer to "turn", as the saying would go, and almost got himself killed by it. He did seem like the perfect candidate for such a crime, what with his bow tie; people often assumed that people who could afford such luxuries, even people like that fatass Everett who died on the first day.
So apparently, he'd been on a little rampage of death for the last few days. 5 people to his name, with an ever increasing amount each day, meant that technically she was taking him away from his work. Clio smiled, both at his words and at the thought of such an action they were commiting, and maybe still commiting, being reduced to something so meaningless as a chore.
And it also appeared that Clio had good reason to notice something wrong with his ear, since apparently some ginger kid (hehehe, ginger, she loved that word) tried to off him as well.
A small price to pay for survival?
She couldn't agree more.
Clio had to smile again, and approached the competition in front of her.
"I haven't had the...experience that you've had with battle, or at least not the damage to show, but..." Clio started, before pulling back her lower gum. On the right of her right canine was a gap, where her tooth used to reside a few days ago.
"Ivan Kuznetsov."
She held back her neck, to reveal several red rings, almost radiating. Pointing to each individual one, she accompanied them with a name.
"Teo Weinstock. Garry Villette. I got to toss the last one off a cliff though, that was some consulation."
Turning around, she pulled up the back of her shirt to show the pressure marks, one or two deep cuts accompanying it, from all the way back on the first day.
"Brendan Wallace. I suppose it doesn't quite reach the extent that yours does, but that's how many people are out for my blood now, plus everyone they know as well. I have been very lucky in that I've been able to choose the people who never stood a chance in the first place. Chris, that bible kid. Petrushka, the violinist. Charles, that athiestic denier of everything. Luke, the introverse. I thought I'd actually killed Garry, the hockey player built like a fucking tank, but...somehow, he survived."
...it was a while before she realised that she'd been holding her shirt up to him for the entire while she'd been ranting. Slightly flustered over the fact she was giving him a free show (and it didn't seem like he had any intention of returning the favour, a shame really...), she pulled it back down and sat down on the bed.
"I suppose that one day, we'll be interesting filler for-"
Clio pointed at one of the camera's in the corner of the room with the sai, still handled loosely in her hand as she shoved the recently deposed of gun in the strap of her skirt-
"-some psychology major at Harvard in a few years time. Cause remember, we're basically famous now. You've killed more people than more of the craziest people in SOTF history. Blood Boy, Damien Carter-Madison, Cillian Crowe. You've killed more people than any of those guys, and people who watch this are going to want to know why. And me too, remember? You haven't seen what I've done. Two days ago, I held my gun to my own head. Three days ago I tried to stop. Four days ago I said I was going to play, and one day ago I remembered that."
During this, she'd gotten off the bed again, and started pacing across the room. She hardly even realised that, and promptly stopped and turned away again.
"I don't even know why that came to mind, really. I suppose being stuck in this place without food for a while really makes you think about stuff, right?"
Like the fact that if you were to kill this guy now, you would then be the top killer on this rock, without anyone to stand in your way.
But I'm not, so shut up.
The story of Maxwell's was also interesting. He'd taken a lot longer to "turn", as the saying would go, and almost got himself killed by it. He did seem like the perfect candidate for such a crime, what with his bow tie; people often assumed that people who could afford such luxuries, even people like that fatass Everett who died on the first day.
So apparently, he'd been on a little rampage of death for the last few days. 5 people to his name, with an ever increasing amount each day, meant that technically she was taking him away from his work. Clio smiled, both at his words and at the thought of such an action they were commiting, and maybe still commiting, being reduced to something so meaningless as a chore.
And it also appeared that Clio had good reason to notice something wrong with his ear, since apparently some ginger kid (hehehe, ginger, she loved that word) tried to off him as well.
A small price to pay for survival?
She couldn't agree more.
Clio had to smile again, and approached the competition in front of her.
"I haven't had the...experience that you've had with battle, or at least not the damage to show, but..." Clio started, before pulling back her lower gum. On the right of her right canine was a gap, where her tooth used to reside a few days ago.
"Ivan Kuznetsov."
She held back her neck, to reveal several red rings, almost radiating. Pointing to each individual one, she accompanied them with a name.
"Teo Weinstock. Garry Villette. I got to toss the last one off a cliff though, that was some consulation."
Turning around, she pulled up the back of her shirt to show the pressure marks, one or two deep cuts accompanying it, from all the way back on the first day.
"Brendan Wallace. I suppose it doesn't quite reach the extent that yours does, but that's how many people are out for my blood now, plus everyone they know as well. I have been very lucky in that I've been able to choose the people who never stood a chance in the first place. Chris, that bible kid. Petrushka, the violinist. Charles, that athiestic denier of everything. Luke, the introverse. I thought I'd actually killed Garry, the hockey player built like a fucking tank, but...somehow, he survived."
...it was a while before she realised that she'd been holding her shirt up to him for the entire while she'd been ranting. Slightly flustered over the fact she was giving him a free show (and it didn't seem like he had any intention of returning the favour, a shame really...), she pulled it back down and sat down on the bed.
"I suppose that one day, we'll be interesting filler for-"
Clio pointed at one of the camera's in the corner of the room with the sai, still handled loosely in her hand as she shoved the recently deposed of gun in the strap of her skirt-
"-some psychology major at Harvard in a few years time. Cause remember, we're basically famous now. You've killed more people than more of the craziest people in SOTF history. Blood Boy, Damien Carter-Madison, Cillian Crowe. You've killed more people than any of those guys, and people who watch this are going to want to know why. And me too, remember? You haven't seen what I've done. Two days ago, I held my gun to my own head. Three days ago I tried to stop. Four days ago I said I was going to play, and one day ago I remembered that."
During this, she'd gotten off the bed again, and started pacing across the room. She hardly even realised that, and promptly stopped and turned away again.
"I don't even know why that came to mind, really. I suppose being stuck in this place without food for a while really makes you think about stuff, right?"
Like the fact that if you were to kill this guy now, you would then be the top killer on this rock, without anyone to stand in your way.
But I'm not, so shut up.
-
Shake&Bake†
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Mon Sep 03, 2018 6:13 pm
((Haruka Watanabe continued from Fountain of Youth))
Haruka Watanabe gently pulled the kitchen door to a close, being extra slow and gentle in an attempt to silence the rusty creaking. For a good thirty seconds she stood there, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she tried her best to stay silent. She didn't know if she was alone. She hoped that she was alone. A huge house like this, almost a stately hotel, could surely hide a dozen or so of her classmates. It was one of those buildings that if you were careful, you probably wouldn't bump into the other occupants for an entire weekend. On the off chance she may still be alone, surrounded only by dust bunnies and spiders, mice scratching at the walls.
She finally pulled the door shut with a small thud, dust was still settling from when she had opened it. The glass pane had a dirty yellow tinge, black build up of condensation around the edges giving off a musty, earthy smell. The kitchen door, painted in peeling blue paint, led out onto a small patio with large, ceramic pots, the plants inside long withered and dead. In this part of the house, in the west wing, rot, moisture and the weather seemed to have claimed ownership. From outside she could see sections of the roof missing, slates had fallen off in places revealing the damp wood beneath. Near the edge of the wreckage jagged beams jutted out like teeth from the mouth of some beast. The attic floor sagging inwards, waiting to collapse.
Perhaps there had been a fire, a clash of lightning or maybe even an explosion of some kind. Either way, the stately home had been opened crudely, like some sort of macabre dollhouse, letting the island seep in. Haruka hugged herself tightly as she stepped forwards into the kitchen, her Mary-Janes falling silently against the grimy checkerboard tiles. The mansion was some haunted house attraction in a funfair, or even a sprawling theme park. It had all the conventions, dead withered plants, cracked window panes, shutters falling from the walls, sagging plaster ceilings, dirty yellow glass, that old, dusty smell, not of historic places but of death and decay. But then again, a mansion was only a mansion, regardless of how it looked. An empty mansion was even better.
Maybe as she explored deeper into the bowels of the house, she'd see the oil based paintings with eyes, following her around the room, or the china doll with a cracked face and a dress with yellow lace, moving in the corner of her vision. All the small things she had been scared of outside, the things she wasn't even aware that did scare her, until she was isolated. Alone, with the possibility of death clinging to her like a shadow. And yet, the timid girl saw past the damp, peeling wallpaper, faceless, cracked busts and wispy cobwebs in the corners. The mansion seemed safe, at least, if not horrifically eerie and with a sickening smell, in the west wing at least.
Maybe somewhere, in the sprawling mansion, she could find a little room with a view. A room with its own bathroom, even if the plumbing was out, and maybe a walk-in-closet. A closet, that's what she needed, a narrow space to crawl in and make a nest, like a hamster. So what if it smelled of mothballs and was dusty? On the bed she was exposed, she could take the sheets, at least. It would be like hide-or-go-seek, the perfecting place for the likes of Haruka to curl up and hide. She was sick and tired of trying to be different, trying to be brave. It hadn't gotten her far. All the people she had seen either looked as if they had waltzed right off the battlefield or got attacked sooner or later. It wasn't safe for her out there. It wasn't safe for anyone.
So let the others fool themselves with ideas of vocations and missions, trying to get back at Danya or trying to get home. So what? Haruka Watanabe wasn't going to kill anyone, she had no means anyway, and she certainly wasn't going to get killed. She'd be invisible, unreachable, sneaking out when it was safe and taking what she needed. The rodent approach to things wasn't so bad, and she was amazed that she had chastised herself for behaving that way earlier. The mines, the woods, the fountain...She had tried to be brave, really she had but then something always pushed her over the edge. A scary girl with blood on her face. The fleeting paranoia and confusion. The new arrival of two violent characters. Craig...Craig O'Hoyle, dead and gone. And for what? Nothing.
His last words...Trent...She had meant to follow him and others, really she did, she tried to catch up with them for a while, but what was to say they wouldn't run into hostiles again? Trent was unconscious, she was unarmed and the other two...They wouldn't have stood a chance, they were probably better without her anyway. She simply stopped running and watched them disappear off into the distance, probably thinking she was still close behind. She went down past the fountain again, catching sight of another corpse next to Craig's, she didn't need to investigate. She was glad that she had tagged along with the boys, if not for just under five minutes.
Eventually, as she was staggering over grassy slopes, watching her feet with tired eyes to make sure she didn't trip over, she found herself staggering onto gravel. She lifted her head and squinted at the bulking silhouette of the mansion, stood against the early evening sky. Bells rang inside her, warning her of possible danger, but there were also many positives. Maybe such a huge place hadn't been cleaned out, maybe there was food or even water. She'd squandered her last bottle, and any urine she had passed since that had been a dark brown. There was that tickle in the back of her throat she couldn't seem to get rid of, and she knew she was succumbing to dehydration.
Standing in the centre of the dusty kitchen, Haruka knew that she had to check out her surroundings before she began rummaging around for refreshments. Making sure her footfalls remained as quiet as possible, Haruka headed over towards the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen and shrugged off her survival pack, before nudging it underneath, out of view. There was nothing lying around that she could utilise as a weapon, not that she'd use it, she knew she couldn't, but she'd just feel safer with something in her hand. Something she could swing around blindly if someone else happened to be lurking nearby. Her eyes went to the large wooden dresser, displayed on which were china plates, saucers and teacups. Most of which were cracked, some broken.
One shelf displayed a row of china plates, white with cobalt blue detailing. There were willow trees and a large stately home on each plate, two birds flying together at the top representing the two lovers who had died. Her mother had plates like these at home, but she had gotten them off of the internet. She would have loved these. One of the plates was shattered into tiny shards, the second was broken into several large jagged parts. Haruka took a dusty serviette and wrapped it around the square edge of one particularly long and sharp shard, and wielded it almost as if it were a dagger, or at least how Mrs. Peacock held it on the cover of the Clue board game.
Haruka was probably alone, but she had to be sure, and like that, she ventured further into the mansion.
Haruka Watanabe gently pulled the kitchen door to a close, being extra slow and gentle in an attempt to silence the rusty creaking. For a good thirty seconds she stood there, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she tried her best to stay silent. She didn't know if she was alone. She hoped that she was alone. A huge house like this, almost a stately hotel, could surely hide a dozen or so of her classmates. It was one of those buildings that if you were careful, you probably wouldn't bump into the other occupants for an entire weekend. On the off chance she may still be alone, surrounded only by dust bunnies and spiders, mice scratching at the walls.
She finally pulled the door shut with a small thud, dust was still settling from when she had opened it. The glass pane had a dirty yellow tinge, black build up of condensation around the edges giving off a musty, earthy smell. The kitchen door, painted in peeling blue paint, led out onto a small patio with large, ceramic pots, the plants inside long withered and dead. In this part of the house, in the west wing, rot, moisture and the weather seemed to have claimed ownership. From outside she could see sections of the roof missing, slates had fallen off in places revealing the damp wood beneath. Near the edge of the wreckage jagged beams jutted out like teeth from the mouth of some beast. The attic floor sagging inwards, waiting to collapse.
Perhaps there had been a fire, a clash of lightning or maybe even an explosion of some kind. Either way, the stately home had been opened crudely, like some sort of macabre dollhouse, letting the island seep in. Haruka hugged herself tightly as she stepped forwards into the kitchen, her Mary-Janes falling silently against the grimy checkerboard tiles. The mansion was some haunted house attraction in a funfair, or even a sprawling theme park. It had all the conventions, dead withered plants, cracked window panes, shutters falling from the walls, sagging plaster ceilings, dirty yellow glass, that old, dusty smell, not of historic places but of death and decay. But then again, a mansion was only a mansion, regardless of how it looked. An empty mansion was even better.
Maybe as she explored deeper into the bowels of the house, she'd see the oil based paintings with eyes, following her around the room, or the china doll with a cracked face and a dress with yellow lace, moving in the corner of her vision. All the small things she had been scared of outside, the things she wasn't even aware that did scare her, until she was isolated. Alone, with the possibility of death clinging to her like a shadow. And yet, the timid girl saw past the damp, peeling wallpaper, faceless, cracked busts and wispy cobwebs in the corners. The mansion seemed safe, at least, if not horrifically eerie and with a sickening smell, in the west wing at least.
Maybe somewhere, in the sprawling mansion, she could find a little room with a view. A room with its own bathroom, even if the plumbing was out, and maybe a walk-in-closet. A closet, that's what she needed, a narrow space to crawl in and make a nest, like a hamster. So what if it smelled of mothballs and was dusty? On the bed she was exposed, she could take the sheets, at least. It would be like hide-or-go-seek, the perfecting place for the likes of Haruka to curl up and hide. She was sick and tired of trying to be different, trying to be brave. It hadn't gotten her far. All the people she had seen either looked as if they had waltzed right off the battlefield or got attacked sooner or later. It wasn't safe for her out there. It wasn't safe for anyone.
So let the others fool themselves with ideas of vocations and missions, trying to get back at Danya or trying to get home. So what? Haruka Watanabe wasn't going to kill anyone, she had no means anyway, and she certainly wasn't going to get killed. She'd be invisible, unreachable, sneaking out when it was safe and taking what she needed. The rodent approach to things wasn't so bad, and she was amazed that she had chastised herself for behaving that way earlier. The mines, the woods, the fountain...She had tried to be brave, really she had but then something always pushed her over the edge. A scary girl with blood on her face. The fleeting paranoia and confusion. The new arrival of two violent characters. Craig...Craig O'Hoyle, dead and gone. And for what? Nothing.
His last words...Trent...She had meant to follow him and others, really she did, she tried to catch up with them for a while, but what was to say they wouldn't run into hostiles again? Trent was unconscious, she was unarmed and the other two...They wouldn't have stood a chance, they were probably better without her anyway. She simply stopped running and watched them disappear off into the distance, probably thinking she was still close behind. She went down past the fountain again, catching sight of another corpse next to Craig's, she didn't need to investigate. She was glad that she had tagged along with the boys, if not for just under five minutes.
Eventually, as she was staggering over grassy slopes, watching her feet with tired eyes to make sure she didn't trip over, she found herself staggering onto gravel. She lifted her head and squinted at the bulking silhouette of the mansion, stood against the early evening sky. Bells rang inside her, warning her of possible danger, but there were also many positives. Maybe such a huge place hadn't been cleaned out, maybe there was food or even water. She'd squandered her last bottle, and any urine she had passed since that had been a dark brown. There was that tickle in the back of her throat she couldn't seem to get rid of, and she knew she was succumbing to dehydration.
Standing in the centre of the dusty kitchen, Haruka knew that she had to check out her surroundings before she began rummaging around for refreshments. Making sure her footfalls remained as quiet as possible, Haruka headed over towards the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen and shrugged off her survival pack, before nudging it underneath, out of view. There was nothing lying around that she could utilise as a weapon, not that she'd use it, she knew she couldn't, but she'd just feel safer with something in her hand. Something she could swing around blindly if someone else happened to be lurking nearby. Her eyes went to the large wooden dresser, displayed on which were china plates, saucers and teacups. Most of which were cracked, some broken.
One shelf displayed a row of china plates, white with cobalt blue detailing. There were willow trees and a large stately home on each plate, two birds flying together at the top representing the two lovers who had died. Her mother had plates like these at home, but she had gotten them off of the internet. She would have loved these. One of the plates was shattered into tiny shards, the second was broken into several large jagged parts. Haruka took a dusty serviette and wrapped it around the square edge of one particularly long and sharp shard, and wielded it almost as if it were a dagger, or at least how Mrs. Peacock held it on the cover of the Clue board game.
Haruka was probably alone, but she had to be sure, and like that, she ventured further into the mansion.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Shake&Bake. 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.
As Maxwell listened instensly to Clio as she listed out the names of those who had crossed her in the past few days, he made a mental note of each and every of them just in case.
The first, and arguably the most interesting, was an assumably Russian chap by the name of Ivan Kuznetsov who'd apparently knocked one of ther teeth out. He remembered hearing the name during the first announcement... Winner of the first Best Kill Award if Maxwell remembered correctly. There was something about the name that caused Maxwell to picture a tall bull of a man with a deep Russian accent and arms ar thick as oak trees. Whilst that may or may not be the case, the fact still remained that this Ivan fellow was worth watching out for...
The other names didn't particuarlly grab his interest in the same way... Although, the young Brit raised an eyebrow when Clio lifted her shirt to show off the marks inflicted upon her by some brute by the name of Brendan Wallace. As painful as the marks looked, Maxwell couldn't help but be admire Clio's distinct curviness rather then pay attention to what she was actually saying... At least, until she pulled it back down and sat on the bed. Oh well, it was fun whilst it lasted...
She then began to go on about how the two of them would make an interesting Psychology case for university students, a prospect which Maxwell wasn't entirely comfortable with. The last thing he wanted to be remembered for was as some kind of lunatic to be debated over by pretentious psychologists and philosophers. That for one would suggest that he was actually mad, which as far as Maxwell was aware was far from the case. Unless being practical was suddenly considered to be a mental illness or something... Sure, i'm SLIGHTLY harsh from time to time, but hey. I'm allowed to have a little fun aren't I?
That being said, his reaction to learning that he'd scored more kills then three of the more infamous killers in SOTF history was more... Mixed. On the one hand, he wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of being compared to a trio of complete nutcases. On the other hand, she did have a point about becoming famous because of what he'd done. After everything he had heard about this "Blood Boy", from his vicious rampages to the unique and disturbing ways he decimated his opponents, hearing that he'd scored more kills than him was oddly satisfying. As if he'd actually achieved something not many people could claim to have done. Clio was right, even if he was to die tomorrow he'd still be remembered as one of the most prolific killers in the early stages of the game. For all the people out there watching this nonsense who'd be demanding his death, there would be an equal amount of people cheering him on. He'd heard of SOTF fanboys before, and how they go around arguing as to who would win in a fight between Jacob Starr and Bryan Calvert amongst other rubbish. And seeing as he was now the No1 killer on the island, he could only guess as to how many of these insipid freaks were cheering him on at that very moment...
A smile crept upon the man's handsome face as the realisation dawned upon that, even if by some unpredictable mishap he was to die on this rock, he'd always be remembered as one of the most dangerous men to ever partake in SOTF. His name would forever be listed amongst all the most famous players as the man who single-handedly cut through the competition in V4 like a hot knife through butter, even if it was just during the early stages of the game.
Of course, he had absolutely zero intention of dying here of all places. But the thought that he'd be remembered either way was comforting at the very least...
Clio was pacing around the room by that point, reminiscing the time she considered committing suicide. She certainly seemed to be more mentally unstable then Maxwell had first assumed... Then again, suicide for Maxwell was an incredibly stupid, pointless AND cowardly way to die. Anyone who'd ever chosen to sacrifice their own life, even if it was in order to save someone else's, was a complete idiot in Maxwell's eyes who probably deserved to die anyway if they didn't care about their life that much in the first place.
"I don't even know why that came to mind, really. I suppose being stuck in this place without food for a while really makes you think about stuff, right?"
"Well, I think we can both agree that you made the right decision when you to decided to not pull the trigger..." he said with a smile on his face, genuinely glad that she hadn't made such a wasteful decision so early in the game. "Not sure if i'm exactly fond of the idea of being 'filler' for some pretentious Psychology students though... Then again, I suppose there are worse ways to be remembered out there." he joked, lightly chuckling.
"Got to admit though, I can't really claim to have tackled with as many people who're still alive out there. Probably on some personal quest to seek vengeance upon me or something cliché like that... As I mentioned earlier, I've bumped into that minx Reiko quite a couple of times. Then there was this slight incident I had with some prick by the name of Nick Reid after he nearly burnt me alive with a bloody cocktail of all things. Gave him quite a beating for that. God, what i'd do in order to get my hand on that insolent bastard and finish the job... But anyway, they're the only two whose names I remember. Theres this other chap who got away was well, some paki...stani-looking guy with a shotgun whose name I never got the chance to learn."
He yawned briefly, wiping some sleep from his eyes as he sat himself down on the bed. Feeling a soft blanket beneath him rather then a wet patch of grass or a cold slab of stone was more then a little comforting for the youn"g Brit.
"So, you haven't had anything to eat in a while? I've got a spare loaf or two in my pack if you want one..."
The first, and arguably the most interesting, was an assumably Russian chap by the name of Ivan Kuznetsov who'd apparently knocked one of ther teeth out. He remembered hearing the name during the first announcement... Winner of the first Best Kill Award if Maxwell remembered correctly. There was something about the name that caused Maxwell to picture a tall bull of a man with a deep Russian accent and arms ar thick as oak trees. Whilst that may or may not be the case, the fact still remained that this Ivan fellow was worth watching out for...
The other names didn't particuarlly grab his interest in the same way... Although, the young Brit raised an eyebrow when Clio lifted her shirt to show off the marks inflicted upon her by some brute by the name of Brendan Wallace. As painful as the marks looked, Maxwell couldn't help but be admire Clio's distinct curviness rather then pay attention to what she was actually saying... At least, until she pulled it back down and sat on the bed. Oh well, it was fun whilst it lasted...
She then began to go on about how the two of them would make an interesting Psychology case for university students, a prospect which Maxwell wasn't entirely comfortable with. The last thing he wanted to be remembered for was as some kind of lunatic to be debated over by pretentious psychologists and philosophers. That for one would suggest that he was actually mad, which as far as Maxwell was aware was far from the case. Unless being practical was suddenly considered to be a mental illness or something... Sure, i'm SLIGHTLY harsh from time to time, but hey. I'm allowed to have a little fun aren't I?
That being said, his reaction to learning that he'd scored more kills then three of the more infamous killers in SOTF history was more... Mixed. On the one hand, he wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of being compared to a trio of complete nutcases. On the other hand, she did have a point about becoming famous because of what he'd done. After everything he had heard about this "Blood Boy", from his vicious rampages to the unique and disturbing ways he decimated his opponents, hearing that he'd scored more kills than him was oddly satisfying. As if he'd actually achieved something not many people could claim to have done. Clio was right, even if he was to die tomorrow he'd still be remembered as one of the most prolific killers in the early stages of the game. For all the people out there watching this nonsense who'd be demanding his death, there would be an equal amount of people cheering him on. He'd heard of SOTF fanboys before, and how they go around arguing as to who would win in a fight between Jacob Starr and Bryan Calvert amongst other rubbish. And seeing as he was now the No1 killer on the island, he could only guess as to how many of these insipid freaks were cheering him on at that very moment...
A smile crept upon the man's handsome face as the realisation dawned upon that, even if by some unpredictable mishap he was to die on this rock, he'd always be remembered as one of the most dangerous men to ever partake in SOTF. His name would forever be listed amongst all the most famous players as the man who single-handedly cut through the competition in V4 like a hot knife through butter, even if it was just during the early stages of the game.
Of course, he had absolutely zero intention of dying here of all places. But the thought that he'd be remembered either way was comforting at the very least...
Clio was pacing around the room by that point, reminiscing the time she considered committing suicide. She certainly seemed to be more mentally unstable then Maxwell had first assumed... Then again, suicide for Maxwell was an incredibly stupid, pointless AND cowardly way to die. Anyone who'd ever chosen to sacrifice their own life, even if it was in order to save someone else's, was a complete idiot in Maxwell's eyes who probably deserved to die anyway if they didn't care about their life that much in the first place.
"I don't even know why that came to mind, really. I suppose being stuck in this place without food for a while really makes you think about stuff, right?"
"Well, I think we can both agree that you made the right decision when you to decided to not pull the trigger..." he said with a smile on his face, genuinely glad that she hadn't made such a wasteful decision so early in the game. "Not sure if i'm exactly fond of the idea of being 'filler' for some pretentious Psychology students though... Then again, I suppose there are worse ways to be remembered out there." he joked, lightly chuckling.
"Got to admit though, I can't really claim to have tackled with as many people who're still alive out there. Probably on some personal quest to seek vengeance upon me or something cliché like that... As I mentioned earlier, I've bumped into that minx Reiko quite a couple of times. Then there was this slight incident I had with some prick by the name of Nick Reid after he nearly burnt me alive with a bloody cocktail of all things. Gave him quite a beating for that. God, what i'd do in order to get my hand on that insolent bastard and finish the job... But anyway, they're the only two whose names I remember. Theres this other chap who got away was well, some paki...stani-looking guy with a shotgun whose name I never got the chance to learn."
He yawned briefly, wiping some sleep from his eyes as he sat himself down on the bed. Feeling a soft blanket beneath him rather then a wet patch of grass or a cold slab of stone was more then a little comforting for the youn"g Brit.
"So, you haven't had anything to eat in a while? I've got a spare loaf or two in my pack if you want one..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. 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.
Turning away briefly, Clio didn't even bother trying to stiffle a laugh at his request to offer food.
"No thanks, I've got about enough of that stuff to last me a month. Honestly, if I see one more fucking loaf of bread I might stab something. I would honestly kill you if it meant I could get a drink that wasn't water. Water water water water water WATER ALL THE TIME!" Clio's voice had gotten a bit higher, and her hands were waving around like a stereotypical Italian grandmother. Looking at herself, she moved them to her sides loosely again, and cleared her throat.
"Uh...yeah, honestly, I'd rather take my chances trying to hunt someone down and become a cannibal than chow down on bread as a feast." Clio finished. Taking the momentary break in her little speech, she leaned briefly against one of the bed's banisters.
She sighed. Well, the girl was now stuck in a room with a wealthy British guest she needed to entertain somehow.
...could she-
-nah.
He probably wouldn't be interested in that anyway. Adding to the fact it had been almost 6 months since she last tried it, and that it was almost hardwired into her system that she was a terrible person for even wanting to do it...
...hold on, was she actually thinking about bon-the hell was that?
Clio's eyes flickered to the crack in the wall, and she could have sworn that the light that entered the room that way was momentarily extinguished. Either a rather large insect crawled over the hole (and given the state of the house, it really wasn't that farfetched) or someone was now currently occupying the house. She was willing to bet on the latter, since it seemed like a more logical solution.
Not even sure if the guy was speaking or not, Clio held up her hand to the boy, signalling for him to stop making any sort of noise. The figure was walking through the hallway at a very slow pace, and the shadow passed by the doorway, without stopping, in what seemed like minutes later. As soon as the figure's shadow left the doorway, Clio lept towards the table.
In a harsh whisper, Clio almost shouted at Maxwell, grabbing for his impressive machine-gun.
"Sorry, don't mind me, got some business," Clio smiled at the boy, and then, almost as quickly as she was there, she was at the door. It flung open, and Clio jumped out into the hallway, aiming straight at the figure.
Not wasting any breathe, she smiled widely, flicked the hair out of her face, and pulled the trigger.
"No thanks, I've got about enough of that stuff to last me a month. Honestly, if I see one more fucking loaf of bread I might stab something. I would honestly kill you if it meant I could get a drink that wasn't water. Water water water water water WATER ALL THE TIME!" Clio's voice had gotten a bit higher, and her hands were waving around like a stereotypical Italian grandmother. Looking at herself, she moved them to her sides loosely again, and cleared her throat.
"Uh...yeah, honestly, I'd rather take my chances trying to hunt someone down and become a cannibal than chow down on bread as a feast." Clio finished. Taking the momentary break in her little speech, she leaned briefly against one of the bed's banisters.
She sighed. Well, the girl was now stuck in a room with a wealthy British guest she needed to entertain somehow.
...could she-
-nah.
He probably wouldn't be interested in that anyway. Adding to the fact it had been almost 6 months since she last tried it, and that it was almost hardwired into her system that she was a terrible person for even wanting to do it...
...hold on, was she actually thinking about bon-the hell was that?
Clio's eyes flickered to the crack in the wall, and she could have sworn that the light that entered the room that way was momentarily extinguished. Either a rather large insect crawled over the hole (and given the state of the house, it really wasn't that farfetched) or someone was now currently occupying the house. She was willing to bet on the latter, since it seemed like a more logical solution.
Not even sure if the guy was speaking or not, Clio held up her hand to the boy, signalling for him to stop making any sort of noise. The figure was walking through the hallway at a very slow pace, and the shadow passed by the doorway, without stopping, in what seemed like minutes later. As soon as the figure's shadow left the doorway, Clio lept towards the table.
In a harsh whisper, Clio almost shouted at Maxwell, grabbing for his impressive machine-gun.
"Sorry, don't mind me, got some business," Clio smiled at the boy, and then, almost as quickly as she was there, she was at the door. It flung open, and Clio jumped out into the hallway, aiming straight at the figure.
Not wasting any breathe, she smiled widely, flicked the hair out of her face, and pulled the trigger.
-
Shake&Bake†
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Mon Sep 03, 2018 6:13 pm
Haruka had been careful, opting to only tread over the carpet running down the centre of the hallway, rather than the dusty floorboards to the sides. Creaky floorboards, she had them back home and they always seemed to alert her whenever her mother or father ventured into the kitchen to get some water. Being a light sleeper, it always woke her up, but she had since gotten used to it.
It was different on the island, the noises didn't wake her up because she never allowed herself to sleep. That had been a dumb move, because when she finally did collapse due to exhaustion, but it took the announcements to rouse her. Never mind the boys gathering at the fountain mere feet away. She was lucky they didn't get her in her sleep, putting a hand over her face, blocking her airway. Maybe that wouldn't have been such a bad way to go, especially if she didn't wake up before it was over. Maybe that's the sort of death her other classmates would have opted for given the chance between that and their own ones.
As Haruka had made her way through the mansion, she kept long gaps of silence between each step forwards. In her imagination a hungry yet sleeping monster had materialised in the room, anything short of silent would wake it up and cause it to devour her. Sometimes it was that way at the animal pound, with the feistier animals. Scratching at the doors to their cages, barking and yowling in fury, demanding to be set free, going for your fingers with their teeth if you leant in too close.
When they finally got to sleep, making a sudden noise was the last a volunteer wanted to do. It was the same during feeding time or if they were simply busy doing something else other than trying to knock their door off of it's hinges so they could maul you half to death. That was how Haruka had treated the situation when she first heard the voices. The corridor had numerous doors, each presumably leading to a bedroom, empty with furniture covered in white sheets and cobwebs clinging to the plaster ceilings, mothballs sitting in grand wardrobes and flowers sitting withered and dead in their glass vases. Haruka had been wrong.
Somewhere along the lines of exploring the house as if it were a fairground attraction and looking around for a decent hideout, a fort even, Haruka seemed to have lost track of the fact the mansion could possibly hide killers. Not imaginary monsters with rows of sharp teeth or translucent ghosts in formal attire, but very real and very human killers, armed with guns or knives who wanted her dead. And they seemed blissfully unaware of her presence, their voices revealing casual chitchat as she passed by their door.
This was a room she didn't need to take a peek out, but one she needed to avoid like grim death. If she remained silent she'd be able to slip away, unnoticed, but if she was too slow she could be caught mid-sneak as one of the two decided they needed some fresh air. Her heart began to pound in her chest and her hands began to tremble and she needed a moment to pull herself together. If you just stay quiet, they won't come looking for you. It's like a game of hide-and-go-tag, except if you get caught this time, it will be a lot worse. For a moment she feared that the jagged shard of the plate was going to slip from her hand and shatter against the floor, or that she'd stumble in her attempt to tip-toe away and fall against a wall.
Haruka turned to go down the rest of the hallway and took some baby steps. She kept her hands clenched tightly, and could feel the shard digging through the napkin and into her skin. The corridor seemed to get more derelict and untidy the further it went down. Maybe it led into the west wing where the roof had been blown apart. Patches of damp seeped through the wallpaper and there was mould growing over the floorboards and carpet. What am I doing? I can't continue on...I have to back, whilst I still have a chance! She turned back around and slowly began sneaking down the hallway, slowing down as she approached the door again. Oh God...
The door flew open and from the room jumped a girl. Her long stringy black hair hung down her face like a curtain, shades of purple running through it. The dye-job alone sent alarm bells ringing in Haruka's head. Clea? Clio? Clio Gabriella! Killed...A whole bunch of people! A gun was in her grip, and suddenly Haruka was snapped out of it. She didn't need to stand there any longer accompanied by the strange human jack-in-the-box. Being stealthy didn't matter anymore, all that did matter was getting away.
Haruka turned, the soles of her shoes gliding over the carpet, and she tightened her grip even harder on the plate until she was sure that she had drawn blood from her own palm. She wasn't the fastest runner but even for under a minute, she could go pretty fast. She hadn't limbered up, but she didn't need to worry about pulling a muscle or getting cramps. Her feet hit the floor, building up a fast tempo as she ran forwards away from Clio and her accomplice. A gunshot rang out, loud and clear, bouncing off the wallpaper.
A sharp pain rang out in Haruka's shoulder, a sudden impact exceeding even that of the car she had been bumped by that time in Junior year, she was late, she didn't bother telling the driver not to worry and tore off like an injured rabbit. In fact, thats exactly what she was. The sharp pain was accompanied by a sudden burn, like that time she had brushed her fingertips against the baking tray when she decided to use tea towels instead of the oven mitts.
Too many feelings and instances of pain seemed to be pulled back through her memory, all comparing to this sudden new feeling but failing to match it. She couldn't prepare herself or walk it off, she didn't know how to cope with something so agonising and hot. She looked down and saw the red blood running down the dirty pink sleeve of her jumper. The bloody wreck of a shoulder that could have been her head if she wasn't lucky. No, this couldn't be lucky. You'd have to be an idiot to consider this agony lucky.
Haruka fell to the floor. Her legs had given way beneath her and she had tilted forwards, diving into the carpet. There was that horrible feeling in her arm, the heat still there but everything surrounding it getting colder as more blood ran down her back and down her arm. I'm a mess! I'm...I'm just like that dog with the stitches and I'm just like... That frozen image of Craig O'Hoyle lying there, bleeding from the gut flashed before Haruka's eyes and she let out a shrill scream.
Nobody was going to come and help her, wrapping her up in a warm blanket and pull them into the backseat.
They weren't going to dial any numbers on their phone or drive her somewhere safe.
She wasn't going to enter a white room and receive a numbing injection.
She wasn't going to be changed into a white gown or wiped down with an alcohol based gel.
Nobody was going to put her under and remove the bullet.
Nobody was going to stitch her back up and give her a room.
Nobody was going to visit her and send her meals.
Nobody would send her cards and flowers and nobody would be there waiting with a wheelchair when she got better.
She probably wasn't going to get better, especially if she simply laid there on the floor bleeding into the carpet as her shooter came walking over. She was only going to get worse. Haruka Watanabe could only rely on herself for the time being, she could only be her own good Samaritan. Her own doctor. Her own friend. Nobody but herself could stop Clio Gabriella from unloading more bullets into her frail body. Nobody else could help her escape.
Haruka suddenly found herself climbing to her feet, her bloodsoaked hands leaving crude red smears on the wallpaper as she regained her full height. Her bloody fingers grabbed onto something hard and wooden sticking out from the wall, a doorframe without a door leading into a dusty staircase. Still shaking in agony, Haruka Watanabe hurriedly clambered up to the attic silently praying that she'd live to see another day.
It was different on the island, the noises didn't wake her up because she never allowed herself to sleep. That had been a dumb move, because when she finally did collapse due to exhaustion, but it took the announcements to rouse her. Never mind the boys gathering at the fountain mere feet away. She was lucky they didn't get her in her sleep, putting a hand over her face, blocking her airway. Maybe that wouldn't have been such a bad way to go, especially if she didn't wake up before it was over. Maybe that's the sort of death her other classmates would have opted for given the chance between that and their own ones.
As Haruka had made her way through the mansion, she kept long gaps of silence between each step forwards. In her imagination a hungry yet sleeping monster had materialised in the room, anything short of silent would wake it up and cause it to devour her. Sometimes it was that way at the animal pound, with the feistier animals. Scratching at the doors to their cages, barking and yowling in fury, demanding to be set free, going for your fingers with their teeth if you leant in too close.
When they finally got to sleep, making a sudden noise was the last a volunteer wanted to do. It was the same during feeding time or if they were simply busy doing something else other than trying to knock their door off of it's hinges so they could maul you half to death. That was how Haruka had treated the situation when she first heard the voices. The corridor had numerous doors, each presumably leading to a bedroom, empty with furniture covered in white sheets and cobwebs clinging to the plaster ceilings, mothballs sitting in grand wardrobes and flowers sitting withered and dead in their glass vases. Haruka had been wrong.
Somewhere along the lines of exploring the house as if it were a fairground attraction and looking around for a decent hideout, a fort even, Haruka seemed to have lost track of the fact the mansion could possibly hide killers. Not imaginary monsters with rows of sharp teeth or translucent ghosts in formal attire, but very real and very human killers, armed with guns or knives who wanted her dead. And they seemed blissfully unaware of her presence, their voices revealing casual chitchat as she passed by their door.
This was a room she didn't need to take a peek out, but one she needed to avoid like grim death. If she remained silent she'd be able to slip away, unnoticed, but if she was too slow she could be caught mid-sneak as one of the two decided they needed some fresh air. Her heart began to pound in her chest and her hands began to tremble and she needed a moment to pull herself together. If you just stay quiet, they won't come looking for you. It's like a game of hide-and-go-tag, except if you get caught this time, it will be a lot worse. For a moment she feared that the jagged shard of the plate was going to slip from her hand and shatter against the floor, or that she'd stumble in her attempt to tip-toe away and fall against a wall.
Haruka turned to go down the rest of the hallway and took some baby steps. She kept her hands clenched tightly, and could feel the shard digging through the napkin and into her skin. The corridor seemed to get more derelict and untidy the further it went down. Maybe it led into the west wing where the roof had been blown apart. Patches of damp seeped through the wallpaper and there was mould growing over the floorboards and carpet. What am I doing? I can't continue on...I have to back, whilst I still have a chance! She turned back around and slowly began sneaking down the hallway, slowing down as she approached the door again. Oh God...
The door flew open and from the room jumped a girl. Her long stringy black hair hung down her face like a curtain, shades of purple running through it. The dye-job alone sent alarm bells ringing in Haruka's head. Clea? Clio? Clio Gabriella! Killed...A whole bunch of people! A gun was in her grip, and suddenly Haruka was snapped out of it. She didn't need to stand there any longer accompanied by the strange human jack-in-the-box. Being stealthy didn't matter anymore, all that did matter was getting away.
Haruka turned, the soles of her shoes gliding over the carpet, and she tightened her grip even harder on the plate until she was sure that she had drawn blood from her own palm. She wasn't the fastest runner but even for under a minute, she could go pretty fast. She hadn't limbered up, but she didn't need to worry about pulling a muscle or getting cramps. Her feet hit the floor, building up a fast tempo as she ran forwards away from Clio and her accomplice. A gunshot rang out, loud and clear, bouncing off the wallpaper.
A sharp pain rang out in Haruka's shoulder, a sudden impact exceeding even that of the car she had been bumped by that time in Junior year, she was late, she didn't bother telling the driver not to worry and tore off like an injured rabbit. In fact, thats exactly what she was. The sharp pain was accompanied by a sudden burn, like that time she had brushed her fingertips against the baking tray when she decided to use tea towels instead of the oven mitts.
Too many feelings and instances of pain seemed to be pulled back through her memory, all comparing to this sudden new feeling but failing to match it. She couldn't prepare herself or walk it off, she didn't know how to cope with something so agonising and hot. She looked down and saw the red blood running down the dirty pink sleeve of her jumper. The bloody wreck of a shoulder that could have been her head if she wasn't lucky. No, this couldn't be lucky. You'd have to be an idiot to consider this agony lucky.
Haruka fell to the floor. Her legs had given way beneath her and she had tilted forwards, diving into the carpet. There was that horrible feeling in her arm, the heat still there but everything surrounding it getting colder as more blood ran down her back and down her arm. I'm a mess! I'm...I'm just like that dog with the stitches and I'm just like... That frozen image of Craig O'Hoyle lying there, bleeding from the gut flashed before Haruka's eyes and she let out a shrill scream.
Nobody was going to come and help her, wrapping her up in a warm blanket and pull them into the backseat.
They weren't going to dial any numbers on their phone or drive her somewhere safe.
She wasn't going to enter a white room and receive a numbing injection.
She wasn't going to be changed into a white gown or wiped down with an alcohol based gel.
Nobody was going to put her under and remove the bullet.
Nobody was going to stitch her back up and give her a room.
Nobody was going to visit her and send her meals.
Nobody would send her cards and flowers and nobody would be there waiting with a wheelchair when she got better.
She probably wasn't going to get better, especially if she simply laid there on the floor bleeding into the carpet as her shooter came walking over. She was only going to get worse. Haruka Watanabe could only rely on herself for the time being, she could only be her own good Samaritan. Her own doctor. Her own friend. Nobody but herself could stop Clio Gabriella from unloading more bullets into her frail body. Nobody else could help her escape.
Haruka suddenly found herself climbing to her feet, her bloodsoaked hands leaving crude red smears on the wallpaper as she regained her full height. Her bloody fingers grabbed onto something hard and wooden sticking out from the wall, a doorframe without a door leading into a dusty staircase. Still shaking in agony, Haruka Watanabe hurriedly clambered up to the attic silently praying that she'd live to see another day.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Shake&Bake. 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.
Maxwell was more then a little irked by Clio's reaction to his offer, the fact that she actually brought up thought of killing him making it all the more frustrating. The young Brit honestly considered the possibility of a retort along the lines of "Well, if you want to starve to death that's fine by me you ungrateful bitch. I don't see why the fuck I should bother being polite to you if that's the way you're going to react...
But rather then act like a petulant child, the young man shrugged. Not showing any outward signs that he'd been offended by Clio's reply.
"Suit yourself... Can't say I really blame you, I can barely stand the bloody stuff myself. Not that either of us really have a choice on the matter... God, how I miss the taste of good glass of champagne."
As he recalled the exquisite flavour of a particularly memorable glass of champagne he once had whilst on a holiday trip to Paris for the weekend, a thought suddenly occurred to him. If this mansion was anything like the one his Uncle Henry owned, then surely there must be an old wine cellar somewhere? A cellar which, whilst almost certainly empty after the terrorists set up all the cameras and such, might possibly hold a secret stash hidden amidst all the wine barrels and shelves. Its not as if Danya's cronies could have removed every single drop of liquor from the house as they cleared the place... And even if there definitely wasn't any left in the cellar, that didn't change the fact that they were in a HUGE mansion. A mansion well worth exploring in detail. Who knows what they may find in the many rooms that made up this once cultivated home.
"Hmm... Say Clio. I was just thinking-"
He stopped mid sentence as Clio lifted her hand to silence him, her attention fixated on the door. At first Maxwell couldn't tell why on earth she had decided to cut him off, but seconds later it became all too obvious.
There was a shadow moving slowly underneath the door. A shadow roughly the size of a small person.
*Sigh*. And here I was thinking that I'd finally get a break from this damn game... Oh well, may as well show Clio how a professional player does thin......
Once again, Clio had decided to interrupt Maxwell mid-thought. Only this time however, she had decided to leap across the table and grab his gun.
Wai- WHAT?!?
"Sorry, don't mind me, got some business,"
And with that, the killer with purple streaks in her hair bolted for the door and slammed it open, jumping out into the hallway and aiming his weapon at the figure who had just walked past them.
NO! You idiot! Don't you fucking DARE waste all my ammo on some worthless punk!
Too late. Despite how fast he had moved from his spot into the hallway, Clio had already pulled the trigger and released several bullets in their prey's direction in a short burst. From the looks of things, at least one of the bullets hit their target, injuring the intruder in the shoulder and dropping them to the floor.
He looked to the stunning killer who stood beside her and smiled. Seems he'd been worrying over nothing the whole time... He'd expected Clio to completely empty his gun and waste what little was left of his ammunition. Thankfully though, she'd only fired a short burst, and even hit the girl in question she was aiming at... Good. Because if it turned out that she'd used up all his ammo and not hit their intruder with a single bullet, the young Brit would have probably shot her in the head right there on the spot.
Nevertheless, the fact that she had just stolen his gun without asking permission first was relevant.
"Nice shot. Now then, I'll be taking that back..." he said, 'politely' snatching the gun back from Clio's grip. "...THANK you. Next time, feel free to ask first before you decide to use up all my ammunition. Otherwise I might not be so inclined to forgive you so easily..."
The look on his face as he finished the sentence was one of complete and utter seriousness. A part of him genuinely considered the possibility of just killing her and getting it all over with. He was going to be forced to do so at some stage anyway if he was to make it off the island, so why not now? Before she could hinder his progress any further...
But deep down, he knew he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now anyway... He'd only just met this girl, and already he was beginning to actually like her. The young Brit doubted that he'd ever be able to speak to anyone else on the island in such a casual manner again, so the idea of killing the only person he could actually talk to was more then little off-putting. Besides, it would be a shame to kill off one of the top killer so early in the game... He didn't want to have to take on the entire island all by himself, did he?
He looked back to see how their little intruder was doing, only to realise that they had managed to actually get up and stumble away.
"Well well, seems she still has some life in her after all..." he said casually to Clio, cocking his gun as a wicked smile appeared on his handsome features. "...Lets see if we can amend that mistake, shall we?"
On that note, the eager young killer ran from where he was standing in pursuit of the irritable intruder who had unluckily bumped into the two top killer on the island. Following her was easier than he'd expected, a convenient trail of blood droplets leading him and Clio upstairs and into the mansion's attic.
It was wide and spacious inside the attic of the building they had resided in. Cobwebs littered the place, covering the rafters that kept the roof up and the various bits of furniture that had been stored up there in a haphazard fashion. The only definite source of life seemed to come from across the vast sea of old furniture and rafters in the form of what looked to Maxwell like a piece of the roof was missing. Thats... strange. Guess this place wasn't as well preserved as I first assumed...
Even in the dark, it wasn't too hard for Maxwell and Clio to navigate themselves though the debris. Eventually, after following the faint trail of blood which was made even more obscure by the darkness of the attic, they found their target standing on the edge a large drop where the roof literally ended. Their intruder as it turned out was a short Japanese girl who reminded Maxwell far too much of the same little Japanese girl who'd been a painful thorn in his side for the past few days...
Still, that didn't mean he couldn't have any fun with THIS oriental midget, right?
"Unlucky... Seems like you've reached the end of the line, eh? No where else to go except through the two well-armed killers who've cornered you against the edge of a particularly nasty looking drop..."
An evil thought occurred to Maxwell just then. Why should he waste his ammunition on this cretin when he could let Clio finish the job herself? She had her own weapons after all... And if she decided to stab the girl up close and personal, there was the slight possibility that they could take each other out at the same time. Maxwell wouldn't have to even lift a finger...
Yes, that sounded like a very good idea indeed....
"But where are my manners..." he said, turning his attention to Clio. "You spotted her first after all. What kind of gentleman would I be if I were to steal away your glory like that?"
He moved aside, motioning to Haruka with his left hand as he bowed over slightly with a cruel smirk on his face.
"Please... be my guest."
But rather then act like a petulant child, the young man shrugged. Not showing any outward signs that he'd been offended by Clio's reply.
"Suit yourself... Can't say I really blame you, I can barely stand the bloody stuff myself. Not that either of us really have a choice on the matter... God, how I miss the taste of good glass of champagne."
As he recalled the exquisite flavour of a particularly memorable glass of champagne he once had whilst on a holiday trip to Paris for the weekend, a thought suddenly occurred to him. If this mansion was anything like the one his Uncle Henry owned, then surely there must be an old wine cellar somewhere? A cellar which, whilst almost certainly empty after the terrorists set up all the cameras and such, might possibly hold a secret stash hidden amidst all the wine barrels and shelves. Its not as if Danya's cronies could have removed every single drop of liquor from the house as they cleared the place... And even if there definitely wasn't any left in the cellar, that didn't change the fact that they were in a HUGE mansion. A mansion well worth exploring in detail. Who knows what they may find in the many rooms that made up this once cultivated home.
"Hmm... Say Clio. I was just thinking-"
He stopped mid sentence as Clio lifted her hand to silence him, her attention fixated on the door. At first Maxwell couldn't tell why on earth she had decided to cut him off, but seconds later it became all too obvious.
There was a shadow moving slowly underneath the door. A shadow roughly the size of a small person.
*Sigh*. And here I was thinking that I'd finally get a break from this damn game... Oh well, may as well show Clio how a professional player does thin......
Once again, Clio had decided to interrupt Maxwell mid-thought. Only this time however, she had decided to leap across the table and grab his gun.
Wai- WHAT?!?
"Sorry, don't mind me, got some business,"
And with that, the killer with purple streaks in her hair bolted for the door and slammed it open, jumping out into the hallway and aiming his weapon at the figure who had just walked past them.
NO! You idiot! Don't you fucking DARE waste all my ammo on some worthless punk!
Too late. Despite how fast he had moved from his spot into the hallway, Clio had already pulled the trigger and released several bullets in their prey's direction in a short burst. From the looks of things, at least one of the bullets hit their target, injuring the intruder in the shoulder and dropping them to the floor.
He looked to the stunning killer who stood beside her and smiled. Seems he'd been worrying over nothing the whole time... He'd expected Clio to completely empty his gun and waste what little was left of his ammunition. Thankfully though, she'd only fired a short burst, and even hit the girl in question she was aiming at... Good. Because if it turned out that she'd used up all his ammo and not hit their intruder with a single bullet, the young Brit would have probably shot her in the head right there on the spot.
Nevertheless, the fact that she had just stolen his gun without asking permission first was relevant.
"Nice shot. Now then, I'll be taking that back..." he said, 'politely' snatching the gun back from Clio's grip. "...THANK you. Next time, feel free to ask first before you decide to use up all my ammunition. Otherwise I might not be so inclined to forgive you so easily..."
The look on his face as he finished the sentence was one of complete and utter seriousness. A part of him genuinely considered the possibility of just killing her and getting it all over with. He was going to be forced to do so at some stage anyway if he was to make it off the island, so why not now? Before she could hinder his progress any further...
But deep down, he knew he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now anyway... He'd only just met this girl, and already he was beginning to actually like her. The young Brit doubted that he'd ever be able to speak to anyone else on the island in such a casual manner again, so the idea of killing the only person he could actually talk to was more then little off-putting. Besides, it would be a shame to kill off one of the top killer so early in the game... He didn't want to have to take on the entire island all by himself, did he?
He looked back to see how their little intruder was doing, only to realise that they had managed to actually get up and stumble away.
"Well well, seems she still has some life in her after all..." he said casually to Clio, cocking his gun as a wicked smile appeared on his handsome features. "...Lets see if we can amend that mistake, shall we?"
On that note, the eager young killer ran from where he was standing in pursuit of the irritable intruder who had unluckily bumped into the two top killer on the island. Following her was easier than he'd expected, a convenient trail of blood droplets leading him and Clio upstairs and into the mansion's attic.
It was wide and spacious inside the attic of the building they had resided in. Cobwebs littered the place, covering the rafters that kept the roof up and the various bits of furniture that had been stored up there in a haphazard fashion. The only definite source of life seemed to come from across the vast sea of old furniture and rafters in the form of what looked to Maxwell like a piece of the roof was missing. Thats... strange. Guess this place wasn't as well preserved as I first assumed...
Even in the dark, it wasn't too hard for Maxwell and Clio to navigate themselves though the debris. Eventually, after following the faint trail of blood which was made even more obscure by the darkness of the attic, they found their target standing on the edge a large drop where the roof literally ended. Their intruder as it turned out was a short Japanese girl who reminded Maxwell far too much of the same little Japanese girl who'd been a painful thorn in his side for the past few days...
Still, that didn't mean he couldn't have any fun with THIS oriental midget, right?
"Unlucky... Seems like you've reached the end of the line, eh? No where else to go except through the two well-armed killers who've cornered you against the edge of a particularly nasty looking drop..."
An evil thought occurred to Maxwell just then. Why should he waste his ammunition on this cretin when he could let Clio finish the job herself? She had her own weapons after all... And if she decided to stab the girl up close and personal, there was the slight possibility that they could take each other out at the same time. Maxwell wouldn't have to even lift a finger...
Yes, that sounded like a very good idea indeed....
"But where are my manners..." he said, turning his attention to Clio. "You spotted her first after all. What kind of gentleman would I be if I were to steal away your glory like that?"
He moved aside, motioning to Haruka with his left hand as he bowed over slightly with a cruel smirk on his face.
"Please... be my guest."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. 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.
Clio's smile remained plastered on her face as the girl fell like a marionette with its strings cut. Perfect, just perfect. Maxwell had even received a show, a front-row seat showing what Clio was capable of. She flicked her smile towards him like a fruit seed, and was somewhat pleased with herself. What wasn't perfect, however, is that her hands took it upon themselves to start stinging again.
...ow.
And, for some reason, they were starting to hurt less and less with each bullet. What could that have been? Exercise? Surely something like that was only a plot convenience for someone who was tired of disadvantaging their character? Or was it just that she'd been exercising her fingers with something more than a pen, or hairbrush, or steering wheel?
Whatever it was, it was sure as hell a great way to show this guy, this "competition" if one were to put it that way, what she was capable of. But, of course, standing in the uppermost hallway of this house, she realized how much she would have probably pissed him off. That was HIS gun after all, and she knew that someone of this high class of murderer surely wouldn't have appreciated the taking of their weapon for god knows what purpose.
He snatched it out of her hands like she was a small baby who'd gotten hold of her father's stapler. His expression of relaxation, of endless amusement, was gone, replaced with one of seriousness. Well, Clio couldn't really blame him, since she simply took his gun without asking the essential stuff: How much ammo? How fast? Recoil? Aiming capability? Weight? She knew that it would simply be out of place for her to actually go through asking those superfluous questions while the girl who now...where the fuck was that girl?
Looks like some people could actually get away with being shot. That was news to her, really. The fleeing girl had been hit in the shoulder, and despite what the movies said, that was almost the worst place to get hit. There were arteries, nerve muscles, and a lot of bone in that area of the body. Even if she did manage to survive such a wound on the first entry, she wasn't going to last much longer.
However, the British boy beside her seemed to think otherwise of the little girl's chances. Maxwell seemed intent on making sure that she never made it out of this place alive. Well, while it wasn't something that Clio was used to doing (not in any real sense, as Charles was still alive when she ran to hunt him down) there was always the room for improvement. If the fact that he seemed intent on not killing her in any situation proved something, it proved that he was willing to momentarily team up with her, even for only this day. Well, there was no point in leaving him to finish the job himself, waste his own "precious" ammunition.
As she ran after the boy, she found out she was right after all. There was a large trail of red vivacious liquid leading behind her, twisting and turning as the girl stumbled around. They hadn't caught a glimpse of the girl yet, and to make it worse, they were heading into the attic.
Now here was a place that Clio did not hold her breathe in her disgust. A large house meant a large attic. As the mansion was probably bigger than anything she'd visited before, even when going along to visit her parents foster parents carers friends and family. She was always the odd one out, seeing as how she a) looked nothing like her parents, and b) didn't see the appeal of living the rich lifestyle other than being able to buy whatever you wanted, or beg for something from your parents and knowing that they could afford it. They could have the biggest mansions, the biggest houses just for show, meanwhile they had their own relatively large house in St. Paul, even if it was only as big as the suburban house in "The Nanny". Big houses really scared Clio, seeing as there was always a place to hide. She'd never wanted to end up in the attic of one, because once you got lost in there, there was almost no way out.
Still, no way out for Clio still meant no way out for the wounded girl.
As they both made their way briskly among piled boxes and debris, Clio couldn't help but take her sai out warily. Since the blood trail, however obscure in the dark, was leading away from the two, she really had no reason to be overly cautious. The girl was wounded, dying. There was no way that any ambush could work.
Eventually, the dim light of the musty attic subsided momentarily, and she could really see where the two of them stood. Or rather, the three of them stood. The girl Clio shot now stood before a drop in the floor, where the floor seemed to have decayed and disappeared over the years. It was the classic movie standoff, the hero trapped, the villains about to close in. The only thing was, that Haruka was no hero in this. Being apposed to the two biggest killers on the island at the moment did not make her any more of a heroic person than a scared little girl.
Clio stopped, her sai stayed in motion. She'd taken it upon herself to turn it around in her hand absentmindedly as they followed. She didn't know why she'd brought it instead of her gun, nor had it at the ready rather than her trusty gun, which had racked up quite the impressive kill count already. However, the thought occurred to her that Maxwell was right, rightfully angry after Clio wasted those precious few bullets in something that hadn't even finished the job properly in the first place. The sai could also probably bridge that gap in between "uncomfortably close" and "distant" that had been granted and distinguished through the kills (or rather in one case, attempted kill) of Luke and Garry.
Maxwell started a little speech upon which he started to talk about the fact that it was literally the end of the line for her. Whatever her name was, she'd simply made it so that every step she took up to the attic, every little scurry, everything she did, was her last. She'd never had the chance.
And then...he turned on his little gentleman switch again, offering for Clio herself to have the honors.
...okay?
Clio was momentarily confused at how easily he could just hand over a kill like that. He was right in everything he said, about her spotting the girl first. However, it was simply the way he said it that seemed to unnerve Clio just a tiny bit.
Still, a kill was a kill. She didn't want to start giving up the opportunity to really get off this island just because the way in which she received the opportunity to land a kill was a bit "odd".
As the boy moved slightly to the side, Clio started forward, sai at the ready. Every step seemed to echo tenfold as her brain tried to tell her exactly what the hell she was doing.
You do realize how hard this is going to be?
I do.
You do know that the person will actually have their life ended by you, not by that gun?
I do.
You know that you found it so hard to actually try and kill Garry with your own hands before?
I know.
You do remember you said you couldn't do it by your own hand?
I know.
You do realize what you're doing?
I do.
Can you do it?
I can.
Can you?
Yes.
Soon, she was there, standing right in front of the small Asian girl, right behind her. Without even a thought, or an attempt at an apology for making the ensuing act so ruthless, so painful, Clio brought the sai forward, the tip of the blade straight into her stomach.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And...one more time.
After the final one, Clio held up her hand to the girl's shoulder, and gave it a small push. Just a small one, nothing more. She didn't speak, she didn't apologize to her...victim, she supposed, she didn't say anything redeemable, she didn't ask her anything, she didn't want to know what she did before coming here, she didn't want to make amends, she didn't care that she would have had friends who would be lost without her, she didn't care that this fifth kill was making her more and more noticeable in the eyes of everyone in the world, she just...pushed.
That was all.
...ow.
And, for some reason, they were starting to hurt less and less with each bullet. What could that have been? Exercise? Surely something like that was only a plot convenience for someone who was tired of disadvantaging their character? Or was it just that she'd been exercising her fingers with something more than a pen, or hairbrush, or steering wheel?
Whatever it was, it was sure as hell a great way to show this guy, this "competition" if one were to put it that way, what she was capable of. But, of course, standing in the uppermost hallway of this house, she realized how much she would have probably pissed him off. That was HIS gun after all, and she knew that someone of this high class of murderer surely wouldn't have appreciated the taking of their weapon for god knows what purpose.
He snatched it out of her hands like she was a small baby who'd gotten hold of her father's stapler. His expression of relaxation, of endless amusement, was gone, replaced with one of seriousness. Well, Clio couldn't really blame him, since she simply took his gun without asking the essential stuff: How much ammo? How fast? Recoil? Aiming capability? Weight? She knew that it would simply be out of place for her to actually go through asking those superfluous questions while the girl who now...where the fuck was that girl?
Looks like some people could actually get away with being shot. That was news to her, really. The fleeing girl had been hit in the shoulder, and despite what the movies said, that was almost the worst place to get hit. There were arteries, nerve muscles, and a lot of bone in that area of the body. Even if she did manage to survive such a wound on the first entry, she wasn't going to last much longer.
However, the British boy beside her seemed to think otherwise of the little girl's chances. Maxwell seemed intent on making sure that she never made it out of this place alive. Well, while it wasn't something that Clio was used to doing (not in any real sense, as Charles was still alive when she ran to hunt him down) there was always the room for improvement. If the fact that he seemed intent on not killing her in any situation proved something, it proved that he was willing to momentarily team up with her, even for only this day. Well, there was no point in leaving him to finish the job himself, waste his own "precious" ammunition.
As she ran after the boy, she found out she was right after all. There was a large trail of red vivacious liquid leading behind her, twisting and turning as the girl stumbled around. They hadn't caught a glimpse of the girl yet, and to make it worse, they were heading into the attic.
Now here was a place that Clio did not hold her breathe in her disgust. A large house meant a large attic. As the mansion was probably bigger than anything she'd visited before, even when going along to visit her parents foster parents carers friends and family. She was always the odd one out, seeing as how she a) looked nothing like her parents, and b) didn't see the appeal of living the rich lifestyle other than being able to buy whatever you wanted, or beg for something from your parents and knowing that they could afford it. They could have the biggest mansions, the biggest houses just for show, meanwhile they had their own relatively large house in St. Paul, even if it was only as big as the suburban house in "The Nanny". Big houses really scared Clio, seeing as there was always a place to hide. She'd never wanted to end up in the attic of one, because once you got lost in there, there was almost no way out.
Still, no way out for Clio still meant no way out for the wounded girl.
As they both made their way briskly among piled boxes and debris, Clio couldn't help but take her sai out warily. Since the blood trail, however obscure in the dark, was leading away from the two, she really had no reason to be overly cautious. The girl was wounded, dying. There was no way that any ambush could work.
Eventually, the dim light of the musty attic subsided momentarily, and she could really see where the two of them stood. Or rather, the three of them stood. The girl Clio shot now stood before a drop in the floor, where the floor seemed to have decayed and disappeared over the years. It was the classic movie standoff, the hero trapped, the villains about to close in. The only thing was, that Haruka was no hero in this. Being apposed to the two biggest killers on the island at the moment did not make her any more of a heroic person than a scared little girl.
Clio stopped, her sai stayed in motion. She'd taken it upon herself to turn it around in her hand absentmindedly as they followed. She didn't know why she'd brought it instead of her gun, nor had it at the ready rather than her trusty gun, which had racked up quite the impressive kill count already. However, the thought occurred to her that Maxwell was right, rightfully angry after Clio wasted those precious few bullets in something that hadn't even finished the job properly in the first place. The sai could also probably bridge that gap in between "uncomfortably close" and "distant" that had been granted and distinguished through the kills (or rather in one case, attempted kill) of Luke and Garry.
Maxwell started a little speech upon which he started to talk about the fact that it was literally the end of the line for her. Whatever her name was, she'd simply made it so that every step she took up to the attic, every little scurry, everything she did, was her last. She'd never had the chance.
And then...he turned on his little gentleman switch again, offering for Clio herself to have the honors.
...okay?
Clio was momentarily confused at how easily he could just hand over a kill like that. He was right in everything he said, about her spotting the girl first. However, it was simply the way he said it that seemed to unnerve Clio just a tiny bit.
Still, a kill was a kill. She didn't want to start giving up the opportunity to really get off this island just because the way in which she received the opportunity to land a kill was a bit "odd".
As the boy moved slightly to the side, Clio started forward, sai at the ready. Every step seemed to echo tenfold as her brain tried to tell her exactly what the hell she was doing.
You do realize how hard this is going to be?
I do.
You do know that the person will actually have their life ended by you, not by that gun?
I do.
You know that you found it so hard to actually try and kill Garry with your own hands before?
I know.
You do remember you said you couldn't do it by your own hand?
I know.
You do realize what you're doing?
I do.
Can you do it?
I can.
Can you?
Yes.
Soon, she was there, standing right in front of the small Asian girl, right behind her. Without even a thought, or an attempt at an apology for making the ensuing act so ruthless, so painful, Clio brought the sai forward, the tip of the blade straight into her stomach.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And...one more time.
After the final one, Clio held up her hand to the girl's shoulder, and gave it a small push. Just a small one, nothing more. She didn't speak, she didn't apologize to her...victim, she supposed, she didn't say anything redeemable, she didn't ask her anything, she didn't want to know what she did before coming here, she didn't want to make amends, she didn't care that she would have had friends who would be lost without her, she didn't care that this fifth kill was making her more and more noticeable in the eyes of everyone in the world, she just...pushed.
That was all.