((BO34 - START))
"Thank you folks. That was Benny Goodman's 'Sing Sing Sing' our trademark number, and tonight's conclusion. Those three talented soloists you heard were Mark Potter on the lead trumpet, Kevin Warick on the Alto Sax...."
---
Kevin Warick awoke with a start. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. Feeling around, it seemed he was on some kind of hard, wooden floor. His sax case lay to his left, and an unfamiliar duffel bag of some sort to his right. Blinking a few times, he let his eyes adjust and took one more glance at the room around him. There seemed to be SOME light coming from holes in the ceiling. It looked like the wood had decayed and fallen apart. Whatever building he was in, it was very old.
Well, this is different.
It was now Kevin recalled what had just transpired seemingly moments before in his introduction to SOTF. They were told their role in the program, shown their teachers being killed, and sent on their merry way via knockout gas. Kevin's laissez-faire approach to his existence not withstanding, the "game" presented him one colossal problem - He'd been kind of ambivalent to doing anything with his life, opting to play songs, get money, get high, make Youtube videos, and repeat the cycle. Now...
Now what am I supposed to do?
He'd seen his teachers killed. Not for any good reason; they were struggling in their restraints and shot for it. Though really there wasn't any good reason for any of this, was there? What did they hope to achieve? If they were committing acts of terrorism because they hated America, it sure as hell wasn't working. The program just tossed more attention and money at the media by it's broadcasting and merchandising. If anything it helped America's media machines and kept everybody paranoid. That kind of wanton violence and disregard for human life.... it was sickening. How is the United States Military so well-funded and powerful and yet completely unable to rescue any of the hundreds of students that were trapped in the SOTF Program? Why haven't more people tried to stop the broadcasts of the program more than they have already? Moreover -
"Why is this happening to me?"
Kevin got off the ground, slinging the day bag over his shoulder and attempting to find a way out of... wherever he was. It seemed to be some kind of abandoned office or residence. Whatever it was, it stretched pretty far underneath the building above. The only items of note were a few old, decrepit chairs, a worn axe handle, and a dusty bottle of unopened scotch on a boarded-up windowsill. Owing to his inner kleptomaniac, and the fact that he might enjoy some liquor at the moment, he took it.
"Hey, I'm probably dead in a few days..." Besides, as a stereotypical Englishman would say "No sense wasting good scotch!" Maybe I'll just get too drunk to care that I'm about to be hunted down by my former peers.
Aside from dust, dirt, and scotch there was nothing of note in the room that could help him. The door lay a few feet behind, and it looked like a strong breeze could blow it off of it's hinges. Whatever was outside... he wasn't really sure he wanted to know what exactly was out there. The former students of Bayview High would be doing their best to kill each other and survive the island, or arguing on how to get off of it. Kevin was never really much of a social creature and considering his chances given his stature and disposition - it was probably a better idea to stay in the office and get slowly shitfaced. Besides, after a quick look inside his bag Kevin deduced that they'd given him a lead pipe to defend himself with. Mr. Warick, in the shack, with a lead pipe. Fantastic.
Kevin sat down against the wall and opened his saxophone case. He had intended to play it at a campfire during the trip, but it looked like that wasn't very likely now. Some people twiddled their thumbs when they were bored - Kevin played his sax. When he'd finished fastening the reed on, he set the instrument down on his lap and uncorked the bottle of scotch. It was luckily a pull-cork, and as it came out the strong smell of heavily aged scotch whisky emerged. There was so much dust and decay on the bottle he had no idea what brand it was - if it even still existed. The first swig was decent - it was particularly strong and burned a bit more than your average liquor, but otherwise it was fine. The boy's small stature meant that it wouldn't take much to set him stumbling about, so he put it down for the time being.
So, sitting the dusty room near what he saw to be some kind of mountain, Kevin Warick softly played, and drank. He wasn't waiting for death, but it wasn't unwelcome. To any others outside, they would only hear soft jazz emerging from a dusty old shack next to a mine shaft.
The Outsider
Kevin Warick - Start
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
The Outsider
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(G071 Start)
She woke up to the sounds of a gentle little jazz tune, she stretched herself out for half an eternity, and she poked idly at the little scratching sensation on her neck. She was in no mood to open her eyes yet, or even to poke at it in a more thorough way, but she could figure it was some sort of metal collar. A sour expression played across her lips. Those were... incredibly tacky. There was absolutely no reason she'd be wearing one, so... a friend put it on her as a kinda pointless joke? Or someone-
And then it all came back to her.
Which wasn't particularly a good feeling. Charlie wasn't particularly good at dealing with grave situations, and she found herself very quickly wishing for her old life back. The kind of life where her biggest immediate problem was having the kind of friends whose idea of a hilarious prank was sticking a collar around her neck while she slept. That was the sort of problem you could laugh at or roll your eyes at, which dovetailed pretty nicely with Charlie's exceptional talents of laughing and eyerolling. It was slightly more difficult to eyeroll away the problem of a pack of murderous-
No, not gonna think about it. Not... not now. Later. Later's good. I'll have time later. Right now I just... don't think about it, just don't think about it, just clear my mind. Clear my mind, easy does it.
And then the sound of a saxophone came along again, and helped her on her way. It was nice, it was soothing, it was pretty much what she needed most right now. And so without quite realizing it, she snatched up all her worldly belongings and set off in the direction of the music. The sound seemed so faraway at first, but when she paused and cupped her ear for a second, she could tell it was probably coming from that shack up there. Just a little climb away, so that meant our gallant saxophonist wasn't playing too loudly. And so without quite realizing it, she started gingerly climbing up to say hello.
And then the thought struck her, a stone's throw away from the door, that everything was quite terrifying. She needed to burst into that shack now, right now right now, because a man with a gun was going to snipe her at any given moment. Or no, no, if she did that, she'd startle the saxophonist, and he'd pull out his own gun and perforate her- of course he would, it'd be self-defense, it'd only be self-defense- and that'd be the end of Charlie DuClare. But if she opened the door slowly, if she knocked, there was almost definitely a trap, almost definitely- the saxophone was the bait, obviously. Lure innocent young girls up to a shack in the mountains with some sweet little tunes, then four, five, six of his friends jump out of nowhere and rape her to death.
Charlie quickly decided that that she didn't like herself at all when she thought like this. It was pathetic, it was paranoid, it wasn't like her. She tiptoed up to the shack's door and gently nudged the creaky thing open. Poked her head inside. Skinny kid, glasses, ponytail, saxophone. Nobody else. She let out a silent sigh of relief and gave the boy a smile that was probably a little more flirty than she intended.
"Hey, uh, you can finish the song if you want. I'll sit down and listen... if you don't mind?"
She woke up to the sounds of a gentle little jazz tune, she stretched herself out for half an eternity, and she poked idly at the little scratching sensation on her neck. She was in no mood to open her eyes yet, or even to poke at it in a more thorough way, but she could figure it was some sort of metal collar. A sour expression played across her lips. Those were... incredibly tacky. There was absolutely no reason she'd be wearing one, so... a friend put it on her as a kinda pointless joke? Or someone-
And then it all came back to her.
Which wasn't particularly a good feeling. Charlie wasn't particularly good at dealing with grave situations, and she found herself very quickly wishing for her old life back. The kind of life where her biggest immediate problem was having the kind of friends whose idea of a hilarious prank was sticking a collar around her neck while she slept. That was the sort of problem you could laugh at or roll your eyes at, which dovetailed pretty nicely with Charlie's exceptional talents of laughing and eyerolling. It was slightly more difficult to eyeroll away the problem of a pack of murderous-
No, not gonna think about it. Not... not now. Later. Later's good. I'll have time later. Right now I just... don't think about it, just don't think about it, just clear my mind. Clear my mind, easy does it.
And then the sound of a saxophone came along again, and helped her on her way. It was nice, it was soothing, it was pretty much what she needed most right now. And so without quite realizing it, she snatched up all her worldly belongings and set off in the direction of the music. The sound seemed so faraway at first, but when she paused and cupped her ear for a second, she could tell it was probably coming from that shack up there. Just a little climb away, so that meant our gallant saxophonist wasn't playing too loudly. And so without quite realizing it, she started gingerly climbing up to say hello.
And then the thought struck her, a stone's throw away from the door, that everything was quite terrifying. She needed to burst into that shack now, right now right now, because a man with a gun was going to snipe her at any given moment. Or no, no, if she did that, she'd startle the saxophonist, and he'd pull out his own gun and perforate her- of course he would, it'd be self-defense, it'd only be self-defense- and that'd be the end of Charlie DuClare. But if she opened the door slowly, if she knocked, there was almost definitely a trap, almost definitely- the saxophone was the bait, obviously. Lure innocent young girls up to a shack in the mountains with some sweet little tunes, then four, five, six of his friends jump out of nowhere and rape her to death.
Charlie quickly decided that that she didn't like herself at all when she thought like this. It was pathetic, it was paranoid, it wasn't like her. She tiptoed up to the shack's door and gently nudged the creaky thing open. Poked her head inside. Skinny kid, glasses, ponytail, saxophone. Nobody else. She let out a silent sigh of relief and gave the boy a smile that was probably a little more flirty than she intended.
"Hey, uh, you can finish the song if you want. I'll sit down and listen... if you don't mind?"
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Fullcircle†
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 5:00 am
((B029 Start))
-----
Calling all cops and Autobots, I hope that you're still there, saving victims from the wreckage of their wild affairs, such wild affairs...
-----
David awoke with a splitting headache, his face buried in grass and an unfamiliar bag next to him. He righted himself with a groan, rubbing the sleep from his half-opened eyes and trying his best to orient himself. Ohh, god. I must have fallen asleep on the bus. Did someone carry me off of it or something? In fact, where the-
His thoughts were cut off by the sudden flood of memories- murdered teachers, flecks of blood on his face, a murdered girl onscreen and a sarcastic, mocking speech from a Mr... something. Some Russian-sounding name, like Anya. If he'd ever followed this show, this... Survival of the Fittest, he'd have known. But he didn't. He'd always claimed he wasn't into fake 'reality' shows- now he'd found himself wishing he'd watched it. Maybe it'd help him survive. But that wasn't important now, nothing was important except for finding some cover, a place to hide, a place to- was that a saxophone?
As he stood, throwing his own bag over his shoulder and grabbing this unfamiliar duffel bag, he tried to pinpoint the direction the smooth jazz was coming from. Behind him. He spun and looked behind him, half expecting some crazed fellow student with an exploding jazz instrument, but instead saw a run-down looking building, from which came the melody. Slowly, he creeped up towards it, looking carefully around him. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Could be some sort of trap, some crazy-ass kid who decides he wants to kill everyone. What do I do? As he wracked his brain as to his course of action, he reached the building's wall and pressed himself up against it. There was no door on this side, but he thought he heard the creaky complaint of hinges towards the other side of the building. Okay. Okay. There's definitely someone over there, maybe more than one. They could be normal people just like me. All scared and shit. But then again, maybe they were setting up some sort, of trap, maybe one got a record player or some crap like that as a weapon, was using it as a trap...
Wait. Weapon.
In a flash, he was seated on the ground and digging frantically through his issued dufflebag, shifting aside the contents. First Aid Kit, Food, Map... "Oh, God yes." He breathed, sliding his issued weapon from the bag. It was a large, heavy revolver, with a black rubber handle and slightly muted steel body, with 'Anaconda' stamped along the barrel in large bold letters. Another rifle through the bag revealed a box of ammunition, complete with 30... bullets? shells? Whatever. It didn't matter. At least he hadn't been given a gun and no ammunition as some sort of sick joke- that sounded like this Anya guy's style. As he spun the now-full cylinder to a close, his mind slipped back to some old Clint Eastwood movie: "The Outlaw Josey Wales." David liked Westerns, and this had been his favorite, and so many of its lines seemed absolutely appropriate right now. He allowed himself something of a smile, perhaps his last one, and stood, stalking slowly to the corner of the building and peeking around. He didn't want to kill anyone, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone kill him either. Seeing a half-open door around the corner, he stood stock still and, gun in hand, tried his best to listen to what was happening inside.
Dying ain't no kind of living, boy.
-----
Calling all cops and Autobots, I hope that you're still there, saving victims from the wreckage of their wild affairs, such wild affairs...
-----
David awoke with a splitting headache, his face buried in grass and an unfamiliar bag next to him. He righted himself with a groan, rubbing the sleep from his half-opened eyes and trying his best to orient himself. Ohh, god. I must have fallen asleep on the bus. Did someone carry me off of it or something? In fact, where the-
His thoughts were cut off by the sudden flood of memories- murdered teachers, flecks of blood on his face, a murdered girl onscreen and a sarcastic, mocking speech from a Mr... something. Some Russian-sounding name, like Anya. If he'd ever followed this show, this... Survival of the Fittest, he'd have known. But he didn't. He'd always claimed he wasn't into fake 'reality' shows- now he'd found himself wishing he'd watched it. Maybe it'd help him survive. But that wasn't important now, nothing was important except for finding some cover, a place to hide, a place to- was that a saxophone?
As he stood, throwing his own bag over his shoulder and grabbing this unfamiliar duffel bag, he tried to pinpoint the direction the smooth jazz was coming from. Behind him. He spun and looked behind him, half expecting some crazed fellow student with an exploding jazz instrument, but instead saw a run-down looking building, from which came the melody. Slowly, he creeped up towards it, looking carefully around him. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Could be some sort of trap, some crazy-ass kid who decides he wants to kill everyone. What do I do? As he wracked his brain as to his course of action, he reached the building's wall and pressed himself up against it. There was no door on this side, but he thought he heard the creaky complaint of hinges towards the other side of the building. Okay. Okay. There's definitely someone over there, maybe more than one. They could be normal people just like me. All scared and shit. But then again, maybe they were setting up some sort, of trap, maybe one got a record player or some crap like that as a weapon, was using it as a trap...
Wait. Weapon.
In a flash, he was seated on the ground and digging frantically through his issued dufflebag, shifting aside the contents. First Aid Kit, Food, Map... "Oh, God yes." He breathed, sliding his issued weapon from the bag. It was a large, heavy revolver, with a black rubber handle and slightly muted steel body, with 'Anaconda' stamped along the barrel in large bold letters. Another rifle through the bag revealed a box of ammunition, complete with 30... bullets? shells? Whatever. It didn't matter. At least he hadn't been given a gun and no ammunition as some sort of sick joke- that sounded like this Anya guy's style. As he spun the now-full cylinder to a close, his mind slipped back to some old Clint Eastwood movie: "The Outlaw Josey Wales." David liked Westerns, and this had been his favorite, and so many of its lines seemed absolutely appropriate right now. He allowed himself something of a smile, perhaps his last one, and stood, stalking slowly to the corner of the building and peeking around. He didn't want to kill anyone, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone kill him either. Seeing a half-open door around the corner, he stood stock still and, gun in hand, tried his best to listen to what was happening inside.
Dying ain't no kind of living, boy.
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
As he was about halfway through what he remembered of a song, he could hear (barely) the sound of someone walking into the shack. Looking up, a very small girl had edged her way into the shack and looked down at him, almost with relief. It was true, Kevin wasn't the most frightening human being, even in a grim situation like this one. A 5'5 jazz nut who looks like a hippie doesn't really evoke violent thoughts. Kevin was improvising more than anything at the time, so he ended his impromptu practice session on a comfortable note. He attempted to say something after putting down his sax, but was quickly overtaken by a yawn. The tired looking boy removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. The girl must've still been waiting on an answer, so Kevin cleared his throat and answered.
"Oh... hey there. Sorry, I'm kinda tired right now, I get yawn-y. I'm Kevin..."
Searching for her name, he made an odd motion of pointing idly towards her.
"You're.... Claire, right? I think I've seen you around, or had some classes with you, or... something. Whatever. Welcome to my shack. I kinda woke up here; I don't really know what it's like outside. Not sure I wanna know."
With another yawn, Kevin stretched out as he sat on the ground, and took another swig of the ancient scotch. Outside of a friendly introduction, Kevin had absolutely no clue what to say to somebody at a time like this. It's not like you can really make small talk and outside of planning to survive, which Kevin wasn't sure he would be able to, there was literally nothing to say. Seen any dead bodies lately? Who's decided to go psycho? Anybody just lost it and fucked each other senseless out of desperation? There was nothing.
Though it seemed it was more a time for caution than conversation. Kevin had to put his glasses back on, but he heard the deck of the shack creaking from the outside. From what he could tell neither himself nor the girl was adequately armed or motivated enough to encounter... whatever was listening in, but on a buzz from the scotch Kevin attempted diplomacy. If that didn't work, it wasn't like there was anything they could do anyways. Kevin motioned for Claire to come closer, and pointed towards the door.
"Claire... c'mere. Hey! Hey you, by the door! We're friendly... Well I mean, I'm friendly. I've got scotch and a sax. Thas' about it."
"Oh... hey there. Sorry, I'm kinda tired right now, I get yawn-y. I'm Kevin..."
Searching for her name, he made an odd motion of pointing idly towards her.
"You're.... Claire, right? I think I've seen you around, or had some classes with you, or... something. Whatever. Welcome to my shack. I kinda woke up here; I don't really know what it's like outside. Not sure I wanna know."
With another yawn, Kevin stretched out as he sat on the ground, and took another swig of the ancient scotch. Outside of a friendly introduction, Kevin had absolutely no clue what to say to somebody at a time like this. It's not like you can really make small talk and outside of planning to survive, which Kevin wasn't sure he would be able to, there was literally nothing to say. Seen any dead bodies lately? Who's decided to go psycho? Anybody just lost it and fucked each other senseless out of desperation? There was nothing.
Though it seemed it was more a time for caution than conversation. Kevin had to put his glasses back on, but he heard the deck of the shack creaking from the outside. From what he could tell neither himself nor the girl was adequately armed or motivated enough to encounter... whatever was listening in, but on a buzz from the scotch Kevin attempted diplomacy. If that didn't work, it wasn't like there was anything they could do anyways. Kevin motioned for Claire to come closer, and pointed towards the door.
"Claire... c'mere. Hey! Hey you, by the door! We're friendly... Well I mean, I'm friendly. I've got scotch and a sax. Thas' about it."
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There were, to be frank, precious few certainties left in Charlie's life. She didn't know where in the world she was, or if she looked remotely decent anymore. She didn't know whether she could still dance, or whether that'd set off her collar. She didn't quite know how many days she had left to live. In the face of ominous uncertainties like that, a simple phrase like My name is Charlie DuClare could act a small comfort, a warm little certainty to hold onto.
And now this asshole was trying to take even that away from her.
Honestly, it shouldn't have mattered that much to her. Claire wasn't that far off, and it sounded just like the second half of her last name. Besides, awkward nerds say awkward nerdy things, whatever. They mix up people's names- especially the names of pretty girls that make them nervous- all the time. This was, in all likelihood, the first time that this boy had talked to a girl in months. A skinny little hippie wailing on his sax in an empty shack? Yeah, getting Charlie's name wrong was almost certainly the closest he'd ever gotten to having sex.
Charlie suddenly found herself wishing very hard that she had a friend nearby to tell all those things to.
She opened her mouth to gently correct him, but promptly realized she didn't actually know his name. He'd just said it, for fuck's sake, but she hadn't been listening too well and then getting called Claire had just sorta put her in a haze of rage. A little haze of rage, of course. A cute one. Yeah, maybe shelve that topic of conversation for now. He looked sorta like his name might be Jimmy, so she settled on that as a temporary name for the guy.
"Claire... c'mere," said Jimmy, and without quite realizing it, she shuffled towards his direction. "Hey! Hey you, by the door! We're friendly... Well I mean, I'm friendly. I've got scotch and a sax. Thas' about it."
A pit in her stomach. There was a very real risk that Jimmy was about to get them both killed. It's almost as if he didn't realize that this island was populated exclusively by snipers and rapists. But... she had very few options except to swallow hard and put on her sweetest tone of voice.
"Yeah, I'm plenty friendly too!" She forced a little laugh. "And uh, if you're here peacefully, you can have my share of scotch!"
Jimmy hadn't exactly given her a share of scotch. But he'd gotten her name wrong, dammit, so she was rightfully entitled to some compensation.
And now this asshole was trying to take even that away from her.
Honestly, it shouldn't have mattered that much to her. Claire wasn't that far off, and it sounded just like the second half of her last name. Besides, awkward nerds say awkward nerdy things, whatever. They mix up people's names- especially the names of pretty girls that make them nervous- all the time. This was, in all likelihood, the first time that this boy had talked to a girl in months. A skinny little hippie wailing on his sax in an empty shack? Yeah, getting Charlie's name wrong was almost certainly the closest he'd ever gotten to having sex.
Charlie suddenly found herself wishing very hard that she had a friend nearby to tell all those things to.
She opened her mouth to gently correct him, but promptly realized she didn't actually know his name. He'd just said it, for fuck's sake, but she hadn't been listening too well and then getting called Claire had just sorta put her in a haze of rage. A little haze of rage, of course. A cute one. Yeah, maybe shelve that topic of conversation for now. He looked sorta like his name might be Jimmy, so she settled on that as a temporary name for the guy.
"Claire... c'mere," said Jimmy, and without quite realizing it, she shuffled towards his direction. "Hey! Hey you, by the door! We're friendly... Well I mean, I'm friendly. I've got scotch and a sax. Thas' about it."
A pit in her stomach. There was a very real risk that Jimmy was about to get them both killed. It's almost as if he didn't realize that this island was populated exclusively by snipers and rapists. But... she had very few options except to swallow hard and put on her sweetest tone of voice.
"Yeah, I'm plenty friendly too!" She forced a little laugh. "And uh, if you're here peacefully, you can have my share of scotch!"
Jimmy hadn't exactly given her a share of scotch. But he'd gotten her name wrong, dammit, so she was rightfully entitled to some compensation.
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Fullcircle†
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 5:00 am
"Hey! Hey you, by the door! We're friendly... Well I mean, I'm friendly. I've got scotch and a sax. Thas' about it."
David breathed a sigh of relief as the slightly slurred words graced his ears. He didn't recognize the voice, but at least the guy sounded pretty sincere. Not that was any guarantee of anything. Still, despite his slight relaxation, David stayed where he was, finger still lightly touching the revolver's trigger. Okay. This guy sounds alright. Guess I should just walk in there, make it obvious I'm not going to shoot him or something. He took a step towards the door, then stopped. Wait, whoa whoa whoa. Just because someone sounds like they mean they're friendly, you're gonna just waltz right in there all defenseless? He could have a gun pointed at the door! Don't be an idiot and get yourself shot or something. Frowning, David took another step towards the door and reached out his left hand toward it.
"Yeah, I'm plenty friendly too!" A girl called. "And uh, if you're here peacefully, you can have my share of scotch!"
That changed things a little. First off, there were now two people in there, and one of them was a chick. What if they were planning on stabbing him? What if she was in danger? What if... Ah, fuck it. I can't go on distrusting everyone.
In one slow, smooth motion he pulled the door open and stepped inside, revolver pointed towards the ceiling and his finger kept conspicuously close to the trigger. "Hi. I'm David." As he introduced himself, he looked around the room and saw no-one but the two people who had announced themselves. There was indeed a saxophone, and also scotch. Alright, come on. You just busted in here with a gun. Say something else. "I, uh... I don't drink. You can keep the scotch."
Stupid.
David breathed a sigh of relief as the slightly slurred words graced his ears. He didn't recognize the voice, but at least the guy sounded pretty sincere. Not that was any guarantee of anything. Still, despite his slight relaxation, David stayed where he was, finger still lightly touching the revolver's trigger. Okay. This guy sounds alright. Guess I should just walk in there, make it obvious I'm not going to shoot him or something. He took a step towards the door, then stopped. Wait, whoa whoa whoa. Just because someone sounds like they mean they're friendly, you're gonna just waltz right in there all defenseless? He could have a gun pointed at the door! Don't be an idiot and get yourself shot or something. Frowning, David took another step towards the door and reached out his left hand toward it.
"Yeah, I'm plenty friendly too!" A girl called. "And uh, if you're here peacefully, you can have my share of scotch!"
That changed things a little. First off, there were now two people in there, and one of them was a chick. What if they were planning on stabbing him? What if she was in danger? What if... Ah, fuck it. I can't go on distrusting everyone.
In one slow, smooth motion he pulled the door open and stepped inside, revolver pointed towards the ceiling and his finger kept conspicuously close to the trigger. "Hi. I'm David." As he introduced himself, he looked around the room and saw no-one but the two people who had announced themselves. There was indeed a saxophone, and also scotch. Alright, come on. You just busted in here with a gun. Say something else. "I, uh... I don't drink. You can keep the scotch."
Stupid.
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((B086 Start))
David Anderson also awoke with a nasty headache not too far from Kevin and the others. Actually, Kevin could probably be credited for waking him up...at first, David thought it was some smooth listening station waking him up at home from the nasty nightmare that was that presentation.
Of course, the fact that he was laying on the ground outside didn't do much to help that illusion. Neither did the light all around or the smell or...pretty much anything. Nothing really jarred him out of the reverie that the music offered for a moment, but soon the music stopped and he was able to overhear voices. Staggering to his feet half-awake, David glanced around him...
Where the hell am I?
Looking around, David noticed the shack where the music was coming from, obscured from where he had been laying by some equipment, when the music stopped and some talking began. Gathering the things up off the ground, it took him a moment to realize just what was going on.
Oh, shit...
Staggering towards the voices, David did his best not to make noise as he approached...but noticing that the most useful thing he had was a pool cue (and that something wasn't even particularly useful, to be fair...what was he going to do, snooker people to death?), he sighed...and walked to the door before knocking.
"Hey, uh...guys?" David asked this, not even sure who was in there. He was still in just enough of a fog not to be able to place the voices as he looked in the door, hands raised to attempt to show that he wasn't a thret. "Who all's there?"
David Anderson also awoke with a nasty headache not too far from Kevin and the others. Actually, Kevin could probably be credited for waking him up...at first, David thought it was some smooth listening station waking him up at home from the nasty nightmare that was that presentation.
Of course, the fact that he was laying on the ground outside didn't do much to help that illusion. Neither did the light all around or the smell or...pretty much anything. Nothing really jarred him out of the reverie that the music offered for a moment, but soon the music stopped and he was able to overhear voices. Staggering to his feet half-awake, David glanced around him...
Where the hell am I?
Looking around, David noticed the shack where the music was coming from, obscured from where he had been laying by some equipment, when the music stopped and some talking began. Gathering the things up off the ground, it took him a moment to realize just what was going on.
Oh, shit...
Staggering towards the voices, David did his best not to make noise as he approached...but noticing that the most useful thing he had was a pool cue (and that something wasn't even particularly useful, to be fair...what was he going to do, snooker people to death?), he sighed...and walked to the door before knocking.
"Hey, uh...guys?" David asked this, not even sure who was in there. He was still in just enough of a fog not to be able to place the voices as he looked in the door, hands raised to attempt to show that he wasn't a thret. "Who all's there?"
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
Kevin glanced towards the door, then towards the girl, then at the door again. A boy had appeared wielding a revolver and turning down his offer of scotch. Normally Kevin would be mildly put off by someone turning down a drink but in this case he could more or less understand why. Inebriation wasn't on the highest of priorities for most on the island. It wasn't exactly high on his list either, but a bit of a buzz (or in his case, what one could call tipsy) was just enough to cause him a little less grief on his current situation. On that note, he re-corked the bottle as a response to the boy at the door, and put it back in his daypack; doing so, he also took the mouthpiece off his sax and put the instrument back in it's case. As he put his belongings together, he seemed to forget to say anything to the boy at the door (who he now knew as David) and the girl whose name continued to elude him. Kevin's lazy, scatterbrained nature caused him to lose track of a lot of things.
After he seemed settled, with everything put away, he looked back up at the pair standing in the shack with him.
"Hey David. I'm Kevin, dunno if you've seen me around school or not. Probably not. This is..."
Oh dear. He'd once again forgotten who exactly the girl standing beside him was. Then again, she'd never really acknowledged Kevin saying one name or the other, so he really wasn't too upset about possibly offending her. Still, he was polite.
"I'm sorry, I don't really think I know your name completely. I called you Claire before, and I know that isn't right... It's something with a 'C'."
As suddenly as the others had entered, another voice called out to the group inside of the shack. Kevin listened for the source of the noise...
After he seemed settled, with everything put away, he looked back up at the pair standing in the shack with him.
"Hey David. I'm Kevin, dunno if you've seen me around school or not. Probably not. This is..."
Oh dear. He'd once again forgotten who exactly the girl standing beside him was. Then again, she'd never really acknowledged Kevin saying one name or the other, so he really wasn't too upset about possibly offending her. Still, he was polite.
"I'm sorry, I don't really think I know your name completely. I called you Claire before, and I know that isn't right... It's something with a 'C'."
As suddenly as the others had entered, another voice called out to the group inside of the shack. Kevin listened for the source of the noise...
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Kevin. Right. Jimmy's name was Kevin. That was going to be Charlie's second guess. And he'd just said he was sorry for getting her name wrong, so... well, maybe she could try not hating him forever. But just this once. Charlie managed a tiny smile.
"I'm Charlie. Charlie DuClare. So if you slip up again, I can just pretend it's an affectionate nickname."
Charlie was not in the habit of receiving affectionate nicknames from reedy little band geeks. She tended to associate that concept, if she thought about it at all, with words like stalker. But Jimmy wasn't stalking her right now- point of fact, she was the one who followed the sound of his music and climbed up his mountain and walked into his shack. Walked into his shack so she could... well, in all honesty she hadn't thought it out that far. So she could find someone to team up with, perhaps, or someone to protect her. So she could be safe and sound, at least for a moment or two.
So I could live.
Charlie sat in a corner of the shack, made a small sound, and hugged her knees. And decided to say something quite stupid. "Look, guys, I... I know that if this was school, I wouldn't be giving you the time of day-" which was a lie, Dave was actually kinda cute, but it'd be even meaner to poor Jimmy to single him out as the ugly one- "and odds are pretty good that I've made fun of one of you before. And then, uh, completely forgotten you exist. So I-" she bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I just... I wanna live. At least a little bit more. So whatever you guys decide on, if you wouldn't mind me tagging along..."
Seemed like as good a place as any to trail off and hug her knees a little tighter. In all likelihood, she probably hadn't needed to say any of that. These guys seemed dopey enough, and they'd probably let her join them anyway, but Charlie didn't really like the possibility of one of them nursing a grudge against her during their travels. Still, it felt weird to be saying sorry to these strangers for something she wasn't sure she'd even done.
But it also felt right. So Charlie DuClare held onto that feeling, at least for now.
Another noise at the door. Perhaps a sniper, or a rapist, but perhaps just another friendly dopey sort. "Hey there." A bit of weariness in Charlie's voice. "If you heard any of that, it applies to you too."
"I'm Charlie. Charlie DuClare. So if you slip up again, I can just pretend it's an affectionate nickname."
Charlie was not in the habit of receiving affectionate nicknames from reedy little band geeks. She tended to associate that concept, if she thought about it at all, with words like stalker. But Jimmy wasn't stalking her right now- point of fact, she was the one who followed the sound of his music and climbed up his mountain and walked into his shack. Walked into his shack so she could... well, in all honesty she hadn't thought it out that far. So she could find someone to team up with, perhaps, or someone to protect her. So she could be safe and sound, at least for a moment or two.
So I could live.
Charlie sat in a corner of the shack, made a small sound, and hugged her knees. And decided to say something quite stupid. "Look, guys, I... I know that if this was school, I wouldn't be giving you the time of day-" which was a lie, Dave was actually kinda cute, but it'd be even meaner to poor Jimmy to single him out as the ugly one- "and odds are pretty good that I've made fun of one of you before. And then, uh, completely forgotten you exist. So I-" she bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I just... I wanna live. At least a little bit more. So whatever you guys decide on, if you wouldn't mind me tagging along..."
Seemed like as good a place as any to trail off and hug her knees a little tighter. In all likelihood, she probably hadn't needed to say any of that. These guys seemed dopey enough, and they'd probably let her join them anyway, but Charlie didn't really like the possibility of one of them nursing a grudge against her during their travels. Still, it felt weird to be saying sorry to these strangers for something she wasn't sure she'd even done.
But it also felt right. So Charlie DuClare held onto that feeling, at least for now.
Another noise at the door. Perhaps a sniper, or a rapist, but perhaps just another friendly dopey sort. "Hey there." A bit of weariness in Charlie's voice. "If you heard any of that, it applies to you too."
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banthesun†
- Posts: 73
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:49 am
Near the entrance to the mine a terrified girl burst from the bushes.
((G091 begin))
Vanessa's skirt was fraying where twigs and snags had caught it, unravelling the thread. A patch of dirt over her right knee showed where she'd slipped and fallen. She was tired, and her legs ached where the metal balls dangling from her weapon had pounded against them as she ran.
Yet Vanessa struggled onwards for fear of what lay behind. On this island they'd all catch up with her, all those bitches who'd been forced hold back before. Now they were free of the constraints of society they'd be coming for her. So she ran, through hills and forest, anywhere to escape the fate she was sure was following her.
As she burst out of the forest into the clearing around the mine she stopped for a moment, surveying the surroundings. She needed shelter, and somewhere to rest, the constant flight was already taking its toll, and Vanessa was panting heavily. The shack looked promising; it may have been a little bit conspicuous, but it was a lot more welcoming than the dark tunnels reaching into the mountain. She could rest there.
Vanessa had already started running towards the shack before she'd seen the person approaching its door. Thankfully, it wasn't one of those bitches, just some stupid twat. No matter how utterly stupid he could be, Vanessa was glad to see him. She'd been running blind, and could have easily ended up face to face with the very people she was running from. Perhaps this boy would be gentlemanly enough to help protect her. Vanessa knew she shouldn't get her hopes up. She tried to yell a greeting, but her lungs were too tired to help. Letting out a small warbling yell, Vanessa let her shoulders slump.
She'd put herself completely at his mercy. Now she was deathly afraid.
((G091 begin))
Vanessa's skirt was fraying where twigs and snags had caught it, unravelling the thread. A patch of dirt over her right knee showed where she'd slipped and fallen. She was tired, and her legs ached where the metal balls dangling from her weapon had pounded against them as she ran.
Yet Vanessa struggled onwards for fear of what lay behind. On this island they'd all catch up with her, all those bitches who'd been forced hold back before. Now they were free of the constraints of society they'd be coming for her. So she ran, through hills and forest, anywhere to escape the fate she was sure was following her.
As she burst out of the forest into the clearing around the mine she stopped for a moment, surveying the surroundings. She needed shelter, and somewhere to rest, the constant flight was already taking its toll, and Vanessa was panting heavily. The shack looked promising; it may have been a little bit conspicuous, but it was a lot more welcoming than the dark tunnels reaching into the mountain. She could rest there.
Vanessa had already started running towards the shack before she'd seen the person approaching its door. Thankfully, it wasn't one of those bitches, just some stupid twat. No matter how utterly stupid he could be, Vanessa was glad to see him. She'd been running blind, and could have easily ended up face to face with the very people she was running from. Perhaps this boy would be gentlemanly enough to help protect her. Vanessa knew she shouldn't get her hopes up. She tried to yell a greeting, but her lungs were too tired to help. Letting out a small warbling yell, Vanessa let her shoulders slump.
She'd put herself completely at his mercy. Now she was deathly afraid.
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Fullcircle†
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 5:00 am
As the other introduced themselves, David dropped his guard a little and grinned. See? They seem like nice enough people. Not that you really knew anyone you thought would end up trying to kill you... Instead of this morbid line of though, he offered a different response. "Well, I honestly can't say I remember running into either one of you either. Although it looks like we'll all be seeing more of each other now. Some of us, anyway. I know I'm not particularly interested in killing anyone. Have either of you-" He cut himself off mid-sentence and spun around, leveling his pistol at the door as he heard a voice outside of the door. A small needle of pain stabbed into his back as he did so, a not-so-gentle reminder of his biggest problem in this place. Hope I don't need to spin around too much more...
"I'm David. Matson."
As the door opened a little more and the boy poked his head inside, David felt a faint tremble of recognition. He only knew his name because it was David, but his last name was too far out of his mind's reach. "Who are you?"
"I'm David. Matson."
As the door opened a little more and the boy poked his head inside, David felt a faint tremble of recognition. He only knew his name because it was David, but his last name was too far out of his mind's reach. "Who are you?"
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"David Anderson." He forces a bit of a smile. "Nice to...see? Meet? You guys." David's mind is flipping through names and faces as fast as he can to place who he's been in one class or another with. He's not coming up with much, but truth be told his heart was just beating about a mile a minute as he introduced himself. He seems to have gotten lucky...a group that's not out to kill, unlike some groups he'd seen on earlier versions.
Taking a deep breath and entering the room (and obviously putting a decent bit of faith in the other people in the room), David glances around before speaking. "Look, uh, seeing as we're all together...you guys want to try sticking together?"
Cold logic would have him making this suggestion on the off chance that if they do run into trouble, there's plenty of other targets to get hit (always a plus) and there's also someone with a gun (good to have with you instead of against you). But it's not logic running through David's mind, it's emotion that's driving this decision: He sure as hell doesn't want to be alone in this mess. To quote the TV movie of The Stand, they are dead and this is Hell...and if he has to go through Hell, he'd just assume not go through it alone. "It seems better than trying to do this on our own."
And maybe we'll at least get some shots at the 'real' bad guys, he thinks. That happened in at least one of the seasons, after all...though if you'd ever asked him if he was banking on the rest of his life depending on plot twists, you'd have gotten a funny look from him.
Taking a deep breath and entering the room (and obviously putting a decent bit of faith in the other people in the room), David glances around before speaking. "Look, uh, seeing as we're all together...you guys want to try sticking together?"
Cold logic would have him making this suggestion on the off chance that if they do run into trouble, there's plenty of other targets to get hit (always a plus) and there's also someone with a gun (good to have with you instead of against you). But it's not logic running through David's mind, it's emotion that's driving this decision: He sure as hell doesn't want to be alone in this mess. To quote the TV movie of The Stand, they are dead and this is Hell...and if he has to go through Hell, he'd just assume not go through it alone. "It seems better than trying to do this on our own."
And maybe we'll at least get some shots at the 'real' bad guys, he thinks. That happened in at least one of the seasons, after all...though if you'd ever asked him if he was banking on the rest of his life depending on plot twists, you'd have gotten a funny look from him.
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
((Sorry about the short post. I'm having a bit of writer's block with Kevin.))
So... Kevin, The Davids, Charlie, and whatever was warbling outside. That sounded like a good group, for the most part. Unless the warbling came from some kind of bird, in which case they might be better off eating it instead of befriending it and asking for it's protection. There wasn't much food to go around. Kevin got off the ground to stretch. After giving quite a yawn, Kevin sauntered towards the Davids, still standing at the door. At the time he wasn't really thinking all too much of his own safety. Then again, when was he ever really much into self preservation? Ever? If he died, the world would move on. His family would move on. His friends...
Fuck, he didn't have any friends.
Or did he?
A few steps closer and he stood between the Davids, a gun pointed at him now. The noticeably short Kevin looked from Anderson, to Matson, to Anderson again. At first he didn't say anything, but then a smirk spread across his face. It wasn't a fantastic idea - only one person was getting out of the game anyways. The idea was that as a group they'd collectively all have a chance at being the last one left. Of course, what happened when it was down to four people was never really thought of in these groups anyways.
"You know Anderson... I think that's a great idea."
Kevin turned and looked at Charlie.
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
Once again, he turned towards the door.
"You, out there! Do you think that's a good idea?"
Then again, looking at David Matson.
"Oh yeah... you should probably check and see who is yelling out there. What with having the uhh..."
Kevin pointed at the gun.
"...Gun, and all..."
So... Kevin, The Davids, Charlie, and whatever was warbling outside. That sounded like a good group, for the most part. Unless the warbling came from some kind of bird, in which case they might be better off eating it instead of befriending it and asking for it's protection. There wasn't much food to go around. Kevin got off the ground to stretch. After giving quite a yawn, Kevin sauntered towards the Davids, still standing at the door. At the time he wasn't really thinking all too much of his own safety. Then again, when was he ever really much into self preservation? Ever? If he died, the world would move on. His family would move on. His friends...
Fuck, he didn't have any friends.
Or did he?
A few steps closer and he stood between the Davids, a gun pointed at him now. The noticeably short Kevin looked from Anderson, to Matson, to Anderson again. At first he didn't say anything, but then a smirk spread across his face. It wasn't a fantastic idea - only one person was getting out of the game anyways. The idea was that as a group they'd collectively all have a chance at being the last one left. Of course, what happened when it was down to four people was never really thought of in these groups anyways.
"You know Anderson... I think that's a great idea."
Kevin turned and looked at Charlie.
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
Once again, he turned towards the door.
"You, out there! Do you think that's a good idea?"
Then again, looking at David Matson.
"Oh yeah... you should probably check and see who is yelling out there. What with having the uhh..."
Kevin pointed at the gun.
"...Gun, and all..."
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She drummed her fingers and kept her eyes fixed on an empty corner of the shack. Four quick taps from her left hand to her right elbow. They hadn't kicked her out. They weren't going to make her beg. Four quick taps. They weren't mad at her. They didn't even know her. Four quick taps. They didn't... huh. There'd always been a worry in the back of head, for a while now, that everyone in Bayview hated her guts. That everyone had been irrevocably hurt by some stupid thing she said, and that they were all getting together in a basement every Tuesday night and saying we are all going to get revenge on Charlie, we are going to kill her with a shovel and make it look like an accident.
It was an easy worry to stave off, sometimes. When she was with friends, or a boyfriend. It was a nerdy little freak of a thing, the worry, so a group of pretty cheerleaders probably intimidated the hell out of it. And good lord, it'd never even think of showing its head while she was having sex, since it was stuck in the fourth grade and firmly considered that act icky. So she knew how to fight the worry off. Find her friends. Or find a boy. Sleep with a boy. Wake up feeling good and happy. So she knew how to fight the worry off. Easily. But sometimes the friends weren't there right npw, or the boy wasn't there right now, or she'd just broken up with the boy and god, how much did that feeling suck? And it was then that the worry would grow big and menacing and crash its way up to the forefront of her mind, twelve feet tall and a mass of claws and fangs and gleaming red eyes and whispering remember Charlie, we will make it look like an accident!
But it was getting a lot smaller now. Even though she was deliberately thinking about it- and Christ, she'd never made that mistake before.
Did that mean these boys were her friends? Jimmy and David and David (and David and David and David, who were presumably waiting outside the shack for their turn to say hello)? She... no. Well, not yet. She hardly knew them. And Jimmy wasn't even Jimmy's actual name, so that showed just how fond of him she actually was. But... it would happen. They'd get to be friends, all of them. She wanted it to happen, wanted it really badly. So... it was going to happen, right? Right. Of course it would. Of course it would since Charlie DuClare was friendly and outgoing and sociable and above all that she was pretty. So she would make friends with these boys and she'd grow to genuinely like them- God, she wanted to genuinely like them- and she'd never leave their side and she'd never leave their side and she'd never leave their side and she'd never-
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
Wait, what? Right! Jimmy was asking her opinion on... something. Well, yes. Yes, something was definitely a good idea, so Charlie quickly nodded a few times and managed to force out something she hoped sounded vaguely like "Yup!" Jimmy was still talking, so... maybe a good idea to listen to that.
"What with having the uhh... gun, and all..."
He... right. The guy did have a gun. Which was... appreciated. Definitely appreciated. If he was on her side, having a weapon was only a good thing. No, no, a great thing. A gun meant that she could be safe, that all of them could be safe. Not forever. For a while. But for a while was good, dammit. And it was definitely longer than she'd last on her own, given she only had a...
Truth be told, Charlie hadn't actually peeked inside her duffel bag yet. Maybe... maybe later? They already had a gun, as a group, so it wasn't like she needed to be pulling her weight when it came to protection. Another gun would be nice, another gun would be safer. Another gun would be great because when Charlie pulled out of her duffel bag, she'd be given a round of applause and the boys would lift her onto her shoulders and cheer because great work, Charlie DuClare, we are safe and we owe it all to you!
But... maybe later. In all honesty she'd really prefer not having a gun and not needing one to... well, whatever this situation was. And it'd be some sort of bizarre threshold, opening her pack and finding a shiny gun inside and pointing it around at the rapists and the snipers. It'd mean she was in this game irrevocably, that she was going to become- if only a little- someone else.
...that could wait, couldn't it? Yes. It could wait. For a rainy day. For when Jimmy and David and David needed some cheering up. When they are frowning, Charlie DuClare. When they have just heard that one of their friends died. Reach into your duffel bag, Charlie DuClare, and pull out a nice big gun so the boys can see. And then they all smile a little.
And we owe it all to you!
It was an easy worry to stave off, sometimes. When she was with friends, or a boyfriend. It was a nerdy little freak of a thing, the worry, so a group of pretty cheerleaders probably intimidated the hell out of it. And good lord, it'd never even think of showing its head while she was having sex, since it was stuck in the fourth grade and firmly considered that act icky. So she knew how to fight the worry off. Find her friends. Or find a boy. Sleep with a boy. Wake up feeling good and happy. So she knew how to fight the worry off. Easily. But sometimes the friends weren't there right npw, or the boy wasn't there right now, or she'd just broken up with the boy and god, how much did that feeling suck? And it was then that the worry would grow big and menacing and crash its way up to the forefront of her mind, twelve feet tall and a mass of claws and fangs and gleaming red eyes and whispering remember Charlie, we will make it look like an accident!
But it was getting a lot smaller now. Even though she was deliberately thinking about it- and Christ, she'd never made that mistake before.
Did that mean these boys were her friends? Jimmy and David and David (and David and David and David, who were presumably waiting outside the shack for their turn to say hello)? She... no. Well, not yet. She hardly knew them. And Jimmy wasn't even Jimmy's actual name, so that showed just how fond of him she actually was. But... it would happen. They'd get to be friends, all of them. She wanted it to happen, wanted it really badly. So... it was going to happen, right? Right. Of course it would. Of course it would since Charlie DuClare was friendly and outgoing and sociable and above all that she was pretty. So she would make friends with these boys and she'd grow to genuinely like them- God, she wanted to genuinely like them- and she'd never leave their side and she'd never leave their side and she'd never leave their side and she'd never-
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
Wait, what? Right! Jimmy was asking her opinion on... something. Well, yes. Yes, something was definitely a good idea, so Charlie quickly nodded a few times and managed to force out something she hoped sounded vaguely like "Yup!" Jimmy was still talking, so... maybe a good idea to listen to that.
"What with having the uhh... gun, and all..."
He... right. The guy did have a gun. Which was... appreciated. Definitely appreciated. If he was on her side, having a weapon was only a good thing. No, no, a great thing. A gun meant that she could be safe, that all of them could be safe. Not forever. For a while. But for a while was good, dammit. And it was definitely longer than she'd last on her own, given she only had a...
Truth be told, Charlie hadn't actually peeked inside her duffel bag yet. Maybe... maybe later? They already had a gun, as a group, so it wasn't like she needed to be pulling her weight when it came to protection. Another gun would be nice, another gun would be safer. Another gun would be great because when Charlie pulled out of her duffel bag, she'd be given a round of applause and the boys would lift her onto her shoulders and cheer because great work, Charlie DuClare, we are safe and we owe it all to you!
But... maybe later. In all honesty she'd really prefer not having a gun and not needing one to... well, whatever this situation was. And it'd be some sort of bizarre threshold, opening her pack and finding a shiny gun inside and pointing it around at the rapists and the snipers. It'd mean she was in this game irrevocably, that she was going to become- if only a little- someone else.
...that could wait, couldn't it? Yes. It could wait. For a rainy day. For when Jimmy and David and David needed some cheering up. When they are frowning, Charlie DuClare. When they have just heard that one of their friends died. Reach into your duffel bag, Charlie DuClare, and pull out a nice big gun so the boys can see. And then they all smile a little.
And we owe it all to you!
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banthesun†
- Posts: 73
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:49 am
No! He couldn't be leaving her here! That wasn't fair! She'd put all her trust in him not being a killer, and now he was just going to ignore her?
"No!"
Choking back tears, Vanessa ran after him as he ducked into the building. She didn't want to chase him; she wanted to fall down and rest and have someone stand over her, protecting her from all those bitches. She wanted those horrible metal balls to stop banging against her legs and she wanted to be a thousand miles away from this damn island and all her classmates. She didn't want to die!
How could that boy be so heartless? Was he one of those brain-dead, farting, burping cronies to those fucking bitches, walking round the island looking for people to hurt or rape? Of course it was a mistake to call out to him! How had she been so stupid as to think he'd help her?
As Vanessa reached the edge of the shack she slowed to a stop as fear took over again. She should have taken her chance and ran. But she'd followed him. She'd been stupid enough to rely on someone she didn't even know. And now she was stuck here, still at this bastard's mercy.
"No!"
Choking back tears, Vanessa ran after him as he ducked into the building. She didn't want to chase him; she wanted to fall down and rest and have someone stand over her, protecting her from all those bitches. She wanted those horrible metal balls to stop banging against her legs and she wanted to be a thousand miles away from this damn island and all her classmates. She didn't want to die!
How could that boy be so heartless? Was he one of those brain-dead, farting, burping cronies to those fucking bitches, walking round the island looking for people to hurt or rape? Of course it was a mistake to call out to him! How had she been so stupid as to think he'd help her?
As Vanessa reached the edge of the shack she slowed to a stop as fear took over again. She should have taken her chance and ran. But she'd followed him. She'd been stupid enough to rely on someone she didn't even know. And now she was stuck here, still at this bastard's mercy.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler banthesun. 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.