*Open Thread*
And as the morning turned to afternoon, an enormous Palestinian with a shotgun arrived on the road.
(B022 - Imraan Al-Hariq Begins)
He trudged along, head down. He moved slowly. What need was there to hurry? There were only - what had the head terrorist said? - only about 250 of his fellow students on this island with him. And of them, how many could he say he really knew? What, only about 200 or so? And of those 200, how many could he call friends? How many of them would think they could rely on him, that he could help them? That he could do something - ANYTHING - to keep them from their fate?
Imraan didn't know how many. But he figured that there were a lot.
There was the team. He rattled off the names in his head like a gametime intro. Imraan Al-Hariq, center. Rob Jenkins, power forward. JJ Sturn, small forward. Tony Russo, shooting guard. Mike Jeffries, point guard. Logan Reynolds, 6th man (and they wouldn't have made the finals without him). They were all friends. They were all good guys, even JJ. Especially JJ, after he'd made his turnaround.
But the team, they were strong guys. None of them were idiots either, heck, Tony was straight A's all the way. That didn't mean they'd be OK, though. They'd probably still need him at some point. And how about GODSpeed? That was a laugh. Sure, Imraan thought that people like Bobby and Clio might be able to keep it together, but what about girls like Tiffany? Or Sapphire? Or Rachel, for that matter? They'd need him. They'd think he could protect them.
And it went way beyond just basketball and GODSpeed. There was the soccer team, the cheerleader girls, classmates and other people he was just friendly with, friends of friends, girlfriends of friends, and people who would just think that hey, I know that guy, he's the huge basketball star and he's a nice guy, he can help me, what do we do, Imraan?
There was Kaitlin. His prom date, and if there was a person less suited for this island than her, he couldn't think of one. He'd have to find her. Their prom date had been kind of awkward and they weren't dating or anything, it was seen by most people as a nice gesture on his part, but still. She'd need him.
There was Jessie.
There was Jessie. But she was strong. Imraan didn't know if she needed him.
No, he needed her.
But not for now. It was still so early. And Imraan didn't know if he could help anyone just yet. Not while he was still so angry.
When he looked up, he saw a huge and singular truck in the distance, sitting there like an ancient relic. He started towards it.
----------
His anger had been building, piece by piece, ever since he'd woken up. He'd been on the bank of a river, with the remains of a forest behind him, and the realization and memories had hit him like a bullet. And after finding out where he was, and seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, he'd just sat there, coming to terms with the knowledge that he was, his whole CLASS were the victims in the one-in-a-million SOTF Terrorist Act Sweepstakes. Imraan was from Nablus. He'd literally been BORN in a neighborhood full of terrorists, and yet after his mother had risked everything to bring him to what was supposed to be the safest place in the world, this had happened. His mother had done everything for him, and now it was all going to be taken away by a bunch of terrorists after all, and on worldwide television, to boot.
She'd left her husband, his father, for him. She'd become a Christian, because she felt it would be a greater way to bring him up in the world. She'd worked harder than anyone he'd ever known, and it would be gone, like that.
It hadn't taken long for him to locate his bags, or pinpoint his general position on the map. The shotgun he'd been given was gray and sleek, modern and obviously deadly, and he hadn't read much into the instruction manual - Congratulations on your purchase of the Remington 870 Express, the most popular shotgun in the world today! - before he'd tossed it back into his bag in disgust and dry-retched over the riverbank. He was B022, assigned weapon shotgun. Maybe the number was supposed to be a joke or something. At Bayview he'd always worn #21, after Tim Duncan of the San Antonio Spurs. He wasn't sure yet if he'd be able to keep that number at Dayton or not, the upperclassmen obviously got first dibs on numbers.
The University of Dayton Flyers. That's where he was supposed to be this fall. He'd won the scholarship, heck he'd EARNED the scholarship there. He'd worked on the court to make it. He'd worked in the classroom to keep his grades up. He'd even worked in a lousy Italian restaurant in the mall, to pay for what the scholarship wouldn't cover. He'd worked harder than anyone he'd ever known, except for his mother. And what for? So it could all be gone, because some terrorists had decided to pick his school. Just. Like. That.
-----------
When Imraan reached the truck he just stood there for a moment, staring at it. He shucked the bags he'd been carrying onto the ground by his feet. Imraan still hadn't loaded the shotgun since he'd left the riverbank, but he'd been carrying it in his hands, trying to at least get some sort of feel for the weapon. He stared into the passenger side window, knowing that the truck would be dead and it would be useless to even try to start it.
For the past four years at Bayview, Imraan had tried to do everything right. He'd done the work. He'd been friendly with nearly everyone. He'd been one of the most successful, most well-known, most liked students his senior class had produced. He'd trusted that his work would lead him far in life. Instead, it had led him here. And everyone would be counting on him to still do everything right. To still be a rock. While everyone else would fall apart, they would trust Imraan to keep it together. The other kids would. Everyone watching would. His mother would. God would.
He saw his reflection in the mirror, saw him raising his arms.
And for what reason?
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Screaming, Imraan flipped the shotgun around his his hands and swung it in an overhead arc, shattering the passengers side window into thousands of glass fragments. It wasn't enough. No, not even close. He saw the rear view mirror, and smashed the shotgun against it twice before it finally dislodged and fell to the ground.
"EVERYTHING!! ALL OF - ALL OF IT!!!"
For what reason? For. WHAT. REASON? It was all going to be gone anyway! They were all going to die!
He dropped the shotgun on the ground, kicking the rear view mirror against the huge tire. The glass cracked. Then picking up the mirror in one big hand, he let out another yell; and twirling like a discus thrower, he threw it as far as he could into what remained of the trees nearby.
"ALL! OF! IT!! AAAAAAAAAHHH!"
Imraan's back slammed into the grille of the truck, and he turned around and slammed his fists into the hood. Then, finally spent, he felt his knees starting to buckle, and he stumbled back around to the passenger side where his bags were. He slid down to the ground, his back against the front tire. He bent his head forward, panting with exertion, trying to clear his mind. Then, after a minute or so, he raised it, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
That had felt OK. That had felt pretty good, actually. Best he get that out of the way now. Because he needed to keep it together. Because he needed to find as many people as he could.
Because he knew that other people would need him.
And because he knew that he would need to be what they would expect him to be.
Wants and Needs
Wants and Needs
Ugh never say never
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
MICHAEL MORETTI, B073: START
Mike came to slowly, and with a slight headache. Still sprawled on the ground, he lazily surveyed his surroundings and wondered why he was next to the back tire of a- Fuck.
He quickly sat up and began a more direct assessment of his situation. It's the game. I'm in the game. Mike had seen how this shit goes down. Like many things his mother forbade, he had to watch Survival of the Fittest at least once. It was more gruesome than he could have imagined- and yet slightly intriguing. He'd followed it for a few more episodes before growing bored and moving on to something else. But of course, this was before the game was real.
The game was real. Mike started rummaging through his bags. Was he going to die here? The rules say only one can win, but surely it didn't actually happen that way? The spares probably just stay in a hotel or something until the end of the show, like on Survivor. Soon enough it would all be over and he'd be back at home playing music... at least, that was what he thought until he had all the contents of his bags out in front of him. His laptop had been confiscated and replaced with... a mace? One of those spiky maces. He'd only seen it in movies until now. He had a better chance of defending himself with his guitar- at least he knew how to use that.
Well, that was that. He was fucked. Thank God Leah's grades were too shitty to come on this trip, he thought. How ironic that for once, her straight D's left her with more of a futu-
Approaching footsteps interrupted Michael's thoughts. Someone was nearing the truck from the other side- but who? He tried to peek from under the truck but all he could see were feet. Angry feet. They stopped near the cabin of the truck.
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Mike couldn't help but jump when the young man started screaming and breaking the windows and mirrors of the truck. Fuck fuck fuck don't let him see me. Eventually the noise stopped, and he saw the man crumple against the other side of the cabin.
Christ, what was that? Then it hit him. What if it was one of the terrorists? He might have some information. Sure, Mike didn't know how to use the mace-thing, but he could at least look like he did. He picked up his weapon, swallowed his dread, and walked around to the other side as confidently as possible.
"Look man, I don't want to have to- oh." Michael's voice faltered when he saw who had destroyed the passenger half of the truck. It wasn't a terrorist at all, but Bayview's basketball star, Imraan Al-Hariq. Mike immediately regretted pulling out a weapon on the large young man. Awkwardly clenching his weapon, Mike stood and prayed the normally good-natured jock would take mercy on him.
Mike came to slowly, and with a slight headache. Still sprawled on the ground, he lazily surveyed his surroundings and wondered why he was next to the back tire of a- Fuck.
He quickly sat up and began a more direct assessment of his situation. It's the game. I'm in the game. Mike had seen how this shit goes down. Like many things his mother forbade, he had to watch Survival of the Fittest at least once. It was more gruesome than he could have imagined- and yet slightly intriguing. He'd followed it for a few more episodes before growing bored and moving on to something else. But of course, this was before the game was real.
The game was real. Mike started rummaging through his bags. Was he going to die here? The rules say only one can win, but surely it didn't actually happen that way? The spares probably just stay in a hotel or something until the end of the show, like on Survivor. Soon enough it would all be over and he'd be back at home playing music... at least, that was what he thought until he had all the contents of his bags out in front of him. His laptop had been confiscated and replaced with... a mace? One of those spiky maces. He'd only seen it in movies until now. He had a better chance of defending himself with his guitar- at least he knew how to use that.
Well, that was that. He was fucked. Thank God Leah's grades were too shitty to come on this trip, he thought. How ironic that for once, her straight D's left her with more of a futu-
Approaching footsteps interrupted Michael's thoughts. Someone was nearing the truck from the other side- but who? He tried to peek from under the truck but all he could see were feet. Angry feet. They stopped near the cabin of the truck.
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Mike couldn't help but jump when the young man started screaming and breaking the windows and mirrors of the truck. Fuck fuck fuck don't let him see me. Eventually the noise stopped, and he saw the man crumple against the other side of the cabin.
Christ, what was that? Then it hit him. What if it was one of the terrorists? He might have some information. Sure, Mike didn't know how to use the mace-thing, but he could at least look like he did. He picked up his weapon, swallowed his dread, and walked around to the other side as confidently as possible.
"Look man, I don't want to have to- oh." Michael's voice faltered when he saw who had destroyed the passenger half of the truck. It wasn't a terrorist at all, but Bayview's basketball star, Imraan Al-Hariq. Mike immediately regretted pulling out a weapon on the large young man. Awkwardly clenching his weapon, Mike stood and prayed the normally good-natured jock would take mercy on him.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ella. 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.
-
Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
G012: Violet Druce - Start
Here comes the flood.
----
Everything was wrong; she could feel it before she could see it. Awakening in the middle of a thicket, she knew exactly what it was. The smell of rain blew around her, and her cheek felt wet against the ground. As she pulled back her head, she felt something tickle her skin. Grass. There was definitely grass beneath her. Damp, dying grass that she'd crushed when she fell out of the helicopter - her bags hanging precariously from a branch high above her head. The terrorists had managed to chuck her out into the sparse patch of trees beside the logging road, thankfully out of view of all those who'd met up before. If they'd seen her lying unconscious, there was no doubt that they would've tried something with her sleeping body while they had the chance. Something that Violet wouldn't get the chance to consider as they had gone by the time she had awoken.
Right now, the only things on her mind were the previous events that had unfolded, the bus trip, the auditorium. The murder. Murder. Her teachers had been murdered. Right in front of her they'd been shot down, and she'd been so close to them too. She recalled retching as a the hot blood splashed across her body, and trembling in shock as the gunmen focused - just for a second - on her. For a second she'd stared into the eyes of their killers, the ones who'd took her entire year and strapped them down like animals as they filled the air with the sound of fear and death. That was all she could remember now, the constant screaming, and the bloodshed, and that video. Oh, that video. It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming right now. It took all her strength not to pull out her eyes, to tear out every hair on her head, to slash her wrists with the nearest thing she could find.
But... no. If she gave up now and ended it all, she'd be letting them win. Not only that, but she'd be letting everyone else die. The thought of her classmates butchering each other was something she just couldn't fathom, and yet deep down she knew that they already were. They couldn't help it, they wanted to survive. The question was, did she? Could she kill someone if they were all that stood between dying and going home? What kind of life would that be, anyway? If she survived, it would be at the cost of everyone she cared about. Her friends, her classmates, everyone she knew would have to die for her to live. That was the cost of life. That was the cost of survival, and she knew it. She always knew. Of course she knew what SOTF was, everyone did. They'd even made a rip-off film about it, for God's sake.
And that thought suddenly sickened her, right down to her core. She'd been making a mockery of this game ever since it began, and now she was finally on it herself to witness the tragedy that would befall her school. Maybe she was destined to win? It would be fitting, after all, for a girl who spent her life creating monsters and killing off characters to watch as everyone she knew turned into the kinds of things she'd dreamt up and imagined. She'd spent so long writing script after script of death and gore and horror, and as cheap as it had been, it had cursed her to this. This was karma, she thought. This was payback for killing her mother and leaving her father all on his own. She had taken the one love Ray had in his life and used it to bring herself into the world. There had been this terrible, gnawing guilt eating away at her ever since she was little, and now it manifested into dark thoughts of voodoo and suicide.
But this was wrong, all of it. As desperate as she was, all hope hadn't yet been lost, had it? She was still alive, wasn't she? She still had a chance, didn't she? To Violet, there was something so much more important than herself to aim for, a goal much higher to reach. Her father came into the view of her mind's eye, and she stared at that image until it burned into the back of her eyes. If there was one thing stopping her from killing herself right now - if there was one person she needed to fight to see again - if was him. It was her father, Ray, the man who looked after her and whom she had looked after in return for so many thankless years now. Other people could wait, she reasoned, other people could fall by the wayside if it meant returning alive and well to him. She may have worn a collar, but she was nobody's slave, and she'd be damned before she let herself fall at the very first hurdle. No, as she rose from the ground with the morning sun dripping through the leaves above, she knew exactly what she had to so.
----
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Violet watched as Imraan wrecked - no, destroyed the logging truck in the middle of the road, wondering if he'd even seen the pair of feet sticking out from the other side of the vehicle. Her bangs blew into her face as she crouched down in the grass, waiting for his tirade to dissolve so she could properly introduce herself to the situation. It wasn't like she could physically stop him from breaking every window, and she knew that if she tried she'd likely end up face-down in the dirt (intentionally or otherwise). She didn't exactly have the weapon for stopping him, either. After looking through her bags, she'd found plenty of bread and crackers, but her designated firearm was little more literal and a little less useful. Still, it could be useful, that much she'd figured out already. Other people may have carried guns or knives or potato peelers, but Violet had something far more valuable. Wrapped neatly in the folds of her pocket, her blowtorch rested comfortably, and though it was only the size of a pencil, her little dragon had more than enough fire in its belly.
Ducking out of the way of a flying mirror, she scowled across at her classmate with a fierce look of "waaaay too close" and reminded herself that starting a fight was not something she was prepared to do. Though her mind had turned to violence when she woke, her mind was much clearer now and the red mist had lifted. Her goal, however, was very much intact, but she'd managed to patch together a "plan" of sorts. The first thing she would need to do is see if that truck still had any gas. Sure, she didn't have the keys, but that wouldn't stop Violet Druce, daughter of Ray Druce, mechanic extraordin- well, okay, maybe he wasn't the best mechanic, but she still knew how an engine worked, and though she wasn't proud to admit it she could probably hotwire the truck. It all depended on just how much gas was in there. It didn't look new, that was for sure. It looked like it'd been out here forever, rusting in the rain and the snow. She gave a quiet sigh at the thought. Of course it's rusted and it's old, they wouldn't just let her drive on out of here, would they?
Shaking her head vigorously to get the bangs out of her eyes, she noticed that Imraan had stopped - while the other person had moved. Where could he have - oh. Oh, that's where he was. Walking right on up to the Incredible Hulk. Genius. Gulping down the ball of doubt that had formed in her throat, she stepped out of the bushes, almost catching her hoodie (which she had wrapped around her waist to hide the bloodstains) on the tiny barbs as she made herself known. "Kl-" She coughed realizing it had been some time since she last spoke, and that had her voice was straining under the dehydration. Her blood went cold because she knew exactly how she looked emerging from the undergrowth like that, and licking her lips nervously she tried to look for somewhere to run. "H-hey-" She coughed dryly. "Sorry, hey." Too late now, she thought, and she resigned herself to the path she'd cut out for herself. "Hey, you guys okay? I-I heard some, er, I heard some shouting." She only half-smiled.
Here comes the flood.
----
Everything was wrong; she could feel it before she could see it. Awakening in the middle of a thicket, she knew exactly what it was. The smell of rain blew around her, and her cheek felt wet against the ground. As she pulled back her head, she felt something tickle her skin. Grass. There was definitely grass beneath her. Damp, dying grass that she'd crushed when she fell out of the helicopter - her bags hanging precariously from a branch high above her head. The terrorists had managed to chuck her out into the sparse patch of trees beside the logging road, thankfully out of view of all those who'd met up before. If they'd seen her lying unconscious, there was no doubt that they would've tried something with her sleeping body while they had the chance. Something that Violet wouldn't get the chance to consider as they had gone by the time she had awoken.
Right now, the only things on her mind were the previous events that had unfolded, the bus trip, the auditorium. The murder. Murder. Her teachers had been murdered. Right in front of her they'd been shot down, and she'd been so close to them too. She recalled retching as a the hot blood splashed across her body, and trembling in shock as the gunmen focused - just for a second - on her. For a second she'd stared into the eyes of their killers, the ones who'd took her entire year and strapped them down like animals as they filled the air with the sound of fear and death. That was all she could remember now, the constant screaming, and the bloodshed, and that video. Oh, that video. It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming right now. It took all her strength not to pull out her eyes, to tear out every hair on her head, to slash her wrists with the nearest thing she could find.
But... no. If she gave up now and ended it all, she'd be letting them win. Not only that, but she'd be letting everyone else die. The thought of her classmates butchering each other was something she just couldn't fathom, and yet deep down she knew that they already were. They couldn't help it, they wanted to survive. The question was, did she? Could she kill someone if they were all that stood between dying and going home? What kind of life would that be, anyway? If she survived, it would be at the cost of everyone she cared about. Her friends, her classmates, everyone she knew would have to die for her to live. That was the cost of life. That was the cost of survival, and she knew it. She always knew. Of course she knew what SOTF was, everyone did. They'd even made a rip-off film about it, for God's sake.
And that thought suddenly sickened her, right down to her core. She'd been making a mockery of this game ever since it began, and now she was finally on it herself to witness the tragedy that would befall her school. Maybe she was destined to win? It would be fitting, after all, for a girl who spent her life creating monsters and killing off characters to watch as everyone she knew turned into the kinds of things she'd dreamt up and imagined. She'd spent so long writing script after script of death and gore and horror, and as cheap as it had been, it had cursed her to this. This was karma, she thought. This was payback for killing her mother and leaving her father all on his own. She had taken the one love Ray had in his life and used it to bring herself into the world. There had been this terrible, gnawing guilt eating away at her ever since she was little, and now it manifested into dark thoughts of voodoo and suicide.
But this was wrong, all of it. As desperate as she was, all hope hadn't yet been lost, had it? She was still alive, wasn't she? She still had a chance, didn't she? To Violet, there was something so much more important than herself to aim for, a goal much higher to reach. Her father came into the view of her mind's eye, and she stared at that image until it burned into the back of her eyes. If there was one thing stopping her from killing herself right now - if there was one person she needed to fight to see again - if was him. It was her father, Ray, the man who looked after her and whom she had looked after in return for so many thankless years now. Other people could wait, she reasoned, other people could fall by the wayside if it meant returning alive and well to him. She may have worn a collar, but she was nobody's slave, and she'd be damned before she let herself fall at the very first hurdle. No, as she rose from the ground with the morning sun dripping through the leaves above, she knew exactly what she had to so.
----
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Violet watched as Imraan wrecked - no, destroyed the logging truck in the middle of the road, wondering if he'd even seen the pair of feet sticking out from the other side of the vehicle. Her bangs blew into her face as she crouched down in the grass, waiting for his tirade to dissolve so she could properly introduce herself to the situation. It wasn't like she could physically stop him from breaking every window, and she knew that if she tried she'd likely end up face-down in the dirt (intentionally or otherwise). She didn't exactly have the weapon for stopping him, either. After looking through her bags, she'd found plenty of bread and crackers, but her designated firearm was little more literal and a little less useful. Still, it could be useful, that much she'd figured out already. Other people may have carried guns or knives or potato peelers, but Violet had something far more valuable. Wrapped neatly in the folds of her pocket, her blowtorch rested comfortably, and though it was only the size of a pencil, her little dragon had more than enough fire in its belly.
Ducking out of the way of a flying mirror, she scowled across at her classmate with a fierce look of "waaaay too close" and reminded herself that starting a fight was not something she was prepared to do. Though her mind had turned to violence when she woke, her mind was much clearer now and the red mist had lifted. Her goal, however, was very much intact, but she'd managed to patch together a "plan" of sorts. The first thing she would need to do is see if that truck still had any gas. Sure, she didn't have the keys, but that wouldn't stop Violet Druce, daughter of Ray Druce, mechanic extraordin- well, okay, maybe he wasn't the best mechanic, but she still knew how an engine worked, and though she wasn't proud to admit it she could probably hotwire the truck. It all depended on just how much gas was in there. It didn't look new, that was for sure. It looked like it'd been out here forever, rusting in the rain and the snow. She gave a quiet sigh at the thought. Of course it's rusted and it's old, they wouldn't just let her drive on out of here, would they?
Shaking her head vigorously to get the bangs out of her eyes, she noticed that Imraan had stopped - while the other person had moved. Where could he have - oh. Oh, that's where he was. Walking right on up to the Incredible Hulk. Genius. Gulping down the ball of doubt that had formed in her throat, she stepped out of the bushes, almost catching her hoodie (which she had wrapped around her waist to hide the bloodstains) on the tiny barbs as she made herself known. "Kl-" She coughed realizing it had been some time since she last spoke, and that had her voice was straining under the dehydration. Her blood went cold because she knew exactly how she looked emerging from the undergrowth like that, and licking her lips nervously she tried to look for somewhere to run. "H-hey-" She coughed dryly. "Sorry, hey." Too late now, she thought, and she resigned herself to the path she'd cut out for herself. "Hey, you guys okay? I-I heard some, er, I heard some shouting." She only half-smiled.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinojelly. 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.
(G093: Madeleine Smith start thread)
Sounds of birds and insect life filled Madeleine's ears. She moved her arms, and felt something gritty on her palms, kind of like dry dirt. Her immediate thought was that she had somehow passed out at the campsite, and that everyone else had just left her to get some rest or something. But that couldn't have been right, could it? She decided to retrace her steps in her mind. She'd gotten on the bus, found a seat near the back, they'd been driving for a while, and then...
Madeleine's eyes sprang open as she lurched into a seated position, and immediately sank down into a lying position when she got hit with a wave of dizziness. Giving herself a second or two for her head to clear, she tried again, a bit more slowly. This time, she looked around, and noticed that she had fallen onto a wide path of some kind. Maybe it was a trucking road of some kind. It seemed wide enough for that.
So, I'm in SotF, eh? Well, nice day at least. It'd be a shame if it was raining.
As Maddy slowly pulled herself to her feet, she realized that, in addition to her largish purse, there was a large tote bag marked with the letter and numbers "G093." Investigating further into the bag, she discovered, much to her delight, that they had provided food, water, and medical equipment. Very generous of them. Also, near the middle of the bag, there was what appeared to be a small metal box, along with a manual for some sort of gun. Madeleine's eyebrows narrowed as she contemplated what relation these things had to one another, then rose when she got to the section on "Assembly Instructions."
"So this thing's some kind of folding gun?" she wondered out loud, but that was as far as she came before a loud scream sounded out from further down the road. At least it sounded like a scream to her. Curious as to what that noise was, she stowed her gun, unfolded, into her purse and slung both bags over her shoulders. Her purse was lighter than she suspected, and she made a mental note to check its contents when she got the chance. In the meantime, she walked very quickly down the road, hoping that she wasn't too late.
Surprisingly enough, there didn't appear to be anybody in distress, just a fellow pounding the crap out of an abandoned truck with the wrong end of a shotgun. As Madeleine stepped closer, she saw that another fellow had walked out to talk with the guy, followed by Violet Druce, a girl who Madeleine knew from the local bowling alley. The artist girl briefly considered turning around and walking away, given that the fellow with the shotgun appeared to be in a bad mood, and Maddy didn't like crowds anyway. Still, if she ran away from every group that numbered higher than three people, she'd probably be running away forever. Besides, Violet was there, and she trusted Violet.
And so, stepping up slowly, her hands clenched into nervous fists, she said to Violet, "H-Hi, Violet. Umm...what's going on here?"
Smooth as always. I've really got to figure out this whole saying hello business.
Sounds of birds and insect life filled Madeleine's ears. She moved her arms, and felt something gritty on her palms, kind of like dry dirt. Her immediate thought was that she had somehow passed out at the campsite, and that everyone else had just left her to get some rest or something. But that couldn't have been right, could it? She decided to retrace her steps in her mind. She'd gotten on the bus, found a seat near the back, they'd been driving for a while, and then...
Madeleine's eyes sprang open as she lurched into a seated position, and immediately sank down into a lying position when she got hit with a wave of dizziness. Giving herself a second or two for her head to clear, she tried again, a bit more slowly. This time, she looked around, and noticed that she had fallen onto a wide path of some kind. Maybe it was a trucking road of some kind. It seemed wide enough for that.
So, I'm in SotF, eh? Well, nice day at least. It'd be a shame if it was raining.
As Maddy slowly pulled herself to her feet, she realized that, in addition to her largish purse, there was a large tote bag marked with the letter and numbers "G093." Investigating further into the bag, she discovered, much to her delight, that they had provided food, water, and medical equipment. Very generous of them. Also, near the middle of the bag, there was what appeared to be a small metal box, along with a manual for some sort of gun. Madeleine's eyebrows narrowed as she contemplated what relation these things had to one another, then rose when she got to the section on "Assembly Instructions."
"So this thing's some kind of folding gun?" she wondered out loud, but that was as far as she came before a loud scream sounded out from further down the road. At least it sounded like a scream to her. Curious as to what that noise was, she stowed her gun, unfolded, into her purse and slung both bags over her shoulders. Her purse was lighter than she suspected, and she made a mental note to check its contents when she got the chance. In the meantime, she walked very quickly down the road, hoping that she wasn't too late.
Surprisingly enough, there didn't appear to be anybody in distress, just a fellow pounding the crap out of an abandoned truck with the wrong end of a shotgun. As Madeleine stepped closer, she saw that another fellow had walked out to talk with the guy, followed by Violet Druce, a girl who Madeleine knew from the local bowling alley. The artist girl briefly considered turning around and walking away, given that the fellow with the shotgun appeared to be in a bad mood, and Maddy didn't like crowds anyway. Still, if she ran away from every group that numbered higher than three people, she'd probably be running away forever. Besides, Violet was there, and she trusted Violet.
And so, stepping up slowly, her hands clenched into nervous fists, she said to Violet, "H-Hi, Violet. Umm...what's going on here?"
Smooth as always. I've really got to figure out this whole saying hello business.
After a couple seconds of sitting, Imraan had stopped feeling much of anything. Just a brief clearness. He didn't have any time to digest what that might mean though, because the approaching footsteps of Mike Moretti caused his eyes to snap open again.
Moretti saw him, and stoppped. Imraan saw that he was carrying a mace, and briefly thought that he maybe should have loaded his shotgun after all, but a second later it became pretty clear that Mike wasn't going to bash his brains in. Instead, he just let whatever he was going to say die on his lips, leaving Imraan to take the next move.
"Hey." was all he said. He felt tired. The shotgun was still on the ground next to him, and he thought that might have been what stopped Mike from coming further.
"Yeah uh, don't worry, it's not loaded." Of course, Imraan realized a half-second after saying that that he was giving Moretti free reign to go on the attack if he wanted to.
Well, if he did, he did. Heck, maybe Imraan could even goad him into it. It would be a quick, albeit lazy way for Imraan to bow out of this whole thing in the early going. But of course, he couldn't do that. He knew full well that it would be a cop out. It wouldn't be fair. Not to others, or himself.
He wasn't sure what to say next, but luckily (he guessed), it seemed that he'd attracted more than one person to the area. Well, that was probably to be expected. Violet Druce. He knew... of her. Madeleine Smith had been in English a couple times. Heh. Typical that he'd been dumped in the area with a group of kids that he didn't actually have any kind of relationship with. He wondered if that was deliberate or not. From what he knew about the terrorists, when they'd done this thing before they always had files on all the kids, and like to exploit what they knew the best they could.
"Yeah, that was me." he said in response to Violet's question. Making his way to his feet, he glanced down at the broken glass nearby. At least he hadn't gone totally mental and smashed up the windshield or something like that.
"Sorry about that, I was just angry. Y'know, 'bout this whole thing. Had to uh, let it out somehow. You can come on over, the shotgun's not loaded."
That was as truthful an answer as any. If anyone wasn't angry about this on some level, well, that wasn't natural and Imraan didn't know if he wanted to meet them here.
Moretti saw him, and stoppped. Imraan saw that he was carrying a mace, and briefly thought that he maybe should have loaded his shotgun after all, but a second later it became pretty clear that Mike wasn't going to bash his brains in. Instead, he just let whatever he was going to say die on his lips, leaving Imraan to take the next move.
"Hey." was all he said. He felt tired. The shotgun was still on the ground next to him, and he thought that might have been what stopped Mike from coming further.
"Yeah uh, don't worry, it's not loaded." Of course, Imraan realized a half-second after saying that that he was giving Moretti free reign to go on the attack if he wanted to.
Well, if he did, he did. Heck, maybe Imraan could even goad him into it. It would be a quick, albeit lazy way for Imraan to bow out of this whole thing in the early going. But of course, he couldn't do that. He knew full well that it would be a cop out. It wouldn't be fair. Not to others, or himself.
He wasn't sure what to say next, but luckily (he guessed), it seemed that he'd attracted more than one person to the area. Well, that was probably to be expected. Violet Druce. He knew... of her. Madeleine Smith had been in English a couple times. Heh. Typical that he'd been dumped in the area with a group of kids that he didn't actually have any kind of relationship with. He wondered if that was deliberate or not. From what he knew about the terrorists, when they'd done this thing before they always had files on all the kids, and like to exploit what they knew the best they could.
"Yeah, that was me." he said in response to Violet's question. Making his way to his feet, he glanced down at the broken glass nearby. At least he hadn't gone totally mental and smashed up the windshield or something like that.
"Sorry about that, I was just angry. Y'know, 'bout this whole thing. Had to uh, let it out somehow. You can come on over, the shotgun's not loaded."
That was as truthful an answer as any. If anyone wasn't angry about this on some level, well, that wasn't natural and Imraan didn't know if he wanted to meet them here.
Ugh never say never
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
((B062 Start!))
Normal reality TV shows were staged. All but one or two of the female contestants were busty and beautiful and all the men who got far were always shirtless and handsome. The ones who said that they weren't there to make friends never lasted, and the bustiest chick always ended up with the hottest guy. There were two distinct alliances and the last contests would never be from the same one. That's the way it worked.
Vivien liked those shows. They were normal. This one, however, killed his teachers, threw him in some bushes in the middle of nowhere, slapped him with an explosive collar, and gave him nothing to defend himself with but a plastic statuette. All in all, it seemed... far-fetched, to put it mildly. Like, the kind of story nobody would believe even if you told them.
He had calmed down a bit earlier. After wiping dirt off his pink shirt and mascara off his waterlogged face, he rummaged through his daypack to find standard survival equipment - First aid kit, food, flashlight, map, all that jazz - as well as his so-called "weapon," Venus de Milo. Yeah, thanks a bunch Danya, you gluttonous freak. He could maybe poke someone's eye out, best case scenario. By all means, he should have died from the very shock of being there.
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
And yet, there he was. In the bushes. Watching as Imraan destroyed that truck. But who could blame him, really? Everyone had different ways of dealing with high levels of stress. Vivien bawled his eyes out. Imraan destroyed trucks. It's all good, really. He flicked his hair away from his glasses, intent on watching the Arabic boy wreck the windows. Nom de Dieu, he's frightening! With people like him around, I don't stand a chance! Still, I cannot let this Survival of the Fittest business get to me. Not this early. If he's furious now, what's going to happen when his friends die, one by one? It was a morbid thought, and he hated himself for thinking it. But this was his reality now. It was everyone's, really. And it was harsh.
But that wasn't important right now. What was important was that more and more people kept appearing from, like, nowhere. There was Mike something-or-other, wielding a spiky thing as best he could; What's-her-face Deuce (Viola? Vanessa?), stupidly walking up to the two; and lastly... some boring nobody, following in Ms. Deuce's steps. You'd think that, in a game where we're expected to kill each other, it'd be smart to stay away from the tall, angry guy with the shotgun.
But oh well. They're loss was his gain. For now, it seemed safe (sane) to stay hidden and uncomfortable. Vivien wasn't too big on taking huge risks. He refused to be the first one to die.
C'mon Imraan. Waste a few rounds of ammo, why don't you?
But no. Of course Imraan wouldn't do that. After destroying a truck's window's, the most logical follow-up is to make polite conversation with the classmates that will inevitably die. Of course it's logical to drop your gun while talking to the kid with the club and the other two inevitably armed nobodies. But now wasn't the time to criticize. That could wait. Vivien needed a better weapon, or someone to use one for him. And right now, this ragtag bunch of misshapen misfits were his best, and only, choices. He gathered up his daypack and his large pink duffel, containing more clothes than anyone normal would go through in a weekend.
"H-hey!" he called out, his leaf-adorned hair waving behind him as he ran toward the group of four. "Is everything okay? I heard someone shout!"
Good girl Vivien. Feign ignorance and weakness. That's what all great reality TV contestants do.
Normal reality TV shows were staged. All but one or two of the female contestants were busty and beautiful and all the men who got far were always shirtless and handsome. The ones who said that they weren't there to make friends never lasted, and the bustiest chick always ended up with the hottest guy. There were two distinct alliances and the last contests would never be from the same one. That's the way it worked.
Vivien liked those shows. They were normal. This one, however, killed his teachers, threw him in some bushes in the middle of nowhere, slapped him with an explosive collar, and gave him nothing to defend himself with but a plastic statuette. All in all, it seemed... far-fetched, to put it mildly. Like, the kind of story nobody would believe even if you told them.
He had calmed down a bit earlier. After wiping dirt off his pink shirt and mascara off his waterlogged face, he rummaged through his daypack to find standard survival equipment - First aid kit, food, flashlight, map, all that jazz - as well as his so-called "weapon," Venus de Milo. Yeah, thanks a bunch Danya, you gluttonous freak. He could maybe poke someone's eye out, best case scenario. By all means, he should have died from the very shock of being there.
"FFFFFUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
And yet, there he was. In the bushes. Watching as Imraan destroyed that truck. But who could blame him, really? Everyone had different ways of dealing with high levels of stress. Vivien bawled his eyes out. Imraan destroyed trucks. It's all good, really. He flicked his hair away from his glasses, intent on watching the Arabic boy wreck the windows. Nom de Dieu, he's frightening! With people like him around, I don't stand a chance! Still, I cannot let this Survival of the Fittest business get to me. Not this early. If he's furious now, what's going to happen when his friends die, one by one? It was a morbid thought, and he hated himself for thinking it. But this was his reality now. It was everyone's, really. And it was harsh.
But that wasn't important right now. What was important was that more and more people kept appearing from, like, nowhere. There was Mike something-or-other, wielding a spiky thing as best he could; What's-her-face Deuce (Viola? Vanessa?), stupidly walking up to the two; and lastly... some boring nobody, following in Ms. Deuce's steps. You'd think that, in a game where we're expected to kill each other, it'd be smart to stay away from the tall, angry guy with the shotgun.
But oh well. They're loss was his gain. For now, it seemed safe (sane) to stay hidden and uncomfortable. Vivien wasn't too big on taking huge risks. He refused to be the first one to die.
C'mon Imraan. Waste a few rounds of ammo, why don't you?
But no. Of course Imraan wouldn't do that. After destroying a truck's window's, the most logical follow-up is to make polite conversation with the classmates that will inevitably die. Of course it's logical to drop your gun while talking to the kid with the club and the other two inevitably armed nobodies. But now wasn't the time to criticize. That could wait. Vivien needed a better weapon, or someone to use one for him. And right now, this ragtag bunch of misshapen misfits were his best, and only, choices. He gathered up his daypack and his large pink duffel, containing more clothes than anyone normal would go through in a weekend.
"H-hey!" he called out, his leaf-adorned hair waving behind him as he ran toward the group of four. "Is everything okay? I heard someone shout!"
Good girl Vivien. Feign ignorance and weakness. That's what all great reality TV contestants do.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Danorum. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
((B096 - Belmont, Edward))
This wasn't happening. The same thought that had to be making it rounds across the whole island certainly didn't ignore Edward Belmont. When he did find himself opening his eyes, that same thought was on a loop running through his mind. 'This wasn't happening', followed quickly by 'where am I?' and 'why the hell did I wear a suit to a camp-out?'. Really, take your pick. Personally, he was going with 'where am I?', at least until he'd gotten himself organized. He was...face down, he guessed? On what felt like pebbles or gravel, whatever. It wasn't his comfy bed at home or somewhat less comfy sleeping bag, and that was all that mattered. He wasn't safe at home, or safe at the campsite. Quite honestly, he didn't know where he was, but it was not anywhere he wanted to be. Namely, somewhere safe and sound.
The English boy pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his sense's going into overdrive as he tried to hear everything and see everything at the same time while drawing as little attention as possible to himself. This was happening, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't. This was happening, and he was supposed to kill everyone he saw. He needed to kill everyone he came into contact with, and there was little he could do to fight that. By this point, he'd figured out where he was, but some part of himself couldn't say it aloud. "Survival of the fittest..." He whispered hoarsely, not daring to raise his voice any louder.
Survival of the fucking Fittest. It was real, and it had picked him and the entire Bayview Senior class. It was obviously more then a daft TV show crafted entirely to get shock ratings. Either that, or this was the most elaborate prank ever. On the other hand, it was very likely not a prank, and he was very possibly going to die a painful death. So, that was bracing. But, someone was going to rescue him, right? After all, a whole class doesn''t go missing without someone noting it. Someone in a position to help had to be on the way, and if not now, soon. The Army, or the Marines or the Navy, whoever, they had to come in and save them, right? All they needed to do was hold out and wait for...what was the American saying? The Cavalry?
Edward gingerly climbed to his feet, still keeping his head low and his senses alert. The last thing he needed was someone without the patience he had to shoot him in the back. All he'd need to do was hold out, and help was bound to arrive. That meant staying alive and hiding out somewhere until he heard a lot of automatic weapon fire. Maybe find some like-minded students to accompany him? Preferably someone he knew, and to a degree, trusted. Maybe someone else on the track or debate team? Again, as long as they weren't trying to kill him, that was a less intrinsic part of his plan.
Somewhere close, he could hear shouting followed quickly by the sound of glass breaking. That spelled out danger, and Edward threw himself flat on the side of the road. After a few seconds and more screaming and smashing, Edward looked up. None of the bullets he expected were flying over his head, so maybe it was...okay? After another few seconds, he could hear another voice, then another after that. That many people gathering in one place, the old adage about safety in numbers sprang to mind. Safety equaled the ideal place for him. Of course, he couldn't bloody well leave his bag behind could he? He hadn't even had a chance to see what was inside.
After some quick routing around, he found he was sorely disappointed. Nothing to defend himself with, even. Food, water, night vision goggles, a map. Admittedly, he'd prefer a gun, but the goggles might also be nice to have, especially at night. Well, anyway. There was enough space that he could afford to stow his jacket as well. Even as he slipped his arms free, he asked himself once again what idiot wears a suit on a camping trip? Really, he had to be a royal idiot. At least he looked nice? He slipped the bag over his shoulder as he loosened his tie and climbed onto the road. Further down the road seemed to be the source of the screaming and crashing, as well as the voices. He could make out at least one familiar face in the form of Imraan Al-Hariq, and that was enough to draw him closer to the rapidly growing crowd.
This wasn't happening. The same thought that had to be making it rounds across the whole island certainly didn't ignore Edward Belmont. When he did find himself opening his eyes, that same thought was on a loop running through his mind. 'This wasn't happening', followed quickly by 'where am I?' and 'why the hell did I wear a suit to a camp-out?'. Really, take your pick. Personally, he was going with 'where am I?', at least until he'd gotten himself organized. He was...face down, he guessed? On what felt like pebbles or gravel, whatever. It wasn't his comfy bed at home or somewhat less comfy sleeping bag, and that was all that mattered. He wasn't safe at home, or safe at the campsite. Quite honestly, he didn't know where he was, but it was not anywhere he wanted to be. Namely, somewhere safe and sound.
The English boy pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his sense's going into overdrive as he tried to hear everything and see everything at the same time while drawing as little attention as possible to himself. This was happening, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't. This was happening, and he was supposed to kill everyone he saw. He needed to kill everyone he came into contact with, and there was little he could do to fight that. By this point, he'd figured out where he was, but some part of himself couldn't say it aloud. "Survival of the fittest..." He whispered hoarsely, not daring to raise his voice any louder.
Survival of the fucking Fittest. It was real, and it had picked him and the entire Bayview Senior class. It was obviously more then a daft TV show crafted entirely to get shock ratings. Either that, or this was the most elaborate prank ever. On the other hand, it was very likely not a prank, and he was very possibly going to die a painful death. So, that was bracing. But, someone was going to rescue him, right? After all, a whole class doesn''t go missing without someone noting it. Someone in a position to help had to be on the way, and if not now, soon. The Army, or the Marines or the Navy, whoever, they had to come in and save them, right? All they needed to do was hold out and wait for...what was the American saying? The Cavalry?
Edward gingerly climbed to his feet, still keeping his head low and his senses alert. The last thing he needed was someone without the patience he had to shoot him in the back. All he'd need to do was hold out, and help was bound to arrive. That meant staying alive and hiding out somewhere until he heard a lot of automatic weapon fire. Maybe find some like-minded students to accompany him? Preferably someone he knew, and to a degree, trusted. Maybe someone else on the track or debate team? Again, as long as they weren't trying to kill him, that was a less intrinsic part of his plan.
Somewhere close, he could hear shouting followed quickly by the sound of glass breaking. That spelled out danger, and Edward threw himself flat on the side of the road. After a few seconds and more screaming and smashing, Edward looked up. None of the bullets he expected were flying over his head, so maybe it was...okay? After another few seconds, he could hear another voice, then another after that. That many people gathering in one place, the old adage about safety in numbers sprang to mind. Safety equaled the ideal place for him. Of course, he couldn't bloody well leave his bag behind could he? He hadn't even had a chance to see what was inside.
After some quick routing around, he found he was sorely disappointed. Nothing to defend himself with, even. Food, water, night vision goggles, a map. Admittedly, he'd prefer a gun, but the goggles might also be nice to have, especially at night. Well, anyway. There was enough space that he could afford to stow his jacket as well. Even as he slipped his arms free, he asked himself once again what idiot wears a suit on a camping trip? Really, he had to be a royal idiot. At least he looked nice? He slipped the bag over his shoulder as he loosened his tie and climbed onto the road. Further down the road seemed to be the source of the screaming and crashing, as well as the voices. He could make out at least one familiar face in the form of Imraan Al-Hariq, and that was enough to draw him closer to the rapidly growing crowd.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.
Imraan's response left Mike uneasy. Scared, even. Not because he thought Imraan would strike- the opposite, in fact. The former star just seemed so... tired. Several hours on this island had brought one of the strongest people he'd known to this- Crouched at the side of a destroyed truck with no hope in the world. Mike was about to sit down next to the young man when a girl appeared... and then another. And then a young man... and another was coming up the road. Some faces Mike recognized, some he didn't. Either way, he immediately regretted making himself known so soon.
Should've known his commotion would attract a crowd. But Mike had made his bed, so he might as well lie in it- ugh, a bed would be really nice right about now. As he began to address the newly formed crowd, Mike prayed none of these kids planned on killing him.
"It's no problem, I was just nervous." He turned to the others. How was he supposed to talk to them? Was he still supposed to act friendly towards them? Was he allowed to? "Hey, guys. Uh... sticky situation, huh?" Oh, great idea. Call attention to the fact that they were supposed to be ripping each other's throats out. Could he even trust any of these people? Violet was creepy, her friend was so tiny he could probably break her in half himself, and... Vivien. Mike did not know how to feel about Vivien. What was he getting himself into? Oh well. As long as he could give off the impression that he had any idea how to use his- seriously, what was it called again?- spiky mace-thing, maybe no one would fuck with him.
Should've known his commotion would attract a crowd. But Mike had made his bed, so he might as well lie in it- ugh, a bed would be really nice right about now. As he began to address the newly formed crowd, Mike prayed none of these kids planned on killing him.
"It's no problem, I was just nervous." He turned to the others. How was he supposed to talk to them? Was he still supposed to act friendly towards them? Was he allowed to? "Hey, guys. Uh... sticky situation, huh?" Oh, great idea. Call attention to the fact that they were supposed to be ripping each other's throats out. Could he even trust any of these people? Violet was creepy, her friend was so tiny he could probably break her in half himself, and... Vivien. Mike did not know how to feel about Vivien. What was he getting himself into? Oh well. As long as he could give off the impression that he had any idea how to use his- seriously, what was it called again?- spiky mace-thing, maybe no one would fuck with him.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ella. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
"Sorry about that, I was just angry. Y'know, 'bout this whole thing. Had to uh, let it out somehow. You can come on over, the shotgun's not loaded."
Violet let out a breath. That was good, he wasn't as crazy as he seemed - a sure relief. Watching the shotgun with cautious eyes, she made her way closer to the pair while trying her best to keep her bags hung over her shoulders. The straps on her duffel bag kept slipping over the daypack's, and she kept having to stop just to pull them back up again. It was irritating, having to carry all this stuff by herself, but there was no way in hell she was going to leave it all lying around for someone else to find. After all, she'd brought her video camera with her, which right now was the only link she had left with the real world. The only reminder she had that her father was at home right now, waiting for her to walk through the front door any second now with Trent following close behind.
I'm sorry Trent, but you're gonna have to wait a little longer. Hold on, buddy.
After making her way over to the truck, she immediately dumped the bags down on the floor, groaning as she felt her shoulders loosen up again. About to speak, she stopped herself when she caught a better look at the other boy - Mike - and saw the flail in his hand. She didn't feel great about him waving that around while all she had was a weapon that could literally fit in her pocket, but she hoped that if he got any funny ideas, Imraan would protect her. Although, why would he? It's not like they were friends. Hell, she couldn't remember the last time they'd even spoken to each other. He wasn't in any of her classes, and as far as she was concerned, he'd always been just another dumb jock. Watching him smash up the only vehicle around only backed her up on this, but the fact that he seemed so... apologetic afterwards? That was weird.
Opening her mouth to tell them she wasn't dangerous, the sound of a familiar voice stopped her dead.
"H-Hi, Violet. Umm...what's going on here?"
"Maddy?" The sleeves of her hoodie swished around her waist as she turned fast on her feet. "Maddy! What in- oh, nothing, Imraan was just venting - I think. Don't worry about him." Looking back at Mike, who looked on with his weapon raised a little higher at the emergence of the new girl, she tried her best to make sense of what was going on. "He, er, he isn't bad either." She stooped down a bit as she spoke to the girl, throwing her thumb back at Mike with a slight grin. The grin was admittedly shallow, however, as her mind was preoccupied with this girl's safety. How could she even be here? It wasn't fair. Of all the people to end up on the island, Violet knew she was going to be one of the most vulnerable. Was she going to have to protect her now? She wasn't exactly a warrior herself, so how was this going to work?
Adding to her rapid-growing list of problems, another voice rang out across the air, causing Violet to tense up and step in front of Madeleine without her thinking.
"Is everything okay? I heard someone shout!"
No, no, not more people, not now. Come on guys, I'm not ready yet!
What was she going to do now? She hadn't even had a second to check if the truck still had any way of moving, let alone enough time to gain the trust of the first people she'd bumped into. The wind wasn't helping matters either, insistent on batting her purple bangs into her face as she stood with her back to the current. Repeatedly tucking them back behind her ears didn't seem to work, and it wasn't as though she'd thought to bring a pack of hair clips with her on a camping trip. That was some amazing foresight, Violet, well done. Growing impatient, she let her hands fall away from her hair, opting to simply put up with the wind while Vivien grew ever closer. Now this guy, yeah, this guy she knew. Who didn't know Vivien Morin, queen of Bayview? Trouble was, she had no idea what kind of game someone like him would play in this... well, whatever the kind, he was playing a game inside of a game. That was bad enough.
"Hey, guys. Uh... sticky situation, huh?"
She turned back to Mike, then the others.
"Y-yeah, real sticky."
Looking back at Vivien, she wondered what their next move would be. Imraan looked pretty worn out, but he'd recover in no time. Mike looked a little confused, like he didn't know how to handle the situation. Fair enough, she thought, she didn't really know herself. She just stood there, left arm instinctively hanging low in front of Madeleine, even though she'd be useless to her in the long run. It didn't matter though. In the end, no matter how much she'd planned to do it'd all be for nought if she let someone this harmless get butchered on her watch.
And then she spotted yet another body walk towards them and she began to panic.
What now? Come on guys, just gimme a minute to think. I just need a minute.
Violet let out a breath. That was good, he wasn't as crazy as he seemed - a sure relief. Watching the shotgun with cautious eyes, she made her way closer to the pair while trying her best to keep her bags hung over her shoulders. The straps on her duffel bag kept slipping over the daypack's, and she kept having to stop just to pull them back up again. It was irritating, having to carry all this stuff by herself, but there was no way in hell she was going to leave it all lying around for someone else to find. After all, she'd brought her video camera with her, which right now was the only link she had left with the real world. The only reminder she had that her father was at home right now, waiting for her to walk through the front door any second now with Trent following close behind.
I'm sorry Trent, but you're gonna have to wait a little longer. Hold on, buddy.
After making her way over to the truck, she immediately dumped the bags down on the floor, groaning as she felt her shoulders loosen up again. About to speak, she stopped herself when she caught a better look at the other boy - Mike - and saw the flail in his hand. She didn't feel great about him waving that around while all she had was a weapon that could literally fit in her pocket, but she hoped that if he got any funny ideas, Imraan would protect her. Although, why would he? It's not like they were friends. Hell, she couldn't remember the last time they'd even spoken to each other. He wasn't in any of her classes, and as far as she was concerned, he'd always been just another dumb jock. Watching him smash up the only vehicle around only backed her up on this, but the fact that he seemed so... apologetic afterwards? That was weird.
Opening her mouth to tell them she wasn't dangerous, the sound of a familiar voice stopped her dead.
"H-Hi, Violet. Umm...what's going on here?"
"Maddy?" The sleeves of her hoodie swished around her waist as she turned fast on her feet. "Maddy! What in- oh, nothing, Imraan was just venting - I think. Don't worry about him." Looking back at Mike, who looked on with his weapon raised a little higher at the emergence of the new girl, she tried her best to make sense of what was going on. "He, er, he isn't bad either." She stooped down a bit as she spoke to the girl, throwing her thumb back at Mike with a slight grin. The grin was admittedly shallow, however, as her mind was preoccupied with this girl's safety. How could she even be here? It wasn't fair. Of all the people to end up on the island, Violet knew she was going to be one of the most vulnerable. Was she going to have to protect her now? She wasn't exactly a warrior herself, so how was this going to work?
Adding to her rapid-growing list of problems, another voice rang out across the air, causing Violet to tense up and step in front of Madeleine without her thinking.
"Is everything okay? I heard someone shout!"
No, no, not more people, not now. Come on guys, I'm not ready yet!
What was she going to do now? She hadn't even had a second to check if the truck still had any way of moving, let alone enough time to gain the trust of the first people she'd bumped into. The wind wasn't helping matters either, insistent on batting her purple bangs into her face as she stood with her back to the current. Repeatedly tucking them back behind her ears didn't seem to work, and it wasn't as though she'd thought to bring a pack of hair clips with her on a camping trip. That was some amazing foresight, Violet, well done. Growing impatient, she let her hands fall away from her hair, opting to simply put up with the wind while Vivien grew ever closer. Now this guy, yeah, this guy she knew. Who didn't know Vivien Morin, queen of Bayview? Trouble was, she had no idea what kind of game someone like him would play in this... well, whatever the kind, he was playing a game inside of a game. That was bad enough.
"Hey, guys. Uh... sticky situation, huh?"
She turned back to Mike, then the others.
"Y-yeah, real sticky."
Looking back at Vivien, she wondered what their next move would be. Imraan looked pretty worn out, but he'd recover in no time. Mike looked a little confused, like he didn't know how to handle the situation. Fair enough, she thought, she didn't really know herself. She just stood there, left arm instinctively hanging low in front of Madeleine, even though she'd be useless to her in the long run. It didn't matter though. In the end, no matter how much she'd planned to do it'd all be for nought if she let someone this harmless get butchered on her watch.
And then she spotted yet another body walk towards them and she began to panic.
What now? Come on guys, just gimme a minute to think. I just need a minute.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinojelly. 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.
Whoa! Another one? This is like something from Hitchcock, only that was birds, and there were a lot more of them, and none of them were as fruity as this guy.
I guess it isn't like Hitchcock at all. Oh well.
Madeleine was lost in her thoughts temporarily as Vivien approached, only to snap back into reality when Violet stepped in front of her to block her from the approaching fruitcake. The artist wasn't entirely sure why her friend would do that, until she put two and two together and came up with an answer that wasn't much to her liking. Her friend was protecting her from someone who potentially had a gun, by potentially taking the bullets herself. Shivering at the thought of Violet getting shot for her sake, Maddy shrank back so that she was crouching next to the truck and away from the center of conversation. She contemplated escaping right then and there, but stopped as she stared at the person who was still holding her arm up, intent on keeping her good friend safe at all costs.
Not to worry, Violet. I can take care of myself.
Gazing down at the gun in her purse, Madeleine came to the understanding that at some point, maybe soonish, she'd have to draw it and start firing at people who she had bumped into on the way to class. And for a brief moment, she wondered why that would be a problem.
After all, I don't know most of these people, and a lot of them either think I'm weird or outright torment me. Why shouldn't I...NO! I can't think like that. I'm not a killer!
Shaking her head, Maddy stood to her feet once more and gave Violet's outstretched arm a gentle nudge. "It-it's okay. I'm fine," she said to her friend. "I've got a g...a weapon too, so I'm-I'm good." She had almost said the word "gun," but figured that in this tense environment, anyone overhearing that she had a sub-machine gun in her purse would not take the information well. Bloodshed could result, and Violet could get caught in the crossfire. If Maddy were to start anything, she'd have to make sure that anyone she liked was well out of the way first. Then she could-
No! Stop that! Nobody's killing anybody!
I guess it isn't like Hitchcock at all. Oh well.
Madeleine was lost in her thoughts temporarily as Vivien approached, only to snap back into reality when Violet stepped in front of her to block her from the approaching fruitcake. The artist wasn't entirely sure why her friend would do that, until she put two and two together and came up with an answer that wasn't much to her liking. Her friend was protecting her from someone who potentially had a gun, by potentially taking the bullets herself. Shivering at the thought of Violet getting shot for her sake, Maddy shrank back so that she was crouching next to the truck and away from the center of conversation. She contemplated escaping right then and there, but stopped as she stared at the person who was still holding her arm up, intent on keeping her good friend safe at all costs.
Not to worry, Violet. I can take care of myself.
Gazing down at the gun in her purse, Madeleine came to the understanding that at some point, maybe soonish, she'd have to draw it and start firing at people who she had bumped into on the way to class. And for a brief moment, she wondered why that would be a problem.
After all, I don't know most of these people, and a lot of them either think I'm weird or outright torment me. Why shouldn't I...NO! I can't think like that. I'm not a killer!
Shaking her head, Maddy stood to her feet once more and gave Violet's outstretched arm a gentle nudge. "It-it's okay. I'm fine," she said to her friend. "I've got a g...a weapon too, so I'm-I'm good." She had almost said the word "gun," but figured that in this tense environment, anyone overhearing that she had a sub-machine gun in her purse would not take the information well. Bloodshed could result, and Violet could get caught in the crossfire. If Maddy were to start anything, she'd have to make sure that anyone she liked was well out of the way first. Then she could-
No! Stop that! Nobody's killing anybody!
While Madeleine and Violet made their way to the truck, Imraan stooped to pick up the shotgun from the ground - Gotta be careful not to point this at anyone though, give them the wrong idea - and gather his thoughts. He'd let Moretti do the greetings there, maybe he knew the girls better than Imraan did. When he looked back up, Vivien Morin was the next one joining them. Man oh man. Yeah, that was just great. The guy who thought he was a girl, or something like that? It wasn't that he was gonna condemn Vivien just straight off the bat, that wasn't cool. That was the kind of stuff he'd tried to avoid doing. It was just that Vivien wasn't exactly the kid Imraan would've picked to be paired up with here, even though he admitted he didn't know much about Vivien beyond the obvious.
"Hey. Yeah we're OK here, come on over," he said, holding the shotgun by the barrel. It wasn't like he could say anything else, what was he going to tell him to screw off? No, of course he couldn't do that. Looking past Vivien, he saw another figure a little ways back.
Edward Belmont. Imraan broke into an actual smile. About time it was someone he knew. Not that Edward was one of his best friends or anything, but he was friendly and popular, and so far as Imraan knew, a pretty decent guy. Plus he was on the track team and had shown himself to be pretty smart in the couple classes they'd had together. Imraan waved and called him over as well.
Mike was trying to level the situation a bit, but his joke didn't seem to go over well. And Violet looked like she had a protective thing going on with Madeleine. Good. The more kids they could have that could handle themselves, the better. He wasn't sure if he really trusted Violet, he didn't know her well except that she liked to make weird homemade horror movies and stuff. But she didn't look like she was going to start going crazy, especially with a bunch of people around. And Madeleine was probably the kind of girl that needed protecting.
Imraan greeted Edward as the British student got closer to the group. "Good to see you, man." He looked around. Well, they had a bunch of people, but what did that mean? Where could they possibly go from here? Just sit around and wait for the inevitable? He certainly didn't hope they all thought he had some kind of grand plan. It wasn't like he was going to pray for God to send them a helicopter and expect it to happen.
"Alright. Anyone got uh... ideas, plans, suggestions, anything like that?" He looked mostly to Edward and Violet as he spoke. If people were going to be expecting him to take charge in this game, and he knew they were, he'd have to look to others to do the same. Or else... well or else it'd all just keep building on him. And he didn't know how that would end, but it probably wouldn't end well. Besides that, there were still a ton of other people he needed to find.
"The way I figure it, there's safety in numbers here, but I've got other people I'm hoping are safe. We're all probably the same there. If we can get a bunch of people together, maybe we can get out a signal or something, I dunno."
"Hey. Yeah we're OK here, come on over," he said, holding the shotgun by the barrel. It wasn't like he could say anything else, what was he going to tell him to screw off? No, of course he couldn't do that. Looking past Vivien, he saw another figure a little ways back.
Edward Belmont. Imraan broke into an actual smile. About time it was someone he knew. Not that Edward was one of his best friends or anything, but he was friendly and popular, and so far as Imraan knew, a pretty decent guy. Plus he was on the track team and had shown himself to be pretty smart in the couple classes they'd had together. Imraan waved and called him over as well.
Mike was trying to level the situation a bit, but his joke didn't seem to go over well. And Violet looked like she had a protective thing going on with Madeleine. Good. The more kids they could have that could handle themselves, the better. He wasn't sure if he really trusted Violet, he didn't know her well except that she liked to make weird homemade horror movies and stuff. But she didn't look like she was going to start going crazy, especially with a bunch of people around. And Madeleine was probably the kind of girl that needed protecting.
Imraan greeted Edward as the British student got closer to the group. "Good to see you, man." He looked around. Well, they had a bunch of people, but what did that mean? Where could they possibly go from here? Just sit around and wait for the inevitable? He certainly didn't hope they all thought he had some kind of grand plan. It wasn't like he was going to pray for God to send them a helicopter and expect it to happen.
"Alright. Anyone got uh... ideas, plans, suggestions, anything like that?" He looked mostly to Edward and Violet as he spoke. If people were going to be expecting him to take charge in this game, and he knew they were, he'd have to look to others to do the same. Or else... well or else it'd all just keep building on him. And he didn't know how that would end, but it probably wouldn't end well. Besides that, there were still a ton of other people he needed to find.
"The way I figure it, there's safety in numbers here, but I've got other people I'm hoping are safe. We're all probably the same there. If we can get a bunch of people together, maybe we can get out a signal or something, I dunno."
Ugh never say never
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
In any other situation, Mike would have tried to take the lead instead. In fact, he almost tried to cut in when Imraan started talking about arranging a group, but he decided not to at the last second. Imraan was bigger, stronger, more popular, and most importantly, he had a gun. If he wanted to get out of here alive, Mike was going to have to swallow his pride and listen up. As the large- what was he, Arabic? Turkish?- boy spoke and it became apparent that no one else would approach for a while, Mike surveyed the group that had formed one more time.
Violet. He didn't know her that well, but she kind of creeped him out. Just something about her. She seemed to be protecting her friend- Maddy, she'd called her- though, so maybe she really did have a nice side. Or maybe they were both horrible people who would snap and kill all of them in a second. Hell if he knew. But then again, he just couldn't imagine a small fry like Maddy hurting anyone. Vivien, on the other hand... yeesh. It wasn't that Mike didn't like gay people. They were people just like him and should be allowed to marry whoever they want, etc, etc. His next door neighbor was gay. It was just... weird to see a guy in frilly dresses and stuff. It was like he was trying to call attention to himself or something. It was weird. As the other guy came closer, he could see that it was Edward Belmont. He was on the track team or something; he'd seen him running around after sch- wait, was he wearing a suit?
Mike jerked his attention back to Imraan, but he seemed to have finished talking, so he simply nodded his head in agreement. It wasn't like he had any bright ideas anyway.
Violet. He didn't know her that well, but she kind of creeped him out. Just something about her. She seemed to be protecting her friend- Maddy, she'd called her- though, so maybe she really did have a nice side. Or maybe they were both horrible people who would snap and kill all of them in a second. Hell if he knew. But then again, he just couldn't imagine a small fry like Maddy hurting anyone. Vivien, on the other hand... yeesh. It wasn't that Mike didn't like gay people. They were people just like him and should be allowed to marry whoever they want, etc, etc. His next door neighbor was gay. It was just... weird to see a guy in frilly dresses and stuff. It was like he was trying to call attention to himself or something. It was weird. As the other guy came closer, he could see that it was Edward Belmont. He was on the track team or something; he'd seen him running around after sch- wait, was he wearing a suit?
Mike jerked his attention back to Imraan, but he seemed to have finished talking, so he simply nodded his head in agreement. It wasn't like he had any bright ideas anyway.
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-
Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
"It-it's okay. I'm fine,"
Madeleine was stuttering, the poor thing. Violet didn't blame her; this wasn't exactly the type of situation a teenage girl finds herself in when she goes on a camping trip with her school. She couldn't picture any time when somebody would expect to wake up somewhere like this, surrounded by classmates who right now, could only be considered a threat.
"I've got a g...a weapon too, so I'm-I'm good."
Her bangs brushed against her eye again. That's right, she'd forgotten all about that. She'd been underestimating her chances, unaware of what weapon she might have received. The girl probably had a better one that Violet did, but there wasn't a whole lot she could - or was willing to - do about it. No, she had her weapon, right there, in her pocket. Even if someone pulled a gun out on them it wouldn't matter to her. She'd burn her way through a thousand Viviens if they ever tried to harm someone close to her.
It was strange. Back home, nobody would've thought of quirky old Violet Druce as fierce and determined as she was being right now, but then again, it wasn't like classes were exactly "Last Man Standing 101", was it? It wasn't hard for her to imagine ways she could get away with the kill, since that's what she lived and breathed - although that was for fiction. For films. It wasn't like those days anymore, this was all real and happening, and after all the bloodshed that was yet to come, there'd only be one left standing. She often wondered about situations like this; what if there was a zombie apocalypse one day? Well, that one was easy. Grab her nearest friends, her father, her camera to document the events, and find somewhere to hold up until they starved themselves to death. That was her plan. Trent's was better, but then he had more time to think about that kind of thing. Not Violet though. She was always so busy.
"S'alright Maddy, you won't have to fight as long as I'm around. I swear it."
A quick smile to reassure her, then a stern look back at Imraan. Great, of course. They were buddies. It wasn't like she couldn't trust anyone right now, but she knew how violence worked, she knew the effect it had on people. Sure, grouping up with your friends seems like a good idea right now, but what if they've already made plans? What if they're ready to turn on you the moment you step away to take a leak? Out of the corner of her eye she kept a lock on Madeleine to make sure she wasn't tracking her thoughts. As meek and mild as she seemed, there was no telling what her motivation was here. What was keeping her fighting? Right now it'd be the same as everyone else - staying alive simply because they don't know what it's like to die.
She rubbed her temple. Too many thoughts. Too many distractions, and - she heard Imraan pipe up again. Too many people. If she could get everyone to leave somehow, just to give her some time alone with the stupid truck. Maybe the terrorists had left a couple of stones unturned? Maybe, just maybe, there really was a way she could get the damn thing started again. If she had a vehicle, she could make much better time across the island. She hadn't given much thought to anything after that, aside from picking up Trent, but surely there was a way back to the mainland from here. There had to be.
"Alright. Anyone got uh... ideas, plans, suggestions, anything like that?"
Looking back, she now saw the boys staring her way, waiting for an answer. What did they want from her? She was just a film-maker, or at least aspired to be one. Directing a film was one thing, but directing a mission of survival? Yeah, somehow she was convinced that she wasn't what you'd call the right material for the job. But then she heard Madeleine shudder as another cold wind swept up the road.
Come on Vi, you're better than this. Stop thinking so much and actually help.
"The way I figure it, there's safety in numbers here, but I've got other people I'm hoping are safe. We're all probably the same there. If we can get a bunch of people together, maybe we can get out a signal or something, I dunno."
"...A plan, huh?"
She took a head count. Six. Alright, that was a start.
"We've got about six people here, far as I can tell. You, me, Max - er, Mike, I mean, sorry. You, me, Mike, Maddy," Pointing to everyone as she went, she turned back round the other way and counted off the last two members of their merry little band. "Vivien and Eddie. Alright, yeah, that's six."
Her shoes scuffed the road as she stepped back a little to better face everyone.
"So if you wanna get a signal up, you've gotta be able to trust five other people already, and we've only been here for like an hour or so, tops. Think about it, you really able to trust this many people so easily? Are you willing to split your life five ways?"
Her words were aimed at everyone now.
Madeleine was stuttering, the poor thing. Violet didn't blame her; this wasn't exactly the type of situation a teenage girl finds herself in when she goes on a camping trip with her school. She couldn't picture any time when somebody would expect to wake up somewhere like this, surrounded by classmates who right now, could only be considered a threat.
"I've got a g...a weapon too, so I'm-I'm good."
Her bangs brushed against her eye again. That's right, she'd forgotten all about that. She'd been underestimating her chances, unaware of what weapon she might have received. The girl probably had a better one that Violet did, but there wasn't a whole lot she could - or was willing to - do about it. No, she had her weapon, right there, in her pocket. Even if someone pulled a gun out on them it wouldn't matter to her. She'd burn her way through a thousand Viviens if they ever tried to harm someone close to her.
It was strange. Back home, nobody would've thought of quirky old Violet Druce as fierce and determined as she was being right now, but then again, it wasn't like classes were exactly "Last Man Standing 101", was it? It wasn't hard for her to imagine ways she could get away with the kill, since that's what she lived and breathed - although that was for fiction. For films. It wasn't like those days anymore, this was all real and happening, and after all the bloodshed that was yet to come, there'd only be one left standing. She often wondered about situations like this; what if there was a zombie apocalypse one day? Well, that one was easy. Grab her nearest friends, her father, her camera to document the events, and find somewhere to hold up until they starved themselves to death. That was her plan. Trent's was better, but then he had more time to think about that kind of thing. Not Violet though. She was always so busy.
"S'alright Maddy, you won't have to fight as long as I'm around. I swear it."
A quick smile to reassure her, then a stern look back at Imraan. Great, of course. They were buddies. It wasn't like she couldn't trust anyone right now, but she knew how violence worked, she knew the effect it had on people. Sure, grouping up with your friends seems like a good idea right now, but what if they've already made plans? What if they're ready to turn on you the moment you step away to take a leak? Out of the corner of her eye she kept a lock on Madeleine to make sure she wasn't tracking her thoughts. As meek and mild as she seemed, there was no telling what her motivation was here. What was keeping her fighting? Right now it'd be the same as everyone else - staying alive simply because they don't know what it's like to die.
She rubbed her temple. Too many thoughts. Too many distractions, and - she heard Imraan pipe up again. Too many people. If she could get everyone to leave somehow, just to give her some time alone with the stupid truck. Maybe the terrorists had left a couple of stones unturned? Maybe, just maybe, there really was a way she could get the damn thing started again. If she had a vehicle, she could make much better time across the island. She hadn't given much thought to anything after that, aside from picking up Trent, but surely there was a way back to the mainland from here. There had to be.
"Alright. Anyone got uh... ideas, plans, suggestions, anything like that?"
Looking back, she now saw the boys staring her way, waiting for an answer. What did they want from her? She was just a film-maker, or at least aspired to be one. Directing a film was one thing, but directing a mission of survival? Yeah, somehow she was convinced that she wasn't what you'd call the right material for the job. But then she heard Madeleine shudder as another cold wind swept up the road.
Come on Vi, you're better than this. Stop thinking so much and actually help.
"The way I figure it, there's safety in numbers here, but I've got other people I'm hoping are safe. We're all probably the same there. If we can get a bunch of people together, maybe we can get out a signal or something, I dunno."
"...A plan, huh?"
She took a head count. Six. Alright, that was a start.
"We've got about six people here, far as I can tell. You, me, Max - er, Mike, I mean, sorry. You, me, Mike, Maddy," Pointing to everyone as she went, she turned back round the other way and counted off the last two members of their merry little band. "Vivien and Eddie. Alright, yeah, that's six."
Her shoes scuffed the road as she stepped back a little to better face everyone.
"So if you wanna get a signal up, you've gotta be able to trust five other people already, and we've only been here for like an hour or so, tops. Think about it, you really able to trust this many people so easily? Are you willing to split your life five ways?"
Her words were aimed at everyone now.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinojelly. 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.
Oh, blah blah blah. There's already too much drama here, and I've only been awake for like, forty minutes!
It wasn't as though Vivien wasn't taking the situation seriously, it was just that everyone else was acting crazy. With Imraan doing his truck smashing, the newly arrived Edward donning a suit (on a camping trip no less! What a buffoon!), and now with Violet starting up her cinema-esque spiel on trusting people, Vivien was starting to feel like the sanest person in the group. Imagine that! Vivien Morin: Relatively sane!
But anyway.
What Vivien really needed was a weapon. Or a group he could really trust. He needed to find his gallies, and the only way to safely do that was to run around in safety with one of these circus freaks. They were dumb, yeah, but they all (or mostly, at least) had means to defend themselves. But there was no way he was tolerating, and more importantly, trusting them all at once.
"Personally, I think we should split up," he chimed. Staring daggers at Violet, he continued; "I think I can split my life pretty easily between two people. As you may know, two is a smaller number than five." He turned back to Imraan, who was the closest thing to a leader this ragtag group of misfit and miscreants had. "Anyway, if we make two groups of people, we'll cover more ground, and we'll probably live longer," Flipping his dark, sweat moistened bangs away from his eyes, he explained himself further, "People who are killing out there - and trust me, there are people killing out there - won't care much for aiming. If some psycho student has a shotgun and is willing to use it to end a life, he'll easily be able to shoot someone in a crowd like this." He waved his hands in a circular motion, demonstrating the size. "With six people around, a blast from a shotgun could easily graze someone at the very least before anyone got a chance to scramble away." He gyrated his fingers, representing the clumsy bumbling that would inevitably happen.
"Anyway, that's my two cents. If we're splitting up - and we should be splitting up - I need to go with someone armed. I can't do much defending with this thing," he whined, waving his Venus about.
It wasn't as though Vivien wasn't taking the situation seriously, it was just that everyone else was acting crazy. With Imraan doing his truck smashing, the newly arrived Edward donning a suit (on a camping trip no less! What a buffoon!), and now with Violet starting up her cinema-esque spiel on trusting people, Vivien was starting to feel like the sanest person in the group. Imagine that! Vivien Morin: Relatively sane!
But anyway.
What Vivien really needed was a weapon. Or a group he could really trust. He needed to find his gallies, and the only way to safely do that was to run around in safety with one of these circus freaks. They were dumb, yeah, but they all (or mostly, at least) had means to defend themselves. But there was no way he was tolerating, and more importantly, trusting them all at once.
"Personally, I think we should split up," he chimed. Staring daggers at Violet, he continued; "I think I can split my life pretty easily between two people. As you may know, two is a smaller number than five." He turned back to Imraan, who was the closest thing to a leader this ragtag group of misfit and miscreants had. "Anyway, if we make two groups of people, we'll cover more ground, and we'll probably live longer," Flipping his dark, sweat moistened bangs away from his eyes, he explained himself further, "People who are killing out there - and trust me, there are people killing out there - won't care much for aiming. If some psycho student has a shotgun and is willing to use it to end a life, he'll easily be able to shoot someone in a crowd like this." He waved his hands in a circular motion, demonstrating the size. "With six people around, a blast from a shotgun could easily graze someone at the very least before anyone got a chance to scramble away." He gyrated his fingers, representing the clumsy bumbling that would inevitably happen.
"Anyway, that's my two cents. If we're splitting up - and we should be splitting up - I need to go with someone armed. I can't do much defending with this thing," he whined, waving his Venus about.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Danorum. 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.
(You kind of skipped me, Danorum. But oh well...)
Despite her meek appearance, Madeleine prided herself on having a sharp mind. A brain was a useful asset in any situation, and especially now that she was here-wherever 'here' was-she was working hard to keep up with the flow of conversation and to wrap her brain around the current situation. As of the moment, she was puzzling over Vivien's assertion that splitting into groups was best, as it seemed to her like the more guns and weapons there were on one side, the less likely it was that the other side would attempt to engage in hostilities. Still, he seemed very insistent on his idea, and would probably refuse to follow Imraan's as a result.
More pressing to the young artist was her concern over her friend's overprotective nature towards her. Perhaps this was just a quirk of Violet's, but Maddy found it more than a little off-putting that she was insisting on protecting her, even with her assurance that she had a weapon of her own. After all, hadn't she outright said that she could take care of herself? Not that she minded having someone be so concerned about her wellbeing, but it painted a bad picture for everyone else in this group for her to be the person who needs someone else to shield her.
And so, with Vivien's plan still hanging in the air, Maddy stepped forward and announced, "I'll do it!" After a second or two, she clarified, "Umm...I mean I'll...I'll go with him." She wasn't necessarily separating herself from Violet, but she needed to show, much for her own sake, that she could take care of herself.
Sorry about this, Violet, but I can't let myself be a coward forever.
Despite her meek appearance, Madeleine prided herself on having a sharp mind. A brain was a useful asset in any situation, and especially now that she was here-wherever 'here' was-she was working hard to keep up with the flow of conversation and to wrap her brain around the current situation. As of the moment, she was puzzling over Vivien's assertion that splitting into groups was best, as it seemed to her like the more guns and weapons there were on one side, the less likely it was that the other side would attempt to engage in hostilities. Still, he seemed very insistent on his idea, and would probably refuse to follow Imraan's as a result.
More pressing to the young artist was her concern over her friend's overprotective nature towards her. Perhaps this was just a quirk of Violet's, but Maddy found it more than a little off-putting that she was insisting on protecting her, even with her assurance that she had a weapon of her own. After all, hadn't she outright said that she could take care of herself? Not that she minded having someone be so concerned about her wellbeing, but it painted a bad picture for everyone else in this group for her to be the person who needs someone else to shield her.
And so, with Vivien's plan still hanging in the air, Maddy stepped forward and announced, "I'll do it!" After a second or two, she clarified, "Umm...I mean I'll...I'll go with him." She wasn't necessarily separating herself from Violet, but she needed to show, much for her own sake, that she could take care of herself.
Sorry about this, Violet, but I can't let myself be a coward forever.