((Isabel Guerra continued from The House of the Rising Sun ))
Isabel sat with her chin resting in one hand on top of a small suit case. White ear buds hung down from her ears to her ipod, shoved in her pocket. A melodious tone sound cut through the music and she yanked the buds out.
Attention: Flight 287 out of Terminal 1, Peir E, Gate 27 will begin boarding in 15 minutes.
She quickly wrapped the cord around the ipod and stuck it in her purse. Isabel stood and extended the handle on the smaller of two bags. Isabel looked up at the departures board.
F287 YYZ to LAX -------------- On time
" Mmph-hey Izzy!"
Isabel turned around and beamed with a big smile. She crossed her arms and cocked her hip to the side.
"Hey jerk face. No sandwich for me?"
A muffled "Nope" came out between bites.
She swiped a chunk off the sandwich and threw it into her mouth.
"Fine. I'm stealing your in-flight peanuts then."
"Yeah, right. Good luck."
"Come on, they started boarding! Get your stuff; I'm not carrying your crap to the gate."
She grabbed her little rolling bag and the two set off. Though it wasn't necessary, they ran down the moving sidewalk past the people patiently waiting to come to the end.
At the gate they handed over their passports and boarding passes. Isabel shoved the little red passport into her bag and waited at the threshold.
"Ready?"
"Born ready."
She took his hand and they walked down the hall to the plane.
"Are you going to miss it?"
"Are you going to miss it?"
Isabel was lying on a mattress on the floor of an almost completely empty room.
"Go away," she said moodily and turned onto her side to face the wall. Her long legs were bent, pulled halfway up to her in an almost fetal position.
"Excuse me? Don't take that tone with me!"
"You want to know the truth?" Isabel said, her voice slightly louder now. "Of course I'll miss it. Just when I think somewhere is going to get to be my home, the place where I'll stay, it never is. I don't even remember where I am some days. Times and places slip and slide around. I hate it. I hate it all."
The sharp crack of contact rang out in the room. Isabel put her hand up to her stinging cheek and her eyes began to fill with tears, but she didn't look away from the wall or turn her head. Stubborn.
"You are such an ungrateful child. You have such a bad attitude. I don't know what's gotten into you lately."
The door slammed behind her mother.
"I absolutely am," she muttered.
"Absolutely."
"Absolutely?"
Isabel giggled into the phone and fell backwards onto her bed, twisting the cord around her finger. "No. Absolution. Like the name of the space ship that Tom operated from on the little thingies in between the shows on Toonami? I know it's a really dorky thing to name my car after but I have to start thinking of names now, right?"
The line suddenly wasn't responding anymore.
"Hayley? Did your phone crap out? Hayley?"
"Hayley?"
"Hayley"
Isabel shook her hair with her fingers a little and closed her eyes for a moment. The day dreams and memories were running together in her mind, she hadn't slept. She'd made it out of the ranger station with her neck still attached to her head. That was good. As she was running to the nearby swamp and hoping the beeping in her collar would stop she had some time to think about the other information she'd heard. Hayley killed for a third time. This was not good.
She better give me a good explanation when I find her or I will kick her skinny white ass.
She plopped down cross legged into the ground. They seemed to be just at the edge of the swamp. Past the little land mass they were on it looked decidedly less solid.
Isabel looked up at Roland and cocked an eye brow.
I hope this works.
-.-- -.-- --..
Day 6, Morning. Private
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Ruggahissy
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
((Roland Harte continued from House of the Rising Sun
Roland Harte couldn't breathe. He was running as fast as he could, sprinting around branches and dead trees. The edge of the forest seemed a lifetime away. He needed to reach it. He had to. The string of dots and dashes repeated over and over in his head as he ran on, he couldn't afford to mess up, to forget anything. It was down to the wire.
A divot in the ground caused him to stumble, Roland barely regained his footing. He was painfully aware of every second. He'd taken too long, same with Feo. The pair had stayed behind to wreck the place but they'd taken too long. The zone should have been red hours ago. As he righted himself, his breathe caught in his throat. Roland reached a trembling hand up to his collar-
Beep................. Beep.
"Fuck!"
He took off, towards the forest, faster then before. Roland was no track star, but he was in good shape. He was making great time, especially with his explosive leash as a motivator.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!"
With a desperate throw Roland tossed his bag into a nearby bush, entering the tree line so fast he couldn't stop himself. With a sudden cry Roland tumbled forward over vines and roots, crashing to a halt just clear of the opening. Scrambling quickly to his feet, Roland desperately clawed at his neck to find his collar to no long be blinking. With a sigh Roland sank back against the tree, trying to control his emotions. He needed to stay focus, he needed to stop shaking. He'd cut it too close, they'd bot-
Roland shot straight up, carefully but quickly making his way to the tree line. Feo had stayed back with him, Feo, who had been the last one out... Roland closed his eyes, cursing himself. He couldn't be distracted. The message, he needed to remember the message. Going over it one more time in his head to make sure he hadn't forgotten, Roland looked up to scan the cabin again. Feo was still in there, Feo and her blinking collar...
He wanted to cry out, but he couldn't risk saying her name, especially so close to the dead zone. Now that he was out of the dead zone, Danya could pick up what he was saying, see what he was up too. He couldn't allow the terrorists any advantage. They might have known her name already, but Roland couldn't be sure. Feo had been smart, for all he knew she was the leader of the escape attempt, her and Ethan...
And then, there was a flash of green in the window. Roland tensed up. Feo was at the door, with her pack. It was too close. They'd cut it too close. Roland balled his hands into fists, willing Feo on to safety.
She just needs to make it down the hill, she just needs to run give it all she's got....
It wasn't enough. Roland winced back as a loud bang resonated through the area. Feo's head vanished in a cloud of blood, her now headless corpse stumbled forward a few inches before collapsing not far from Ethan's corpse. It was over. Feo was gone.
"Dammit!" Roland cursed, swinging his fist at a nearby tree. "God Dammit!!!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.
It wasn't fair. Feo had given her all and it didn't even matter. The only difference between the two of them had been a few seconds. Roland felt his anger taking hold. He swung his fist again, connecting with the trunk of a tree. An arching burst of pain shot up his arm, causing him to grind his teeth together.
He stomped back to his things, slicking his hair back, trying to calm himself down. He couldn't. For the first time ever in the game, Roland felt as if he was about to cry. Roland went down to one knee, burying his face in his hands, breathing in and out, controlled breaths.
Come on Roland. She'll die for nothing unless you get that message to Isabel. It's not fair, but you knew it from the start. Make them pay. You can't get distracted Roland, not now.
Roland stood, picking up his back. It'd take a bit to catch up with Isabel and the others, break the bad news. But he had to keep going. For Feo, for Ethan, for everyone.
I'll gut you, you son of a bitch, I'll gut you and I'll like it...
~~~~~~~
Roland couldn't recall how long he'd walked for. All that was in his mind was a message, repeated over and over. He knew it forward, he knew it backwards. He'd succeeded, as hard as it was to believe. He'd no idea if Danya had been watching or not, at least for now he appeared to be in the clear. Danya wasn't his only problem though.
Gunshots, somewhere in the woods. Someone else was getting killed, someone else was succumbing to the game. Every step was a second wasted. Roland knew that better then anyone. He'd killed Robert Lerger, he'd seen first hand what happened when you were weak, when you gave in. Pandora'd been quick to remind him of that.
Roland had no way of properly expressing how relieved he'd been when he spotted Isabel again. The girl seemed to be camped at the edge of what looked like a swamp, though Roland didn't see anyone else in the immediate area he was sure the others were on their way, or just out of sight. He nodded politely as he entered the clearing, dropping his pack down on the ground. The code was still fresh in his mind, the key to their survival.
First objective completed. Next, getting out the signal.
Feo...
Roland bit his lip, unsure of what to do. He didn't want any of the terrorists to make the connection that they'd all been in the dead zone together. He was sure they'd been spotted entering, but all the same he couldn't give them any more hints. But he couldn't stay silent. He'd risk it. Roland looked up, meeting Isabel's eyes.
"She didn't make it."
There. It was out there in the open. All the others, Kitty, Winnie and Helen had made it out well before hand. It wouldn't be hard to figure out just who their fallen comrade had been. Roland let out a sigh and sat down beside Isabel. He wanted to burst out with the message right then, but again, the cameras were watching.
"How're you holding up?" He said as casual as possible. Roland had done his job. Now it was Isabel's turn. He just needed to trust her, and let her lead.
Roland Harte couldn't breathe. He was running as fast as he could, sprinting around branches and dead trees. The edge of the forest seemed a lifetime away. He needed to reach it. He had to. The string of dots and dashes repeated over and over in his head as he ran on, he couldn't afford to mess up, to forget anything. It was down to the wire.
A divot in the ground caused him to stumble, Roland barely regained his footing. He was painfully aware of every second. He'd taken too long, same with Feo. The pair had stayed behind to wreck the place but they'd taken too long. The zone should have been red hours ago. As he righted himself, his breathe caught in his throat. Roland reached a trembling hand up to his collar-
Beep................. Beep.
"Fuck!"
He took off, towards the forest, faster then before. Roland was no track star, but he was in good shape. He was making great time, especially with his explosive leash as a motivator.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!"
With a desperate throw Roland tossed his bag into a nearby bush, entering the tree line so fast he couldn't stop himself. With a sudden cry Roland tumbled forward over vines and roots, crashing to a halt just clear of the opening. Scrambling quickly to his feet, Roland desperately clawed at his neck to find his collar to no long be blinking. With a sigh Roland sank back against the tree, trying to control his emotions. He needed to stay focus, he needed to stop shaking. He'd cut it too close, they'd bot-
Roland shot straight up, carefully but quickly making his way to the tree line. Feo had stayed back with him, Feo, who had been the last one out... Roland closed his eyes, cursing himself. He couldn't be distracted. The message, he needed to remember the message. Going over it one more time in his head to make sure he hadn't forgotten, Roland looked up to scan the cabin again. Feo was still in there, Feo and her blinking collar...
He wanted to cry out, but he couldn't risk saying her name, especially so close to the dead zone. Now that he was out of the dead zone, Danya could pick up what he was saying, see what he was up too. He couldn't allow the terrorists any advantage. They might have known her name already, but Roland couldn't be sure. Feo had been smart, for all he knew she was the leader of the escape attempt, her and Ethan...
And then, there was a flash of green in the window. Roland tensed up. Feo was at the door, with her pack. It was too close. They'd cut it too close. Roland balled his hands into fists, willing Feo on to safety.
She just needs to make it down the hill, she just needs to run give it all she's got....
It wasn't enough. Roland winced back as a loud bang resonated through the area. Feo's head vanished in a cloud of blood, her now headless corpse stumbled forward a few inches before collapsing not far from Ethan's corpse. It was over. Feo was gone.
"Dammit!" Roland cursed, swinging his fist at a nearby tree. "God Dammit!!!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.
It wasn't fair. Feo had given her all and it didn't even matter. The only difference between the two of them had been a few seconds. Roland felt his anger taking hold. He swung his fist again, connecting with the trunk of a tree. An arching burst of pain shot up his arm, causing him to grind his teeth together.
He stomped back to his things, slicking his hair back, trying to calm himself down. He couldn't. For the first time ever in the game, Roland felt as if he was about to cry. Roland went down to one knee, burying his face in his hands, breathing in and out, controlled breaths.
Come on Roland. She'll die for nothing unless you get that message to Isabel. It's not fair, but you knew it from the start. Make them pay. You can't get distracted Roland, not now.
Roland stood, picking up his back. It'd take a bit to catch up with Isabel and the others, break the bad news. But he had to keep going. For Feo, for Ethan, for everyone.
I'll gut you, you son of a bitch, I'll gut you and I'll like it...
~~~~~~~
Roland couldn't recall how long he'd walked for. All that was in his mind was a message, repeated over and over. He knew it forward, he knew it backwards. He'd succeeded, as hard as it was to believe. He'd no idea if Danya had been watching or not, at least for now he appeared to be in the clear. Danya wasn't his only problem though.
Gunshots, somewhere in the woods. Someone else was getting killed, someone else was succumbing to the game. Every step was a second wasted. Roland knew that better then anyone. He'd killed Robert Lerger, he'd seen first hand what happened when you were weak, when you gave in. Pandora'd been quick to remind him of that.
Roland had no way of properly expressing how relieved he'd been when he spotted Isabel again. The girl seemed to be camped at the edge of what looked like a swamp, though Roland didn't see anyone else in the immediate area he was sure the others were on their way, or just out of sight. He nodded politely as he entered the clearing, dropping his pack down on the ground. The code was still fresh in his mind, the key to their survival.
First objective completed. Next, getting out the signal.
Feo...
Roland bit his lip, unsure of what to do. He didn't want any of the terrorists to make the connection that they'd all been in the dead zone together. He was sure they'd been spotted entering, but all the same he couldn't give them any more hints. But he couldn't stay silent. He'd risk it. Roland looked up, meeting Isabel's eyes.
"She didn't make it."
There. It was out there in the open. All the others, Kitty, Winnie and Helen had made it out well before hand. It wouldn't be hard to figure out just who their fallen comrade had been. Roland let out a sigh and sat down beside Isabel. He wanted to burst out with the message right then, but again, the cameras were watching.
"How're you holding up?" He said as casual as possible. Roland had done his job. Now it was Isabel's turn. He just needed to trust her, and let her lead.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. 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
((Leila Langford continued from Bloodgarden))
Finally, morning came.
It was a blessing, true enough, for the ill-fated girl, whose arm now dangled so loosely - so painfully - by her side as she walked on through the light. Her body was cold with the air of the night still laced upon her skin, and what was left of her clothes had become so torn and ragged that they were only worn now for modesty's sake. If she'd seen herself then, in mirror or lake, she would've laughed.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
Her eyes gave her nothing but misery as she soldiered on, fried as they were from constantly being on watch. They, along with the rest of her body, hadn't even rested that night. It was impossible to sleep when her arm continued to throb and tear at every instance, and whenever she thought she was close to collapsing into what would've surely been a blissful reprise, there it was, reminding her how hopelessly stupid she'd been the day before.
Leila Langford, one of the fiercest bitches Bayview had to offer, mutilated by that creepy little fucker. It was a travesty. In a sense, it still hadn't really hit home. What happened to the weak, timid Brook back in the tunnels? How could someone change that much in such a short amount of time? Maybe that was who he really was this entire time - hidden behind that cowardly exterior. She wondered, for a while, if he'd been like that back at school. Would he have snapped so easily back there? Would they have been the next Columbine?
"Nngh-"
Her thoughts scattered. A stray root had caught her foot, sending her stumbling forward without warning. Luckily she managed to keep herself upright, but the shock of the fall caused her arm to swing out of her grip, cracking and twisting as it wobbled about carelessly. Were she not so depleted of energy, she would've screamed much louder, but all she could muster was a weak, agonised cry before she drew it back in.
She was in so much pain, she thought she'd die any second now. One more step and that would be it - no more piercing, no more snapping, just... sleep. That was all she wanted. Just a minute or two to get back some of that old spirit. Just a pinch of the vigour she used to store to keep her going; keep her fighting. But no. Her feet marched on, determined to get her to safety, whether she desired it, or whether she wanted to give in and call in quits.
It was all she could do to keep herself from crying again. Her poor eyes. So drained, so worn out. She began to close them. Her legs kept on with their steady pace, stumbling every now and then from sheer fatigue, but she continued to walk. She didn't need to know where she was going, or if she was being watched. She simply didn't care any more. All she wanted was for this endless pain to stop, if only for a second. The only good thing she'd noticed was that the blood had finally given up on her, and clotted around the exit point near her elbow, where the bone had splintered through.
That was a relief.
When she first saw the wound, she thought it would bleed out forever, and yet, it hadn't. Small miracles.
Finally, morning came.
It was a blessing, true enough, for the ill-fated girl, whose arm now dangled so loosely - so painfully - by her side as she walked on through the light. Her body was cold with the air of the night still laced upon her skin, and what was left of her clothes had become so torn and ragged that they were only worn now for modesty's sake. If she'd seen herself then, in mirror or lake, she would've laughed.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
Her eyes gave her nothing but misery as she soldiered on, fried as they were from constantly being on watch. They, along with the rest of her body, hadn't even rested that night. It was impossible to sleep when her arm continued to throb and tear at every instance, and whenever she thought she was close to collapsing into what would've surely been a blissful reprise, there it was, reminding her how hopelessly stupid she'd been the day before.
Leila Langford, one of the fiercest bitches Bayview had to offer, mutilated by that creepy little fucker. It was a travesty. In a sense, it still hadn't really hit home. What happened to the weak, timid Brook back in the tunnels? How could someone change that much in such a short amount of time? Maybe that was who he really was this entire time - hidden behind that cowardly exterior. She wondered, for a while, if he'd been like that back at school. Would he have snapped so easily back there? Would they have been the next Columbine?
"Nngh-"
Her thoughts scattered. A stray root had caught her foot, sending her stumbling forward without warning. Luckily she managed to keep herself upright, but the shock of the fall caused her arm to swing out of her grip, cracking and twisting as it wobbled about carelessly. Were she not so depleted of energy, she would've screamed much louder, but all she could muster was a weak, agonised cry before she drew it back in.
She was in so much pain, she thought she'd die any second now. One more step and that would be it - no more piercing, no more snapping, just... sleep. That was all she wanted. Just a minute or two to get back some of that old spirit. Just a pinch of the vigour she used to store to keep her going; keep her fighting. But no. Her feet marched on, determined to get her to safety, whether she desired it, or whether she wanted to give in and call in quits.
It was all she could do to keep herself from crying again. Her poor eyes. So drained, so worn out. She began to close them. Her legs kept on with their steady pace, stumbling every now and then from sheer fatigue, but she continued to walk. She didn't need to know where she was going, or if she was being watched. She simply didn't care any more. All she wanted was for this endless pain to stop, if only for a second. The only good thing she'd noticed was that the blood had finally given up on her, and clotted around the exit point near her elbow, where the bone had splintered through.
That was a relief.
When she first saw the wound, she thought it would bleed out forever, and yet, it hadn't. Small miracles.
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.
((Dave Morrison and Winnie Clark, continued from House of the Rising Sun.))
Dave followed Isabel closely, trying again not to lose her or any of the others in the confusion. While he still didn't know what shit they'd gotten themselves into, Dave knew getting split up wouldn't end well for any of them. One of them'd talk, maybe even do something fucking dumb like spraypaint the data they'd gotten all over the island, give it to some fucked up nutjobs, and then they'd be fucked.
And after what they'd been through over the past week, Dave was not in the mood for getting fucked.
They came to the edge of a swamp and Izzy decided that now they should stop. Great. Now they were all this close to being knee deep in shit-brown water, they could stop, then. Dave sighed. He didn't want to start another argument. He was still hurt from the last one. Shrugging, Dave remembered that he hadn't changed his bandages in what, three days now? Fuck, should've gotten around to that.
Dave sat himself down and threw his bags to the front of him.
Pulling up his pantlegs, Dave set about tending to his knees, throwing scowls at Roland every so often as he removed the old dressings, attempting to clean the pussing, probably-infected wounds- a tough task in a fucking swamp, but he dealt with the cards he was given- and putting fresh dressings on with what was left of his first aid kit. There. One more problem dealt with. 98 to go.
Dave instinctively felt for the back of his shirt, remembering that his back had too been fucked up when he tackled Roland. Damn, did he suck at this. Winnie would probably have a heart attack, Roland would leave the group in a fit of jealousy after finding out his JROTC training was no match for Dave's washboard abs, and Kitty would probably have an allergic reaction or something.
Eh, fuck it. When had Dave been one to care for tactfulness? Dave reached into his bag and pulled out the first shirt he could find, pulling up a plain, long-sleeved, dark gray tee. He pulled it down, a little confused by how baggy it was coming up on him now. Odd, he'd remembered it fitting perfectly before.
"Alright guys, let's get a roll call going." He pulled the shirt down and looked over to Izzy and Roland. "We lose anyone on the way?"
Dave followed Isabel closely, trying again not to lose her or any of the others in the confusion. While he still didn't know what shit they'd gotten themselves into, Dave knew getting split up wouldn't end well for any of them. One of them'd talk, maybe even do something fucking dumb like spraypaint the data they'd gotten all over the island, give it to some fucked up nutjobs, and then they'd be fucked.
And after what they'd been through over the past week, Dave was not in the mood for getting fucked.
They came to the edge of a swamp and Izzy decided that now they should stop. Great. Now they were all this close to being knee deep in shit-brown water, they could stop, then. Dave sighed. He didn't want to start another argument. He was still hurt from the last one. Shrugging, Dave remembered that he hadn't changed his bandages in what, three days now? Fuck, should've gotten around to that.
Dave sat himself down and threw his bags to the front of him.
Pulling up his pantlegs, Dave set about tending to his knees, throwing scowls at Roland every so often as he removed the old dressings, attempting to clean the pussing, probably-infected wounds- a tough task in a fucking swamp, but he dealt with the cards he was given- and putting fresh dressings on with what was left of his first aid kit. There. One more problem dealt with. 98 to go.
Dave instinctively felt for the back of his shirt, remembering that his back had too been fucked up when he tackled Roland. Damn, did he suck at this. Winnie would probably have a heart attack, Roland would leave the group in a fit of jealousy after finding out his JROTC training was no match for Dave's washboard abs, and Kitty would probably have an allergic reaction or something.
Eh, fuck it. When had Dave been one to care for tactfulness? Dave reached into his bag and pulled out the first shirt he could find, pulling up a plain, long-sleeved, dark gray tee. He pulled it down, a little confused by how baggy it was coming up on him now. Odd, he'd remembered it fitting perfectly before.
"Alright guys, let's get a roll call going." He pulled the shirt down and looked over to Izzy and Roland. "We lose anyone on the way?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Badb.
(Kitty Gittschall continued from House of the Rising Sun)
Kitty couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of irony in her current situation. It wasn't backed by any sort of logic, rather it was just a feeling she had in the pit of her chest. She should feel as though this situation was strange. That she really had not planned to be here. Kitty was not in the mood to really go in-depth with her own circumstances, whether they were in the past or the present, but if she were to hazard a guess she would have zeroed in on the fact that she, Miss Loner Player, was in a group bent on finding a way out. She was at the end of the line of a row of ducks, just waiting for the next lunatic to show up with a rifle and take a potshot. Kitty was vaguely reminded of a Shoot the Ducks booth at the fair. Shoot three little quackers and win a stuffed monkey. All of that felt appropriate somehow.
Kitty sighed. She was in one of her moods, the kind that she got when she wasn't happy with something that she had no control of. The kind that made her subconsciously avoid everyone like the plague, with her mouth sealed up with tape and her eyes squinting. She even had the gall to cross her arms and just stare at everyone else. Hell, she wasn't really sure why she was so annoyed. It could have been anything really. The temperature was too high, Dave was being too loud, the sky was too blue, it was all possible and Kitty wouldn't have a damn clue.
She knew that staring daggers into the ground wasn't going to help matters, so she quickly turned her attention to something else. Anything else. Like her arm. Yes, thankfully her arm was finally on the mend. Kitty had been dreading her arm - she was so sure that it would be her own undoing. Look, now she can move it around without wanting to cry. And yet thinking about her arm only seemed to increase that ironic feeling in the back of her spine and for a minute she remembered that the only reason she still followed Roland was because of her arm. She huffed. She really couldn't escape this fowl mood.
She turned her attention to the bat that she held so tightly in her arm. It was certainly still in good condition, which was more than she could say for Kitty herself. Still there didn't appear to be any real grip on it. Huh. Something she could distract herself with. Kitty reached into her bag and shuffled a few things around. She quickly pulled out a roll of adhesive tape... it wasn't going to be enough, she figured. She huffed again and went back to digging through the bag. Maybe there was another roll? She doubted it but it was better than sitting around stewing for no good reason.
Dave suggested a role call. Kitty had not been paying much attention at the time, so focused on her handiwork with her metal bat that she only heard half of what Dave was saying. She raised her hand, upset that she was distracting herself from her task.
"Present," she said with a voice mixed with so much annoyance and dispassion that it was honestly hard to tell the two apart.
Kitty couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of irony in her current situation. It wasn't backed by any sort of logic, rather it was just a feeling she had in the pit of her chest. She should feel as though this situation was strange. That she really had not planned to be here. Kitty was not in the mood to really go in-depth with her own circumstances, whether they were in the past or the present, but if she were to hazard a guess she would have zeroed in on the fact that she, Miss Loner Player, was in a group bent on finding a way out. She was at the end of the line of a row of ducks, just waiting for the next lunatic to show up with a rifle and take a potshot. Kitty was vaguely reminded of a Shoot the Ducks booth at the fair. Shoot three little quackers and win a stuffed monkey. All of that felt appropriate somehow.
Kitty sighed. She was in one of her moods, the kind that she got when she wasn't happy with something that she had no control of. The kind that made her subconsciously avoid everyone like the plague, with her mouth sealed up with tape and her eyes squinting. She even had the gall to cross her arms and just stare at everyone else. Hell, she wasn't really sure why she was so annoyed. It could have been anything really. The temperature was too high, Dave was being too loud, the sky was too blue, it was all possible and Kitty wouldn't have a damn clue.
She knew that staring daggers into the ground wasn't going to help matters, so she quickly turned her attention to something else. Anything else. Like her arm. Yes, thankfully her arm was finally on the mend. Kitty had been dreading her arm - she was so sure that it would be her own undoing. Look, now she can move it around without wanting to cry. And yet thinking about her arm only seemed to increase that ironic feeling in the back of her spine and for a minute she remembered that the only reason she still followed Roland was because of her arm. She huffed. She really couldn't escape this fowl mood.
She turned her attention to the bat that she held so tightly in her arm. It was certainly still in good condition, which was more than she could say for Kitty herself. Still there didn't appear to be any real grip on it. Huh. Something she could distract herself with. Kitty reached into her bag and shuffled a few things around. She quickly pulled out a roll of adhesive tape... it wasn't going to be enough, she figured. She huffed again and went back to digging through the bag. Maybe there was another roll? She doubted it but it was better than sitting around stewing for no good reason.
Dave suggested a role call. Kitty had not been paying much attention at the time, so focused on her handiwork with her metal bat that she only heard half of what Dave was saying. She raised her hand, upset that she was distracting herself from her task.
"Present," she said with a voice mixed with so much annoyance and dispassion that it was honestly hard to tell the two apart.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
((Helen Wilson continued from The House of the Rising Sun))
Helen waved her right hand half heartedly at the suggestion of a roll call, reminiscent of the last few days at middle school, when you were the oldest kids, the ones who knew the most, and roll call was a formality that you just had to get on with in the most off hand way you could get away with without Mr Gomez telling you off for being impertinent. But she didn't feel like a top tog, or the most intelligent, or impertinent. She felt a strange mix of emotions, all separately and yet at the same time together. Fear like she'd never felt fear before, a sickness in the pit of her stomach, a strange, occasional rush of elation (that was usually quickly quashed by the fear). An additional sickness for Feo.
She'd been, what, a hundred yards? out of the danger zone when it blew up. After getting a fair way into the forest, and after sighting out where Dave and Winnie were going, she had paused and turned. Roland was running with Feo close on his heels. And then- and then- he was alive and she wasn't. Another headless corpse sprawled next to Ethan's. Two lives lost for a few sheets of paper. A few coordinates. A name. Things she could say right now, really quickly, and she would be sacrificed immediately but her classmates would live. She would go down in history as a martyr, the girl who sacrificed herself for the ensured lives of, well she wasn't sure how many others. But lots. She might get a statue, a plaque, a national holiday. Helen Wilson day. But, as she mulled this over during their strange journey from the Ranger Station to the swamp, where they were now trying to avoid the muddy bits and catch their breath, she had realised something. She couldn't do it. She simply couldn't bring herself to do it. Not when there was a chance that they might succeed with her alive. And there didn't need to be any more lives wasted on this venture. Ethan and Feo had already died for the cause. She wasn't going to be death number three.
Feeling thirsty, and feeling that she had sufficiently accounted for herself, she reached into her bag for her bottle of water. The bits of paper were there, just behind the notebook, hopefully just out of view of the cameras. Did they know what was in her bag? Did they take an inventory of each student's possessions at the start of the 'game' and keep it up to date. By now they must have figured out the people that had been inside the Ranger Station while it was blind and be watching them. Would they notice if she had a few extra sheets of paper in her bag and wonder what might be on them? It was a terrifying thought. She already felt like a target simply for having them. During the walk she had alienated herself from the others a little bit, as though them being close to each other would cause the papers to light up like a Christmas tree. "look at me! I have a way for the authorities to get us off the island!" Helen took a sip of water. It slid down her throat and gurgled in her churning stomach. She felt worse instantly.
Looking around, Helen decided she quite liked the swamp. It was muddy, cold, and boring. Hopefull that meant that not many people came here.
Helen waved her right hand half heartedly at the suggestion of a roll call, reminiscent of the last few days at middle school, when you were the oldest kids, the ones who knew the most, and roll call was a formality that you just had to get on with in the most off hand way you could get away with without Mr Gomez telling you off for being impertinent. But she didn't feel like a top tog, or the most intelligent, or impertinent. She felt a strange mix of emotions, all separately and yet at the same time together. Fear like she'd never felt fear before, a sickness in the pit of her stomach, a strange, occasional rush of elation (that was usually quickly quashed by the fear). An additional sickness for Feo.
She'd been, what, a hundred yards? out of the danger zone when it blew up. After getting a fair way into the forest, and after sighting out where Dave and Winnie were going, she had paused and turned. Roland was running with Feo close on his heels. And then- and then- he was alive and she wasn't. Another headless corpse sprawled next to Ethan's. Two lives lost for a few sheets of paper. A few coordinates. A name. Things she could say right now, really quickly, and she would be sacrificed immediately but her classmates would live. She would go down in history as a martyr, the girl who sacrificed herself for the ensured lives of, well she wasn't sure how many others. But lots. She might get a statue, a plaque, a national holiday. Helen Wilson day. But, as she mulled this over during their strange journey from the Ranger Station to the swamp, where they were now trying to avoid the muddy bits and catch their breath, she had realised something. She couldn't do it. She simply couldn't bring herself to do it. Not when there was a chance that they might succeed with her alive. And there didn't need to be any more lives wasted on this venture. Ethan and Feo had already died for the cause. She wasn't going to be death number three.
Feeling thirsty, and feeling that she had sufficiently accounted for herself, she reached into her bag for her bottle of water. The bits of paper were there, just behind the notebook, hopefully just out of view of the cameras. Did they know what was in her bag? Did they take an inventory of each student's possessions at the start of the 'game' and keep it up to date. By now they must have figured out the people that had been inside the Ranger Station while it was blind and be watching them. Would they notice if she had a few extra sheets of paper in her bag and wonder what might be on them? It was a terrifying thought. She already felt like a target simply for having them. During the walk she had alienated herself from the others a little bit, as though them being close to each other would cause the papers to light up like a Christmas tree. "look at me! I have a way for the authorities to get us off the island!" Helen took a sip of water. It slid down her throat and gurgled in her churning stomach. She felt worse instantly.
Looking around, Helen decided she quite liked the swamp. It was muddy, cold, and boring. Hopefull that meant that not many people came here.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Isabel looked up. Everyone was there....minus one. Her fears were confirmed when Roland announced that she hadn't made it out. Isabel remembered seeing her briefly as she had been running out. Feo was busy trying to cover their tracks. She'd saved them. A girl who never even knew her name, who she hadn't said a single word to, died to hide the rest of them.
"I should have stayed. I should have made sure she made it out. I suck," Isabel mumbled.
Hey. Be emo on your own time. You've got a job to do right now. Save your asses first, reflect on your poor leadership later.
Ethan's letters were still in her bag. She owed it to Feo and Ethan to get those to their families. It was all that was left of them. But more than that....
If the terrorists figured out what happened, the computer, the generator, the message, they'd want to know how it'd been done. If it came down to that Isabel would take all the responsibility, no need for any of the rest of the group to be hunted. She could trade the letters and agree to go quietly in exchange for the safety of the rest of the group. She wasn't like Liz. She wasn't going to put innocent bodies in front of herself in order to survive.
Might as well. Fodder is all you are good for, my little girl.
Isabel picked up her head when Roland had asked her how she was. No one had asked her how she was since she'd woken up. It....it was so simple and stupid but it meant so much to her. She was so fragile that that little show of concern could almost bring her to tears. She blinked a few times.
"I....ummm....I'm okay. As okay as I can be, given the situation. Kindda broken up that she didn't make it," she replied with a long sigh. Isabel managed a sad, small smile at Roland.
Something in the distance caught her eye, some wobbly motion. It got closer and she recognized it as Leila. And she looked in a bad way. Isabel tilted her head. What was that on her arm?
"Oh God," she gasped. "Guys!" she yelled and pointed at the girl. Isabel scrambled to her bag and started pulling out clothes. She laid out a sweat shirt, then a t-shirt, another t-shirt. She was trying to make a clean area on the ground. She came upon her first aid kit and tossed it at Helen.
"Roland! Dave! Give her a hand," she said nodding in the direction of Leila as she laid out the clothes.
The guys were the strongest, they could get the girl to the makeshift bed area and the rest would be up to Dr. Helen. She grabbed the trumpet out of the bag and went over to Kitty. Now that the clothes, the trumpet and the first aid kit were out of her bag, it was pretty much empty. A problem she would have to deal with soon; she was all out of food.
Her fingers were cold, sliding along the surface of the trumpet. She leaned in close to Kitty.
"Follow my lead in a sec, kay?" she whispered. They had to do this before someone more dangerous stumbled onto them.
What am I doing telling these people to do things? Who am I to tell anyone to do anything? It's a wonder they don't just turn on me for yelling orders at them. They don't need me. And my stellar decision making has already gotten someone killed. As soon as we send this message I'll leave them alone. I'll run off.
It was silly of you to think you mattered in the first place, little lamb. I'm honestly quite surprised you've kept going. Do you remember when I gave you that first bike when you were six? I gave it to you without training wheels because I thought you could handle it. You rode it and fell off and cried and cried. You gave up and wouldn't ride it again for years. You just aren't made to outlast anyone, much less lead, sweetheart
"I should have stayed. I should have made sure she made it out. I suck," Isabel mumbled.
Hey. Be emo on your own time. You've got a job to do right now. Save your asses first, reflect on your poor leadership later.
Ethan's letters were still in her bag. She owed it to Feo and Ethan to get those to their families. It was all that was left of them. But more than that....
If the terrorists figured out what happened, the computer, the generator, the message, they'd want to know how it'd been done. If it came down to that Isabel would take all the responsibility, no need for any of the rest of the group to be hunted. She could trade the letters and agree to go quietly in exchange for the safety of the rest of the group. She wasn't like Liz. She wasn't going to put innocent bodies in front of herself in order to survive.
Might as well. Fodder is all you are good for, my little girl.
Isabel picked up her head when Roland had asked her how she was. No one had asked her how she was since she'd woken up. It....it was so simple and stupid but it meant so much to her. She was so fragile that that little show of concern could almost bring her to tears. She blinked a few times.
"I....ummm....I'm okay. As okay as I can be, given the situation. Kindda broken up that she didn't make it," she replied with a long sigh. Isabel managed a sad, small smile at Roland.
Something in the distance caught her eye, some wobbly motion. It got closer and she recognized it as Leila. And she looked in a bad way. Isabel tilted her head. What was that on her arm?
"Oh God," she gasped. "Guys!" she yelled and pointed at the girl. Isabel scrambled to her bag and started pulling out clothes. She laid out a sweat shirt, then a t-shirt, another t-shirt. She was trying to make a clean area on the ground. She came upon her first aid kit and tossed it at Helen.
"Roland! Dave! Give her a hand," she said nodding in the direction of Leila as she laid out the clothes.
The guys were the strongest, they could get the girl to the makeshift bed area and the rest would be up to Dr. Helen. She grabbed the trumpet out of the bag and went over to Kitty. Now that the clothes, the trumpet and the first aid kit were out of her bag, it was pretty much empty. A problem she would have to deal with soon; she was all out of food.
Her fingers were cold, sliding along the surface of the trumpet. She leaned in close to Kitty.
"Follow my lead in a sec, kay?" she whispered. They had to do this before someone more dangerous stumbled onto them.
What am I doing telling these people to do things? Who am I to tell anyone to do anything? It's a wonder they don't just turn on me for yelling orders at them. They don't need me. And my stellar decision making has already gotten someone killed. As soon as we send this message I'll leave them alone. I'll run off.
It was silly of you to think you mattered in the first place, little lamb. I'm honestly quite surprised you've kept going. Do you remember when I gave you that first bike when you were six? I gave it to you without training wheels because I thought you could handle it. You rode it and fell off and cried and cried. You gave up and wouldn't ride it again for years. You just aren't made to outlast anyone, much less lead, sweetheart
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Roland looked at Isabel, compassion on his face. It was obvious the girl was hurting from Feo's death. She had taken charge, and it was her job to make sure everyone got out safe. And she'd failed. Roland let out a sigh, slicking his hair back with his hand.
There was nothing we could have done differently. But they never believe that. It always has to be someone else's fault. If I was in charge, I wouldn't be like that. I've killed Robert, I've been through more then they have. I rescued Kitty while they went running... I should be leading, not Isabel.
Roland shook his head to clear his mind. He had a message to deliver, and fracturing the group wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd have to stay silent, bring it up later but only if necessary.
"There was nothing you could've done. We should have been out faster. Don't beat yourself up about it any, we can't afford to lose focus."
Roland looked around, surveying the others. The others looked banged up, but alright. Helen in particular looked pretty shaken by the events at the cabin. She'd been the closest, besides himself to Feo before her untimely demise. He prayed to God the girl didn't snap. As far as he knew Helen was the group medic and while he possessed first aid training he hadn't used it for the last few years. Having Helen around was much safer for everyone. Dave was in the midst of yanking a large t-shirt from his bag. Putting it on, the boy looked up towards Isabel and Roland.
"We lose anyone on the way?"
It was a stupid question, and Roland could feel his temperature rising. Dave hadn't been listening. Breathing in deeply, Roland bit his tongue to hold back an angry retort. As calm as he possibly could be considering the circumstance he turned to face the boy, a look of annoyance on his face and all subtly lost.
"Feo. I just told you, if you'd been paying any attention. Feo's dead." Roland said his words harsh and biting. He turned back towards Isabel, ignoring Dave for the time being. It was obvious that Dave wasn't having as many moral troubles as Isabel or himself given the situation. Roland couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse.
Now I really feel like a marine. Sacrificing myself for all the indifferent people of the world...
Suddenly, Isabel's face lit up, something from behind them. Roland spun, initially expecting to see a bunch of mercenaries rushing towards them from the underbrush, their pitch perfect plan falling to pieces in seconds. His hand went down to his side, gripping Charlene before anything else. But it wasn't that. It was a student.
Leila Langford staggering along... her arm hanging limp and lifeless at her side...
Isabel was shouting something, perhaps towards him. Directions most likely. But Roland was already on the move, rushing to the injured girl's side, even as the rest of the group sprung into life. Arriving beside the girl, he felt his heart racing in his chest. Her arm- What the fuck had happened to her? Roland felt his temper flare. She'd been hurt. Some psychopath had tried to kill her.
"Shit! Dave, Helen!" He called out, drawing his blade. Roland looked around, scanning the nearby swampland. Was her attacker still around? Did he have a gun, a sword? Was it a group? The possibilities raced through his head. Isabel was laying out clothes, preparing a station for Helen. It wasn't much, but it would be much better then the cold ground.
Holding his blade in his right hand, Roland extended his other arm to give Leila some extra support. The girl was so weak- how long had she been like this? Roland carefully, but as quick as he could manage, began to walk the injured girl over towards the others. He'd never been close friends with the girl. They ran in different social circles, but he knew her well enough from class. A reputation for being a bit of a bitch, but she hadn't killed anyone; at least, he couldn't remember her killing anyone.
Images of Robert flashed through his mind, Roland's blade sliding through the back of his neck, the boys' guts, being torn and spattered by the roaring chainsaw... Did it really matter?
There was nothing we could have done differently. But they never believe that. It always has to be someone else's fault. If I was in charge, I wouldn't be like that. I've killed Robert, I've been through more then they have. I rescued Kitty while they went running... I should be leading, not Isabel.
Roland shook his head to clear his mind. He had a message to deliver, and fracturing the group wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd have to stay silent, bring it up later but only if necessary.
"There was nothing you could've done. We should have been out faster. Don't beat yourself up about it any, we can't afford to lose focus."
Roland looked around, surveying the others. The others looked banged up, but alright. Helen in particular looked pretty shaken by the events at the cabin. She'd been the closest, besides himself to Feo before her untimely demise. He prayed to God the girl didn't snap. As far as he knew Helen was the group medic and while he possessed first aid training he hadn't used it for the last few years. Having Helen around was much safer for everyone. Dave was in the midst of yanking a large t-shirt from his bag. Putting it on, the boy looked up towards Isabel and Roland.
"We lose anyone on the way?"
It was a stupid question, and Roland could feel his temperature rising. Dave hadn't been listening. Breathing in deeply, Roland bit his tongue to hold back an angry retort. As calm as he possibly could be considering the circumstance he turned to face the boy, a look of annoyance on his face and all subtly lost.
"Feo. I just told you, if you'd been paying any attention. Feo's dead." Roland said his words harsh and biting. He turned back towards Isabel, ignoring Dave for the time being. It was obvious that Dave wasn't having as many moral troubles as Isabel or himself given the situation. Roland couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse.
Now I really feel like a marine. Sacrificing myself for all the indifferent people of the world...
Suddenly, Isabel's face lit up, something from behind them. Roland spun, initially expecting to see a bunch of mercenaries rushing towards them from the underbrush, their pitch perfect plan falling to pieces in seconds. His hand went down to his side, gripping Charlene before anything else. But it wasn't that. It was a student.
Leila Langford staggering along... her arm hanging limp and lifeless at her side...
Isabel was shouting something, perhaps towards him. Directions most likely. But Roland was already on the move, rushing to the injured girl's side, even as the rest of the group sprung into life. Arriving beside the girl, he felt his heart racing in his chest. Her arm- What the fuck had happened to her? Roland felt his temper flare. She'd been hurt. Some psychopath had tried to kill her.
"Shit! Dave, Helen!" He called out, drawing his blade. Roland looked around, scanning the nearby swampland. Was her attacker still around? Did he have a gun, a sword? Was it a group? The possibilities raced through his head. Isabel was laying out clothes, preparing a station for Helen. It wasn't much, but it would be much better then the cold ground.
Holding his blade in his right hand, Roland extended his other arm to give Leila some extra support. The girl was so weak- how long had she been like this? Roland carefully, but as quick as he could manage, began to walk the injured girl over towards the others. He'd never been close friends with the girl. They ran in different social circles, but he knew her well enough from class. A reputation for being a bit of a bitch, but she hadn't killed anyone; at least, he couldn't remember her killing anyone.
Images of Robert flashed through his mind, Roland's blade sliding through the back of his neck, the boys' guts, being torn and spattered by the roaring chainsaw... Did it really matter?
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Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
Suddenly there were voices. They cut through the haze her mind had made, ripping apart her semi-conscious bubble until they were ringing in her ears. They sounded panicked, like someone nearby was in trouble. She wondered who it was, as her legs carried on marching. An overwhelming desire to open her eyes took hold however briefly, but she didn't have the strength to comply and so she wandered on through the darkness of her vision towards the sources of the noise.
More pain.
It flashed in and out of her senses, keeping her awake though she didn't know how. She was barely aware of her surroundings now, instead focusing on the people that she was certain must have been there. If they weren't, well, this was then the very worst fever dream she'd ever experienced. The thought made her smile - or at least, what she assumed was a smile. To everyone else, she looked simple, making the sort of face you'd see coming out of nightclubs on a Friday night, or perhaps the same kind as someone who was having an especially wonderful night's sleep.
She wondered, for a moment or two, if she'd ever find a real bed again. It wasn't impossible. If she survived the next few days, she'd back home, safe and sound, like none of this had ever happened. No more stiff bread, no more walking for days on end in nothing more than a sweaty pair of sandals; she could imagine the looks on her parents' faces as they welcomed her home.
"Dinner's on the table - we've made you salmon again. You love salmon."
Oh yeah, I really do.
"You wanna sit in the middle?"
Yeah, that'd be nice.
"Okay honey, you sit there and I'll go get it for you. Ooh, I'm so glad you're back. Your father and I want to hear all about your trip."
Her smile faltered.
Whatever she was thinking about, it had gone now. The smells of her kitchen had all but vanished, and her parents' rare, smiling faces had gone with them.
She was all alone again, but now she was more aware. Her toes tickled with every step through the grass, and her bones ached and throbbed like they used to. There was an odd feeling that she was being carried by someone, but that couldn't have been right. Still, her footsteps had lightened, and a new warmth pressed against her as she continued to walk, easing away the chill from her salted skin.
Small miracles, she mused.
More pain.
It flashed in and out of her senses, keeping her awake though she didn't know how. She was barely aware of her surroundings now, instead focusing on the people that she was certain must have been there. If they weren't, well, this was then the very worst fever dream she'd ever experienced. The thought made her smile - or at least, what she assumed was a smile. To everyone else, she looked simple, making the sort of face you'd see coming out of nightclubs on a Friday night, or perhaps the same kind as someone who was having an especially wonderful night's sleep.
She wondered, for a moment or two, if she'd ever find a real bed again. It wasn't impossible. If she survived the next few days, she'd back home, safe and sound, like none of this had ever happened. No more stiff bread, no more walking for days on end in nothing more than a sweaty pair of sandals; she could imagine the looks on her parents' faces as they welcomed her home.
"Dinner's on the table - we've made you salmon again. You love salmon."
Oh yeah, I really do.
"You wanna sit in the middle?"
Yeah, that'd be nice.
"Okay honey, you sit there and I'll go get it for you. Ooh, I'm so glad you're back. Your father and I want to hear all about your trip."
Her smile faltered.
Whatever she was thinking about, it had gone now. The smells of her kitchen had all but vanished, and her parents' rare, smiling faces had gone with them.
She was all alone again, but now she was more aware. Her toes tickled with every step through the grass, and her bones ached and throbbed like they used to. There was an odd feeling that she was being carried by someone, but that couldn't have been right. Still, her footsteps had lightened, and a new warmth pressed against her as she continued to walk, easing away the chill from her salted skin.
Small miracles, she mused.
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.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
((TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. PLEASE STAND BY))
With Leila safely at the station and being tended to there wasn't much left for the others to do other than to give them space. Isabel slowly sank down into a cross legged position and looked around. She gave just a slight bit of a nod at Roland.
"We need to keep morale up, how about we play a game?" she said. Isabel looked around as if she were gauging the reaction to this. She took the trumpet and set it in front of her.
"I'll be like a Simon says sort of. We can have one person think up a pattern and play it. Then we'll pass the trumpet around and have to copy the same pattern. If you do it right, you pass the trumpet. If you mess up...."
She looked up again, nervously this time. Isabel bit her lip and looked down as she continued. Isabel tried to look optimistic. She had to fake it. She had to sound like it was just no big deal, something to pass the time.
"If you mess it up you spin the trumpet and kiss who it lands on."
Well, we are finally resorting to fanservice. But at least it's sure to get us on a good spot on the broadcast and distract them from our real goal here.
Isabel picked up the trumpet and leaned over, handing it to Roland.
"Go ahead. Make the pattern."
With Leila safely at the station and being tended to there wasn't much left for the others to do other than to give them space. Isabel slowly sank down into a cross legged position and looked around. She gave just a slight bit of a nod at Roland.
"We need to keep morale up, how about we play a game?" she said. Isabel looked around as if she were gauging the reaction to this. She took the trumpet and set it in front of her.
"I'll be like a Simon says sort of. We can have one person think up a pattern and play it. Then we'll pass the trumpet around and have to copy the same pattern. If you do it right, you pass the trumpet. If you mess up...."
She looked up again, nervously this time. Isabel bit her lip and looked down as she continued. Isabel tried to look optimistic. She had to fake it. She had to sound like it was just no big deal, something to pass the time.
"If you mess it up you spin the trumpet and kiss who it lands on."
Well, we are finally resorting to fanservice. But at least it's sure to get us on a good spot on the broadcast and distract them from our real goal here.
Isabel picked up the trumpet and leaned over, handing it to Roland.
"Go ahead. Make the pattern."
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
This was it. Beyond this moment, nothing mattered. Roland looked up, taking the trumpet in his hands. He breathed deep, going over the message one more time in his head. He couldn't fail. Nothing had distracted him, nothing had shaken his memory.
Danya, your day of reckoning is coming...
"Alright, alright that sounds like a good plan." He paused, looking over towards Dave and the others.
"Try to keep up. If you end up giving me a peck on the cheek, I'm probably going to give you a black eye Dave." He smiled, despite the growing urge to puke. Taking another breath, he brought the trumpet to his lips.
"Watch closely now."
Danya, your day of reckoning is coming...
"Alright, alright that sounds like a good plan." He paused, looking over towards Dave and the others.
"Try to keep up. If you end up giving me a peck on the cheek, I'm probably going to give you a black eye Dave." He smiled, despite the growing urge to puke. Taking another breath, he brought the trumpet to his lips.
"Watch closely now."
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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
((Helen's riding the line a little too close to inactivity for my liking, but I've written this so it occupies a single moment in time and shouldn't mess anything up. If it does, let me know and I'll fix it.))
Crap. Where the hell did they keep finding mortally wounded people from. And how had she suddenly become a fully fledged doctor when all she had was a first aid certificate and hal a dozen medical books stashed under her bed at home? She'd never applied any of it before, except the one time that man in Wal-Mart had an asthma attack and none of their staff knew what to do. In a way, though, it was good. Odds were she was never even going to get to pre-med, let alone an MD, this was her one chance to practice.
Helen fussed around Leila once she was on their makeshift bed, trying to make sense of the girl's injuries. Her arm appeared dislocated, and she had a vague idea of how to fix it, though that knowledge came from watching one too many episode of Lost. What was it they had done? Put a foot in the armpit and pulled on the arm. Helen stared critically at Leila, trying to figure out if that was the best thing to do or if she risked making a bad situation even worse, when Isabel spoke. She turned around, and listened as the game was introduced. Or, rather, 'game'. Chewing on her lip anxiously, she turned back to her patient. This was it. There was a real risk that in a few moments their collars would all be detonated and a motley group of people who'd barely even spoken to each other in high school would be rendered into headless corpses, their souls turned into dust. She waved her hand at Leila.
"I think I'll just watch," Helen said in a strangled voice, she gulped, worrying that her apparent nervousness would give them away. She focussed her eyes on Leila, hopefully, hopefully, they would think that the anxiety was coming from being the primary supplier of medical treatment rather than because she new what was coming next. Roland took the trumpet as he agreed to start the game. Made a quip that Helen forced herself to smile at, rooting in her bag for the paracetamol she was fairly sure was in there thinking that it might help Leila with the pain, and also hide her inability to guard her expressions out of camera view.
Roland raised the trumpet to his lips, and Helen's heart thumped.
This is it...
Crap. Where the hell did they keep finding mortally wounded people from. And how had she suddenly become a fully fledged doctor when all she had was a first aid certificate and hal a dozen medical books stashed under her bed at home? She'd never applied any of it before, except the one time that man in Wal-Mart had an asthma attack and none of their staff knew what to do. In a way, though, it was good. Odds were she was never even going to get to pre-med, let alone an MD, this was her one chance to practice.
Helen fussed around Leila once she was on their makeshift bed, trying to make sense of the girl's injuries. Her arm appeared dislocated, and she had a vague idea of how to fix it, though that knowledge came from watching one too many episode of Lost. What was it they had done? Put a foot in the armpit and pulled on the arm. Helen stared critically at Leila, trying to figure out if that was the best thing to do or if she risked making a bad situation even worse, when Isabel spoke. She turned around, and listened as the game was introduced. Or, rather, 'game'. Chewing on her lip anxiously, she turned back to her patient. This was it. There was a real risk that in a few moments their collars would all be detonated and a motley group of people who'd barely even spoken to each other in high school would be rendered into headless corpses, their souls turned into dust. She waved her hand at Leila.
"I think I'll just watch," Helen said in a strangled voice, she gulped, worrying that her apparent nervousness would give them away. She focussed her eyes on Leila, hopefully, hopefully, they would think that the anxiety was coming from being the primary supplier of medical treatment rather than because she new what was coming next. Roland took the trumpet as he agreed to start the game. Made a quip that Helen forced herself to smile at, rooting in her bag for the paracetamol she was fairly sure was in there thinking that it might help Leila with the pain, and also hide her inability to guard her expressions out of camera view.
Roland raised the trumpet to his lips, and Helen's heart thumped.
This is it...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler xylophonefairy. 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.
((but nothing is sweet about how I hold my gun I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one))
... Kitty seriously felt like a dope. She knew there was this hidden motive in this game, but the idea of spine the bottle - TRUMPET - annoyed her. She was most definitely not worried. Nope. Not even in the slightest. This was all just stupid, and it showed on her face. She seriously did not want to kiss anyone. She - it was a foreign thing to think about. Maybe she had it on her mind more than she'd like to admit, back home, but this was a game! It had to be played! And she certainly wasn't talking about the game of kissing that she found herself in. She meant the killing one. The one that was going to save them, not this escape crap, not kissing.
She didn't realize the blush that colored her whole face.
"I'm in," Kitty said, looking down at the grass.
This is was so stupid. So dumb, stupid and useless.
... Kitty seriously felt like a dope. She knew there was this hidden motive in this game, but the idea of spine the bottle - TRUMPET - annoyed her. She was most definitely not worried. Nope. Not even in the slightest. This was all just stupid, and it showed on her face. She seriously did not want to kiss anyone. She - it was a foreign thing to think about. Maybe she had it on her mind more than she'd like to admit, back home, but this was a game! It had to be played! And she certainly wasn't talking about the game of kissing that she found herself in. She meant the killing one. The one that was going to save them, not this escape crap, not kissing.
She didn't realize the blush that colored her whole face.
"I'm in," Kitty said, looking down at the grass.
This is was so stupid. So dumb, stupid and useless.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
((Quick placeholder post due to being held up.))
"Fuck it," Dave said, following Kitty deciding to join herself. "I'm in."
Alright, then. This was what they'd been doing was going to lead to, huh? Fucked up spin the trumpet with make outs and all the co-ordinates on the line. Tense, it was not. Dave even considered intentionally fucking up a couple of times. Would've been okay, too, unless he repeatedly span Roland. Then it'd just be weird.
Don't fuck this up, Dave. For once in your life, take something serious enough to not fuck it up. When his turn came to blow the trumpet, Dave flubbed one of the notes, whether on purpose or not, he just sort of stared at the sheet of paper dumbfounded. Everyone else glared back. Dave shrugged a soundless "my bad."
Shit. Time to spin, then.
Spin and let's never speak of this again.
"Fuck it," Dave said, following Kitty deciding to join herself. "I'm in."
Alright, then. This was what they'd been doing was going to lead to, huh? Fucked up spin the trumpet with make outs and all the co-ordinates on the line. Tense, it was not. Dave even considered intentionally fucking up a couple of times. Would've been okay, too, unless he repeatedly span Roland. Then it'd just be weird.
Don't fuck this up, Dave. For once in your life, take something serious enough to not fuck it up. When his turn came to blow the trumpet, Dave flubbed one of the notes, whether on purpose or not, he just sort of stared at the sheet of paper dumbfounded. Everyone else glared back. Dave shrugged a soundless "my bad."
Shit. Time to spin, then.
Spin and let's never speak of this again.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Badb.
(Naoko Raidon, Julian Avery, and Mizore Soryu continued from Broken Like the Sun)
This was the first time in Raidon's whole time on the Island that he has gone somewhere with company. He didn't count the time he and Soryu had been forced to flee the Residential District--that had been all exhausting running, which he had yet to recover from (his legs ached with every step he took, a fact not helped by the days he'd now spent wandering across the island, avoiding trouble as best he could). He had, to a certain degree, hoped that travelling with others might help him shake that uneasy loneliness that had plagued him during his solitary travels.
It turned out that traveling with an angry, injured pacifist and a determined vigilante did not make for the most effective conversation.
For whatever reason, Soryu had been able to move alright on her own--her limp wasn't completely incapacitating, and she moved quietly. Perhaps because he was desperate to avoid conflict himself, Julian had not said much to Raidon on any subject, including where they were going.
They had also failed to encounter another group yet--had failed to encounter anyone who might know where Maxwell Lombardi was.
So, here they were. Wandering around the swamp. Looking for someone to talk to talk. Looking for information. Trying not to fall apart.
This is not where Naoko Raidon wanted to be. He wanted to be moving somewhere on his own, in safety; he wanted Julian to escort Soryu somewhere where she would be safe so he could watch out for himself without having to worry about others, without having to think of how easily he had risked his life for her--stepped in front of Jacob without knowing if Victoria's gun would be near.
He'd come too far to risk his life for her. He'd done too much to risk his life for her.
Keep Soryu alive. Find Maxwell Lombardi. Neither of these things was looking like it would keep him alive, but he needed both of these things, because if he lost himself then what was the damn point of surviving in the first place?
His intellectual quandaries came to an end when they broke through a clump of trees and discovered a group of people holding a trumpet on the other side. Raidon, Soryu, and Julian froze; so too did the kids they'd just stumbled upon.
For a moment--an extremely brief moment--Raidon was befuddled as to how they'd managed to stumble upon another group in the middle of the swamp without first hearing them. This befuddlement was immediately dissipated when the kid presently holding the trumpet dove to one side--more accurately, to a nearby knife.
Raidon's gun was out and he'd pulled the trigger before his consciousness had time to process anything more than terror.
This was the first time in Raidon's whole time on the Island that he has gone somewhere with company. He didn't count the time he and Soryu had been forced to flee the Residential District--that had been all exhausting running, which he had yet to recover from (his legs ached with every step he took, a fact not helped by the days he'd now spent wandering across the island, avoiding trouble as best he could). He had, to a certain degree, hoped that travelling with others might help him shake that uneasy loneliness that had plagued him during his solitary travels.
It turned out that traveling with an angry, injured pacifist and a determined vigilante did not make for the most effective conversation.
For whatever reason, Soryu had been able to move alright on her own--her limp wasn't completely incapacitating, and she moved quietly. Perhaps because he was desperate to avoid conflict himself, Julian had not said much to Raidon on any subject, including where they were going.
They had also failed to encounter another group yet--had failed to encounter anyone who might know where Maxwell Lombardi was.
So, here they were. Wandering around the swamp. Looking for someone to talk to talk. Looking for information. Trying not to fall apart.
This is not where Naoko Raidon wanted to be. He wanted to be moving somewhere on his own, in safety; he wanted Julian to escort Soryu somewhere where she would be safe so he could watch out for himself without having to worry about others, without having to think of how easily he had risked his life for her--stepped in front of Jacob without knowing if Victoria's gun would be near.
He'd come too far to risk his life for her. He'd done too much to risk his life for her.
Keep Soryu alive. Find Maxwell Lombardi. Neither of these things was looking like it would keep him alive, but he needed both of these things, because if he lost himself then what was the damn point of surviving in the first place?
His intellectual quandaries came to an end when they broke through a clump of trees and discovered a group of people holding a trumpet on the other side. Raidon, Soryu, and Julian froze; so too did the kids they'd just stumbled upon.
For a moment--an extremely brief moment--Raidon was befuddled as to how they'd managed to stumble upon another group in the middle of the swamp without first hearing them. This befuddlement was immediately dissipated when the kid presently holding the trumpet dove to one side--more accurately, to a nearby knife.
Raidon's gun was out and he'd pulled the trigger before his consciousness had time to process anything more than terror.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”