June 20, 2006 -- a day that would live in infamy. Approximately one year after the first global competition known as Survival of the Fittest surged onto airwaves everywhere and encompassed the world in its morbid glory, a second group of students is kidnapped from within the metropolitan area of Denton, New Jersey. Four schools were abducted, fitted with collars, issued weapons, and thrown into a dangerous game of musical chairs on an uncharted island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
I was one of those students. My name is Ali Grayston, and my father is a U.S. Senator. Maybe you've heard of him? It's amazing how such a completely average day can suddenly do a tailspin and send you plummeting down to Hell itself -- quite literally in some cases. This place? Well, this place is hell. I don't know how I got here, but I can tell you one thing.
This was a set-up.
That bastard sat at our dinner table and smiled. He gladly took money from my father that was supposed to be invested in his run-down, thug-infested school. Daddy thought he was giving back to the community, but it couldn't have been farther from the truth. Apparently, that bastard Steven was in on this Survival of the Fittest bullshit all along.
He doesn't know who he's messing with. Does he have any idea who I am? My father is a powerful, powerful man, and he'll see Mr. Wilson hunted down and properly disposed of for this. This is insubordination in every since of the word, and if he thinks that the government is tolerative of traitors, he's got another thing coming. I don't know what I'm going to do, or how I'm going to get out of this place, but I'll tell you one thing... when I do, I'm going to make sure those bastards pay... by my hand.
My name is Ali Grayston, and I'm Female Student Number 17 in the second round of a dangerous game of musical chairs known as Survival of the Fittest.
Her head pulsated as Ali's eyes blearily opened, her vision shaky and uneven. She felt the cold dirt caking itself to the Letterman jacket reading "Grayston" that she had wrapped around her shoulders on the way to the assembly. It wasn't that it was unusually cold for a June afternoon, in fact, it was quite warm. It was more along the fact that her fourth period teacher may as well have been a polar bear and attempted to freeze all the kids out of class.
How did it all go so wrong? They had been instructed to attend a manditory seminar on sex education. Ali was more than fine with that if only for the fact that it got her out of Mr. Lattimore's room. He was quite a strange man with an assortment of old war relics scattered across his classroom. She and Sera Wingfield, along with the remainder of the Sisterhood girls, had leisurely headed toward the assembly, ignoring the wisecracks from the thugs behind them who were obviously going just for free condoms.
Somehow, she had gone from that final instant in her plainly normal life to now, laying sprawled out in the grass, about to embark on a journey she probably wouldn't come back from. Wouldn't come back from? Ridiculous. Daddy would take care of this. Daddy had that authority, didn't he? Of course he did! Andrew Vincent Grayston IV was a senator for the United States government. They'd get this mess straightened out, she knew it.
A piercing shriek escaped her lips as Ali rose from her prone position only to come face-to-face with the headstone that had been erected nearby. Much to her horror, Ali found that she had been dropped in a run-down, delapidated cemetary. The ground was soggy from what must've been a recent downpour, and the entire place seemed to reek of mold. Headstones were covered in moss and barely legible anymore, and even in the first rays of sunlight the morning had to offer, the sanctuary gave off an eerie feel.
Immediately, Ali scrambled for the green bag labelled "G17" that lay nearby and unzipped it, inspecting its contents one by one. A large, clunky hose lay in the bottom of the bag. When Ali discovered that her designated weapon was, of all things, a garden hose, she swore inwardly. She wasn't thinking about killing. She wasn't thinking about self-defense. She was thinking about surviving long enough for "Daddy" to release her from this prison.
Unfortunately for Ali, that moment would never come. Denial set in, and although she had come to the realization that Principal Wilson had indeed set them up, she refused to believe that they could force her to participate in this game. She wouldn't, she couldn't, whe refused! The brunette wrapped her Letterman jacket around her shoulders, an irritated sigh escaping her lips.
"This can't be happening," Ali announced irritatedly to the corpses buried beneath her.
Fighting back the tears of frustration and agony that formed in her eyes, Ali internally reprimanded herself. She wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing her cry. She wouldn't toss her dignity out the window. She didn't have to win, she didn't have to persevere, she just had to pray to whatever deity lay within the heavens above them that she could avoid the more maniacal of Bathurst's plebian population until they saved her from this unfortunate turn of events.
She just had to have faith.
It was such a funny thought, given the fact that "they", whoever they were, had opted to toss Ali into a cemetary behind an ancient and ivy-covered church. Picking up her designated daypack, Ali forced the back door open with some effort and looked on at the remains of the interior. Stepping over the busted up flooring, she once again sighed and flopped down on a nearby pew.
"God..." she began aloud, finding it odd even now to turn to a being that she'd all but lost any sort of faith in long ago -- or perhaps she'd never had any to begin with, "Or whoever you are up there... I know that I haven't always been a good person. I've made some bad decisions in my short lifetime. Everyone makes bad decisions sometimes, we're not perfect. We're not supposed to be, right? But I... this can't be happening. Not to me. There's so much that I have to do. I can't die here, on this island... I can't die at sixteen. You understand that, don't you? I just... I need more time. I need... more time."
She repeated the words to herself again. Time. Time was something that Ali Grayston had always taken for granted. She was young, she was well-to-do, and she was certainly beautiful. She always thought she had all the time in the world. Never could she have imagined how wrong she would be. Never could she have imagined that she might die at the tender age of sixteen, slaughtered in cold blood by a classmate who had always been nothing more than jealous of her. Things weren't supposed to end this way. She wouldn't let them end this way. She just had to hold on... and soon, her knight in shining armor would come to save her.
The Sands of Time
Start Point - G17
The Sands of Time
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
O God, come to my assistance...
How long had he been sitting here, in this old moldy church – hands crossed, rosary pressed between palms as he silently prayed, it was an evening prayer, and last Edgar Judah - now fondly dubbed B16 - had seen it had been quite far from night time. Though all these years of being surrounded by prayer, and church in general, at this moment in time he found this was the only prayer he had ever spoke in his many years of church that he could remember. It was horrid in a sense really; his father would murder him if he ever fond out, and it weren't against his religion his mother probably wouldn't have been better off with him.
Suppose that wouldn't matter either way in the end it seemed, now would it?
O Lord, make haste to help me...
It had been something he had been looking forward to for a while... they had won a class trip over a nationwide of other classes – though at first the thought of leaving had been on the bitter side of Ed's mind since their homeroom teacher had mentioned in some months prior. It was really his father and grandmother who had talked him into going, saying that getting out and seeing something new would be good for him. Having spent the past good year only traveling between his school, the hospital, and trying to find to work with the band. All of which left him exhausted all the time.
After a while, he decided that it probably would be best, no matter how much the thought of just leaving his mother bother Edgar on the inside. He could most vividly remember telling her about the trip, and how she had cried... begged him, no begged Hawley not to leave and go away again. She didn't remember him - not anymore, her condition had eaten away had eaten away any thoughts of him from her mind. Still he truly didn't want to hurt her, it was the furthest thing from his mind – once again it had been his father that had explained to his mother that nothing bad was going to happen, that he son wasn't going to leave her again.
Glory be to the Father...
Speaking of which... it had been on the plane, something like out of what you see on some made-for-TV movie, or if you had kept up with last year's Survival of the Fittest reminded you so much of what happened the year before. It was the video that they showed them though; that he would was eating at him the most, making his heart sink as he found he was unable to tear his eyes away from the site of what was happening on the screen. Anyone who had seen the first day of Survival of the Fittest knew what was going to happen, he had – like others had seen... but he, no matter how much he prayed before or now, found himself closer to the person that the Hobbs kids saw killing the young blond girl than he ever wanted to be.
"I glad you decided to come today Edgar."
"Mom would have wanted to – I'm here for her really." He returned in a simple tone of voice, looking at the dark-haired man in his late-forties that was sitting in front of him. Dressed in a casual black suit, glass of some unknown liquid sitting in front of him, while a simple glass of water sat before the smaller red head that was dressed in a similar fashion. "I didn't know him anyway..."
The doctor didn't say a thing, just simply took a sip of his unknown reddish liquid, Ed's eyes dancing about the kitchen area in a small manner. Their kitchen along was as big, if not bigger than his own kitchen and living room combined back in their apartment in Denton. Then again, this is probably what you get when both your parents are doctors, and three of your five sons turn out to be ones as well. A slight sniffle echoed throughout the silent room, only the drumming of his fingers against the tabletop, an older woman around the same age as her husband, wondered into the kitchen, tissues in hand as she dapped her eyes that was smudged in black eyeliner.
The older male smiled faintly, "Edgar, I don't think you ever met my wife properly. Edgar, this is Abigail, Abby this is Lillian's other son, Edgar."
The older woman nodded, Ed slightly nodding back. "Pleasure." She muttered, sniffing again. "Thank you for coming to his funeral... it was... it was..."
"... It wasn't a problem."
, and to the Son
He had learned much about his half-brother from what he gathered from his father, and stepfamily in New York, and others from the resource sites that dotted the Internet since Survival had been shown a whole year ago. He'd since the clips, and the videos that the sites hosted... watching all four of the kills that had been committed, and even as far to watch when he died. Edgar really couldn't find himself to find himself feeling anything but just a sheer flash of what seemed to be... hate, burning in the back of mind.
The young man just couldn't find himself with the ability to care about the other, after all that he had done.
, and to the Holy Spirit.
Edgar's hands clenched slightly tighter against the small wooden rosary, sighing outward. He had made a promise, and not he was breaking it – he was here, out of all the places in the whole nation the people who ran the Survival of the Fittest program, they had to strike right next door to where they had struck one year earlier, it seemed like they where really trying to mess with government, all these measures that had been put into place to protect something like this from every happening again and been shot right out the fucking window... he could only wonder, and now it seemed pray, to pray whatever happened next, wouldn't be his last.
There had to be something they could do...
But what?
People in the last game had tried to escape, and they had all ended dead in a pool their own blood – or in one case he had heard, with in the propellers of a boat... just the thought of how that could have gone making the young man shudder in the sickening thought.
As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be world without end.
Amen.
The sign of the corss was made with a sigh, as he lowered his hands from where they had been pressed together, glancing about the dark, and dank church... glancing at his feet, eyeing the dark green bag that had the number B17 etched into the side, bending at his waste and unzipping the bag and going through – besides all the things mentioned, he also found himself wrapping fingers about a smallish black object and removing it, bringing it into the small amount of light that filled the area.
A push of a switch, and the Stun Gun was brought to life, and as quickly it was shut off – dropping the object back to his side on the pew, frowning deeply and moving to rest his elbows on his knees, clutching tightly at the rosary as he moved to rest his head down against his hands, tapping his foot lightly against the old floor – thoughts of a plan, any plan, anything working it's way through his mind.
How long had he been sitting here, in this old moldy church – hands crossed, rosary pressed between palms as he silently prayed, it was an evening prayer, and last Edgar Judah - now fondly dubbed B16 - had seen it had been quite far from night time. Though all these years of being surrounded by prayer, and church in general, at this moment in time he found this was the only prayer he had ever spoke in his many years of church that he could remember. It was horrid in a sense really; his father would murder him if he ever fond out, and it weren't against his religion his mother probably wouldn't have been better off with him.
Suppose that wouldn't matter either way in the end it seemed, now would it?
O Lord, make haste to help me...
It had been something he had been looking forward to for a while... they had won a class trip over a nationwide of other classes – though at first the thought of leaving had been on the bitter side of Ed's mind since their homeroom teacher had mentioned in some months prior. It was really his father and grandmother who had talked him into going, saying that getting out and seeing something new would be good for him. Having spent the past good year only traveling between his school, the hospital, and trying to find to work with the band. All of which left him exhausted all the time.
After a while, he decided that it probably would be best, no matter how much the thought of just leaving his mother bother Edgar on the inside. He could most vividly remember telling her about the trip, and how she had cried... begged him, no begged Hawley not to leave and go away again. She didn't remember him - not anymore, her condition had eaten away had eaten away any thoughts of him from her mind. Still he truly didn't want to hurt her, it was the furthest thing from his mind – once again it had been his father that had explained to his mother that nothing bad was going to happen, that he son wasn't going to leave her again.
Glory be to the Father...
Speaking of which... it had been on the plane, something like out of what you see on some made-for-TV movie, or if you had kept up with last year's Survival of the Fittest reminded you so much of what happened the year before. It was the video that they showed them though; that he would was eating at him the most, making his heart sink as he found he was unable to tear his eyes away from the site of what was happening on the screen. Anyone who had seen the first day of Survival of the Fittest knew what was going to happen, he had – like others had seen... but he, no matter how much he prayed before or now, found himself closer to the person that the Hobbs kids saw killing the young blond girl than he ever wanted to be.
"I glad you decided to come today Edgar."
"Mom would have wanted to – I'm here for her really." He returned in a simple tone of voice, looking at the dark-haired man in his late-forties that was sitting in front of him. Dressed in a casual black suit, glass of some unknown liquid sitting in front of him, while a simple glass of water sat before the smaller red head that was dressed in a similar fashion. "I didn't know him anyway..."
The doctor didn't say a thing, just simply took a sip of his unknown reddish liquid, Ed's eyes dancing about the kitchen area in a small manner. Their kitchen along was as big, if not bigger than his own kitchen and living room combined back in their apartment in Denton. Then again, this is probably what you get when both your parents are doctors, and three of your five sons turn out to be ones as well. A slight sniffle echoed throughout the silent room, only the drumming of his fingers against the tabletop, an older woman around the same age as her husband, wondered into the kitchen, tissues in hand as she dapped her eyes that was smudged in black eyeliner.
The older male smiled faintly, "Edgar, I don't think you ever met my wife properly. Edgar, this is Abigail, Abby this is Lillian's other son, Edgar."
The older woman nodded, Ed slightly nodding back. "Pleasure." She muttered, sniffing again. "Thank you for coming to his funeral... it was... it was..."
"... It wasn't a problem."
, and to the Son
He had learned much about his half-brother from what he gathered from his father, and stepfamily in New York, and others from the resource sites that dotted the Internet since Survival had been shown a whole year ago. He'd since the clips, and the videos that the sites hosted... watching all four of the kills that had been committed, and even as far to watch when he died. Edgar really couldn't find himself to find himself feeling anything but just a sheer flash of what seemed to be... hate, burning in the back of mind.
The young man just couldn't find himself with the ability to care about the other, after all that he had done.
, and to the Holy Spirit.
Edgar's hands clenched slightly tighter against the small wooden rosary, sighing outward. He had made a promise, and not he was breaking it – he was here, out of all the places in the whole nation the people who ran the Survival of the Fittest program, they had to strike right next door to where they had struck one year earlier, it seemed like they where really trying to mess with government, all these measures that had been put into place to protect something like this from every happening again and been shot right out the fucking window... he could only wonder, and now it seemed pray, to pray whatever happened next, wouldn't be his last.
There had to be something they could do...
But what?
People in the last game had tried to escape, and they had all ended dead in a pool their own blood – or in one case he had heard, with in the propellers of a boat... just the thought of how that could have gone making the young man shudder in the sickening thought.
As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be world without end.
Amen.
The sign of the corss was made with a sigh, as he lowered his hands from where they had been pressed together, glancing about the dark, and dank church... glancing at his feet, eyeing the dark green bag that had the number B17 etched into the side, bending at his waste and unzipping the bag and going through – besides all the things mentioned, he also found himself wrapping fingers about a smallish black object and removing it, bringing it into the small amount of light that filled the area.
A push of a switch, and the Stun Gun was brought to life, and as quickly it was shut off – dropping the object back to his side on the pew, frowning deeply and moving to rest his elbows on his knees, clutching tightly at the rosary as he moved to rest his head down against his hands, tapping his foot lightly against the old floor – thoughts of a plan, any plan, anything working it's way through his mind.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.
Ali Grayston had been so lost in her own thoughts and aloud prayers to a deity who may or may not exist that she failed to hear the breaths of the other individual who occupied the church as they engaged themselves in a silent prayer. In fact, Ali was completely oblivious to the fact that someone else indeed occupied the confines of the church. And she might have stayed that way...
Edgar Judah, however, had dictated otherwise. A light tapping sound, being made by Edgar's foot connecting with the old and rotting wood of the church floor, caught Ali's attention, and she sprung to her feet and immediately twisted around in search of the intruder. Little did she know that she was actually the intruder. She was the one who had stumbled into the church in the middle of Edgar's prayer.
She quickly found the other occupant of the small building -- a redheaded boy, probably a year or two younger than herself, tapping his foot away absent-mindedly on the floor as he engaged himself in what she could only assume to be deep and encompassing thought. Her eyes narrowed slightly, mostly from annoyance at the startle she'd endured at the hands of this trespasser.
What concerned Ali the most was that she didn't recognize the boy standing in front of her. He wasn't from Bathurst, that was for certain. Even if she didn't associate with the plebian population of Bathurst High, she at least knew their name, or their face, or something. This student, she had never seen before. Ali glanced him up and down once, hoping his choice of attire would help to denote where he came from. That attempt was a failure.
"You," the brunette called out in an almost harsh tone of voice, "Who are you?"
Think twice, Ali. You saw that clip just as well as everyone else did. This kid could easily pull out a shotgun or an uzi or even a machete and go to town on your ass with it. How are you going to defend yourself if he's armed and dangerous? They gave you a waterhose, for crying out loud. Best keep that mouth of yours in check, and you know it.
"I... sorry," she blurted out immediately thereafter, "You scared the living hell out of me, you know."
Idle chatter with common strangers didn't come naturally to the bronzed-over brunette. She didn't even know this boy, for all she knew he could've slaughtered twenty students already. Associating with him purely for the fact that she happened to encounter him in the church seemed awkward at best, and she found herself unsure of how to react. She still hadn't fully grasped the gravity of the situation unfolding around her, and although something told her to run -- and fast -- she still didn't quite understand what was going on.
Besides, a lot of these people are idiots, but most of them aren't going to go crazy psycho killer on anyone... at least, I hope not.
She hoped this boy wasn't armed. She hoped he didn't pull out a machete and decapitate her with it in one fell swoop. Well, it wouldn't exactly be a fell swoop, seeing as she was still halfway across the church from the redheaded figure. Still, part of her found the entire encounter unsettling, and the fight-or-flight instinct was threatening to kick in. Then again, he appeared unarmed, he appeared harmless, and Ali simply refused to believe that anyone would buy into this horrible game. She wouldn't go so far as trusting this boy, but perhaps she could extract some information out of him and be on her merry way.
Edgar Judah, however, had dictated otherwise. A light tapping sound, being made by Edgar's foot connecting with the old and rotting wood of the church floor, caught Ali's attention, and she sprung to her feet and immediately twisted around in search of the intruder. Little did she know that she was actually the intruder. She was the one who had stumbled into the church in the middle of Edgar's prayer.
She quickly found the other occupant of the small building -- a redheaded boy, probably a year or two younger than herself, tapping his foot away absent-mindedly on the floor as he engaged himself in what she could only assume to be deep and encompassing thought. Her eyes narrowed slightly, mostly from annoyance at the startle she'd endured at the hands of this trespasser.
What concerned Ali the most was that she didn't recognize the boy standing in front of her. He wasn't from Bathurst, that was for certain. Even if she didn't associate with the plebian population of Bathurst High, she at least knew their name, or their face, or something. This student, she had never seen before. Ali glanced him up and down once, hoping his choice of attire would help to denote where he came from. That attempt was a failure.
"You," the brunette called out in an almost harsh tone of voice, "Who are you?"
Think twice, Ali. You saw that clip just as well as everyone else did. This kid could easily pull out a shotgun or an uzi or even a machete and go to town on your ass with it. How are you going to defend yourself if he's armed and dangerous? They gave you a waterhose, for crying out loud. Best keep that mouth of yours in check, and you know it.
"I... sorry," she blurted out immediately thereafter, "You scared the living hell out of me, you know."
Idle chatter with common strangers didn't come naturally to the bronzed-over brunette. She didn't even know this boy, for all she knew he could've slaughtered twenty students already. Associating with him purely for the fact that she happened to encounter him in the church seemed awkward at best, and she found herself unsure of how to react. She still hadn't fully grasped the gravity of the situation unfolding around her, and although something told her to run -- and fast -- she still didn't quite understand what was going on.
Besides, a lot of these people are idiots, but most of them aren't going to go crazy psycho killer on anyone... at least, I hope not.
She hoped this boy wasn't armed. She hoped he didn't pull out a machete and decapitate her with it in one fell swoop. Well, it wouldn't exactly be a fell swoop, seeing as she was still halfway across the church from the redheaded figure. Still, part of her found the entire encounter unsettling, and the fight-or-flight instinct was threatening to kick in. Then again, he appeared unarmed, he appeared harmless, and Ali simply refused to believe that anyone would buy into this horrible game. She wouldn't go so far as trusting this boy, but perhaps she could extract some information out of him and be on her merry way.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
Time, to Boy #11, Adam Amato, seemed to have almost no meaning. He hadn't been running for that long, but really, in the end, it was all relative. Adam had been running since he'd awoken on the ground, green grass in his mouth, a duffel bag and an unfamiliar pack lying around him. It'd taken Adam only a few quiet moments to come to his senses, and once he did, his heart began to race. Something that he'd dreaded since he'd heard about it was happening for the second time on a large scale, and much to his extreme chagrin, it was happening to him. Adam had jumped to his feet as soon as the thought had registered in his brain.
Survival of the Fittest: Version 2. Oh...shit!
Frantically looking about, Adam grabbed the duffel off of the ground, quickly unzipping it, and began to toss things onto the ground - things that he didn't need like extra clothes, a bathing suit, his toiletries. After significantly lightening the load, leaving only a sweatshirt, all of the pairs of socks that he'd packed, and the essential things like his wallet, cell phone, and a pack of gum, he zipped up the bag and grabbed the other one off of the ground. Gulping slightly as he saw the stencilled-on '11', Adam opened the bag and reached in, fishing out a tin of crackers. Sighing, he began to transfer the contents over to his duffel. Adam did this quickly and silently, and only stopped when his hand felt the cool touch of metal at the bottom of the pack. Reaching in, he pulled out a pistol from the bottom of the pack. The pistol was enclosed within a box, complete with a few clips of ammunition and an instruction manual. The manual identified it as a Ruger Redhawk, and Adam knew right off the bat that it was a formidable weapon, indeed. Essentially what he had here was a sniper's pistol. The large scope mounted on the top of it told him that much easily. Shaking his head, Adam transferred the ammo into his duffel and left the pack, empty, on the ground.
As Adam turned around, he heard a very distinct cracking of a tree branch, and, in horror, he bolted from that very spot, running as fast as he possibly could.
Fuck this, I've got to get going! Can't stay in one spot for too long!
Sprinting as fast as he could, Adam had been running for what seemed like hours. In reality, it had only been minutes - but here was where that whole relativity thing came in. His breath was flowing fairly evenly through his lungs - being an athelete would assure you that it would, but his heart was beating a little faster than normal as he tried to put it all together in his head.
So we're on the plane, and then that terrorist shoots the fuckin' flight attendant...and another girl. Starts screaming out about Survival of the Fittest...shows a video...goddamn, this is EXACTLY what happened to Dodd! Damnit, damnit, damnit! How does this happen!? Why, of all the schools, would they pick us?! How would the stupid US politicians let this happen, either? Ohhhh, jeez! This is BEYOND bad!
As Adam ran, he wasn't even running in any semblance of a direction. All he knew was that he had to find some sort of shelter so that he could collect himself. Staying out in the open had gotten a lot of people killed during v1, which he had forced himself to watch, if only to monitor the progress of his friends who'd been in it. His mind had taken a beating watching that, and as he walked up to the church, he couldn't think of a more proper place to get a gameplan together. A church was supposed to be a place that held sanctity in good stead, and maybe, just maybe, God had some sort of an outreach, even on this seemingly deserted island where they were being forced to kill their peers. As he stopped his run and bent over, breathing heavily for a moment, he studied the surroundings. There wasn't a whole lot around the church, and Adam couldn't imagine that there were a whole lot of places to hide, sans inside of it. Stepping up to it, he stopped suddenly as he heard voices inside of the church.
Shit, someone's already inside... Taking a careful position outside of the door, Adam listened to the occupants, hoping to be able to gauge whether or not they were friendly or hostile...
Survival of the Fittest: Version 2. Oh...shit!
Frantically looking about, Adam grabbed the duffel off of the ground, quickly unzipping it, and began to toss things onto the ground - things that he didn't need like extra clothes, a bathing suit, his toiletries. After significantly lightening the load, leaving only a sweatshirt, all of the pairs of socks that he'd packed, and the essential things like his wallet, cell phone, and a pack of gum, he zipped up the bag and grabbed the other one off of the ground. Gulping slightly as he saw the stencilled-on '11', Adam opened the bag and reached in, fishing out a tin of crackers. Sighing, he began to transfer the contents over to his duffel. Adam did this quickly and silently, and only stopped when his hand felt the cool touch of metal at the bottom of the pack. Reaching in, he pulled out a pistol from the bottom of the pack. The pistol was enclosed within a box, complete with a few clips of ammunition and an instruction manual. The manual identified it as a Ruger Redhawk, and Adam knew right off the bat that it was a formidable weapon, indeed. Essentially what he had here was a sniper's pistol. The large scope mounted on the top of it told him that much easily. Shaking his head, Adam transferred the ammo into his duffel and left the pack, empty, on the ground.
As Adam turned around, he heard a very distinct cracking of a tree branch, and, in horror, he bolted from that very spot, running as fast as he possibly could.
Fuck this, I've got to get going! Can't stay in one spot for too long!
Sprinting as fast as he could, Adam had been running for what seemed like hours. In reality, it had only been minutes - but here was where that whole relativity thing came in. His breath was flowing fairly evenly through his lungs - being an athelete would assure you that it would, but his heart was beating a little faster than normal as he tried to put it all together in his head.
So we're on the plane, and then that terrorist shoots the fuckin' flight attendant...and another girl. Starts screaming out about Survival of the Fittest...shows a video...goddamn, this is EXACTLY what happened to Dodd! Damnit, damnit, damnit! How does this happen!? Why, of all the schools, would they pick us?! How would the stupid US politicians let this happen, either? Ohhhh, jeez! This is BEYOND bad!
As Adam ran, he wasn't even running in any semblance of a direction. All he knew was that he had to find some sort of shelter so that he could collect himself. Staying out in the open had gotten a lot of people killed during v1, which he had forced himself to watch, if only to monitor the progress of his friends who'd been in it. His mind had taken a beating watching that, and as he walked up to the church, he couldn't think of a more proper place to get a gameplan together. A church was supposed to be a place that held sanctity in good stead, and maybe, just maybe, God had some sort of an outreach, even on this seemingly deserted island where they were being forced to kill their peers. As he stopped his run and bent over, breathing heavily for a moment, he studied the surroundings. There wasn't a whole lot around the church, and Adam couldn't imagine that there were a whole lot of places to hide, sans inside of it. Stepping up to it, he stopped suddenly as he heard voices inside of the church.
Shit, someone's already inside... Taking a careful position outside of the door, Adam listened to the occupants, hoping to be able to gauge whether or not they were friendly or hostile...
To say he was paying attention to his surroundings was an outright lie.
Because if he had the new arrival during his little prayer would have been noted. But being as deep-seeded in thought as he had become these past few moment's thoughts of what was happening around him had all but faded from thought, which in this point and time would probably turn out for the worst if this happened more often then not.
He supposed he should be happy whomever this was decided to prove more talkative than handy with a gun – or whatever weapon this one may have been offered, he wondering lightly if they could get any worse than a stun gun – but remembering something along the lines of a plastic hammer in the first version of this 'game' he supposed it couldn't get much worse than that.
When the harsh sounding voice sounded, it sent Edgar on his feet in a somewhat shocked manner searching out the voice's owner, and once found – to be someone he didn't know, which meant it was more than just his school out here because though he couldn't remember names to save him, faces he was adapted to remembering with little difficultly.
So as he glanced this girl over, who looked slightly older than him; no more than two years at the most, probably in grade ten as well, he narrowed his eyes slightly. It bothered him the most, he didn't know this girl, she wasn't a classmates, a person he around a majority of the time so he couldn't tell if she'd be better or for the worse in his situation.
The blurted comment that followed allowed Edgar to relax slightly, breathing out the air he had been holding since the girl had spoken out demanding who he was, though he supposed the question could go both ways in this situation. Though he felt himself tense up slightly, lightly commenting over the situation in thought.
Really Edgar, look what you're dealing with, this is your typical Malibu Barbie-doll here... if you start getting worked up over someone like this, what's going to happen when you meet someone that's really out for blood and your in their line of vision?
This caused a sigh of sorts to escape the young male, shaking his head, "Um, Sorry for scaring you? I suppose..." Rude, cynical, and over-all bastard child at times he could be yes, but manners he still held to a degree.
However small that degree might be in most, if not all, cases.
Trust had never been something easy to come by for Edgar, and this girl wasn't going to be an exception to that story in anyway, he glancing over his gear which consisted of the pack given to him by these people with the instruction manual of sorts for both the rules of the game, and his weapon -- which thruthful consisted of the words 'push down on side-switch' and the carry-on he had been carrying on the plane which had little or nothing of worth, or help in it.
Least if he needed a snazzy tune to be the soundtrack to his time here, well then that he did have...
But that was besides the here and now of this point, that being he was currently in the general area of a girl, who could be armed to the teeth with a bleeding rocket launcher for all he knew, and they where in the midst of having something along the lines of simple chit-chat in the start of a horrid game like this. Well, it did happen quite a number of times in the first game from what little he managed to watch, though sighing again the redhead turned his attention back on the female.
"To answer your first question my name is Edgar, I'm from a school called Hobbsborough... in New Jersey."
Because if he had the new arrival during his little prayer would have been noted. But being as deep-seeded in thought as he had become these past few moment's thoughts of what was happening around him had all but faded from thought, which in this point and time would probably turn out for the worst if this happened more often then not.
He supposed he should be happy whomever this was decided to prove more talkative than handy with a gun – or whatever weapon this one may have been offered, he wondering lightly if they could get any worse than a stun gun – but remembering something along the lines of a plastic hammer in the first version of this 'game' he supposed it couldn't get much worse than that.
When the harsh sounding voice sounded, it sent Edgar on his feet in a somewhat shocked manner searching out the voice's owner, and once found – to be someone he didn't know, which meant it was more than just his school out here because though he couldn't remember names to save him, faces he was adapted to remembering with little difficultly.
So as he glanced this girl over, who looked slightly older than him; no more than two years at the most, probably in grade ten as well, he narrowed his eyes slightly. It bothered him the most, he didn't know this girl, she wasn't a classmates, a person he around a majority of the time so he couldn't tell if she'd be better or for the worse in his situation.
The blurted comment that followed allowed Edgar to relax slightly, breathing out the air he had been holding since the girl had spoken out demanding who he was, though he supposed the question could go both ways in this situation. Though he felt himself tense up slightly, lightly commenting over the situation in thought.
Really Edgar, look what you're dealing with, this is your typical Malibu Barbie-doll here... if you start getting worked up over someone like this, what's going to happen when you meet someone that's really out for blood and your in their line of vision?
This caused a sigh of sorts to escape the young male, shaking his head, "Um, Sorry for scaring you? I suppose..." Rude, cynical, and over-all bastard child at times he could be yes, but manners he still held to a degree.
However small that degree might be in most, if not all, cases.
Trust had never been something easy to come by for Edgar, and this girl wasn't going to be an exception to that story in anyway, he glancing over his gear which consisted of the pack given to him by these people with the instruction manual of sorts for both the rules of the game, and his weapon -- which thruthful consisted of the words 'push down on side-switch' and the carry-on he had been carrying on the plane which had little or nothing of worth, or help in it.
Least if he needed a snazzy tune to be the soundtrack to his time here, well then that he did have...
But that was besides the here and now of this point, that being he was currently in the general area of a girl, who could be armed to the teeth with a bleeding rocket launcher for all he knew, and they where in the midst of having something along the lines of simple chit-chat in the start of a horrid game like this. Well, it did happen quite a number of times in the first game from what little he managed to watch, though sighing again the redhead turned his attention back on the female.
"To answer your first question my name is Edgar, I'm from a school called Hobbsborough... in New Jersey."
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Hobbsborough...
The individual word reiterated itself in Ali Grayston's mind. Bathurst wasn't the only school that had been abducted and forced onto the island. Did that mean that Austin Spencer was on the island? Shawn Heartgreeder? She was familiar with several students from Hobbsborough High School, be it through athletics or other methods. This boy, though, she didn't recognize at all. He looked younger... she would've pegged him to be a freshman, maybe.
He seemed rather apprehensive of her, but given the situation, it was more than understandable. Truth be told, Ali still held the fear that this boy would simply break out some weapon of unimaginable destruction and send her on her merry way to whatever plane of existence lay beyond this life... be it heaven or hell or limbo or wherever it is religion states that you go after you're dead and gone. She'd never been big on religion -- something that was ironic in itself seeing as her start point had been the church.
Perhaps somebody somewhere had been trying to tell her something when she'd been "randomly" thrown into the cemetary just beyond the church. Repent to thy Lord now or be condemned to brimstone and fire? Something like that. Faith and religion would be tried in this competition, and despite the holy place that she currently occupied, Ali felt no need to reconnect with a faith she'd never had to begin with. After all, if there really was a God, why would he ever allow something like this to happen?
"I'm Ali..." she muttered quietly, feeling that she really had no reason to introduce herself to this boy beyond that.
The next few minutes cascaded into an awkward silence between the two individuals occupying the old and run-down church. What was there to say? According to the rulebook, Ali was supposed to take that pathetic excuse for a weapon she'd been issued, wrap it around the base of this boy's neck, and strangle the life out of him with it. It was such an absurd thought that in another time and place Ali Grayston would have laughed. Unfortunately, after this turn of events, her since of humor was almost nil.
Within moments, the awkward silence between the two had thoroughly gotten to her, and despite herself, she found herself unconsciously muttering out another sentence to the boy. Given the circumstances, it only seemed fitting to ask him the question. After all, assuming he was a truthful person -- as she assumed any sort of righteous individual that could be found praying in a church in the middle of a killing game could be -- then she'd at least know what she was dealing with.
"So what... what did they give you?" she inquired.
Should she tell him that all they issued her was a gardenhose? Perhaps if he wound up having a worse weapon than she did, she'd tell him. What if he wound up having a machine gun or a shotgun or something? Well... she supposed her answer would be based on his. If nothing else, maybe she could play the good 'ole intimidation card. In a way, she was inwardly chastising herself for even thinking about deceiving this boy. In a way, it was buying in to the game. For Ali Grayston, however, deceit and manipulation was almost second-nature, and old habits are hard to break.
The individual word reiterated itself in Ali Grayston's mind. Bathurst wasn't the only school that had been abducted and forced onto the island. Did that mean that Austin Spencer was on the island? Shawn Heartgreeder? She was familiar with several students from Hobbsborough High School, be it through athletics or other methods. This boy, though, she didn't recognize at all. He looked younger... she would've pegged him to be a freshman, maybe.
He seemed rather apprehensive of her, but given the situation, it was more than understandable. Truth be told, Ali still held the fear that this boy would simply break out some weapon of unimaginable destruction and send her on her merry way to whatever plane of existence lay beyond this life... be it heaven or hell or limbo or wherever it is religion states that you go after you're dead and gone. She'd never been big on religion -- something that was ironic in itself seeing as her start point had been the church.
Perhaps somebody somewhere had been trying to tell her something when she'd been "randomly" thrown into the cemetary just beyond the church. Repent to thy Lord now or be condemned to brimstone and fire? Something like that. Faith and religion would be tried in this competition, and despite the holy place that she currently occupied, Ali felt no need to reconnect with a faith she'd never had to begin with. After all, if there really was a God, why would he ever allow something like this to happen?
"I'm Ali..." she muttered quietly, feeling that she really had no reason to introduce herself to this boy beyond that.
The next few minutes cascaded into an awkward silence between the two individuals occupying the old and run-down church. What was there to say? According to the rulebook, Ali was supposed to take that pathetic excuse for a weapon she'd been issued, wrap it around the base of this boy's neck, and strangle the life out of him with it. It was such an absurd thought that in another time and place Ali Grayston would have laughed. Unfortunately, after this turn of events, her since of humor was almost nil.
Within moments, the awkward silence between the two had thoroughly gotten to her, and despite herself, she found herself unconsciously muttering out another sentence to the boy. Given the circumstances, it only seemed fitting to ask him the question. After all, assuming he was a truthful person -- as she assumed any sort of righteous individual that could be found praying in a church in the middle of a killing game could be -- then she'd at least know what she was dealing with.
"So what... what did they give you?" she inquired.
Should she tell him that all they issued her was a gardenhose? Perhaps if he wound up having a worse weapon than she did, she'd tell him. What if he wound up having a machine gun or a shotgun or something? Well... she supposed her answer would be based on his. If nothing else, maybe she could play the good 'ole intimidation card. In a way, she was inwardly chastising herself for even thinking about deceiving this boy. In a way, it was buying in to the game. For Ali Grayston, however, deceit and manipulation was almost second-nature, and old habits are hard to break.
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Kasumi White.
Huh? Who are you?
Listen to my words, Kasumi. You are about to enter the most turbulent period of your life. There will be times when you wish to give up, to force yourself out of this time. Do not take these chances, as they will result in nothing but weeping and gnashing of teeth.
What? What are you talking about?
You will not be alone in this tribulation. There will be others with you, others who need help, and can provide you with help. Some of the others have hardened their hearts to me, and cannot be helped, but you must not hate them for their actions.
Lord? What's going to happen to me?
Remember my words, Kasumi.
Kasumi White opened her eyes. She found herself curled up in the fetal position at a large headstone. Upon getting up, she dusted herself off and stared at the grim monument in front of her. It was a pedestal atop which stood an angel with open arms. It looked serene and friendly, unlike the rest of the graveyard she inhabited.
Kasumi's eyes darted around for signs of life. Finding none, she began slowly walking around the angel statue before finding a dapack marked "G07 - WHITE" on the other side.
She reached for it and slung it onto her shoulder, then froze, recalling the incident that had occured when she was last conscious. She had truly turned white then, especially after a piece of the killed man's brain matter landed on her desk. Even when the other man yelled at her class, she had been too scared to do anything until Lance Adams had caught her eye. With a confident nod, he had downed his drugged water, and so Kasumi quickly did the same.
Lance!
"Lance!" Kasumi yelled at the top of her lungs, beginning to be overcome by panic. She bolted up, daypack bouncing violently against her side, and ran towards the church. "Lance! Where are you?" She stopped just short of the door and leaned on the wall next to it, faced with the realization that Lance was nowhere in sight.
Her eyes began welling up with tears, and she shambled back over to the angel statue. She looked down and gloomily opened her daypack, taking only minor interest in most of the items inside, until she found something familiar.
It was her own copy of the Holy Bible, miraculously undamaged. Kasumi smiled as she lifted it out of her daypack, then opened it and pinpointed one of her favorite passages. She read from the passage in a voice that gradually grew steadier:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."
Huh? Who are you?
Listen to my words, Kasumi. You are about to enter the most turbulent period of your life. There will be times when you wish to give up, to force yourself out of this time. Do not take these chances, as they will result in nothing but weeping and gnashing of teeth.
What? What are you talking about?
You will not be alone in this tribulation. There will be others with you, others who need help, and can provide you with help. Some of the others have hardened their hearts to me, and cannot be helped, but you must not hate them for their actions.
Lord? What's going to happen to me?
Remember my words, Kasumi.
Kasumi White opened her eyes. She found herself curled up in the fetal position at a large headstone. Upon getting up, she dusted herself off and stared at the grim monument in front of her. It was a pedestal atop which stood an angel with open arms. It looked serene and friendly, unlike the rest of the graveyard she inhabited.
Kasumi's eyes darted around for signs of life. Finding none, she began slowly walking around the angel statue before finding a dapack marked "G07 - WHITE" on the other side.
She reached for it and slung it onto her shoulder, then froze, recalling the incident that had occured when she was last conscious. She had truly turned white then, especially after a piece of the killed man's brain matter landed on her desk. Even when the other man yelled at her class, she had been too scared to do anything until Lance Adams had caught her eye. With a confident nod, he had downed his drugged water, and so Kasumi quickly did the same.
Lance!
"Lance!" Kasumi yelled at the top of her lungs, beginning to be overcome by panic. She bolted up, daypack bouncing violently against her side, and ran towards the church. "Lance! Where are you?" She stopped just short of the door and leaned on the wall next to it, faced with the realization that Lance was nowhere in sight.
Her eyes began welling up with tears, and she shambled back over to the angel statue. She looked down and gloomily opened her daypack, taking only minor interest in most of the items inside, until she found something familiar.
It was her own copy of the Holy Bible, miraculously undamaged. Kasumi smiled as she lifted it out of her daypack, then opened it and pinpointed one of her favorite passages. She read from the passage in a voice that gradually grew steadier:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."
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(( Oops for Riser forgetting. >>;; ))
He nodded lightly as she introduced herself to him, not saying much of anything and allowing the following silence to flush over the old church like a wool blanket ducked into water, rather suffocating in a manner of speaking. Though in the silence that followed allowed Edgar to delve into his thoughts to a slight degree, making sure to keep at least some of his attention on the girl that he was currently holding some sort of conversation with, even if the other seemed to have happily accepted the overlapping silence as well.
Though as he stood there, attention drifting ever so slightly to his feet, sifting weight from one foot to the net in an attempt to keep his legs from wearing out due to simply standing here.
What do you do now Judah?
It was the most current thought that continued to play over and over in his mind, amongst other things that simply wouldn't leave him be no matter how much he tried to press it away. The girl's voice, Ali was it, which broke him away from said thinking spree, glancing toward the girl lightly as she spoke her question. A glance downward onto the pew he had been sitting on answered the offered question, though she probably one couldn't see it from where she was standing some distance away or just didn't take any notice to the object, that or mistaken it for something else, he wouldn't have put any of these past the girl more than likely.
Though bending down somewhat, he took a hold of the smallish object, lifting it up and looking it over before turning toward the girl. Course the whole 'lie about the weapon' could be played to a fun advantage, though what was the point in lying now? Ed figured if this girl had wanted to blow him away, she would have done so already without any thought to it, but being... soft-spoken, and unsure as she had been being he highly doubted she had gotten to get one of the overall better weapons of the game, less of course this was her everyday sort of personality. If not and she did have a weapon that could blow him away in a manner of a half a second...
Then he'd have to give her props on her acting skill, fooled him as for now he simply dubbed her 'safe – to some degree' mentally.
As Ed opened his mouth to make mention as to what the weapon was a rather loud scream of the name 'Lance' broke through the area inside the church, coming from outside from what he could tell. He wondering as to what idiot was screaming during something like this, less of course they wanted half the island running over here because of someone giving away their location by screaming for someone. He eyed the girl slightly, wondering if anything should be done about it or let whoever was screaming be – personally he just wanted to leave here truth be told, and get somewhere where there wasn't people barging over every other second.
Though knowing his luck that wasn't easily going to happen he bet.
He nodded lightly as she introduced herself to him, not saying much of anything and allowing the following silence to flush over the old church like a wool blanket ducked into water, rather suffocating in a manner of speaking. Though in the silence that followed allowed Edgar to delve into his thoughts to a slight degree, making sure to keep at least some of his attention on the girl that he was currently holding some sort of conversation with, even if the other seemed to have happily accepted the overlapping silence as well.
Though as he stood there, attention drifting ever so slightly to his feet, sifting weight from one foot to the net in an attempt to keep his legs from wearing out due to simply standing here.
What do you do now Judah?
It was the most current thought that continued to play over and over in his mind, amongst other things that simply wouldn't leave him be no matter how much he tried to press it away. The girl's voice, Ali was it, which broke him away from said thinking spree, glancing toward the girl lightly as she spoke her question. A glance downward onto the pew he had been sitting on answered the offered question, though she probably one couldn't see it from where she was standing some distance away or just didn't take any notice to the object, that or mistaken it for something else, he wouldn't have put any of these past the girl more than likely.
Though bending down somewhat, he took a hold of the smallish object, lifting it up and looking it over before turning toward the girl. Course the whole 'lie about the weapon' could be played to a fun advantage, though what was the point in lying now? Ed figured if this girl had wanted to blow him away, she would have done so already without any thought to it, but being... soft-spoken, and unsure as she had been being he highly doubted she had gotten to get one of the overall better weapons of the game, less of course this was her everyday sort of personality. If not and she did have a weapon that could blow him away in a manner of a half a second...
Then he'd have to give her props on her acting skill, fooled him as for now he simply dubbed her 'safe – to some degree' mentally.
As Ed opened his mouth to make mention as to what the weapon was a rather loud scream of the name 'Lance' broke through the area inside the church, coming from outside from what he could tell. He wondering as to what idiot was screaming during something like this, less of course they wanted half the island running over here because of someone giving away their location by screaming for someone. He eyed the girl slightly, wondering if anything should be done about it or let whoever was screaming be – personally he just wanted to leave here truth be told, and get somewhere where there wasn't people barging over every other second.
Though knowing his luck that wasn't easily going to happen he bet.
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Before the younger boy standing before her had a moment to answer her question, an earpiercing shriek of the name "Lance" reverberated throughout the old and antiquated building from within the cemetary that Ali had just entered the small sanctuary through. The loud noise startled Ali, and she jumped slightly, genuine fear overtaking her eyes for just one mere moment. In an instant, the emotion was gone, instead laced by a look of anxiety and mild irritation. Her eyebrows arched slightly as she looked toward the back entryway. More than anything, the fact that someone else was out there, so close to where she had initially been dropped, was a bit of a shock to her. It was amazing that she hadn't bumped into the other figure, or tripped over them, or something.
Then again, Ali had been in such a state when the effects of the gas finally wore off that even if she had walked right over the girl, she might not have even seen her anyway. Despite the feelings of anxiety and nervousness that welled together in the pit of her stomach and seemed to dance on her intestines, Ali Grayston, always too prideful to show her true self, refused to let the emotions overtake her facial features. Instead, that look of disinterest remained on her features. However, in spite of herself, she found her body taking a step toward the door, seemingly of its own accord.
"I don't know what sort of freak goes around screaming like a banshee in a place like this... but... I don't know about you, but I don't feel like being pelted with bullets right now."
Slowly, Ali meandered her way to the old doorway from which she had entered the church. With a turn of the handle, the door creaked open, Ali leaving it only ajar enough so that she could peer outside for a moment. She saw the same girl who had been screaming, now seemingly praying outside, and a look of mild annoyance formulated itself on the model-esque features of the young brunette. Ali had always been an outspoken individual, oftentimes too outspoken for her own good. In a game where this trait might have easily resulted in her inevitable death, she didn't seem to have changed much.
"Hey," she called out annoyedly.
In the next moment, the brunette had swung the door wide open, unveiling herself to the seemingly unarmed girl that had just finished up a prayer outside. Her hands found their way down to her hips, and she stood, blocking the doorframe, the irritated expression never once wavering from her features. Already, not even a day into the game, some idiot had taken it upon herself to try to get her own self and everyone else that was trying to hide or rest in the vicinity killed by some ambitious competitor that was lurking in the shadows. Ali didn't take kindly to people meddling in her own life, although she oftentimes did it to others. Now was no exception.
"I don't know what the hell your problem is," she continued harshly, "But I don't feel like dying today, and if you do, that's just great, but you need to do it elsewhere. If you want to run around and scream and yell like an idiot until someone finds you and guns you down for it, be my guest, but don't bring that here. Honestly."
Just what sort of moron was this girl, anyway? Not only was she recklessly endangering her own life by her practically suicidal actions, but she was also endangering Edgar's life and, more importantly, Ali's. Edgar, Ali could tolerate. He was a quiet kid, sort of mellow, not much of a talker. He was the kind that didn't get a piece of hot lead put in your forehead for making stupid decisions, or so he had proved thus far. This girl... this girl had trouble written all over her face. Even just looking at her, it was clear that she was one of those bible-thumper girls... the religious type that would live on some ignorant false hope that their savior would release them from the torture in which they had been thrown.
"I don't know any Lance," she found herself ranting, "And he's obviously not here. Maybe you should go and find him, because we don't want your type here. I'm trying to look out for myself, I don't need someone to babysit. You're lucky that no one so far has seen fit to waste a bullet on you, but I'm sure it could be arranged. Either way... leave. I think I speak for the both of us when I say that neither of us wants a loud-mouthed twit here. We're just trying to look out for ourselves."
Having said her piece, Ali didn't bother to wait for the reaction the other girl might have to offer. The fact was that by being here, she was a danger to everyone around. That seriously conflicted with Ali's plans on the island, mostly the one of seeing alive until her father could pull enough strings to get her out of this dump. She didn't care about the screaming nitwit outside. She didn't care about the loverboy she was searching for. Really, she didn't care about the redheaded kid that occupied the church with her, either. The only reason they'd been even moderately friendly to one another was because of the need for companionship that arose on the island. An annoyed sigh escaped Ali's lips as she continued to stand by the door, looking tentatively out the window every few moments, hoping that the girl outside would get the point and get out.
Then again, Ali had been in such a state when the effects of the gas finally wore off that even if she had walked right over the girl, she might not have even seen her anyway. Despite the feelings of anxiety and nervousness that welled together in the pit of her stomach and seemed to dance on her intestines, Ali Grayston, always too prideful to show her true self, refused to let the emotions overtake her facial features. Instead, that look of disinterest remained on her features. However, in spite of herself, she found her body taking a step toward the door, seemingly of its own accord.
"I don't know what sort of freak goes around screaming like a banshee in a place like this... but... I don't know about you, but I don't feel like being pelted with bullets right now."
Slowly, Ali meandered her way to the old doorway from which she had entered the church. With a turn of the handle, the door creaked open, Ali leaving it only ajar enough so that she could peer outside for a moment. She saw the same girl who had been screaming, now seemingly praying outside, and a look of mild annoyance formulated itself on the model-esque features of the young brunette. Ali had always been an outspoken individual, oftentimes too outspoken for her own good. In a game where this trait might have easily resulted in her inevitable death, she didn't seem to have changed much.
"Hey," she called out annoyedly.
In the next moment, the brunette had swung the door wide open, unveiling herself to the seemingly unarmed girl that had just finished up a prayer outside. Her hands found their way down to her hips, and she stood, blocking the doorframe, the irritated expression never once wavering from her features. Already, not even a day into the game, some idiot had taken it upon herself to try to get her own self and everyone else that was trying to hide or rest in the vicinity killed by some ambitious competitor that was lurking in the shadows. Ali didn't take kindly to people meddling in her own life, although she oftentimes did it to others. Now was no exception.
"I don't know what the hell your problem is," she continued harshly, "But I don't feel like dying today, and if you do, that's just great, but you need to do it elsewhere. If you want to run around and scream and yell like an idiot until someone finds you and guns you down for it, be my guest, but don't bring that here. Honestly."
Just what sort of moron was this girl, anyway? Not only was she recklessly endangering her own life by her practically suicidal actions, but she was also endangering Edgar's life and, more importantly, Ali's. Edgar, Ali could tolerate. He was a quiet kid, sort of mellow, not much of a talker. He was the kind that didn't get a piece of hot lead put in your forehead for making stupid decisions, or so he had proved thus far. This girl... this girl had trouble written all over her face. Even just looking at her, it was clear that she was one of those bible-thumper girls... the religious type that would live on some ignorant false hope that their savior would release them from the torture in which they had been thrown.
"I don't know any Lance," she found herself ranting, "And he's obviously not here. Maybe you should go and find him, because we don't want your type here. I'm trying to look out for myself, I don't need someone to babysit. You're lucky that no one so far has seen fit to waste a bullet on you, but I'm sure it could be arranged. Either way... leave. I think I speak for the both of us when I say that neither of us wants a loud-mouthed twit here. We're just trying to look out for ourselves."
Having said her piece, Ali didn't bother to wait for the reaction the other girl might have to offer. The fact was that by being here, she was a danger to everyone around. That seriously conflicted with Ali's plans on the island, mostly the one of seeing alive until her father could pull enough strings to get her out of this dump. She didn't care about the screaming nitwit outside. She didn't care about the loverboy she was searching for. Really, she didn't care about the redheaded kid that occupied the church with her, either. The only reason they'd been even moderately friendly to one another was because of the need for companionship that arose on the island. An annoyed sigh escaped Ali's lips as she continued to stand by the door, looking tentatively out the window every few moments, hoping that the girl outside would get the point and get out.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
Mariavel wandered from: Memories and Revelations
Pain... That was the only thing that really registered in Mariavel Varella's mind. Pure, seething pain. What did that bitch do to her leg? It hurt more than anything she'd ever felt. She probably sprained it. She HAD run out of the field, so it was possible that she hurt it even more. Damn... She still could barely see thanks to the flash bang, and her hearing wasn't to good either, albeit better that her sight.
She stumbled along the path until she found herself where it all started, The Church. Perhaps she could find solace there. There was a girl outside seemingly in shock, and a boy pressing himself against the wall. She could care less about them however and tentatively made her was to the door, knife in hand in case they were hostile. She pushed the door opened and nearly dropped her weapon in shock.
Ali friggin-Grayston. Holy Shit. Her main tormentor and the root of all her pains in High school. Damn... she was too much in pain to fight her. She wasn't going to fight in a church anyway. It was disrespectful. She looked at the girl with a frigid glare and made her way to a pew.
"Listen bitch. Don't fucking start with me. I'm not in the mood. You're so F'ing lucky that this is a church. If it were anywhere else I'd shove this knife into your throat. I don't fight in holy places. It's disrespectful." She sighed and leaned down to rub her aching ankle. She took off her shoe and sock. It was swollen. She cursed to herself and put her footwear back on. She grunted as the shoe slipped on and began to let herself relax.
Her thoughts were brought to why she was after the sisterhood. She had always feared death, so why was she causing it? Why? Oh yeah. They made her life a hell. It wasn't bad enough that she had to live with an abusive father and an ignorant mother, no. They had to make everything worse. They always thought they were better. They always thought that they could do whatever they wanted. Not here. Here they were the prey. And she was the hunter.
Too bad she couldn't take the head honcho out right now. She wasn't religious or anything, it just wouldn't be right to stain this place with blood. Ali would meet her end, just not here. Her death won't be as quick as Jaime's either, no.... Hers will be a torturous, slow death. She'll feel all the pain that Mariavel had ever been caused. Yes...
Grant... Does it make you proud that I'm not giving in? I'll win for you Grant. Then I'll kill them. Both of them. They'll pay, just like the sisterhood. So... Wait for them in the afterlife. They'll see you as soon as I win this thing. Then... After they're dead, I'll come to see you! Brother... I've always regretted not saying this when I left that hospital that last time. Rest well Grant... I love you.
Pain... That was the only thing that really registered in Mariavel Varella's mind. Pure, seething pain. What did that bitch do to her leg? It hurt more than anything she'd ever felt. She probably sprained it. She HAD run out of the field, so it was possible that she hurt it even more. Damn... She still could barely see thanks to the flash bang, and her hearing wasn't to good either, albeit better that her sight.
She stumbled along the path until she found herself where it all started, The Church. Perhaps she could find solace there. There was a girl outside seemingly in shock, and a boy pressing himself against the wall. She could care less about them however and tentatively made her was to the door, knife in hand in case they were hostile. She pushed the door opened and nearly dropped her weapon in shock.
Ali friggin-Grayston. Holy Shit. Her main tormentor and the root of all her pains in High school. Damn... she was too much in pain to fight her. She wasn't going to fight in a church anyway. It was disrespectful. She looked at the girl with a frigid glare and made her way to a pew.
"Listen bitch. Don't fucking start with me. I'm not in the mood. You're so F'ing lucky that this is a church. If it were anywhere else I'd shove this knife into your throat. I don't fight in holy places. It's disrespectful." She sighed and leaned down to rub her aching ankle. She took off her shoe and sock. It was swollen. She cursed to herself and put her footwear back on. She grunted as the shoe slipped on and began to let herself relax.
Her thoughts were brought to why she was after the sisterhood. She had always feared death, so why was she causing it? Why? Oh yeah. They made her life a hell. It wasn't bad enough that she had to live with an abusive father and an ignorant mother, no. They had to make everything worse. They always thought they were better. They always thought that they could do whatever they wanted. Not here. Here they were the prey. And she was the hunter.
Too bad she couldn't take the head honcho out right now. She wasn't religious or anything, it just wouldn't be right to stain this place with blood. Ali would meet her end, just not here. Her death won't be as quick as Jaime's either, no.... Hers will be a torturous, slow death. She'll feel all the pain that Mariavel had ever been caused. Yes...
Grant... Does it make you proud that I'm not giving in? I'll win for you Grant. Then I'll kill them. Both of them. They'll pay, just like the sisterhood. So... Wait for them in the afterlife. They'll see you as soon as I win this thing. Then... After they're dead, I'll come to see you! Brother... I've always regretted not saying this when I left that hospital that last time. Rest well Grant... I love you.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Mitsuko2. 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.
The first thing Roland Kelly was able to sense as he slowly gained consciousness was the screaming - albeit somewhat muffled - of some name. Lance...Vance...France...something like that...Jesus, what happened? Then his senses of feeling started up again, and he found himself sitting up, in close quarters, bounded by wood. He could feel two weights, one heavy, one light, on his right and left legs, respectively. This was immediately followed up by a shock sent straight up his spine into his head, via the neck, which felt severely constricted by a thin, plastic device. As the impulse hit the device two more bursts split apart from it, encircling his neck and crashing head on at a rather linear spot dangerously close to his Adam's apple.
What resulted was an explosion of pain, more felt than heard. But he couldn't move. Yet.
...I've been buried alive!? Or worse...
The events of the last 24 hours - if indeed it had been 24 hours - were the first things he "saw", introduced in a bright flash of white and then flash-framing in rather rapid succession. Roland was one of the first getting on the bus for the trip to the Santos-Viola Museum. Roland saw the bus driver with a suspicious SOTF cap. He hated that. Marvin Hendrick boarded. Franco Sebberts. That mad blonde that had left that terrible, exploding gash in his throat. Damien Carter-Madison. Then the teachers being executed as inhumanely as Daniel Pearl or Nick Berg. Flash-cuts followed each spurting of blood, leading to some unknown thug wrapping a blindfold around his eyes.
...much worse...
Then there he was, at a desk right in front of a TV set that provided the only light in the room. Watching as a maiden was viciously snuffed - the only word to describe it - in those most gruesome of details. This time, he couldn't close his eyes or blink it out or count on some flash frame until that moment was all over. Because he'd remembered seeing it before with his parents almost a year ago, as they sat on their rather plush sofa in a moment of family bonding. It was how he'd come to hate it so much. Then the man...that...he couldn't bring himself to say that yet...he issued them a final order.
Roland unconsciously mouthed, no, mumbled the words as the man they called "Melvin" dictated them...
"You can be raped of your dignity, and die in this game. Or you can attack those who will do as much to you, if not worse."
God...no...I can't be...
The revelation came devastating detail that it was already if his collar had exploded. Roland gasped loudly and thrust both hands to his neck, pressing very dangerously against the explosive device. His neck was burning, searing. But restraint - divine intervention, perhaps, kept him from prying his fingers to where it hurt, which by some twist of fate was mockingly concealed by that infernal contraption of plastic, metal, and just a dropper full of plastic explosive.
Roland Thomas Kelly was now a conscripted contestant in that sick, twisted contest that he had spent much of the past year railing against. Something that despite feeling so confident of its demise about, he secretly dreaded he'd really be a part of.
...I'm in...Survival of the Fittest! No. It's just a dream. It can't be right. I'm dreaming! I can feel pain in a dream, can't I?
Roland quickly pinched himself on his neck, and was slowly lifted out of blackness by a large rectangle of soft, glowing light that slowly illuminated his surroundings. The copper of the wood was the most obvious. There was a small, textured dark rectangle directly in front of his field of vision, reaching out to touch it revealed it to be some sort of grating or lattice. He recognized himself as sitting upward, that and the light told him that he clearly hadn't been buried alive.
But it was no dream, either.
Tucked into a corner was a sturdy, ornate brass pole of sorts, that reached above his head but was probably no taller than he was if he stood up. Almost like a priest's staff. The two weights on his legs were two backpacks. One he recognized as his backpack from school, as thin as it was when he got onto the bus. The other, heavier, seemed to be a daypack of sorts.
Emblazoned on that forest-camouflaged pack was a military-stenciled number 57, subtitled with ominous letters.
KELLY, R
It was a irony so disturbingly twisted it made his blood seem to bile over. Here he was, a kid made fun of with names of rather controversial black musicians. Herded off a bus by a black militiaman with a whole bunch of other white kids that he was aware were also quite WASPy, except for maybe Damien with his pitch-black hair. The man who ran this game, as far as Roland knew, probably wasn't white either. ((Was he? I'll need to read the engame for that, and will rectify this later on...)) He didn't know where that kid drew his bloodline, but then again he really didn't bother to care, as much as he privately sympathized with his plight (mostly for political purposes, to be sure).
Roland really tried to respect people of every race. But the associations, compounded with the pain, were far too much for him.
"That...NIGGER!" he growled.
((There. I said it. It's probably the first time someone's ever said it in the course of any RP too. But I'm just glad I finally got that out of my system.))
Out of reflex his hands suddenly clasped over his mouth and he gasped as if to somehow withdraw what he just said back into his lungs. It wasn't just the degree of the word he just said, it was the magnitude with which he said it. Anybody could've heard that and was probably now headed to his location. If that person weren't white - and there were a good number of colored kids in his school alone - he was going to be in for a very rough ride indeed. As his vision sharpened, an even more twisted irony came into mind. If he were on camera or even on microphone even in this closed space, the damage to his and his family's reputation would be shattering at the least.
And as his vision finally cleared, he realized where he was. The light coming through the side of the compartment was doing so through a cross-shaped gap. The irony here was less intense, yet somewhat fitting.
And here I start, in a confession booth.
"Bless me, Father, for I have...really...sinned." he mumbles and stutters, half-clasping his hands on each other, half still on his mouth like a triangular muzzle, eyes closed.
Roland Thomas Kelly knew who he was talking to, as there would be no "holy" people on the island, let alone in the compartment in front of him. He'd need all the faith he could muster for what lay ahead.
Unless God left this place a long time ago...
B57 - Kelly, R - STATUS: ALIVE
What resulted was an explosion of pain, more felt than heard. But he couldn't move. Yet.
...I've been buried alive!? Or worse...
The events of the last 24 hours - if indeed it had been 24 hours - were the first things he "saw", introduced in a bright flash of white and then flash-framing in rather rapid succession. Roland was one of the first getting on the bus for the trip to the Santos-Viola Museum. Roland saw the bus driver with a suspicious SOTF cap. He hated that. Marvin Hendrick boarded. Franco Sebberts. That mad blonde that had left that terrible, exploding gash in his throat. Damien Carter-Madison. Then the teachers being executed as inhumanely as Daniel Pearl or Nick Berg. Flash-cuts followed each spurting of blood, leading to some unknown thug wrapping a blindfold around his eyes.
...much worse...
Then there he was, at a desk right in front of a TV set that provided the only light in the room. Watching as a maiden was viciously snuffed - the only word to describe it - in those most gruesome of details. This time, he couldn't close his eyes or blink it out or count on some flash frame until that moment was all over. Because he'd remembered seeing it before with his parents almost a year ago, as they sat on their rather plush sofa in a moment of family bonding. It was how he'd come to hate it so much. Then the man...that...he couldn't bring himself to say that yet...he issued them a final order.
Roland unconsciously mouthed, no, mumbled the words as the man they called "Melvin" dictated them...
"You can be raped of your dignity, and die in this game. Or you can attack those who will do as much to you, if not worse."
God...no...I can't be...
The revelation came devastating detail that it was already if his collar had exploded. Roland gasped loudly and thrust both hands to his neck, pressing very dangerously against the explosive device. His neck was burning, searing. But restraint - divine intervention, perhaps, kept him from prying his fingers to where it hurt, which by some twist of fate was mockingly concealed by that infernal contraption of plastic, metal, and just a dropper full of plastic explosive.
Roland Thomas Kelly was now a conscripted contestant in that sick, twisted contest that he had spent much of the past year railing against. Something that despite feeling so confident of its demise about, he secretly dreaded he'd really be a part of.
...I'm in...Survival of the Fittest! No. It's just a dream. It can't be right. I'm dreaming! I can feel pain in a dream, can't I?
Roland quickly pinched himself on his neck, and was slowly lifted out of blackness by a large rectangle of soft, glowing light that slowly illuminated his surroundings. The copper of the wood was the most obvious. There was a small, textured dark rectangle directly in front of his field of vision, reaching out to touch it revealed it to be some sort of grating or lattice. He recognized himself as sitting upward, that and the light told him that he clearly hadn't been buried alive.
But it was no dream, either.
Tucked into a corner was a sturdy, ornate brass pole of sorts, that reached above his head but was probably no taller than he was if he stood up. Almost like a priest's staff. The two weights on his legs were two backpacks. One he recognized as his backpack from school, as thin as it was when he got onto the bus. The other, heavier, seemed to be a daypack of sorts.
Emblazoned on that forest-camouflaged pack was a military-stenciled number 57, subtitled with ominous letters.
KELLY, R
It was a irony so disturbingly twisted it made his blood seem to bile over. Here he was, a kid made fun of with names of rather controversial black musicians. Herded off a bus by a black militiaman with a whole bunch of other white kids that he was aware were also quite WASPy, except for maybe Damien with his pitch-black hair. The man who ran this game, as far as Roland knew, probably wasn't white either. ((Was he? I'll need to read the engame for that, and will rectify this later on...)) He didn't know where that kid drew his bloodline, but then again he really didn't bother to care, as much as he privately sympathized with his plight (mostly for political purposes, to be sure).
Roland really tried to respect people of every race. But the associations, compounded with the pain, were far too much for him.
"That...NIGGER!" he growled.
((There. I said it. It's probably the first time someone's ever said it in the course of any RP too. But I'm just glad I finally got that out of my system.))
Out of reflex his hands suddenly clasped over his mouth and he gasped as if to somehow withdraw what he just said back into his lungs. It wasn't just the degree of the word he just said, it was the magnitude with which he said it. Anybody could've heard that and was probably now headed to his location. If that person weren't white - and there were a good number of colored kids in his school alone - he was going to be in for a very rough ride indeed. As his vision sharpened, an even more twisted irony came into mind. If he were on camera or even on microphone even in this closed space, the damage to his and his family's reputation would be shattering at the least.
And as his vision finally cleared, he realized where he was. The light coming through the side of the compartment was doing so through a cross-shaped gap. The irony here was less intense, yet somewhat fitting.
And here I start, in a confession booth.
"Bless me, Father, for I have...really...sinned." he mumbles and stutters, half-clasping his hands on each other, half still on his mouth like a triangular muzzle, eyes closed.
Roland Thomas Kelly knew who he was talking to, as there would be no "holy" people on the island, let alone in the compartment in front of him. He'd need all the faith he could muster for what lay ahead.
Unless God left this place a long time ago...
B57 - Kelly, R - STATUS: ALIVE
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
To say the moments that would follow for Ali Grayston would be some of the most awkward and uncomfortable of her entire life would have been an understatement of cataclysmic proportions. Literally only seconds after she had slammed the back door of the church shut from her little altercation with the screaming banshee that stood outside in the cemetary, the front door once again came barrelling open, and an extremely familiar figure graced the doorway. Well, maybe graced wasn't exactly the right term...
You've got to be KIDDING me!
Before Ali even bothered to open her mouth, everyone's favorite sophomore prostitute verbally assaulted her, calling her a bitch and telling her "not to start". Why would she start? Ali wouldn't bother wasting her time or breath on the whore of an individual who had just set foot through the church doors. If Ali felt a bit out of place within what were supposed to be holy walls, the girl who just walked through completely defiled them.
She couldn't help but roll her eyes as Mariavel proceeded to threaten her life, before stating that fighting in the church was disrespectful and making her way past Ali and Edgar and somewhere into the confines of the small building they all now occupied. Ali couldn't help but roll her eyes in sheer annoyance at the girl. What a moron. It was no wonder the Sisterhood made fun of her and practically everyone at school hated her. She was a disgrace in every since of the word. Despite herself, Ali held her tongue, doing nothing more than casting a glance of sheer disgust at the girl that limped past her.
Pity I can't do the same to you, whore, but it'd be a waste of my time and effort, and frankly, you aren't worth the trouble.
At precisely that moment, a shrill cry coming from somewhere in the interior of the church caused Ali to practically jump out of her skin, the bronzed girl turning this way and that in an attempt to locate the sound of yet another new voice. Ali was getting more and more irritated by the second. She had come inside this place for a moment of peace and quiet to collect herself before heading out into what could be certain doom, but fate was dictating that she wasn't going to get that moment of silence she wanted.
And truth be told, Ali Grayston wasn't used to not getting what she wanted.
The redheaded kid that she'd bumped into upon entering the church hadn't been so bad. At least he was quiet, at least at the moment. Things had gone to hell the moment the she-banshee outside started crying out, then Varella had come parading through the door contaminating the sanctity fo the church with her skankiness, and now Ali suddenly discovered that the church already had another occupant somewhere within its small interior. It was all just getting to be way too much.
Her attention turned to the redheaded boy she had been engaged with light conversation in before they'd been so rudely interrupted by so many uncouth people, and an apologetic smile formed on her lips before an audible sigh escaped them. She had gone on the obviously wrong assumption that only the peace-seeking and quiet-natured students that had been dropped on the island would seek solace in the church. She had since been proven otherwise.
"Well," she stated simply, "I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly looking to throw a party in this place, and it's definitely starting to get a little crowded in here."
Truth be told, she shouldn't be sitting around in this building anyway. The sun was slowly but surely beginning to set, indicating that Ali had wasted the better part of her day here. Night was coming soon, and although she was hesitant to leave the shelter of the church and set foot on the island under such conditions, she had priorities, and they didn't include being gutted overnight in a church by some deranged whore. She would find Sera and Carmen and Alice and all the other girls who had been abducted alongside her, and maybe they could go and fortify their own building. All in all, it seemed like the best plan.
"I don't know about you," she continued to Edgar, "but I've had just about all the fun I can take. I'm out of here. Wherever you go, I wish you luck... you seem like an okay kid."
With that, the vivacious brunette collected the belongings she had long since let fall to the ground, pulled the jacket she'd been holding on and pulled the daypack around her shoulder. Seconds later, Ali Grayston was making her way toward the front door of the church. As she reached the large wooden door, her gaze averted back to the temporary companion she was now leaving behind. Odds are, this was the first and last encounter she would ever have with one, Edgar Judah. It was probably just as well, seeing as the next time they encountered one another might not have been under such warm circumstances. Sighing a bit to herself, Ali exited the door and disappeared into the distance.
((Continued in Completely and Utterly))
You've got to be KIDDING me!
Before Ali even bothered to open her mouth, everyone's favorite sophomore prostitute verbally assaulted her, calling her a bitch and telling her "not to start". Why would she start? Ali wouldn't bother wasting her time or breath on the whore of an individual who had just set foot through the church doors. If Ali felt a bit out of place within what were supposed to be holy walls, the girl who just walked through completely defiled them.
She couldn't help but roll her eyes as Mariavel proceeded to threaten her life, before stating that fighting in the church was disrespectful and making her way past Ali and Edgar and somewhere into the confines of the small building they all now occupied. Ali couldn't help but roll her eyes in sheer annoyance at the girl. What a moron. It was no wonder the Sisterhood made fun of her and practically everyone at school hated her. She was a disgrace in every since of the word. Despite herself, Ali held her tongue, doing nothing more than casting a glance of sheer disgust at the girl that limped past her.
Pity I can't do the same to you, whore, but it'd be a waste of my time and effort, and frankly, you aren't worth the trouble.
At precisely that moment, a shrill cry coming from somewhere in the interior of the church caused Ali to practically jump out of her skin, the bronzed girl turning this way and that in an attempt to locate the sound of yet another new voice. Ali was getting more and more irritated by the second. She had come inside this place for a moment of peace and quiet to collect herself before heading out into what could be certain doom, but fate was dictating that she wasn't going to get that moment of silence she wanted.
And truth be told, Ali Grayston wasn't used to not getting what she wanted.
The redheaded kid that she'd bumped into upon entering the church hadn't been so bad. At least he was quiet, at least at the moment. Things had gone to hell the moment the she-banshee outside started crying out, then Varella had come parading through the door contaminating the sanctity fo the church with her skankiness, and now Ali suddenly discovered that the church already had another occupant somewhere within its small interior. It was all just getting to be way too much.
Her attention turned to the redheaded boy she had been engaged with light conversation in before they'd been so rudely interrupted by so many uncouth people, and an apologetic smile formed on her lips before an audible sigh escaped them. She had gone on the obviously wrong assumption that only the peace-seeking and quiet-natured students that had been dropped on the island would seek solace in the church. She had since been proven otherwise.
"Well," she stated simply, "I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly looking to throw a party in this place, and it's definitely starting to get a little crowded in here."
Truth be told, she shouldn't be sitting around in this building anyway. The sun was slowly but surely beginning to set, indicating that Ali had wasted the better part of her day here. Night was coming soon, and although she was hesitant to leave the shelter of the church and set foot on the island under such conditions, she had priorities, and they didn't include being gutted overnight in a church by some deranged whore. She would find Sera and Carmen and Alice and all the other girls who had been abducted alongside her, and maybe they could go and fortify their own building. All in all, it seemed like the best plan.
"I don't know about you," she continued to Edgar, "but I've had just about all the fun I can take. I'm out of here. Wherever you go, I wish you luck... you seem like an okay kid."
With that, the vivacious brunette collected the belongings she had long since let fall to the ground, pulled the jacket she'd been holding on and pulled the daypack around her shoulder. Seconds later, Ali Grayston was making her way toward the front door of the church. As she reached the large wooden door, her gaze averted back to the temporary companion she was now leaving behind. Odds are, this was the first and last encounter she would ever have with one, Edgar Judah. It was probably just as well, seeing as the next time they encountered one another might not have been under such warm circumstances. Sighing a bit to herself, Ali exited the door and disappeared into the distance.
((Continued in Completely and Utterly))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
Roland Kelly was trembling as he'd prayed. As he did he started to confess whatever sins he could remember, waiting silently for the nonexistent priest's reply before improvising it himself. As he continued his voice got even more tense, at times even tearful. At the end, he muttered in about the only Psalm he could remember off the top of his head, hands clasped as he leaned toward the grating...
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are at my side..."
Roland opened his eyes and looked almost longingly at the priest's staff leaning comfortably against the corner of the confession booth. The light that flowed in through the blurred window from the door opposite reflected reassuringly off its brass length. He reached his hands out, and almost tearfully brought the staff toward him. Due to the lack of room in the compartment, the staff simply leaned down upon him, resting on his shoulder. It was a great feeling as he let it lean against him and grasped it close and stroked it, enough that he closed his eyes and smiled to savor it.
"...your rod and your staff, they comfort me."
These feelings and intentions were earthly, to be sure, but purely platonic, and there were certainly no sexual connotations. At least none that Roland was clearly aware of.
((So I'm reusing a Psalm. He doesn't know he's not the only one using it.
But at least the context is more suited for this moment.))
Then that light seemed to go dark for just a fleeting moment, which was clearly enough for Roland's eyelids to jolt open and gasp (again.) Someone had heard him, and was probably looking for him. That person had luckily passed by, but probably just to check the other booths first. His time had just been slashed like an emo kid's wrists.
Tightly clutching his staff in one hand, Roland slowly pushed the confessional door open just a crack, but the creaking noise it made seemed to be transmitted straight back down his spine, making the backpacks on his lap seem as heavy as the box itself. Peering through the crack he just managed to catch someone exiting the church and closing the door behind him (or her?). This did not automatically eliminate the possibility for him that there was still someone else in the church with him, whether it was a clique-mate was a remote chance in itself, even more remote if that person was a friend, clique-mate or not.
((Cookies to those who did not get...emotional...by any sort of sexual reference in the aforementioned paragraph.))
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are at my side..."
Roland opened his eyes and looked almost longingly at the priest's staff leaning comfortably against the corner of the confession booth. The light that flowed in through the blurred window from the door opposite reflected reassuringly off its brass length. He reached his hands out, and almost tearfully brought the staff toward him. Due to the lack of room in the compartment, the staff simply leaned down upon him, resting on his shoulder. It was a great feeling as he let it lean against him and grasped it close and stroked it, enough that he closed his eyes and smiled to savor it.
"...your rod and your staff, they comfort me."
These feelings and intentions were earthly, to be sure, but purely platonic, and there were certainly no sexual connotations. At least none that Roland was clearly aware of.
((So I'm reusing a Psalm. He doesn't know he's not the only one using it.
But at least the context is more suited for this moment.))Then that light seemed to go dark for just a fleeting moment, which was clearly enough for Roland's eyelids to jolt open and gasp (again.) Someone had heard him, and was probably looking for him. That person had luckily passed by, but probably just to check the other booths first. His time had just been slashed like an emo kid's wrists.
Tightly clutching his staff in one hand, Roland slowly pushed the confessional door open just a crack, but the creaking noise it made seemed to be transmitted straight back down his spine, making the backpacks on his lap seem as heavy as the box itself. Peering through the crack he just managed to catch someone exiting the church and closing the door behind him (or her?). This did not automatically eliminate the possibility for him that there was still someone else in the church with him, whether it was a clique-mate was a remote chance in itself, even more remote if that person was a friend, clique-mate or not.
((Cookies to those who did not get...emotional...by any sort of sexual reference in the aforementioned paragraph.))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Crouching at his place underneath the window, Adam Amato strained his ears to listen to everything that was taking place in the room beside him. Frankly, Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing, especially from the mouth of one of the newer arrivals, who seemed to be threatening the occupants of the church. As he heard this, it put Adam off a little. Being raised as a Catholic, Adam wasn't strict in his beliefs like some, but he still had a very strong moral system that saw a church as a holy place.
SHIT, guy. You don't fuck around in a church, of all places.
Glancing at the pack that he'd set down on the ground beside him when he'd stopped here, Adam shook his head. None of this was right at all, none of it seemed to make any sense. That, of course was the shock talking. Adam knew deep down inside of himself that he'd been kidnapped and the situation seemed to dictate that killing people was the only way to survive. As his fingers ran to the necklace that held a cross around his neck, Adam wasn't really sure what to do. On one hand, he could take the pistol that he'd been assigned and use to blast the life out of anyone that he saw. On the other hand, he could use it to try and appear as though he were someone not to be trifled with.
But who's gonna fall for something that stupid? Anyone else holding a gun is just gonna shoot back at me...
Furrowing his brow, Adam looked around hurredly. People were entering and exiting the area all the time, that much he could hear. The time had come to make a decision before some lucky bastard caught him here with his own thoughts and put bullets into him before he could think twice.
"Fuck this!"
Standing up, Adam grabbed the pistol out of the bag and made his decision. It was the first of many that he hoped wouldn't lead him to an early grave, but instead of sitting around, Adam Amato was going to make sure that if anything, he wouldn't be the one to die first. Stepping around the church and towards the doors, he pushed them open with a purposeful stride in his step.
While he didn't understand it, nor did he want to be here, Adam decided to make the best of his situation. He wouldn't become anyone's bitch, nor would he go out 'like a sucker', as Samuel L. Jackson had once said. Observing the occupants of the church, Adam raised his pistol with only the slightest bit of hesitation. While the safety was still on, nobody would be able to tell from this distance, so for now, Adam knew that control had just switched over to his direction.
"Everybody stay right where you are. What the hell are you thinking? This is a church, you can't defile SHIT in here! Any of you want to think about killing, get the fuck out, now!"
SHIT, guy. You don't fuck around in a church, of all places.
Glancing at the pack that he'd set down on the ground beside him when he'd stopped here, Adam shook his head. None of this was right at all, none of it seemed to make any sense. That, of course was the shock talking. Adam knew deep down inside of himself that he'd been kidnapped and the situation seemed to dictate that killing people was the only way to survive. As his fingers ran to the necklace that held a cross around his neck, Adam wasn't really sure what to do. On one hand, he could take the pistol that he'd been assigned and use to blast the life out of anyone that he saw. On the other hand, he could use it to try and appear as though he were someone not to be trifled with.
But who's gonna fall for something that stupid? Anyone else holding a gun is just gonna shoot back at me...
Furrowing his brow, Adam looked around hurredly. People were entering and exiting the area all the time, that much he could hear. The time had come to make a decision before some lucky bastard caught him here with his own thoughts and put bullets into him before he could think twice.
"Fuck this!"
Standing up, Adam grabbed the pistol out of the bag and made his decision. It was the first of many that he hoped wouldn't lead him to an early grave, but instead of sitting around, Adam Amato was going to make sure that if anything, he wouldn't be the one to die first. Stepping around the church and towards the doors, he pushed them open with a purposeful stride in his step.
While he didn't understand it, nor did he want to be here, Adam decided to make the best of his situation. He wouldn't become anyone's bitch, nor would he go out 'like a sucker', as Samuel L. Jackson had once said. Observing the occupants of the church, Adam raised his pistol with only the slightest bit of hesitation. While the safety was still on, nobody would be able to tell from this distance, so for now, Adam knew that control had just switched over to his direction.
"Everybody stay right where you are. What the hell are you thinking? This is a church, you can't defile SHIT in here! Any of you want to think about killing, get the fuck out, now!"
Edgar had to admit... his head was spinning...
From all these new arrivals that just seemed to be popping out of nowhere like Mary Poppins, one of them even as going as far to treated Ali's life – which the said treated girl seemed to simply brush off with ease, as if it where an everyday thing to happen – though soon enough he found himself in the simple company of the before mentioned girl that had placed a treat on Ali's life, who had left some moments before; and something he should have just did at the start of all this. Though really, with how things had started going so far – he really didn't figure things could get that much worse...
Till it did, of course, because that's how it always works out.
That began in the form of a somewhat familiar looking boy crashing in through the church doors like fucking Rambo, gun in hand and looking like he was about ready to pump each and everyone of them full of metal at any second, and Edgar had to admit, this somewhat frightened him – least till the other boy opened his mouth, and pretty much made himself look like a giant hypocrite in the eyes of Ed – pursing his lips lightly as if in thought, before turning and glancing on their newest arrival to this Church bash that it was becoming, what with all the screaming, cursing, and death treats, one would figure to just be right back at home in New Jersey.
Really, Ed what have you got yourself into now? Well for starters, you're in a church, after all is said and done you would figure to be struck by a train faster than ever walk into one of these again – but here you are, praying of all things.
Now let's move on, there seems to be a banshee outside screaming about some boy, though by now one can only wonder how many people that scream drug over here...
Third your standing in the same general area as a girl who just threatened the life of another student, smooth there Ed – should have just left with Ali.
And now... and now you're the crosshairs of some 'don't defile the church with blood and your words of killing people, but me aiming at you with a gun and telling you not to move is all fine-and-dandy.' boy with a gun.
This is all rather... annoying.
"Oh sure, because you bursting in here barking orders and pointing a gun at us is quite classy in a church." Tch, well he still had his stun gun in his hand if things turned ugly – though what was he going to do? Make a pretty light show for him, though if this guy was a killer – or perhaps wanting to be – it wouldn't be much help at all, less he could get close to the other guy, though that would mean dealing with that pistol, something he'd rather avoid till need be.
From all these new arrivals that just seemed to be popping out of nowhere like Mary Poppins, one of them even as going as far to treated Ali's life – which the said treated girl seemed to simply brush off with ease, as if it where an everyday thing to happen – though soon enough he found himself in the simple company of the before mentioned girl that had placed a treat on Ali's life, who had left some moments before; and something he should have just did at the start of all this. Though really, with how things had started going so far – he really didn't figure things could get that much worse...
Till it did, of course, because that's how it always works out.
That began in the form of a somewhat familiar looking boy crashing in through the church doors like fucking Rambo, gun in hand and looking like he was about ready to pump each and everyone of them full of metal at any second, and Edgar had to admit, this somewhat frightened him – least till the other boy opened his mouth, and pretty much made himself look like a giant hypocrite in the eyes of Ed – pursing his lips lightly as if in thought, before turning and glancing on their newest arrival to this Church bash that it was becoming, what with all the screaming, cursing, and death treats, one would figure to just be right back at home in New Jersey.
Really, Ed what have you got yourself into now? Well for starters, you're in a church, after all is said and done you would figure to be struck by a train faster than ever walk into one of these again – but here you are, praying of all things.
Now let's move on, there seems to be a banshee outside screaming about some boy, though by now one can only wonder how many people that scream drug over here...
Third your standing in the same general area as a girl who just threatened the life of another student, smooth there Ed – should have just left with Ali.
And now... and now you're the crosshairs of some 'don't defile the church with blood and your words of killing people, but me aiming at you with a gun and telling you not to move is all fine-and-dandy.' boy with a gun.
This is all rather... annoying.
"Oh sure, because you bursting in here barking orders and pointing a gun at us is quite classy in a church." Tch, well he still had his stun gun in his hand if things turned ugly – though what was he going to do? Make a pretty light show for him, though if this guy was a killer – or perhaps wanting to be – it wouldn't be much help at all, less he could get close to the other guy, though that would mean dealing with that pistol, something he'd rather avoid till need be.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.