Man, how long has it been?
Hours? Days? Weeks? Time seemed relative in a game like SOTF, especially when practically the first four days of your game were spent stumbling blindly around the jungle, barely able to distinguish day from night through the thick foliage blocking out the sunlight overhead.
Instead, Jordan had been keeping time by the announcements, and desperately trying to fight his way through the jungle and into some sort of clearing. He'd been fortunate up until this point. He hadn't encountered any other students.
Of course, that lack of encounters was a blessing wrapped in a curse. For the entirety of four days, Jordan had been all alone, stumbling blindly through the jungle. He'd taken the time to get some sleep when he could, once crawling inside a hollow log and a few other times climbing up into the trees or resting in the bushes, and he'd managed to keep himself in relatively good condition, but he was burning through his rations rather quickly.
Really, it didn't seem so bad... at least nobody had tried to kill him yet. The worst part about it was easily the fact that he had been all alone for four entire days. No friends, no one to talk to... just him, the jungle, and the occassional animals that he'd passed by.
Lately though, even the animals had been quiet. The air outside seemed stagnant and humid, and the birds had all but ceased their chirping and flown away. It gave him the very distinct impression that a storm was coming, and he'd really rather not be caught in the jungle for that one. Then again, was there anywhere on the island that was any safer?
Judging by the sheer amount of names he'd heard called out over the announcement, Jordan was definitely thinking no. If he'd kept count correctly, something like thirty-five students had died... and that was at the beginning of the day. Who knew how many more had been added to that list by now?
Even though he'd been listening to the announcements for four days, being told which of his classmates had been killed each day never seemed to get any easier to hear. He had almost cried after the first announcement, when he'd heard that some of his friends had been killed. Day two had been just as bad, as had day three.
Even thinking about his dead classmates made Jordan cringe, and he forced the thoughts out of his head as quick as they came. Dwelling on it would do nothing except get him killed. Jordan wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and continued to push through the jungle, using his hunting knife to cut away branches and leaves impeding his path.
Finally, he spotted a clearing up ahead, and Jordan felt his pace pick up as he travelled toward the opening in the foliage. He burst out from the treeline and, for the first time in four days, saw the sky. Unfortunately, it wasn't a bright, sunny blue, but instead a murky and dark gray.
Jordan sighed quietly at the sight of it, but a faint grin appeared on his face once again as he surveyed his surroundings. The cool water of the lagoon almost beckoned to him, and Jordan found himself kneeling down by the water and splashing it on his face, washing away the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the past few days.
Unfortunately, just like in the jungle, there seemed to be nobody in sight. Jordan sighed once again as he looked around the area. Nothing. Nobody. Just silence, aside from the occassional clap of thunder echoing out in the evening sky.
Jordan moved to lean up against a nearby tree, secretly wishing he'd come out of the jungle in a more desirable location. This place wasn't exactly enclosed, and he probably would've gotten a lot less wet in the jungle. Still, he didn't dare venture back into it for fear that he wouldn't see the light of day for another four or five days.
Guess I'll just hang out here.
Paint it Red
B62 begins!
Paint it Red
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-
Endless_Helix†
- Posts: 92
- Joined: Mon Sep 24, 2018 3:54 am
Boy 66 Start
It had taken Mortimer Jones exactly 48 hours to find his way out of the meandering forests. Then his watch died. His compass had been damaged somewhat by the butt his weapon; it had cracked the glass, causing the fluid to leak out. He didn't recognize his weapon, but what it amounted to was basically a large triangular pyramidal spike, about 20" long on a bamboo haft with a weight in the back to balance the spike. He was currently using it as a walking stick to hold up his skeletal frame. Mortimer was dead tired.
See, the big problem was that Mortimer was almost out of food. Oh, he'd tried to find stuff to eat, but all of the flora and fauna of the island was, for the most part toxic if he knew what it was, or completely unknown to him. This left him with a problem. He needed food- his list in his pocket told him that. His parents had made him check off each thing he needed to do, otherwise he just shut off entirely. He wrote a new list of things each night; it was the last thing on his list before sleep.
Mort had woken up a few days ago on the island, at exactly 4 AM, like always, and realized something wasn't right. He'd originally thought that Mr. Danya's little speech was a dream. However when he realized it wasn't, he calmly got up and made a perimeter sweep and did a VSE. Some of the nerves in his arms had been severed, so he had to check himself for external damage. Mort didn't have feeling in a couple of fingers. Then he began to wander. He watched a couple of kids fight it out at the bridge, but otherwise had seen no-one at all.
Brush thinned out to reveal a lagoon. If Mortimer were capable of appreciating it, it would have been picturesque. The way the light shimmered through the clear, clean water, the way the reddish brown mangroves dug in, the little concentric circles of the raindrops. Mort simply scanned it for people. His eyesight wasn't so good, but he saw a blob that looked a lot like a person through the rain. He hurried over, not caring about the noise he made. Sure, he could have been a little bit quieter, but it didn't matter to him in his rather tired state.
When the boy came into focus, Mort stopped to observe for a second, and then pushed through the various types of plants that he couldn't identify.
"Uh, Hi," His dry voice cracked like an old organ, rattling to life after a long period of disuse, "I'm Mortimer, are you, uh playing?"
((A Note to the Reader: Mortimer goes inactive after this post and is picked up by handler d0ddi0slave for his death in the next thread. Continued in The Pretender))
It had taken Mortimer Jones exactly 48 hours to find his way out of the meandering forests. Then his watch died. His compass had been damaged somewhat by the butt his weapon; it had cracked the glass, causing the fluid to leak out. He didn't recognize his weapon, but what it amounted to was basically a large triangular pyramidal spike, about 20" long on a bamboo haft with a weight in the back to balance the spike. He was currently using it as a walking stick to hold up his skeletal frame. Mortimer was dead tired.
See, the big problem was that Mortimer was almost out of food. Oh, he'd tried to find stuff to eat, but all of the flora and fauna of the island was, for the most part toxic if he knew what it was, or completely unknown to him. This left him with a problem. He needed food- his list in his pocket told him that. His parents had made him check off each thing he needed to do, otherwise he just shut off entirely. He wrote a new list of things each night; it was the last thing on his list before sleep.
Mort had woken up a few days ago on the island, at exactly 4 AM, like always, and realized something wasn't right. He'd originally thought that Mr. Danya's little speech was a dream. However when he realized it wasn't, he calmly got up and made a perimeter sweep and did a VSE. Some of the nerves in his arms had been severed, so he had to check himself for external damage. Mort didn't have feeling in a couple of fingers. Then he began to wander. He watched a couple of kids fight it out at the bridge, but otherwise had seen no-one at all.
Brush thinned out to reveal a lagoon. If Mortimer were capable of appreciating it, it would have been picturesque. The way the light shimmered through the clear, clean water, the way the reddish brown mangroves dug in, the little concentric circles of the raindrops. Mort simply scanned it for people. His eyesight wasn't so good, but he saw a blob that looked a lot like a person through the rain. He hurried over, not caring about the noise he made. Sure, he could have been a little bit quieter, but it didn't matter to him in his rather tired state.
When the boy came into focus, Mort stopped to observe for a second, and then pushed through the various types of plants that he couldn't identify.
"Uh, Hi," His dry voice cracked like an old organ, rattling to life after a long period of disuse, "I'm Mortimer, are you, uh playing?"
((A Note to the Reader: Mortimer goes inactive after this post and is picked up by handler d0ddi0slave for his death in the next thread. Continued in The Pretender))
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During the time he'd been sitting on the grass against the tree, Jordan had fallen asleep. The rain had begun to pour down from the sky sometime prior, but it wasn't the cool water that woke Jordan up.
Instead, it was the rustling of bushes. The boy's eyes shot open as he heard footsteps nearby, followed by the sound of a rough, crackling voice. Jordan immediately jumped to his feet, letting his nerves get the better of him for a moment... and for good reason.
The figure that had emerged from out of the jungle was Mortimer Jones. It wasn't that Jordan particularly knew the student that made him so nervous. It was the fact that Mortimer looked like a walking corpse.
Tall, sickly thin, ghostly white... all in all, the boy just gave Jordan the creeps. It took a few moments for Jordan to even realize what the other student had said to him, when he had asked him whether or not he was playing.
How to answer that? It's not like Jordan was on some bloodthirsty hunt to kill his classmates, but in the same respect, he didn't really want someone like Mortimer as a travelling companion, either. It was mean, maybe, but he almost considered telling the other boy that he was if only for the fact that he had no desire to join up with him.
The thing was, Jordan simply wasn't like that. In fact, the very large majority of the time, he was too nice for his own good. Did that mean that here and now, Mortimer Jones was going to become his new best friend?
Definitely not, Jordan decided.
"Uh... not exactly, man, but... ya see..."
Jordan rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, not exactly sure how to tell Mort that he just wasn't looking to join up. Like, Christ, it would be like travelling with a skeleton or something... like Jack Skellington. And Jordan most definitely wasn't looking to travel with the Pumpkin King.
Maybe he was being shallow and juvenile, but the simple fact was, aligning himself with the first person he came across wasn't the most intelligent of ideas... especially when said person was known throughout school for being a bit of a weirdo.
Thankfully, Jordan wouldn't have to take the time to awkwardly explain those facts to Mort. Instead, the speakers burst to life and the stuttering voice of Danya's assistant once again filled the island.
He didn't seem to have much to announce, which, in retrospect, was a good thing. At least not too many people had died, and this time around, none of them had been Jordan's friends. Jordan's eyes turned toward Mort for a moment and he frowned slightly.
Better use this opportunity to peace out before he decides he wants to become a permanent attachment or somethin'.
Using the noise from the announcement in conjunction with the downpour of rain falling from the sky, Jordan took the opportunity to quietly disappear into the foliage.
He couldn't stay at the lagoon forever anyway, and what were the odds of Danya actually declaring the jungle a dangerzone? After all, it seemed like it encompassed practically the entire island. Maybe he could just hide inside it for a while until the storm passed by. It was better than sitting out in the open by the lagoon anyway.
Besides... what's the worst that can happen? It's not like I've run into anybody yet... 'cept Skeletor back there, and I coulda done without that...
((Continued elsewhere.))
Instead, it was the rustling of bushes. The boy's eyes shot open as he heard footsteps nearby, followed by the sound of a rough, crackling voice. Jordan immediately jumped to his feet, letting his nerves get the better of him for a moment... and for good reason.
The figure that had emerged from out of the jungle was Mortimer Jones. It wasn't that Jordan particularly knew the student that made him so nervous. It was the fact that Mortimer looked like a walking corpse.
Tall, sickly thin, ghostly white... all in all, the boy just gave Jordan the creeps. It took a few moments for Jordan to even realize what the other student had said to him, when he had asked him whether or not he was playing.
How to answer that? It's not like Jordan was on some bloodthirsty hunt to kill his classmates, but in the same respect, he didn't really want someone like Mortimer as a travelling companion, either. It was mean, maybe, but he almost considered telling the other boy that he was if only for the fact that he had no desire to join up with him.
The thing was, Jordan simply wasn't like that. In fact, the very large majority of the time, he was too nice for his own good. Did that mean that here and now, Mortimer Jones was going to become his new best friend?
Definitely not, Jordan decided.
"Uh... not exactly, man, but... ya see..."
Jordan rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, not exactly sure how to tell Mort that he just wasn't looking to join up. Like, Christ, it would be like travelling with a skeleton or something... like Jack Skellington. And Jordan most definitely wasn't looking to travel with the Pumpkin King.
Maybe he was being shallow and juvenile, but the simple fact was, aligning himself with the first person he came across wasn't the most intelligent of ideas... especially when said person was known throughout school for being a bit of a weirdo.
Thankfully, Jordan wouldn't have to take the time to awkwardly explain those facts to Mort. Instead, the speakers burst to life and the stuttering voice of Danya's assistant once again filled the island.
He didn't seem to have much to announce, which, in retrospect, was a good thing. At least not too many people had died, and this time around, none of them had been Jordan's friends. Jordan's eyes turned toward Mort for a moment and he frowned slightly.
Better use this opportunity to peace out before he decides he wants to become a permanent attachment or somethin'.
Using the noise from the announcement in conjunction with the downpour of rain falling from the sky, Jordan took the opportunity to quietly disappear into the foliage.
He couldn't stay at the lagoon forever anyway, and what were the odds of Danya actually declaring the jungle a dangerzone? After all, it seemed like it encompassed practically the entire island. Maybe he could just hide inside it for a while until the storm passed by. It was better than sitting out in the open by the lagoon anyway.
Besides... what's the worst that can happen? It's not like I've run into anybody yet... 'cept Skeletor back there, and I coulda done without that...
((Continued elsewhere.))
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((Bradley Armstrong continued from The Earth Isn't Humming For You))
A few minutes after Jordan fled into the underbrush, Bradley came popping out of another section of jungle, staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the lagoon and surrounding shore. If he weren't trapped in a lethal game of Musical Bullets, well, he still wouldn't have really appreciated the scenery, being the sort of kid who prefers to admire nature from a long distance away, but at least he'd be able to take a nap somewhere. Yep, that sand looked mighty comfortable right about now.
It took him a while to notice the lagoon's other occupant. His first thought was to hold his cross necklace in front of him and try to ward it off. Then he blinked and began to form a vague recollection of the face that was buried in that pasty, emaciated body. Monty Whatever-The-Hell-His-Name-Was, the one that he'd heard of being the king of all emo kids on the rare occasions that he bothered to listen to the fetid and pointless world of school gossip.
"Um," he started, unsure as he always was on the methods of beginning a conversation. "Hey, guy." He waved somewhat uneasily at 'Monty', hoping that the large piece of wood in his other hand wouldn't give Gothic the Wonder Ghoul any unsettling ideas.
A few minutes after Jordan fled into the underbrush, Bradley came popping out of another section of jungle, staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the lagoon and surrounding shore. If he weren't trapped in a lethal game of Musical Bullets, well, he still wouldn't have really appreciated the scenery, being the sort of kid who prefers to admire nature from a long distance away, but at least he'd be able to take a nap somewhere. Yep, that sand looked mighty comfortable right about now.
It took him a while to notice the lagoon's other occupant. His first thought was to hold his cross necklace in front of him and try to ward it off. Then he blinked and began to form a vague recollection of the face that was buried in that pasty, emaciated body. Monty Whatever-The-Hell-His-Name-Was, the one that he'd heard of being the king of all emo kids on the rare occasions that he bothered to listen to the fetid and pointless world of school gossip.
"Um," he started, unsure as he always was on the methods of beginning a conversation. "Hey, guy." He waved somewhat uneasily at 'Monty', hoping that the large piece of wood in his other hand wouldn't give Gothic the Wonder Ghoul any unsettling ideas.
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(Yar! the trip to New Jersey, it'd be a long one. Permission to attack Bradley granted! 
)
(Contined from One By One We All Fall Down)
Dominica Shapiro (Female Student no. 28) didn't know where she was currently. She could have sworn that THAT other girl, whoever she was, went past this place but from the looks of it Jazz was nowhere to be seen. It made a lot of sense though. Dominica had been trailing the girl and wasn't being nondescrite about the whole ordeal. In fact, a look backwards could have blown her cover completely. Dominica hadn't caught onto that as well as many others like her and the thought that Jazz had made herself scarce never registered in her mind.
Mm. It doesn't matter now. That GIRL doesn't matter... she certainly reminds me of someone I know but she can't possibly be who I think she is... Dominica pouted again. What's the matter with me? I shouldn't get close to anyone in this game. I barely know any of these people... Well, I know a few but those are only simple acquantances! The minute I actually feel compelled to protect these fools, the moment I feel pity for them, the second I question what I'm doing and my reasons why is when I'll be just like the rest. Mangled, bloodied, raped bodies. Dominica Sharpiro will not settle for being just a number and a name in a list of names, and she certainly won't be used to further another maniac's sick mutilation fantasy. I will be better than that. I've ALWAYS been better than that.
Two boys were in the distance. The closest one to her was... Bradley Armstrong? Was that the boy's name? Dominica had always felt sorry for the boy, for reasons she couldn't pinpoint. He always looked like a sorry, pathetic fool and Dominca felt a shred of regret for him having to even bother being in a cruel game such as this. Of course, this regret slowly subsided when she saw something in the boy's hand... what was that? Was it a sword? From where Dominica was standing, the stick/club looked like a replica of the Excalibur(?) and that sort of weapon... well, Dominica just HAD to have it! Blood Boy, the pitiful rat wouldn't have a chance against the legendary sword from the King Author folklore.
Dominica smirked as she tightened the rubber band on the harpoon gun clenched tightly in her tiny hands. Haha. How very strange. I guess Bradley DOES serve a purpose after all. What a surprise. There's a reason to kill him now.
Should she say some witty retort before firing? She was hidden in the shadows (like most of her time on the island) so saying anything would blow her cover, but her mind was coming up with more one-liners than a supercomputer being powered by elves. Would "Oh, you want to die? I can certainly help you with that." work in this situation?, or would "May I borrow a cup of DEATH?" suffice? How about "I'm sorry if this sounds very rude but would you particularly mind dying right about now?" work just as well? Certainly not, she'd save THAT one for another time. What about "I'm sorry, but you're just in my way."? It had a nice ring to it and it described the situation she was in perfectly.
Bradley was just another obstacle on her way to surviving the next few days. Besides, it wasn't like she wanted to KILL Bradley: if there was no need to kill him then Dominica wasn't even going to bother wasting her time and energy. However, he had a sword and Dominica knew that no matter how pathetic and weak Bradley was, just about anyone could kill. Dominica was the perfect example of this. A week ago she couldn't have even imagined herself killing others with as little hesitation as she could, but she killed someone WITH an OCARINA days before. It was scary, what she was doing but there was no reason to complain. She should have seen this coming from a mile away, and she wasn't properly prepared.
"... haha." Dominica chortled under her breath. "What am I thinking? I wouldn't be doing this if I somehow didn't enjoy it. Silly me."
She decided that her spear was going to do all the talking for her as she released the trigger and fired at the unexpecting boy. And, telling from the sensation felt against her a few of her fingers as she ran them down it's edge, the spear she had was especially sharp.
)(Contined from One By One We All Fall Down)
Dominica Shapiro (Female Student no. 28) didn't know where she was currently. She could have sworn that THAT other girl, whoever she was, went past this place but from the looks of it Jazz was nowhere to be seen. It made a lot of sense though. Dominica had been trailing the girl and wasn't being nondescrite about the whole ordeal. In fact, a look backwards could have blown her cover completely. Dominica hadn't caught onto that as well as many others like her and the thought that Jazz had made herself scarce never registered in her mind.
Mm. It doesn't matter now. That GIRL doesn't matter... she certainly reminds me of someone I know but she can't possibly be who I think she is... Dominica pouted again. What's the matter with me? I shouldn't get close to anyone in this game. I barely know any of these people... Well, I know a few but those are only simple acquantances! The minute I actually feel compelled to protect these fools, the moment I feel pity for them, the second I question what I'm doing and my reasons why is when I'll be just like the rest. Mangled, bloodied, raped bodies. Dominica Sharpiro will not settle for being just a number and a name in a list of names, and she certainly won't be used to further another maniac's sick mutilation fantasy. I will be better than that. I've ALWAYS been better than that.
Two boys were in the distance. The closest one to her was... Bradley Armstrong? Was that the boy's name? Dominica had always felt sorry for the boy, for reasons she couldn't pinpoint. He always looked like a sorry, pathetic fool and Dominca felt a shred of regret for him having to even bother being in a cruel game such as this. Of course, this regret slowly subsided when she saw something in the boy's hand... what was that? Was it a sword? From where Dominica was standing, the stick/club looked like a replica of the Excalibur(?) and that sort of weapon... well, Dominica just HAD to have it! Blood Boy, the pitiful rat wouldn't have a chance against the legendary sword from the King Author folklore.
Dominica smirked as she tightened the rubber band on the harpoon gun clenched tightly in her tiny hands. Haha. How very strange. I guess Bradley DOES serve a purpose after all. What a surprise. There's a reason to kill him now.
Should she say some witty retort before firing? She was hidden in the shadows (like most of her time on the island) so saying anything would blow her cover, but her mind was coming up with more one-liners than a supercomputer being powered by elves. Would "Oh, you want to die? I can certainly help you with that." work in this situation?, or would "May I borrow a cup of DEATH?" suffice? How about "I'm sorry if this sounds very rude but would you particularly mind dying right about now?" work just as well? Certainly not, she'd save THAT one for another time. What about "I'm sorry, but you're just in my way."? It had a nice ring to it and it described the situation she was in perfectly.
Bradley was just another obstacle on her way to surviving the next few days. Besides, it wasn't like she wanted to KILL Bradley: if there was no need to kill him then Dominica wasn't even going to bother wasting her time and energy. However, he had a sword and Dominica knew that no matter how pathetic and weak Bradley was, just about anyone could kill. Dominica was the perfect example of this. A week ago she couldn't have even imagined herself killing others with as little hesitation as she could, but she killed someone WITH an OCARINA days before. It was scary, what she was doing but there was no reason to complain. She should have seen this coming from a mile away, and she wasn't properly prepared.
"... haha." Dominica chortled under her breath. "What am I thinking? I wouldn't be doing this if I somehow didn't enjoy it. Silly me."
She decided that her spear was going to do all the talking for her as she released the trigger and fired at the unexpecting boy. And, telling from the sensation felt against her a few of her fingers as she ran them down it's edge, the spear she had was especially sharp.
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But before 'Monty' could greet Bradley in response, the latter felt his extremities turn to ice, his chest catch fire, and the skin on his torso break out in a flop sweat. He tried to walk but could only manage a sort of collapsing motion. Not a smart idea, really, but neither was coming on the trip. His mother had told him to make some new friends on the trip; he definitely didn't hear anything about collapsing next to a picturesque body of water.
Oh well. At least he told her that he loved her before he went. That was an embarrassing gaffe avoided.
A distinct CRUNCH jerked Bradley's attention back to reality. He had landed on his left side due to falling in midstep, and his left arm was beginning to feel like it, too, was on fire. He looked at the ground and discovered why: he knew his shoulder wasn't supposed to bulge out like that, nor should it be swelling or turning blue.
"...ow." he croaked, in what would turn out to be his last word. He was barely able to comprehend that perhaps he should look at his chest to see if something similar was happening. He did, but it took all his willpower to force his muscles to comply.
Poking a hole through his shirt was a thin metal pole. He couldn't quite make it out, what with the blurry vision and all, but he could definitely see that it was quite red. Oh, fuck. Bloody spear. Guess I have die now.
And have die he did, having lost too much blood to muster up the usual emotions most SOTF contestants feel when their luck runs out. He fell onto his stomach, exposing for the cameras a brand-new novelty t-shirt that read, '100 MILLION PEOPLE WERE KILLED BY COMMUNISM AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT'. Were he alive, Bradley would have enjoyed seeing the spear piercing directly through the forehead of Che Guevara, the patron saint of gullible teenagers and celebrities everywhere.
He died as he lived; relatively unnoticed. By sheer coincidence, the only people he was friends with, not counting the students on the island, had either declined to watch him suffer and die (his grieving family), or had not recognized him because they never knew what he looked like (his online chat buddies).
But none of it really mattered to Frank Bradley Armstrong V. Because he was dead.
B60 BRADLEY ARMSTRONG - DECEASED
Oh well. At least he told her that he loved her before he went. That was an embarrassing gaffe avoided.
A distinct CRUNCH jerked Bradley's attention back to reality. He had landed on his left side due to falling in midstep, and his left arm was beginning to feel like it, too, was on fire. He looked at the ground and discovered why: he knew his shoulder wasn't supposed to bulge out like that, nor should it be swelling or turning blue.
"...ow." he croaked, in what would turn out to be his last word. He was barely able to comprehend that perhaps he should look at his chest to see if something similar was happening. He did, but it took all his willpower to force his muscles to comply.
Poking a hole through his shirt was a thin metal pole. He couldn't quite make it out, what with the blurry vision and all, but he could definitely see that it was quite red. Oh, fuck. Bloody spear. Guess I have die now.
And have die he did, having lost too much blood to muster up the usual emotions most SOTF contestants feel when their luck runs out. He fell onto his stomach, exposing for the cameras a brand-new novelty t-shirt that read, '100 MILLION PEOPLE WERE KILLED BY COMMUNISM AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT'. Were he alive, Bradley would have enjoyed seeing the spear piercing directly through the forehead of Che Guevara, the patron saint of gullible teenagers and celebrities everywhere.
He died as he lived; relatively unnoticed. By sheer coincidence, the only people he was friends with, not counting the students on the island, had either declined to watch him suffer and die (his grieving family), or had not recognized him because they never knew what he looked like (his online chat buddies).
But none of it really mattered to Frank Bradley Armstrong V. Because he was dead.
B60 BRADLEY ARMSTRONG - DECEASED
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After everything was said and done, Dominica felt a tiny shred of regret.
"Hmmph." She harrumphed picked up the large stick into her right hand, studying it very closely. She pouted a cute pout, throwing the club against the ground as hard as she could, visibly angry over what she was seeing. "This isn't a sword at all... not even a dagger. What a shame, what a shame."
She looked down at Bradley's body, then gave a devious grin. "Well Armstrong, it turns out you were just a waste of a perfectly good spear after all. Your parents must be so proud that a loser like you went out like only a loser should: a loser. Why did I even give you the light of day?"
No response.
"Ahh." He frowned, as though she were insulted. "I see how it is. You're mad that I killed you, aren't you?"
Still no response.
"You know, it's very rude to leave a lady waiting. How rude... I wonder if your mother is like that too." She paused, then laughed. "Oh, that's right. They'd probably want to come after my blood if they ever caught a hold of me. How sad. Well I'll kill them too if I have to, just you can spend the rest of your life in heaven or whatever you'll believe you'd end up. Aren't you happy about that? Doesn't that make up for the... you know, sending a spear through your chest?"
"..."
"I'll take that as a yes."
It wasn't like she was completely disappointed that she didn't gain anything out of her troubles. After all, she DID kill a second person. That must mean something, although she couldn't remember exactly what. Still, she wanted something other than a speargun to carry her through the game. A sword, a pistol, a rocket launcher, anything that was at least semi-lethal. A speargun could kill someone, but it was by pure luck that she hit Bradley in the first place. She shook her head slightly, then looked up at the other boy at the other side of the lagoon.
Oh... I completely forgot there was a second person here.
Dominica smiled grimly. "Oh, hello. Nice weather we're having, isn't it? Perfect day for killing, I must say."
She giggled delicately, then stared at the weighted spear placed in his hands. Mm? That looks... very heavy. A boy like him could carry that whole thing with no problems at all, but for ME? I would certainly have some trouble lugging that around, not to metion that the added problem of carrying this speargun around. I have absolutely no need a spear, that is for certain. Killing this boy is pointless...
....
What the hell? When has that ever stopped me?
"I'm sorry..." Dominica began, pulling the rubber band back with the same exact spear from before loaded into the gun. "This may sound like a strange request to make, but you wouldn't particularly mind DYING right now would you?"
Slightly stale, but it fit the moment perfectly.
With a witch's cackle, Dominica shot the bloodied spear right at the other boy and made her way out of the lagoon shortly thereafter. It really didn't matter if the spear hit or not. That wasn't the part she wanted. What she liked, what she ENJOYED, was being feared. A small, frail girl scaring the willies out of large burly men like Mortimer had it's charm to it, and the feeling thereafter was one of the greatest she had ever felt. She was no monster, but if being a monster meant you were feared by the populus of the United States then she would risk it all. After all, this game was actually starting to get fun.
Now... I wonder where that other girl ran off to.
(Continued elsewhere)
"Hmmph." She harrumphed picked up the large stick into her right hand, studying it very closely. She pouted a cute pout, throwing the club against the ground as hard as she could, visibly angry over what she was seeing. "This isn't a sword at all... not even a dagger. What a shame, what a shame."
She looked down at Bradley's body, then gave a devious grin. "Well Armstrong, it turns out you were just a waste of a perfectly good spear after all. Your parents must be so proud that a loser like you went out like only a loser should: a loser. Why did I even give you the light of day?"
No response.
"Ahh." He frowned, as though she were insulted. "I see how it is. You're mad that I killed you, aren't you?"
Still no response.
"You know, it's very rude to leave a lady waiting. How rude... I wonder if your mother is like that too." She paused, then laughed. "Oh, that's right. They'd probably want to come after my blood if they ever caught a hold of me. How sad. Well I'll kill them too if I have to, just you can spend the rest of your life in heaven or whatever you'll believe you'd end up. Aren't you happy about that? Doesn't that make up for the... you know, sending a spear through your chest?"
"..."
"I'll take that as a yes."
It wasn't like she was completely disappointed that she didn't gain anything out of her troubles. After all, she DID kill a second person. That must mean something, although she couldn't remember exactly what. Still, she wanted something other than a speargun to carry her through the game. A sword, a pistol, a rocket launcher, anything that was at least semi-lethal. A speargun could kill someone, but it was by pure luck that she hit Bradley in the first place. She shook her head slightly, then looked up at the other boy at the other side of the lagoon.
Oh... I completely forgot there was a second person here.
Dominica smiled grimly. "Oh, hello. Nice weather we're having, isn't it? Perfect day for killing, I must say."
She giggled delicately, then stared at the weighted spear placed in his hands. Mm? That looks... very heavy. A boy like him could carry that whole thing with no problems at all, but for ME? I would certainly have some trouble lugging that around, not to metion that the added problem of carrying this speargun around. I have absolutely no need a spear, that is for certain. Killing this boy is pointless...
....
What the hell? When has that ever stopped me?
"I'm sorry..." Dominica began, pulling the rubber band back with the same exact spear from before loaded into the gun. "This may sound like a strange request to make, but you wouldn't particularly mind DYING right now would you?"
Slightly stale, but it fit the moment perfectly.
With a witch's cackle, Dominica shot the bloodied spear right at the other boy and made her way out of the lagoon shortly thereafter. It really didn't matter if the spear hit or not. That wasn't the part she wanted. What she liked, what she ENJOYED, was being feared. A small, frail girl scaring the willies out of large burly men like Mortimer had it's charm to it, and the feeling thereafter was one of the greatest she had ever felt. She was no monster, but if being a monster meant you were feared by the populus of the United States then she would risk it all. After all, this game was actually starting to get fun.
Now... I wonder where that other girl ran off to.
(Continued elsewhere)
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