(Trish McCarroll continued from The Legend of the Flower of Woe)
The looming storm clouds rumbled overhead, threatening rain and everything that came with it onto all the students on the island. Trish McCarroll was lost. Her original intention had been to head to the brook indicated on the map to help clean James' face up, but now she had almost no idea where she'd ended up. It didn't help that Trish wasn't the greatest with directions, nor that she'd taken the lead owing to James being slightly handicapped at the moment, but the one thing she now knew for sure was that the two of them were considerably far away from where they'd intended.
"That might not be a bad thing..." She thought to herself, as a roar of thunder seemed to taunt her menacingly in the distance. Part of the plan had been to find shelter after they cleaned James off at the brook, and Trish thought she could make out the shadow of a building somewhere in the distance. Before she had time to approach it however the P.A system came to life and the morning announcements commenced.
Trish immediately pulled out one of her maps and a sketching pencil and sketchbook that she'd kept in her dufflebag. She put the map on top of the sketchbook to give her a hard surface to write on and kneeled, mounting the sketchbook on one of her knees. Methodically, she erased the marks she'd placed on the old dangerzones on her map and lightly shaded in the areas that had now become temporarily forbidden. After making a mental note of which areas were now safe and which she couldn't enter for the next little while, she replaced the sketchbook and map into her daypack, put the sketching pencil in her pocket, and zipped up both the bags. Hefting the daypack onto her back and picking up the duffle bag in her left hand, she made her way out into the clearing.
James must've been a couple minutes behind her, but at the moment she was a bit too blind-sided to think about him. She'd recognized quite a few of the names on the announcements, but was slightly bewildered as to why none of the deaths seemed to really phase her. "Probably 'cause I didn't know them very well..." She re-assured herself in an attempt to assert her own humanity. Trying to put a positive spin on things, she continued her train of thought. "Jessa wasn't on the announcements, neither was Reg, or Steve.."
She was interrupted by the sight of a white building, which seemed to be in conspicuously good condition given the state of the other facilities on the island. The walls were covered in moss, but other than that it looked to be in decent shape. Her eyes traced the building's frame upwards to a steeple, whereupon she recognized where she must've ended up. "The chapel...wasn't that just cleared?" Trish brought up her right hand in which the bullwhip dangled loosely, and felt the cold metal source of her imprisonment. The collar hadn't started beeping, so she decided to press her luck a bit further and take a few steps closer to the chapel. Nothing. With one final leap of faith she made her way over to the door, grabbing the doorhandle with her right hand. She pushed the large brass handle downwards and stepped inside.
The collar showed no signs of response. Trish gave an audible sigh of relief, which was soon interrupted by another crack of thunder. She decided to leave the door open for James and proceeded inside, but almost immediately recognized what had now become a somewhat familiar scent. It was dried blood. The stench pierced her nostrils, completely overriding the fact that she hadn't showered in four days and had just emerged from a less-than-pleasant journey through the jungle. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for the source of the smell...
And it didn't take her too long to notice a human torso lying limp on the ground. Her gag reflex had finally reached its maximum tolerance, and Trish immediately jetted back outside, vomiting all over the ground about five feet away from the chapel doors. The bile was mostly composed of stomach acid, but she'd managed to keep her hunger and thirst levels down with the extra rations she'd taken from Brenden's daypack. She'd already gone through two loaves of bread and a bottle of water, which left her with plenty of food to spare, but didn't exactly ease her vomiting. She felt herself double over a second time, and before she knew what had hit her she puked again in the same spot. The smell didn't bother her as much as the sight of the boy's blood and brain matter all over the pew where he had presumably sat before what must've been a collar explosion, which seemed to completely sever his head from his spinal cord.
Trish took a moment to recollect herself before proceeding inside once more. She knew she'd have to get used to these sights and smells, and it was better to attempt that with one body than with somewhere littered with them. She also knew the Chapel would provide her and James with the shelter they were bound to need, owing to the ever-increasing rumbles of thunder outside. Regretfully, Trish made her way down the aisle between the pews and over towards the dead boy. Of course, the only reason she could recognize that it had even been a boy's body was because of the clothes and what remained of his physique, but she didn't take the time to stop and analyze insignificant details like that.
She stopped about five feet away from the corpse, eyes transfixedly making their way around the room. She noticed that the pew he must've been previously sitting on was covered in his blood, which had now dried and provided the source of that horrid stench. His dufflebag lay a few feet away from his body, matted in its own share of his blood, but what next caught Trish's eye was like finding a diamond in the rough.
And a beautiful diamond at that! Trish jogged over to what must've been Adonis' assigned weapon and stopped beside it. She was pretty sure it was an AK-47. Trish was no firearms expert, but one or two of her ex-boyfriends had been quite obsessed with Counter-Strike, which combined with movie and book knowledge provided her with enough information to distinguish the gun. It also helped that the AK was a pretty unique model in the firearms industry, bearing little to no resemblance to many other guns.
Trish set down her dufflebag from the trip and daypack near the altar, unzipping the former and removing a cloth pad she'd used before to clean her easels. She then removed a bottle of water from her daypack, using it to wet the pad. Taking a swig from the bottle of water, she closed it and then placed it back inside her daypack, zipping it up. After she had washed the taste of vomit out of her mouth, she proceeded to wipe down the gun with the cloth pad, removing any excess stains that Adonis' unfortunate death had left upon the firearm. She also decided to clean off the top of his daypack, remarking silently to herself that she'd probably need to replenish her and James' stock of rations by the end of the day.
After she'd finished cleaning the gun and daypack, Trish replaced the cloth pad back into her duffle bag and zipped it up. She laced one end of the bullwhip through a slot in her belt, then tied it around the rest of the bullwhip so it was now tied effectively to her waist, freeing up her hands. Finally, she grabbed the gun with both hands and held it in proper position, one hand under the barrel and one resting at the back of the gun with her finger hanging limply in the trigger slot. It provided her with an unrivalled sense of comfort, one that she hadn't experienced since she'd woken up some days ago. Recalling how she'd become familiar with the bullwhip, she decided that it would be a good idea to take a few practice shots with the AK. "Not like I've ever shot a gun before, anyway..." She whispered silently to nobody in particular, pointing the rifle at a blank spot on the wall. She closed one of her eyes, readying her aim towards her intended target...
Click.
Click, click.
Any sense of relief that Trish had felt a few moments before vanished in a second. "FUCK!" She screamed, most likely louder than was sensible, staring at the gun in disbelief. It was empty; there was no ammunition inside it. Blinded by an immeasurable rage towards her recent misfortunes, Trish raised her left foot and aimed a kick at nothing in particular. Unfortunately for her, her foot came right into contact with the dead boy's body, re-directing the torso a few degrees to her left and leaving a streak of blood across the floor.
"God Damnit!" She hissed harshly, stopping in her tracks.
The full scope of her situation had just occurred to her. Not only had she defiled two corpses in two days, but she'd just taken the Lord's name in vain in the middle of a chapel. Perhaps bad karma was coming back to bite her in the ass. Sighing at her bad luck and resigning herself to her situation, Trish lifted the gun up and examined it. Upon closer inspection there was a very visible spot for a magazine to be inserted, which of course was empty.
Her resourcefulness kicking in once more, Trish turned around and kneeled down. She lightly placed the gun on the floor and unzipped the boy's day pack, rifling through it for any magazines that she could use for the gun. After carefully searching the pack for what seemed like five minutes, she came up almost empty-handed. The only thing she'd managed to procure was an instruction manual for how to operate the gun. Taking a seat on the floor beside her duffle bag, day pack, and the gun, Trish carefully read through the instructional pamphlet, cursing her own luck all the while.
"What kind of sick joke is this? A big fucking boomstick with no ammo? I'm gonna tear that bastard a new hole when I see him..." Trish muttered rather rapidly. She had a habit of speaking slightly faster whenever she became enraged, but it didn't seem to bother her right now. After she'd finished reading the booklet and coming to a better understanding of her new possession, she replaced the manual back into her own daypack and grabbed the gun again. She held it loosely in her hands and finally rested it on her lap, staring over towards the open chapel doors and waiting for her companion to show up.
"Nobody else knows it's empty, though. If I..." Trish got up from her current position, raising the gun once more. She held it properly again and aimed it steadily towards the chapel door, this time holding the back end beneath her right armpit in an attempt to mask the fact that she had no ammunition. "That should be enough to intimidate people into not fucking with us. Maybe I can even get a weapon or some ammo out of them..."
Trish had been thinking too much recently, and was starting to develop a headache. She put the AK down on the ground and hefted her daypack onto her back again, grabbing the gun in her right hand and moving her dufflebag over to a pew on the opposite side of the chapel from the boy's body. She dropped both her bags onto the pew at the front-left of the chapel, closest to the altar, and held the AK tightly in both her hands, looking back over towards the door of the chapel. The rain had started sometime during her trials with her new weapon, and it was coming down harder than she could ever recall seeing it before. Submitting to her lacklustre situation, Trish stared out into the pouring rain, waiting for James to emerge from the jungle.
The Stench of Reality
The Stench of Reality
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((Sean continued from: Them vs. You vs. Me))
Sean was just about soaked through, but, at this point, he really didn't care. What mattered was that he had been able to navigate his way to the chapel with his compass and tactical use of his map. The vital piece of equipment was next to coming apart now, though Sean knew that given a chance to dry out, and provided it was treated gently, the map would still be usable.
He could be thankful, at least, that his baseball cap had kept at least some of the rain off of him, although it did create a weird waterfall of sorts either side of the brim. Sean didn't even know why he carried the thing around, to tell the truth. Perhaps it was just a habitual thing. Still, he was grateful even for the scant amount of cover the cap provided, keeping at least his eyes clear of the pouring rain, and simultaneously preventing his bandages from getting wet. He hadn't had a dizzy spell for a while now, which was encouraging. Hopefully, he had finally shrugged off the effects of his Day 1 injury.
As he walked, picking his way through the mire of the jungle, Sean thought back to what had happened at the barracks. He wondered if the others were still alright, if had been quite a while after all... Adam, Sean hadn't seen for a day now, and although his name hadn't been on the announcements, he could only assume he had been somehow waylaid. Julie, Sean figured, would be fine, she was well armed and looked to be knowing exactly what she was doing. Calm, collected, and in control, a sharp contrast to himself. Kyrie, Sean was worried about, but he supposed that as long as she stuck with Julie, she would be fine. Joey... he couldn't really give a fuck about Joey, if he turned up dead tomorrow, he wouldn't care. It didn't go as far as Sean actually wishing for him to be killed, but he most certainly would not be grieving if Mr. McHaimond caught a bullet.
Visibility was low, so even when Sean broke from the tree line into the open clearing which was home to the chapel it took him a few moments to see it, large structure though it was. Sean stopped for a moment or two, just glaring at the white building before him. He tipped his head, looking down, and could just about make out the silver crucifix still swinging from his neck. The rain had cleansed it of the dried blood, but Sean knew the little object would always seem to be running with crimson to him...
Sean glanced back up from the look at his necklace and moved on before the rain beat him down to nothing. Making it to the door of the chapel, Sean cautiously peeked around the door of the frame, before abruptly ducking back. Inside of the chapel, he had spotted a figure - the glance had been too fleeting to distinguish much detail. Dread rose in the pit of his stomach – he hadn't got a particularly good look, but the figure had appeared to have been carrying something which looked very much like a gun... it had been a little too fast a look to make out clearly, but they had definitely been holding an object of some description.
Sean pressed his back against the outside wall of the chapel and thought for a moment. If he had spotted the other, than they would definitely have seen him, though perhaps not quite as well, since he wasn't standing against a brighter backdrop. Still, if they were playing, then Sean was what was known in technical circles, as fucked. Ready to run like buggery if the bullets started flying, Sean cupped his hands to his mouth and called out to whoever it was standing watch.
"Yo! Guy in the chapel! I can see you're packing some heat there – would it be okay if I came over? I have to have some words with... the man upstairs, if you know what I'm saying. Ah, by the way, it's Sean O'Cann, case you wanted to cross-reference me to the announcements," Sean didn't just wait for a reply, he turned his body to one side, so that he was actually only half facing the chapel. If the watchperson wasn't friendly, then Sean wasn't going to waste any time taking off. Hopefully the start his shift in posture, along with the obscuring rain, would allow him to escape if the meeting turned sour.
Either that, or he would get shot in the back and end up dying in the mud like some kind of animal, but at this point, Sean didn't much care. He wasn't feeling upset right now, and his anger, at least for the time being, was just about suppressed. What Sean did feel was a distinct lack of emotion, he was hollow, empty, for want of a better word. It was like having a broken heart to the power five. Pretty much everybody he seriously cared about was dead, it didn't really matter whether or not he joined them.
Don't think like that... there's always something to live for. I might not necessarily know what it is yet, but there has gotta be something.
Sean was just about soaked through, but, at this point, he really didn't care. What mattered was that he had been able to navigate his way to the chapel with his compass and tactical use of his map. The vital piece of equipment was next to coming apart now, though Sean knew that given a chance to dry out, and provided it was treated gently, the map would still be usable.
He could be thankful, at least, that his baseball cap had kept at least some of the rain off of him, although it did create a weird waterfall of sorts either side of the brim. Sean didn't even know why he carried the thing around, to tell the truth. Perhaps it was just a habitual thing. Still, he was grateful even for the scant amount of cover the cap provided, keeping at least his eyes clear of the pouring rain, and simultaneously preventing his bandages from getting wet. He hadn't had a dizzy spell for a while now, which was encouraging. Hopefully, he had finally shrugged off the effects of his Day 1 injury.
As he walked, picking his way through the mire of the jungle, Sean thought back to what had happened at the barracks. He wondered if the others were still alright, if had been quite a while after all... Adam, Sean hadn't seen for a day now, and although his name hadn't been on the announcements, he could only assume he had been somehow waylaid. Julie, Sean figured, would be fine, she was well armed and looked to be knowing exactly what she was doing. Calm, collected, and in control, a sharp contrast to himself. Kyrie, Sean was worried about, but he supposed that as long as she stuck with Julie, she would be fine. Joey... he couldn't really give a fuck about Joey, if he turned up dead tomorrow, he wouldn't care. It didn't go as far as Sean actually wishing for him to be killed, but he most certainly would not be grieving if Mr. McHaimond caught a bullet.
Visibility was low, so even when Sean broke from the tree line into the open clearing which was home to the chapel it took him a few moments to see it, large structure though it was. Sean stopped for a moment or two, just glaring at the white building before him. He tipped his head, looking down, and could just about make out the silver crucifix still swinging from his neck. The rain had cleansed it of the dried blood, but Sean knew the little object would always seem to be running with crimson to him...
Sean glanced back up from the look at his necklace and moved on before the rain beat him down to nothing. Making it to the door of the chapel, Sean cautiously peeked around the door of the frame, before abruptly ducking back. Inside of the chapel, he had spotted a figure - the glance had been too fleeting to distinguish much detail. Dread rose in the pit of his stomach – he hadn't got a particularly good look, but the figure had appeared to have been carrying something which looked very much like a gun... it had been a little too fast a look to make out clearly, but they had definitely been holding an object of some description.
Sean pressed his back against the outside wall of the chapel and thought for a moment. If he had spotted the other, than they would definitely have seen him, though perhaps not quite as well, since he wasn't standing against a brighter backdrop. Still, if they were playing, then Sean was what was known in technical circles, as fucked. Ready to run like buggery if the bullets started flying, Sean cupped his hands to his mouth and called out to whoever it was standing watch.
"Yo! Guy in the chapel! I can see you're packing some heat there – would it be okay if I came over? I have to have some words with... the man upstairs, if you know what I'm saying. Ah, by the way, it's Sean O'Cann, case you wanted to cross-reference me to the announcements," Sean didn't just wait for a reply, he turned his body to one side, so that he was actually only half facing the chapel. If the watchperson wasn't friendly, then Sean wasn't going to waste any time taking off. Hopefully the start his shift in posture, along with the obscuring rain, would allow him to escape if the meeting turned sour.
Either that, or he would get shot in the back and end up dying in the mud like some kind of animal, but at this point, Sean didn't much care. He wasn't feeling upset right now, and his anger, at least for the time being, was just about suppressed. What Sean did feel was a distinct lack of emotion, he was hollow, empty, for want of a better word. It was like having a broken heart to the power five. Pretty much everybody he seriously cared about was dead, it didn't really matter whether or not he joined them.
Don't think like that... there's always something to live for. I might not necessarily know what it is yet, but there has gotta be something.
((OOC: Trish is actually at the front-left of the chapel, standing behind the pew where she has her bags (pretty close to the altar). Just thought you might want to know/edit the post a bit before I respond.))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. 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.
((OOC: Thanks!))
Trish's thoughts trailed wearily back to the events that had transpired over the course of the last few days. The untimely demise of Coach Whittenburg must've been what had shocked her into such emotional submission. Watching one of your mentors have his brains blown all over the floor would do that to somebody, she supposed. The game hadn't really gotten to Trish until this point, but her resistance was slowly tiring.
Next was her waking up somewhere near the end of the first day. She'd wandered towards the nearby field of flowers only to watch as Brenden, a close friend of hers, committed an unforgivable crime; he'd murdered Luis Chezinski in cold blood. Luis, one of the most innocent and genuinely nice boys Trish knew of at Southridge, not to mention one of the most harmless, had been slayed right before her eyes by somebody she had presumably known quite well.
How did this game get to people so fast? Was she the only one who wasn't completely losing her mind? It certainly seemed that way to her at the moment. Even James, her one and only trusted ally, she had witnessed haphazardly firing a rifle into the air before being rendered unconscious by Steve's baseball. Was everybody really going crazy?
The only thought that interrupted this notion was the next event that wedged its way into her memory. Almost immediately after he'd finished the deed with Luis, Brenden had somehow managed to crush his own skull on a rock somewhere in the field. Despite the fact that Trish was mortified in regards to the act he'd committed, she wouldn't have wished a fate like that on him. All of her friends were either dead, insane, or a burden. In the end, was she really all alone?
Trish felt her eyes begin to well up, but did nothing to prevent the emotional release. Free-falling tears dripped seamlessly off her face and onto the floor of the chapel, but not a sound was emitted from her now quivering form. Her vision blurred slightly as a result of the tears, but from the doorway of the chapel, she could swear she saw something moving...
The figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. In the back of her mind, Trish hoped that James had finally caught up to her. Better still would've been Jessa, Reg, or Steve finding her; but those hopes were dashed as quickly as they had come. At the very least, her train of thought switched quickly as she realized that she still had a few people she could rely on. Steve maybe not so much, but her chances seemed to have become slightly less dismal.
That was of course until a voice rung out through the downpour, announcing that he had noticed her weapon and only wanted a chance to seek some sort of spiritual solace. The idea seemed slightly farfetched to Trish, especially since trusting somebody in this game could've meant the end of your life, but then she realized whom the voice belonged to.
It was Sean O'Cann, the pitcher on the baseball team. She wasn't too familiar with Sean, but Andy Walker, his boyfriend, had been a very casual acquaintance of hers. They had taken a few art classes together, and she'd found him quite friendly the majority of the time. Unfortunately for both her and Sean, as she almost instantly remembered, Andy had died two days ago.
This fact left two very distinct possibilities. Either Sean was devastated by Andy's loss and needed to seek comfort from somebody else, perhaps God; or as a result of Andy's death he had finally lost his patience and decided to take vengeance on the rest of the class. From the sound of his voice, which seemed to register that he knew how much of a threat the AK-47 potentially possessed, Trish opted towards the former option.
She would be sure not to let her guard down, though. Until James arrived, she wouldn't feel the slightest bit safe. Raising her free hand to wipe the tearstreaks off her face, she cleared her throat and called back out to Sean.
"All right. You can come in, but don't even think about coming anywhere near me. Got it?" She had regained the majority of her composure, and hoped that the command had been issued with enough authority to keep her in control of the situation. The boy evidently hadn't noticed that her gun lacked ammunition...but then again, how could he? From what she knew, Sean O'Cann wasn't exactly a firearms expert.
Regaining her composure, Trish moved both of her bags to the end of the pew closest to the left wall of the chapel, and raised the AK to the door once more, waiting for Sean to enter. Despite the fact that she had a good handle on the situation, Trish silently hoped that James would show up sometime soon. She was about to be alone with a boy racked by grief, who obviously had all sorts of physical advantages compared to her. Trish was quite rational. She knew that the situation was not in her favour.
And, above all else, she was terrified.
Trish's thoughts trailed wearily back to the events that had transpired over the course of the last few days. The untimely demise of Coach Whittenburg must've been what had shocked her into such emotional submission. Watching one of your mentors have his brains blown all over the floor would do that to somebody, she supposed. The game hadn't really gotten to Trish until this point, but her resistance was slowly tiring.
Next was her waking up somewhere near the end of the first day. She'd wandered towards the nearby field of flowers only to watch as Brenden, a close friend of hers, committed an unforgivable crime; he'd murdered Luis Chezinski in cold blood. Luis, one of the most innocent and genuinely nice boys Trish knew of at Southridge, not to mention one of the most harmless, had been slayed right before her eyes by somebody she had presumably known quite well.
How did this game get to people so fast? Was she the only one who wasn't completely losing her mind? It certainly seemed that way to her at the moment. Even James, her one and only trusted ally, she had witnessed haphazardly firing a rifle into the air before being rendered unconscious by Steve's baseball. Was everybody really going crazy?
The only thought that interrupted this notion was the next event that wedged its way into her memory. Almost immediately after he'd finished the deed with Luis, Brenden had somehow managed to crush his own skull on a rock somewhere in the field. Despite the fact that Trish was mortified in regards to the act he'd committed, she wouldn't have wished a fate like that on him. All of her friends were either dead, insane, or a burden. In the end, was she really all alone?
Trish felt her eyes begin to well up, but did nothing to prevent the emotional release. Free-falling tears dripped seamlessly off her face and onto the floor of the chapel, but not a sound was emitted from her now quivering form. Her vision blurred slightly as a result of the tears, but from the doorway of the chapel, she could swear she saw something moving...
The figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. In the back of her mind, Trish hoped that James had finally caught up to her. Better still would've been Jessa, Reg, or Steve finding her; but those hopes were dashed as quickly as they had come. At the very least, her train of thought switched quickly as she realized that she still had a few people she could rely on. Steve maybe not so much, but her chances seemed to have become slightly less dismal.
That was of course until a voice rung out through the downpour, announcing that he had noticed her weapon and only wanted a chance to seek some sort of spiritual solace. The idea seemed slightly farfetched to Trish, especially since trusting somebody in this game could've meant the end of your life, but then she realized whom the voice belonged to.
It was Sean O'Cann, the pitcher on the baseball team. She wasn't too familiar with Sean, but Andy Walker, his boyfriend, had been a very casual acquaintance of hers. They had taken a few art classes together, and she'd found him quite friendly the majority of the time. Unfortunately for both her and Sean, as she almost instantly remembered, Andy had died two days ago.
This fact left two very distinct possibilities. Either Sean was devastated by Andy's loss and needed to seek comfort from somebody else, perhaps God; or as a result of Andy's death he had finally lost his patience and decided to take vengeance on the rest of the class. From the sound of his voice, which seemed to register that he knew how much of a threat the AK-47 potentially possessed, Trish opted towards the former option.
She would be sure not to let her guard down, though. Until James arrived, she wouldn't feel the slightest bit safe. Raising her free hand to wipe the tearstreaks off her face, she cleared her throat and called back out to Sean.
"All right. You can come in, but don't even think about coming anywhere near me. Got it?" She had regained the majority of her composure, and hoped that the command had been issued with enough authority to keep her in control of the situation. The boy evidently hadn't noticed that her gun lacked ammunition...but then again, how could he? From what she knew, Sean O'Cann wasn't exactly a firearms expert.
Regaining her composure, Trish moved both of her bags to the end of the pew closest to the left wall of the chapel, and raised the AK to the door once more, waiting for Sean to enter. Despite the fact that she had a good handle on the situation, Trish silently hoped that James would show up sometime soon. She was about to be alone with a boy racked by grief, who obviously had all sorts of physical advantages compared to her. Trish was quite rational. She knew that the situation was not in her favour.
And, above all else, she was terrified.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. 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.
((Neil and Corbin continued from Lilacs and Lolita))
It seemed the rain never let up. An endless downpour. At first it was refreshing. If only a little to serve from the jungles heat. Now it was just a nuisance. Doing nothing by getting everyone wet. Very wet.
Neil had picked the chapel for this reason. It was a place to get out of the rain. A place to re-group and plan. A place where SADD would become an unstoppable force. That is of course if no one was there. Though, Neil would gladly welcome more members into SADD, he knew people were playing. He watched Khrysta die right in front of him. Letting the wrong person in the group could completely destroy SADD. Neil wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't.
He felt so strong about this group. So strong about escape. There was nothing else. He lost everyone. Most of the original SADD members are dead. Or missing. Or dying. Though in a sense, everyone on the island was dying. Everyone had to die except one and the chances of being that one were slim.
So in reality, by joining SADD you increase your chance of survival as SADD's goal is escape. Though, escape was a risky business, and as it seemed, impossible. It would have to be pulled off perfectly. And Neil only had a basic outline of what to do. He had no specifics. Neil remembered watching details of past Survival Of The Fittest games. Escape had been thought of, dreamed off, and even attempted. No one succeeded. That should cause anyone to just give up. Not Neil though.
He would pull it off.
He had to. He promised people he could get them off the island. He wouldn't break that promise. He could only succeed or die trying.
As he approached the chapel though, he crouched down by the tree line. Someone could be in there. A group could be in there. Killers, or friends. There was no point in making a stupid mistake now.
Corbin crouched next to him and whispered, "See anyone?"
Neil shook his head and said, "Man, we can't just sit out here in the rain. We need to check it out."
Corbin looked behind him. The rest of the group hadn't showed up yet. Maybe it was best to make themselves known now. If there were players in there, they would have a better chance getting away in a smaller group, and wouldn't put the others in danger.
Corbin was used to following Khrysta though. He wasn't really sure what to do. What to say. She would know what to do. She would know exactly how to survive in this situation.
Though she was dead now.
Neil continued to look at the chapel. He shivered in the rain.
"Ah screw it. I'm going to regret this, but at least no one can say I was a shitty leader." He winked at Corbin and said, "Cover me with that there gun of yours." Before Corbin could say anything, Neil was off.
Corbin raised his M16 and aimed it at the doorway, waiting, hoping, praying.
Neil walked slowly up to the chapel. His hands were raised high, his stick in his right hand. It was just in case anyone was looking they would know he wasn't playing. When he reached the chapel, he flattened himself against the wall to the left of the door. He wasn't sure if anyone was inside even.
Still flatted against the wall, and without looking inside, Neil said, "Hey! Anyone in there? It's Neil Sinclair. I got a group with me. We're looking for shelter."
Immediately he regretted mentioning he had a group. If they were killers in there, it would be better for him to think he was alone.
Ah well, to late now.
You just got to roll with the punches.
Roll with the punches.
That would make a good song title.
It seemed the rain never let up. An endless downpour. At first it was refreshing. If only a little to serve from the jungles heat. Now it was just a nuisance. Doing nothing by getting everyone wet. Very wet.
Neil had picked the chapel for this reason. It was a place to get out of the rain. A place to re-group and plan. A place where SADD would become an unstoppable force. That is of course if no one was there. Though, Neil would gladly welcome more members into SADD, he knew people were playing. He watched Khrysta die right in front of him. Letting the wrong person in the group could completely destroy SADD. Neil wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't.
He felt so strong about this group. So strong about escape. There was nothing else. He lost everyone. Most of the original SADD members are dead. Or missing. Or dying. Though in a sense, everyone on the island was dying. Everyone had to die except one and the chances of being that one were slim.
So in reality, by joining SADD you increase your chance of survival as SADD's goal is escape. Though, escape was a risky business, and as it seemed, impossible. It would have to be pulled off perfectly. And Neil only had a basic outline of what to do. He had no specifics. Neil remembered watching details of past Survival Of The Fittest games. Escape had been thought of, dreamed off, and even attempted. No one succeeded. That should cause anyone to just give up. Not Neil though.
He would pull it off.
He had to. He promised people he could get them off the island. He wouldn't break that promise. He could only succeed or die trying.
As he approached the chapel though, he crouched down by the tree line. Someone could be in there. A group could be in there. Killers, or friends. There was no point in making a stupid mistake now.
Corbin crouched next to him and whispered, "See anyone?"
Neil shook his head and said, "Man, we can't just sit out here in the rain. We need to check it out."
Corbin looked behind him. The rest of the group hadn't showed up yet. Maybe it was best to make themselves known now. If there were players in there, they would have a better chance getting away in a smaller group, and wouldn't put the others in danger.
Corbin was used to following Khrysta though. He wasn't really sure what to do. What to say. She would know what to do. She would know exactly how to survive in this situation.
Though she was dead now.
Neil continued to look at the chapel. He shivered in the rain.
"Ah screw it. I'm going to regret this, but at least no one can say I was a shitty leader." He winked at Corbin and said, "Cover me with that there gun of yours." Before Corbin could say anything, Neil was off.
Corbin raised his M16 and aimed it at the doorway, waiting, hoping, praying.
Neil walked slowly up to the chapel. His hands were raised high, his stick in his right hand. It was just in case anyone was looking they would know he wasn't playing. When he reached the chapel, he flattened himself against the wall to the left of the door. He wasn't sure if anyone was inside even.
Still flatted against the wall, and without looking inside, Neil said, "Hey! Anyone in there? It's Neil Sinclair. I got a group with me. We're looking for shelter."
Immediately he regretted mentioning he had a group. If they were killers in there, it would be better for him to think he was alone.
Ah well, to late now.
You just got to roll with the punches.
Roll with the punches.
That would make a good song title.
((From: Lilacs and Lolita))
Matt had followed Neil and Corbin as closely as possible, while trying not to let Mary get too far behind him, but all he managed to do was get himself lost in the foliage. He sighed and tried to shuffle his way out of the forest. First he tripped, then his head his a branch, knocking him onto his ass in the process. He cried out and rubbed his head in pain.
"Damnit!" He yelled. "How is it that I always end up fucked in some way or another?!"
He got to his feet and stomped out of the forest, surprised when he saw Corbin not too far off, crouched down with his gun facing the chapel. Matt's eyes lit up. His book was still in there! He ran over to Corbin, and crouched next to him.
"What's going on?"
Matt had followed Neil and Corbin as closely as possible, while trying not to let Mary get too far behind him, but all he managed to do was get himself lost in the foliage. He sighed and tried to shuffle his way out of the forest. First he tripped, then his head his a branch, knocking him onto his ass in the process. He cried out and rubbed his head in pain.
"Damnit!" He yelled. "How is it that I always end up fucked in some way or another?!"
He got to his feet and stomped out of the forest, surprised when he saw Corbin not too far off, crouched down with his gun facing the chapel. Matt's eyes lit up. His book was still in there! He ran over to Corbin, and crouched next to him.
"What's going on?"
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.
((For ease of interpretation, we'll assume Sean went inside before Neil, etc. arrived))
Sean breathed a sigh of relief. Unless this was a trick, which wasn't something that he was prepared to discount entirely, he was safe for the time being. Still, the voice had sounded neutral enough, if not friendly, and from what Sean remembered, it didn't match that of any of the girls who had been on the announcements thusfar.
It's never too late to start playing though, especially with a weapon like that...
But whatever, it didn't really matter. He had come to have... 'words' with the almighty one, so, one way or another, he would manage it. It was a morbid prospect to consider, but if he was killed, well, he'd just be talking with the guy more... directly, so to speak.
Sean edged around the door again, walking into the chapel proper. Immediately, he removed his cap, which was dripping wet, then shook himself slightly, getting some of the moisture which had soaked through the headgear out of his hair. Sean then looked up to see who it was that had taken up residence in the church. It took a moment or so, but Sean recognised her, after a brief pause, as Trish McCarroll. Sean had called it right – at least so far, Trish hadn't been playing.
The baseballer offered her a sheepish wave, before stepping to one side and walking to the end of the chapel, towards the alter. He sat down on one of the pews at the front, on the right hand side. Looking around, he noted that the chapel had picked up a corpse since he had been there on Day 1. It didn't bother Sean overmuch, though that was a terrible thing to say. He had, though, been there when Troy McCann was killed, and if you could stomach that, you could deal with this, if not comfortably than at least without being sick.
After a few moments, Sean looked back over to Trish.
"I hope you don't mind, but I'm uh... kinda wet, and I need to dry off my clothes. Shirt, at least. If it makes you feel any better, I won't be looking your way if I somehow get turned on..." Sean smiled at that, letting Trish know that he was making a joke, even though it was somewhat true. He had never been the slightest bit attracted to girls, much to the disappointment of some. Without waiting for an answer, Sean pulled his shirt off over his head, laying it out over the back of the pew. He noted, with a private smile, that he was starting to look pretty muscular, but reminded himself that he would need to drop weight for the baseball season again.
The baseball season? I'll be lucky to see tomorrow, let alone take part in a sports match!
Now that he had enough time to sit back and relax a little, Sean paid a little closer attention to his surroundings. Specifically, Trish's gun. Something about it tugged at his memory... Sean went into his day pack, rooted around for a little while, shifting the numerous magazines around, before finally pulling out a battered instruction manual. He looked at the picture on the front – an AK-47, then compared it to Trish's weapon. Lo and behold, they matched... Sean smiled again, an empty gesture, he didn't really feel up to humour right now, and spoke again.
"You might have better luck with that gun," Sean told her. "...If you actually had any ammo," as he spoke, he held up one of the clips that had been in his daypack. "Funny old world eh?"
As sounds came from outside, Sean looked over his shoulder, then shrugged. He tossed the single clip across to Trish, she could make better use of it than him.
"Consider that a loan. You've got the gun, I've got the ammo, I'm pretty sure we each want both... but we can argue about it after this place is secure, okay?"
Sean breathed a sigh of relief. Unless this was a trick, which wasn't something that he was prepared to discount entirely, he was safe for the time being. Still, the voice had sounded neutral enough, if not friendly, and from what Sean remembered, it didn't match that of any of the girls who had been on the announcements thusfar.
It's never too late to start playing though, especially with a weapon like that...
But whatever, it didn't really matter. He had come to have... 'words' with the almighty one, so, one way or another, he would manage it. It was a morbid prospect to consider, but if he was killed, well, he'd just be talking with the guy more... directly, so to speak.
Sean edged around the door again, walking into the chapel proper. Immediately, he removed his cap, which was dripping wet, then shook himself slightly, getting some of the moisture which had soaked through the headgear out of his hair. Sean then looked up to see who it was that had taken up residence in the church. It took a moment or so, but Sean recognised her, after a brief pause, as Trish McCarroll. Sean had called it right – at least so far, Trish hadn't been playing.
The baseballer offered her a sheepish wave, before stepping to one side and walking to the end of the chapel, towards the alter. He sat down on one of the pews at the front, on the right hand side. Looking around, he noted that the chapel had picked up a corpse since he had been there on Day 1. It didn't bother Sean overmuch, though that was a terrible thing to say. He had, though, been there when Troy McCann was killed, and if you could stomach that, you could deal with this, if not comfortably than at least without being sick.
After a few moments, Sean looked back over to Trish.
"I hope you don't mind, but I'm uh... kinda wet, and I need to dry off my clothes. Shirt, at least. If it makes you feel any better, I won't be looking your way if I somehow get turned on..." Sean smiled at that, letting Trish know that he was making a joke, even though it was somewhat true. He had never been the slightest bit attracted to girls, much to the disappointment of some. Without waiting for an answer, Sean pulled his shirt off over his head, laying it out over the back of the pew. He noted, with a private smile, that he was starting to look pretty muscular, but reminded himself that he would need to drop weight for the baseball season again.
The baseball season? I'll be lucky to see tomorrow, let alone take part in a sports match!
Now that he had enough time to sit back and relax a little, Sean paid a little closer attention to his surroundings. Specifically, Trish's gun. Something about it tugged at his memory... Sean went into his day pack, rooted around for a little while, shifting the numerous magazines around, before finally pulling out a battered instruction manual. He looked at the picture on the front – an AK-47, then compared it to Trish's weapon. Lo and behold, they matched... Sean smiled again, an empty gesture, he didn't really feel up to humour right now, and spoke again.
"You might have better luck with that gun," Sean told her. "...If you actually had any ammo," as he spoke, he held up one of the clips that had been in his daypack. "Funny old world eh?"
As sounds came from outside, Sean looked over his shoulder, then shrugged. He tossed the single clip across to Trish, she could make better use of it than him.
"Consider that a loan. You've got the gun, I've got the ammo, I'm pretty sure we each want both... but we can argue about it after this place is secure, okay?"
Trish offered Sean a faint smile in response to his attempt at mild humour, but it didn't completely relax her. She'd only spoken to him on a few occasions, and although she knew that he was a decent guy, she couldn't bring herself to trust him completely; especially not in a matter of minutes. Nevertheless, her chances of survival were much higher if she kept her friends close and her enemies closer. Deciding that this was the best course of action, she listened intently to Sean's explanation. Why were the gay boys always so much better looking?
Wiping the tangent out of her mind, her eyes fell from Sean to the floor of the chapel close to Adonis' torso, where a book of photos seemed to have been scattered on the ground. Approaching them nonchalantly, Trish noticed upon closer examination that the photos were all centralized around one theme...or rather, one person. Andy Walker, Sean's boyfriend, who had fell to his own death some days before. Trish picked up a few of them and examined them in turn. They were all great shots of Andy. She figured that whomever the photographer was must've had a keen interest in the boy, but paid that no mind. The irony of the photos having been straddled along the floor by Sean's feet was striking, but she didn't have time to focus on that, either.
Her attention was shifted once again to Sean by his interjection in reference to her gun. When the boy unexpectedly produced a magazine that was apparently suited for her weapon, Trish's expression shifted from one of melancholy to a mixture of both shock and satisfaction. As he tossed it she gingerly swiped the clip out of mid-air, pulling it under the weapon and slamming it into the gun. The click of it loading was like an immense weight being lifted off her shoulders. Maybe she could trust Sean after all?
Sean's next line of speech phased her slightly, but her resolve had become more firm over the course of the few minutes since he'd entered the chapel. Trish had finally procured a means of protecting herself, a means of surviving the massacre on this island, and wouldn't part with it so easily. "If you think I'm letting go of this beast, you've got another thing coming, hun. Sorry," She began, genuinely looking at Sean all the while to express that she really was apologetic. "Maybe we can make a trade of some kind, though. I took all of Brenden's food and supplies from the flower field, maybe I can bargain for some more of that ammo..." Trish wanted to survive. She needed to survive. Not only for herself, but she couldn't bear to leave her mom alone back in Highland Beach. Unfortunately for Sean, she was willing to do whatever that took, and getting rid of the AK now definitely wasn't in her favour.
For the third time in a row, her attention was shifted once more. Trish was beginning to get irritated now. Another voice piped up from the door of the chapel, and she turned to notice a boy - she believed his name was Neil - approaching her and Sean with his hands raised in the air. He announced that he had a group of people with him, which definitely wasn't a situation Trish was willing to tolerate. She was already on edge just in Sean's presence, and now she was being asked to babysit a bunch of other kids? She didn't want any part of it.
She had to focus on the matter at hand. Despite affirming that she didn't want to part with her gun, Trish didn't want to turn Sean against her. For Andy's sake, at least, she could make sure that his boyfriend survived on the island for a little while longer. Trish turned back towards the photos, ignoring Neil for a minute and picking one of them off the ground. It was a very flattering picture of Andy. His hair was significantly shorter than Trish remembered it, and it seemed slightly darker, but the smile he boasted on his face bore the same charm that Andy always seemed to possess. He was dressed in the cheerleading uniform she was so used to seeing him in.
Getting up from her crouched position, Trish offered Sean the photo, placing it on the pew beside him. "You're right, though. We definitely need to talk." She concluded gently, offering Sean a delicate smile in exchange for his help. She was quite fond of the cheerleader, and if he saw something in Sean, then she'd attempt to see that too.
Now that all formalities were out of the way, however, Trish was back to business. She turned towards the door of the chapel, raising the AK towards the door and flicking the safety off. She gripped the gun tightly with both hands, staring Neil down with her piercing brown eyes. "No offense, but I can't let you in, especially if there's a group of you. Sorry about your luck, but I'm not about to let a bunch of you rain on my parade." The pathetic fallacy in her speech completely escaped her, but while she was talking she took a few steps forward, positioning herself in front of Neil, slightly to his left. If there were a group of his allies outside she wasn't about to be picked off, and this way Neil would be directly in between her and the open door of the chapel, and therefore in whomever was outside's line of fire.
Trish braced her feet and stiffened herself. "Get the fuck out. I really don't want to have to shoot this."
Wiping the tangent out of her mind, her eyes fell from Sean to the floor of the chapel close to Adonis' torso, where a book of photos seemed to have been scattered on the ground. Approaching them nonchalantly, Trish noticed upon closer examination that the photos were all centralized around one theme...or rather, one person. Andy Walker, Sean's boyfriend, who had fell to his own death some days before. Trish picked up a few of them and examined them in turn. They were all great shots of Andy. She figured that whomever the photographer was must've had a keen interest in the boy, but paid that no mind. The irony of the photos having been straddled along the floor by Sean's feet was striking, but she didn't have time to focus on that, either.
Her attention was shifted once again to Sean by his interjection in reference to her gun. When the boy unexpectedly produced a magazine that was apparently suited for her weapon, Trish's expression shifted from one of melancholy to a mixture of both shock and satisfaction. As he tossed it she gingerly swiped the clip out of mid-air, pulling it under the weapon and slamming it into the gun. The click of it loading was like an immense weight being lifted off her shoulders. Maybe she could trust Sean after all?
Sean's next line of speech phased her slightly, but her resolve had become more firm over the course of the few minutes since he'd entered the chapel. Trish had finally procured a means of protecting herself, a means of surviving the massacre on this island, and wouldn't part with it so easily. "If you think I'm letting go of this beast, you've got another thing coming, hun. Sorry," She began, genuinely looking at Sean all the while to express that she really was apologetic. "Maybe we can make a trade of some kind, though. I took all of Brenden's food and supplies from the flower field, maybe I can bargain for some more of that ammo..." Trish wanted to survive. She needed to survive. Not only for herself, but she couldn't bear to leave her mom alone back in Highland Beach. Unfortunately for Sean, she was willing to do whatever that took, and getting rid of the AK now definitely wasn't in her favour.
For the third time in a row, her attention was shifted once more. Trish was beginning to get irritated now. Another voice piped up from the door of the chapel, and she turned to notice a boy - she believed his name was Neil - approaching her and Sean with his hands raised in the air. He announced that he had a group of people with him, which definitely wasn't a situation Trish was willing to tolerate. She was already on edge just in Sean's presence, and now she was being asked to babysit a bunch of other kids? She didn't want any part of it.
She had to focus on the matter at hand. Despite affirming that she didn't want to part with her gun, Trish didn't want to turn Sean against her. For Andy's sake, at least, she could make sure that his boyfriend survived on the island for a little while longer. Trish turned back towards the photos, ignoring Neil for a minute and picking one of them off the ground. It was a very flattering picture of Andy. His hair was significantly shorter than Trish remembered it, and it seemed slightly darker, but the smile he boasted on his face bore the same charm that Andy always seemed to possess. He was dressed in the cheerleading uniform she was so used to seeing him in.
Getting up from her crouched position, Trish offered Sean the photo, placing it on the pew beside him. "You're right, though. We definitely need to talk." She concluded gently, offering Sean a delicate smile in exchange for his help. She was quite fond of the cheerleader, and if he saw something in Sean, then she'd attempt to see that too.
Now that all formalities were out of the way, however, Trish was back to business. She turned towards the door of the chapel, raising the AK towards the door and flicking the safety off. She gripped the gun tightly with both hands, staring Neil down with her piercing brown eyes. "No offense, but I can't let you in, especially if there's a group of you. Sorry about your luck, but I'm not about to let a bunch of you rain on my parade." The pathetic fallacy in her speech completely escaped her, but while she was talking she took a few steps forward, positioning herself in front of Neil, slightly to his left. If there were a group of his allies outside she wasn't about to be picked off, and this way Neil would be directly in between her and the open door of the chapel, and therefore in whomever was outside's line of fire.
Trish braced her feet and stiffened herself. "Get the fuck out. I really don't want to have to shoot this."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. 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.
Corbin turned his head as Matthew approached him. He scanned for Mary. She was lagging behind, but for a pregnant girl, that was to be expected. Returning his eyes to watching over Neil with his M16 he said to Matthew, "Neil's trying to see if anyone's in there. We need to find shelter from this storm."
Corbin stiffened up when he saw a girl appear. A girl with an AK47. It looked like an AK47 at least. Corbin couldn't really tell much from this distance, and though he tried his best to distinguish features on her, he couldn't tell who she was. He felt his heart start to race again, but he kept his hands steady. He was a member of SADD now, and he had a job to do.
Neil took a step back once the girl appeared. The sight of her gun made him uneasy, as it would anyone. Though, he was still alive, she hadn't fired, which had to be a good sign. She was claiming that she didn't want to take a group in. She wasn't making any claims of playing the game. Neil was tired of running, tired of losing hope. He just saw a girl get her throat cut, and watched as another boy fell over her body in despair.
None of this was right. He would press his luck. See what that got him. He wouldn't press too far. As devoted as he was to his group, and escaping the island, Neil had no wish to be filled with lead. Though compared to the one death he had scene and the others he heard on the announcements, it would be a quicker cleaner way out than most students got the luxury of.
Neil kept his hands raised, and looked at Trish. He didn't know much about Trish. They hung in different circles. They had exchanged words at points throughout their high school career, sure. Most students on the island had. He never heard anything bad about her, and really the only thing he heard about her was her dad was dead. Though that could have been a rumor as well. Most things in high school were.
Yet here she was, pointing an assault rifle at him while he was trying to get his group to safety.
Neil spoke quickly, knowing he didn't have much time before he began to press his luck too far. It was still raining. Still raining hard. The rain gave Neil some comfort in divulging some of SADD's plan. He himself had to shout to be heard in the game, and even if Danya was monitoring every conversation 24/7, how good were his mics?
Well, if he could set all this up and not get caught, probably damn good. Though that didn't change the situation. Neil felt lucky. He felt like he could reveal just enough to entice Trish. She had a good weapon. She would be one hell of a member to join SADD.
So Neil began his plea.
"Look, hold on one minute!"
Neil paused trying to form the words in his head as fast as he could. The adrenaline was starting to get to him.
"Me and my group have a plan to escape! You can join us! We're going to get off this island!"
"oh..and someone in my group is pregnant! We need shelter from the rain at least."
Neil hoped that if she wasn't interested in joining the group, she was at least compassionate enough to let him and his group in from the storm.
Corbin stiffened up when he saw a girl appear. A girl with an AK47. It looked like an AK47 at least. Corbin couldn't really tell much from this distance, and though he tried his best to distinguish features on her, he couldn't tell who she was. He felt his heart start to race again, but he kept his hands steady. He was a member of SADD now, and he had a job to do.
Neil took a step back once the girl appeared. The sight of her gun made him uneasy, as it would anyone. Though, he was still alive, she hadn't fired, which had to be a good sign. She was claiming that she didn't want to take a group in. She wasn't making any claims of playing the game. Neil was tired of running, tired of losing hope. He just saw a girl get her throat cut, and watched as another boy fell over her body in despair.
None of this was right. He would press his luck. See what that got him. He wouldn't press too far. As devoted as he was to his group, and escaping the island, Neil had no wish to be filled with lead. Though compared to the one death he had scene and the others he heard on the announcements, it would be a quicker cleaner way out than most students got the luxury of.
Neil kept his hands raised, and looked at Trish. He didn't know much about Trish. They hung in different circles. They had exchanged words at points throughout their high school career, sure. Most students on the island had. He never heard anything bad about her, and really the only thing he heard about her was her dad was dead. Though that could have been a rumor as well. Most things in high school were.
Yet here she was, pointing an assault rifle at him while he was trying to get his group to safety.
Neil spoke quickly, knowing he didn't have much time before he began to press his luck too far. It was still raining. Still raining hard. The rain gave Neil some comfort in divulging some of SADD's plan. He himself had to shout to be heard in the game, and even if Danya was monitoring every conversation 24/7, how good were his mics?
Well, if he could set all this up and not get caught, probably damn good. Though that didn't change the situation. Neil felt lucky. He felt like he could reveal just enough to entice Trish. She had a good weapon. She would be one hell of a member to join SADD.
So Neil began his plea.
"Look, hold on one minute!"
Neil paused trying to form the words in his head as fast as he could. The adrenaline was starting to get to him.
"Me and my group have a plan to escape! You can join us! We're going to get off this island!"
"oh..and someone in my group is pregnant! We need shelter from the rain at least."
Neil hoped that if she wasn't interested in joining the group, she was at least compassionate enough to let him and his group in from the storm.
Matt nodded his head slightly. He watched as Neil approached the door. Soon after, a girl with a rather large assault rifle appeared. That didn't sit very well with Matt. He didn't especially enjoy the idea that Neil was very close to being shot. Neil was the one person who hadn't abandoned Matt, and the two of them had only interacted during school in interviews. Neil was the only person thus far that Matthew fully trusted. He didn't like the odds of him being killed in this situation. He wiped some of his wet hair from his eyes and continued to scan the scene. Nervously waiting for the girl's action.
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.
((continued from Legend of the Flower of Woe))
James had fallen behind. He'd needed a moment to wash the blood off his face and stopped at a small pond to do so, removing his glasses and splashing some of the murky water over the dried blood and grit. Drying his face on his sleeve he felt a sharp pain in his cheek, a reminder of his run-in with Bir...
...?
...the baseball.
What?
Hmm. Nevermind.
As James cleaned his glasses with his shirt he felt a foreign texture on one lens. Cursing, he quickly examined them closely and found that one of his lenses had cracked, although he couldn't be sure which of the two blunt attacks to his face he'd recently suffered had caused it. He hadn't noticed until now chiefly because the vision in his eye above the swelling was a little fucked.
"Great..."
And as if that wasn't butt-fucking awesome enough already, James quickly found that he'd lost Trish. Calling loudly after her would certainly have been a bad idea, but he knew which direction they'd been traveling at least, so he wasn't about to panic. He pressed on toward the chapel.
James had fallen behind. He'd needed a moment to wash the blood off his face and stopped at a small pond to do so, removing his glasses and splashing some of the murky water over the dried blood and grit. Drying his face on his sleeve he felt a sharp pain in his cheek, a reminder of his run-in with Bir...
...?
...the baseball.
What?
Hmm. Nevermind.
As James cleaned his glasses with his shirt he felt a foreign texture on one lens. Cursing, he quickly examined them closely and found that one of his lenses had cracked, although he couldn't be sure which of the two blunt attacks to his face he'd recently suffered had caused it. He hadn't noticed until now chiefly because the vision in his eye above the swelling was a little fucked.
"Great..."
And as if that wasn't butt-fucking awesome enough already, James quickly found that he'd lost Trish. Calling loudly after her would certainly have been a bad idea, but he knew which direction they'd been traveling at least, so he wasn't about to panic. He pressed on toward the chapel.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.
Sean allowed himself a wry smile when Trish rebuffed him – he had really expected as much. Still... he supposed there was room for negotiation. It seemed as if he had been accepted, for the time being that was. When your 'room-mate' so to speak, was toting a gun about, however, you could never be sure of what was going to happen. But... Sean did have the ammo to that very weapon, so he guessed she didn't want to risk him walking out of the place and leaving her short on bullets.
Then again... what if she just decides to take it by force? What am I gonna do, poke her to death? Fuck, well, so far it looks as though Trish wants to keep me sweet. Not surprised though, I got the ammunition. Makes me VIP number one in her book...
Unless of course, she just decided to gun him down.
Trish walked towards him as Neil entered the building, picking something up from the ground and putting it on the pew Sean was seated on. As Trish confronted Neil, Sean looked down at the object. His eyes immediately swam as he saw that it was a picture of Andy, looking ... beautiful.
What...? How is there a picture of him here? I mean, not a lot of guys just carry around pictures of ... Sean's eyes narrowed. Fucking Wittany. Sean's feelings were mixed as he looked at the snap. Sure, it was a great picture, but looking at it reminded him that it been taken to be hoarded in some kind of perverted gallery of Wittany's...
The conversation became a little more heated, and Sean glanced back to Trish again, raising an eyebrow, then looked to Neil.
"You're one compassionate moron, you know that Sinclair?" Sean smirked, then sighed. "And you're gonna end up getting shot in the face," he returned his gaze to Trish. "It's your call babe, but... and I don't wanna pressure you or anything.. remember who has the... bang bang, here," Sean brought both brows up and down quickly. He really didn't want to blackmail Trish, but it wasn't like he was here out of the goodness of her heart. He had seomthing to offer her, and vice versa, that was all there was to it.
Then again... what if she just decides to take it by force? What am I gonna do, poke her to death? Fuck, well, so far it looks as though Trish wants to keep me sweet. Not surprised though, I got the ammunition. Makes me VIP number one in her book...
Unless of course, she just decided to gun him down.
Trish walked towards him as Neil entered the building, picking something up from the ground and putting it on the pew Sean was seated on. As Trish confronted Neil, Sean looked down at the object. His eyes immediately swam as he saw that it was a picture of Andy, looking ... beautiful.
What...? How is there a picture of him here? I mean, not a lot of guys just carry around pictures of ... Sean's eyes narrowed. Fucking Wittany. Sean's feelings were mixed as he looked at the snap. Sure, it was a great picture, but looking at it reminded him that it been taken to be hoarded in some kind of perverted gallery of Wittany's...
The conversation became a little more heated, and Sean glanced back to Trish again, raising an eyebrow, then looked to Neil.
"You're one compassionate moron, you know that Sinclair?" Sean smirked, then sighed. "And you're gonna end up getting shot in the face," he returned his gaze to Trish. "It's your call babe, but... and I don't wanna pressure you or anything.. remember who has the... bang bang, here," Sean brought both brows up and down quickly. He really didn't want to blackmail Trish, but it wasn't like he was here out of the goodness of her heart. He had seomthing to offer her, and vice versa, that was all there was to it.
"I know that, and you'd do well to remember it too," Trish retorted almost immediately, keeping her eyes trained on Neil the entire time. Her words weren't spoken maliciously, but they bore considerable weight. It was her full intent to remind Sean of who was in control of their situation, and it most certainly wasn't him. Nevertheless, she didn't want to jeopardize what could become a potentially beneficial alliance, so she didn't continue that train of thought. She'd made her point clear, and that was all that really needed to be said.
Trish ran Neil's words over and over in the back of her mind, but something about what he was telling her didn't seem quite right. At the moment she couldn't put her finger on it, but she was sure that there was one detail in what he'd said that struck a chord with her. Despite all that, she knew she couldn't trust him and his group regardless. There was no telling what kind of stunt they could pull if she let them all inside, so for the sake of her and Sean, and eventually James' safety, she decided to stand her ground.
Even if they were a group of pacifists, that didn't improve the situation she currently found herself in. If one player were to come walking by the chapel they'd all be sitting ducks except for her, and those weren't the kind of people she wanted to bear responsibility for. Something about the group struck her as odd though. It could've been something Neil had said, or it could be the fact that she couldn't see anyone through the rain. Decided it was best to scope out her situation, Trish lowered the gun for a moment and walked to the chapel doors, peering outside.
Immediately to her left, the first thing she spotted was a boy she didn't recognize holding an M16 trained at the door. He made no move to shoot, however, so Trish merely glanced right past him to check out who else was present. The only other person she spotted was Matt Wittany, who could've potentially been the least threatening, and consequently least useful kid on the island. Something was wrong, though. Where was the pregnant girl that Neil had mentioned?
Almost immediately the gears in her head began moving faster, piecing together everything that he'd said. There was no pregnant girl outside. In fact, there wasn't a pregnant girl to begin with; it had been a ploy to get her to drop her guard. Immediately Trish ran back inside and resumed the position she'd had before in front of Neil, this time taking a comfortable few steps back and aiming the AK-47 directly at his head. The announcements came to the back of Trish's mind, particularly the gruesome introduction they'd had to the island in the form of Danya's first announcement, and her words came out faster and more exasperated than she could care to correct.
"Heather died on day one! You're lying, you conniving little prick!" As far as Trish knew there were no other pregnant girls at Southridge High, but even if there were it probably wouldn't change anything. She didn't trust Neil. For that matter, she didn't trust anyone, and now that she was under the impression that he'd blatantly been deceiving her, she wasn't about to be smooth-talked again. Trish's finger found the trigger of the AK-47, but before she squeezed her voice flared up one more time.
"If you don't leave right now, your days on the island are going to be over a lot quicker than you're planning. Go ahead and try to escape, you're all just going to die anyway!" Trish was agitated, but far beyond that, she felt like she was fighting for her life in what could normally have been regarded as one of the more friendly encounters people had seen thus far on the island. She didn't falter, however, and instead pressed the end of the gun directly into Neil's chest.
"I said it once, and I won't say it again," she began, raising her voice considerably. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Trish ran Neil's words over and over in the back of her mind, but something about what he was telling her didn't seem quite right. At the moment she couldn't put her finger on it, but she was sure that there was one detail in what he'd said that struck a chord with her. Despite all that, she knew she couldn't trust him and his group regardless. There was no telling what kind of stunt they could pull if she let them all inside, so for the sake of her and Sean, and eventually James' safety, she decided to stand her ground.
Even if they were a group of pacifists, that didn't improve the situation she currently found herself in. If one player were to come walking by the chapel they'd all be sitting ducks except for her, and those weren't the kind of people she wanted to bear responsibility for. Something about the group struck her as odd though. It could've been something Neil had said, or it could be the fact that she couldn't see anyone through the rain. Decided it was best to scope out her situation, Trish lowered the gun for a moment and walked to the chapel doors, peering outside.
Immediately to her left, the first thing she spotted was a boy she didn't recognize holding an M16 trained at the door. He made no move to shoot, however, so Trish merely glanced right past him to check out who else was present. The only other person she spotted was Matt Wittany, who could've potentially been the least threatening, and consequently least useful kid on the island. Something was wrong, though. Where was the pregnant girl that Neil had mentioned?
Almost immediately the gears in her head began moving faster, piecing together everything that he'd said. There was no pregnant girl outside. In fact, there wasn't a pregnant girl to begin with; it had been a ploy to get her to drop her guard. Immediately Trish ran back inside and resumed the position she'd had before in front of Neil, this time taking a comfortable few steps back and aiming the AK-47 directly at his head. The announcements came to the back of Trish's mind, particularly the gruesome introduction they'd had to the island in the form of Danya's first announcement, and her words came out faster and more exasperated than she could care to correct.
"Heather died on day one! You're lying, you conniving little prick!" As far as Trish knew there were no other pregnant girls at Southridge High, but even if there were it probably wouldn't change anything. She didn't trust Neil. For that matter, she didn't trust anyone, and now that she was under the impression that he'd blatantly been deceiving her, she wasn't about to be smooth-talked again. Trish's finger found the trigger of the AK-47, but before she squeezed her voice flared up one more time.
"If you don't leave right now, your days on the island are going to be over a lot quicker than you're planning. Go ahead and try to escape, you're all just going to die anyway!" Trish was agitated, but far beyond that, she felt like she was fighting for her life in what could normally have been regarded as one of the more friendly encounters people had seen thus far on the island. She didn't falter, however, and instead pressed the end of the gun directly into Neil's chest.
"I said it once, and I won't say it again," she began, raising her voice considerably. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. 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.
(Dominica Shapiro continued from The Lagoon)
I hate this rain...
Dominica Shapiro (Female Student no. 28) hated the rain, and she said this to herself the whole time she had been walking through the woods. Cold weather Dominica didn't mind. Rain calmed her senses, and it made it easy for her to go to sleep at night. The cold and the rain combined a happy Dominica does not make. Brought together by holy matrimony and moving in right next to the neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Humid and Stuffy air. That street was not a place Dominica would ever consider living. Even though she couldn't do much to change this, she still complained about it. Oh, she did not like the position she was in one single bit. At least she wasn't carrying her speargun, which was sitting calmly in the sack on her back.
Soaking, tired, frustrated, Dominica was desperately searching for somewhere to stop. Problem was, her trials turned out to be in vain.
"... I hate this fucking weather."
Dominica had looked down upon those who cursed, but now she just didn't care one bit. Hell, if she were insane she'd be yelling "FUCK!" at the top of her lungs but then she'd probably be rolling in the mud and laughing because she saw a face in a tree so that didn't count at all. At least she wouldn't count it.
Normally Dominica Shapiro wasn't an entirely religious person. Actually, she didn't believe in anything. She was an atheist through and through, and while she wasn't the kind of person who judged people on their beliefs she did have a nasty habit of looking down upon those out there believers who showcased their religion like neon lights. However, when she saw a chapel from a far off distance, she felt like a divine intervention had occurred. That God, whomever he/she was, was looking down upon her... then she realized that if a god actually existed, then all of this had been his fault and all the belief she had just gained flew away like a pigeon.
I'm just glad there's SOMEWHERE I can stay. Sanctuary.... perfect.
Dominica smiled. Maybe her luck was finally starting to change.
...
Or maybe not. After all, there were two boys standing near the doorway and one of which was holding a gun. Perfect situation. Dominica really wanted a gun, any gun but... frankly, she was too tired and too agitated that the thought of claiming a gun just didn't seem to sit with her. Instead, she just sauntered up to the Chapel door, out of sight from those inside the church and cleared her voice.
"Uhh..." She said to neither boy in particular in a delicate falsetto, almost sounding nervous, timid even. "What's going on? What's happening in there?"
She was too tired to come up with a brilliant retort.
I hate this rain...
Dominica Shapiro (Female Student no. 28) hated the rain, and she said this to herself the whole time she had been walking through the woods. Cold weather Dominica didn't mind. Rain calmed her senses, and it made it easy for her to go to sleep at night. The cold and the rain combined a happy Dominica does not make. Brought together by holy matrimony and moving in right next to the neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Humid and Stuffy air. That street was not a place Dominica would ever consider living. Even though she couldn't do much to change this, she still complained about it. Oh, she did not like the position she was in one single bit. At least she wasn't carrying her speargun, which was sitting calmly in the sack on her back.
Soaking, tired, frustrated, Dominica was desperately searching for somewhere to stop. Problem was, her trials turned out to be in vain.
"... I hate this fucking weather."
Dominica had looked down upon those who cursed, but now she just didn't care one bit. Hell, if she were insane she'd be yelling "FUCK!" at the top of her lungs but then she'd probably be rolling in the mud and laughing because she saw a face in a tree so that didn't count at all. At least she wouldn't count it.
Normally Dominica Shapiro wasn't an entirely religious person. Actually, she didn't believe in anything. She was an atheist through and through, and while she wasn't the kind of person who judged people on their beliefs she did have a nasty habit of looking down upon those out there believers who showcased their religion like neon lights. However, when she saw a chapel from a far off distance, she felt like a divine intervention had occurred. That God, whomever he/she was, was looking down upon her... then she realized that if a god actually existed, then all of this had been his fault and all the belief she had just gained flew away like a pigeon.
I'm just glad there's SOMEWHERE I can stay. Sanctuary.... perfect.
Dominica smiled. Maybe her luck was finally starting to change.
...
Or maybe not. After all, there were two boys standing near the doorway and one of which was holding a gun. Perfect situation. Dominica really wanted a gun, any gun but... frankly, she was too tired and too agitated that the thought of claiming a gun just didn't seem to sit with her. Instead, she just sauntered up to the Chapel door, out of sight from those inside the church and cleared her voice.
"Uhh..." She said to neither boy in particular in a delicate falsetto, almost sounding nervous, timid even. "What's going on? What's happening in there?"
She was too tired to come up with a brilliant retort.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.