He was going to murder as many people as he could find. Anyone who got in his way, anyone who crossed his path, they were gonna find themselves with a bloody gash in their back and their breath stripped away. He didn’t like anybody, and nobody liked him, or considered him much of anything, or wanted his pathetic, miserable existence around them any longer. If he decided to play, he wouldn’t be letting anybody down, because nobody expected anything good to come from him anyway. He’d kill without questioning, bludgeon and slash and murder all the people he’d taunted and made fun of and mocked and belittled, until it all finally came crashing down upon him and someone finally took him down.
That was what everybody expected from him, right?
GARREN JAMES MORTIMER – SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST – START
It was tempting.
He sat on the edge of a roof of a house that was more vines and jungle than wooden planks and slats. His bags lay next to him, both unzipped, the results of an early, desperate search through them after his rude awakening. His pickaroon lay on the boards to his right. Not that he knew what it was called, considering he hadn’t worked a goddamn day of manual labour in his life. And not that it mattered, at the end of the day, when it’s sole purpose now was to be driven into somebody’s skull.
He’d still managed to clamber up on top of this building, though, scrabbling up vines and fallen branches with his bags strapped to his back, cutting his hands and slashing up his clothes, pushing through them until he was on the roof, ignoring all of his senses as the realisation of his situation flared inside of him. He hadn’t been sure why at the time, and right now, he was still none the wiser. Maybe it had been to throw himself off the edge. That had been tempting too.
He was sure starting to feel the stress of climbing up here, though. The scratches and bruises weren’t too bad; they were impressive looking, sure, deep red and dark purple, but the cuts were shallow, the bruises barely ebbing at his skin. It was the exertion that he was really feeling; his lungs felt like they were doing a triple shift, barely able to provide him with even the tiniest morsel of air.
Wasn’t the most promising sign, if he was gonna go around slaughtering everyone he knew, was it? Needed to work on that stamina. He’d be doing a lot of running, at and from.
He thought he could see people moving around the island. It wasn’t the tallest vantage point, and half the island was draped in forests and buildings and locations that looked so alien to the city he'd never left before, but he could still see small dark blobs painted against the brilliant greens of the fields and the harsh light of the beach. All of them were living, breathing beings. All of them people Garren had spent time at school with. And most of them were people who’d expect him to instantly take up his weapon and use it. Either cause he wanted to, or because he knew, they knew, everyone knew, there were people who wanted him gone.
It really was tempting.
He really, really fucking hated just how tempting it was.
The wind caught him, and he dug his hands into the coloured boards that made up the roof to keep himself safe. His hat wasn’t so lucky, as the gust grabbed it, sending it tumbling away, drifting down to the ground, far off from the house. He watched it go. Let it go.
Waited.
The Sky Is Falling, So Pull Up A Chair
Open!~
The Sky Is Falling, So Pull Up A Chair
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
((G017 - Cheridene Williams, start))
Cheri figured it was in her best interests to find somewhere high up, somewhere safe, stay there and wait this out. That was the smart way to get through this.
And why wouldn't it be? The only risk factor in just trying to wait out the game would be if everybody else had the same strategy. The warning from that shaggy-haired man before rang through her ears like it was an hour ago (and shit, maybe it was?): somebody gotta be intentionally killed, one a day, or everybody dies. Cheridene pursed her lips at remembering the ultimatum. Though, knowing the kids at THIS school, that risk shouldn't have been much of a problem. Defending herself, then, became the next big issue.
Checking her more aggressive options had turned up nothing. She desperately searched her bag for a weapon in the temporary safety of a hollowed-out husk of a building all covered in vines and moss, but found little more than some food, other supplies she'd been told of like the first aid kit, and... a vape pen. Cool. Now she can die AND look like a douchebag doing it. Surviving for a whole day with no real weapon was going to be quite the challenge, but Cheri was up for it, because she wasn't up for dying.
The first person she saw was a boy standing up on a roof. Not the most stealthy option, but he did at least have the 'get to high ground' part of her strategy. Cheridene ducked around a corner the moment she saw him.
Yeah, that didn't look suspicious at all, she thought to herself. If that kid had a gun, she was toast the next time she stuck her head out. She had to make a decision about what to do, and what to do fast. She was powerless to defend herself against a gun, but if some kook popped out of one of these houses with... oh, maybe a sword, there wasn't much she could do about that except throw her bag and run away. And while that was an emergency button she kept in her pocket, she had to start thinking about the long game. She wasn't dying. Not today, not this week.
She headed to the other side of the house she had ducked behind and took a peek. Something was blowing in the dust... a hat? She gave it a moment's thought but looked back up to the kid on the roof. His hands looked empty, she thought. Approach, see what he does.
"If y'all tryin' to hide, you're doin' a mighty poor job of it!" Cheri called, waving her arm as to show 'I'm here, I'm not suspicious, I swear'. "Sun's kinda in my eyes, who's that?"
Cheri figured it was in her best interests to find somewhere high up, somewhere safe, stay there and wait this out. That was the smart way to get through this.
And why wouldn't it be? The only risk factor in just trying to wait out the game would be if everybody else had the same strategy. The warning from that shaggy-haired man before rang through her ears like it was an hour ago (and shit, maybe it was?): somebody gotta be intentionally killed, one a day, or everybody dies. Cheridene pursed her lips at remembering the ultimatum. Though, knowing the kids at THIS school, that risk shouldn't have been much of a problem. Defending herself, then, became the next big issue.
Checking her more aggressive options had turned up nothing. She desperately searched her bag for a weapon in the temporary safety of a hollowed-out husk of a building all covered in vines and moss, but found little more than some food, other supplies she'd been told of like the first aid kit, and... a vape pen. Cool. Now she can die AND look like a douchebag doing it. Surviving for a whole day with no real weapon was going to be quite the challenge, but Cheri was up for it, because she wasn't up for dying.
The first person she saw was a boy standing up on a roof. Not the most stealthy option, but he did at least have the 'get to high ground' part of her strategy. Cheridene ducked around a corner the moment she saw him.
Yeah, that didn't look suspicious at all, she thought to herself. If that kid had a gun, she was toast the next time she stuck her head out. She had to make a decision about what to do, and what to do fast. She was powerless to defend herself against a gun, but if some kook popped out of one of these houses with... oh, maybe a sword, there wasn't much she could do about that except throw her bag and run away. And while that was an emergency button she kept in her pocket, she had to start thinking about the long game. She wasn't dying. Not today, not this week.
She headed to the other side of the house she had ducked behind and took a peek. Something was blowing in the dust... a hat? She gave it a moment's thought but looked back up to the kid on the roof. His hands looked empty, she thought. Approach, see what he does.
"If y'all tryin' to hide, you're doin' a mighty poor job of it!" Cheri called, waving her arm as to show 'I'm here, I'm not suspicious, I swear'. "Sun's kinda in my eyes, who's that?"
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
((Catherine Zier continued from Lobster? I hardly know 'er!))
Okay. Get to another location. Short-term goal achieved. Now for the next one, which was... don't die? Well, that was more of a long-term goal, if anything. Okay, gotta think of a short-term goal to work towards.
Find friends, maybe? That might work. there weren't that many, though. Mostly it was the gamers, right? But how many of them had been on the trip? Honestly, Catherine was really off by herself for most of the trip, she didn't really keep track of who exactly had come and who hadn't. But it was a short-term goal, she guessed.
Oh, maybe getting a weapon would be good too. Not she was ever going to use it but she knew how some of her fellow classmates were. She could feel it in her bones, that there were definitely going to be people playing out there.
Like... for example...
That guy up there.
Oh, crap.
Catherine had been walking out in the open, more focussed on her thoughts than where she was walking. As she looked up, her eyes wandered up the side of the building, right onto the guy sitting at the top of it.
She'd been walking right at him. There was no way he hadn't seen her coming from a mile away.
She simply stood there, staring at him with wide eyes. A voice from off to the side called out to him, asking him who he was.
If this was back at home, she'd have walked right past him, ignored the call. This wasn't her interaction to be a part of, after all, and the less she had to deal with him the better. But this wasn't back home. She didn't know what he had. She didn't know what he'd do.
"Garren," she said aloud. Was it in answer to the other voice's question? Was she simply confirming to herself who it was sitting on the roof? Was she... god forbid... was she acknowledging him?
Catherine held her breath. There was a good chance she could die right where she stood.
Okay. Get to another location. Short-term goal achieved. Now for the next one, which was... don't die? Well, that was more of a long-term goal, if anything. Okay, gotta think of a short-term goal to work towards.
Find friends, maybe? That might work. there weren't that many, though. Mostly it was the gamers, right? But how many of them had been on the trip? Honestly, Catherine was really off by herself for most of the trip, she didn't really keep track of who exactly had come and who hadn't. But it was a short-term goal, she guessed.
Oh, maybe getting a weapon would be good too. Not she was ever going to use it but she knew how some of her fellow classmates were. She could feel it in her bones, that there were definitely going to be people playing out there.
Like... for example...
That guy up there.
Oh, crap.
Catherine had been walking out in the open, more focussed on her thoughts than where she was walking. As she looked up, her eyes wandered up the side of the building, right onto the guy sitting at the top of it.
She'd been walking right at him. There was no way he hadn't seen her coming from a mile away.
She simply stood there, staring at him with wide eyes. A voice from off to the side called out to him, asking him who he was.
If this was back at home, she'd have walked right past him, ignored the call. This wasn't her interaction to be a part of, after all, and the less she had to deal with him the better. But this wasn't back home. She didn't know what he had. She didn't know what he'd do.
"Garren," she said aloud. Was it in answer to the other voice's question? Was she simply confirming to herself who it was sitting on the roof? Was she... god forbid... was she acknowledging him?
Catherine held her breath. There was a good chance she could die right where she stood.
Garren had been staring out over the rest of the island, over the treetops and out at the horizon, a line of blue splitting into the light blue of the sky and the turquoise of the sea. He was focused on the people on the other side of the island, in the manor house he could see off in the distance, and on the people far away across the ocean. The people back home who, surely by now, had figured out that something horribly wrong had happened to the coach of students from George Hunter High.
So he completely missed Cheridene’s skulking around under his nose, until she called out to him. The sudden noise made him jump, almost causing him to lose his balance at the edge of the roof. His hands scrabbled for purchase, and for a brief moment, as the world hung still around him, he wondered whether he should just let go. Let himself fall. Drop to the ground with a sickening thud.
Tempting, tempting, tempting.
He grabbed hold of the uneven wooden boards jutting out of the edge of the house more by instinct than anything else. He couldn’t feel his heart for a few moments, until it realised it wasn’t falling anymore, and started beating again. Garren exhaled, scratched his chin, and took a look at the person who’d called out to him.
A girl. Of course it was. Garren was pretty damn familiar with the majority of girls in his class, and not in the way any hormone-addled teenage boy would like to be. Cheridene, he was pretty sure her name was, although that hadn’t been what he’d referred to her as most of the time. ‘Dyke’ had been the main name he’d given her, same with the rest of the basketball team. No doubt she would just be delighted to find out it was him.
Another girl was walking towards them, head slowly drifting upwards to look over the building Garren was sitting on, and with a heavy heart, he realised he was real familiar with her too. It was that cute girl from the Subway. Catherine. He’d learned her name after the fact. Just out of passing interest, y’know. Nothing more. Not that he’d have had a chance with her, even if they hadn’t been on fuckin’ Danya’s Delightful Destination of Death.
He’d been planning on giving Cheridene a fake name, make himself out to be some kid who’d stuck to the shadows and who’d barely interacted with the rest of the class – apparently, speaking of, there was some kid called, like, Darla or something who’d been on the trip with them, who knew? – because as soon as she figured out who he was, he was pretty sure that genial nature would turn real sour.
But then Catherine just had to tell the world who he was, and Garren sighed, screwing his eyes shut and wincing as the words left her lips. Great. Perfect. Outstanding. He wondered if either of them had weapons. He wondered whether either of them were entertaining the idea of putting this scrawny little incel down after he’d spent his entire life trying to make theirs a misery. Or whether they suspected he was thinking of doing the same to them.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Garren said, slowly, loudly, making sure the two down below could hear his every word. “'sup Cheridene. Catherine. Bet you’re fuckin’ glad to see me alive, huh?”
He laughed. Kill or be killed, that was the deal, right? The ultimatum Danya had put forwards? Right now, either option sounded pretty fucking inviting.
“Y’know, like, if either you are thinking of shooting me or whatever, go ahead and get it over with, yeah?”
So he completely missed Cheridene’s skulking around under his nose, until she called out to him. The sudden noise made him jump, almost causing him to lose his balance at the edge of the roof. His hands scrabbled for purchase, and for a brief moment, as the world hung still around him, he wondered whether he should just let go. Let himself fall. Drop to the ground with a sickening thud.
Tempting, tempting, tempting.
He grabbed hold of the uneven wooden boards jutting out of the edge of the house more by instinct than anything else. He couldn’t feel his heart for a few moments, until it realised it wasn’t falling anymore, and started beating again. Garren exhaled, scratched his chin, and took a look at the person who’d called out to him.
A girl. Of course it was. Garren was pretty damn familiar with the majority of girls in his class, and not in the way any hormone-addled teenage boy would like to be. Cheridene, he was pretty sure her name was, although that hadn’t been what he’d referred to her as most of the time. ‘Dyke’ had been the main name he’d given her, same with the rest of the basketball team. No doubt she would just be delighted to find out it was him.
Another girl was walking towards them, head slowly drifting upwards to look over the building Garren was sitting on, and with a heavy heart, he realised he was real familiar with her too. It was that cute girl from the Subway. Catherine. He’d learned her name after the fact. Just out of passing interest, y’know. Nothing more. Not that he’d have had a chance with her, even if they hadn’t been on fuckin’ Danya’s Delightful Destination of Death.
He’d been planning on giving Cheridene a fake name, make himself out to be some kid who’d stuck to the shadows and who’d barely interacted with the rest of the class – apparently, speaking of, there was some kid called, like, Darla or something who’d been on the trip with them, who knew? – because as soon as she figured out who he was, he was pretty sure that genial nature would turn real sour.
But then Catherine just had to tell the world who he was, and Garren sighed, screwing his eyes shut and wincing as the words left her lips. Great. Perfect. Outstanding. He wondered if either of them had weapons. He wondered whether either of them were entertaining the idea of putting this scrawny little incel down after he’d spent his entire life trying to make theirs a misery. Or whether they suspected he was thinking of doing the same to them.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Garren said, slowly, loudly, making sure the two down below could hear his every word. “'sup Cheridene. Catherine. Bet you’re fuckin’ glad to see me alive, huh?”
He laughed. Kill or be killed, that was the deal, right? The ultimatum Danya had put forwards? Right now, either option sounded pretty fucking inviting.
“Y’know, like, if either you are thinking of shooting me or whatever, go ahead and get it over with, yeah?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Cheri couldn't do much more than wince with a grimace when the figure looked to nearly fall off of the roof. Shit, that had been because she'd called out to him and surprised him, hadn't it? If he fell and broke his neck, would the terrorists count that as a kill in her favor? It was a thought that only briefly attached itself to her mind and she let it go, because it did nothing constructive for her at the moment.
Another voice identified the boy she'd been talking to. The information sure was helpful, but it had come from somebody that Cheridene was not aware of the presence of. Not knowing what weapon the other person carried, she stayed put for the moment and let things play out.
Garren identified the mystery voice as Catherine. Catherine... did she know a Catherine? The name sounded familiar, like she'd heard it called on daily attendance or something, but it was nobody she spent time speaking to. Made sense, Cheri solemnly acknowledged; she spent her high school years trying to avoid the intricate social circles, the constant conflict and drama girls had, not that the guys were much better. She had some friends through the Basketball team, the chill people she ate lunch with, and that was about it.
Now Garren, that was somebody she knew... unfortunately. A goblin of a boy that one might describe as the poster boy for Anonymous or Wyatt-lite, it wasn't like there was any love lost between the two of them in high school. Rather than be one of the outspoken girls, Cheri preferred to offer him an eye roll and simple ignorance. The more she paid attention to somebody like Garren in high school, the more she was just giving him what he wanted.
The dynamic had changed somewhat, now. They weren't within George Hunter's walls anymore, and even closest friends and worst enemies had to be given careful re-consideration. Garren might be useful, and Catherine might turn out to be an enemy. Hey, you never know. The smart thing to do, Cheri decided, was to not tip her hand either way. Shoot Garren? Sure, if she had a gun, maybe she would. Nobody needed to know she didn't have a gun, though... nor any usable weapon for that matter.
Seriously, a vape pen? The most she was getting out of that was something to take the edge off later. Maybe she could blow vapor into somebody's face and make them flinch. Yeah, right before she got gutted by whatever real gnarly blade they were holding. That'd be good for a laugh.
"I ain't thinking about that," Cheri said, voice raised just to make sure both Garren and Catherine (shit, where was she?) could hear her. "Just a little on edge is all, don't mind me. You want your hat back?"
Another voice identified the boy she'd been talking to. The information sure was helpful, but it had come from somebody that Cheridene was not aware of the presence of. Not knowing what weapon the other person carried, she stayed put for the moment and let things play out.
Garren identified the mystery voice as Catherine. Catherine... did she know a Catherine? The name sounded familiar, like she'd heard it called on daily attendance or something, but it was nobody she spent time speaking to. Made sense, Cheri solemnly acknowledged; she spent her high school years trying to avoid the intricate social circles, the constant conflict and drama girls had, not that the guys were much better. She had some friends through the Basketball team, the chill people she ate lunch with, and that was about it.
Now Garren, that was somebody she knew... unfortunately. A goblin of a boy that one might describe as the poster boy for Anonymous or Wyatt-lite, it wasn't like there was any love lost between the two of them in high school. Rather than be one of the outspoken girls, Cheri preferred to offer him an eye roll and simple ignorance. The more she paid attention to somebody like Garren in high school, the more she was just giving him what he wanted.
The dynamic had changed somewhat, now. They weren't within George Hunter's walls anymore, and even closest friends and worst enemies had to be given careful re-consideration. Garren might be useful, and Catherine might turn out to be an enemy. Hey, you never know. The smart thing to do, Cheri decided, was to not tip her hand either way. Shoot Garren? Sure, if she had a gun, maybe she would. Nobody needed to know she didn't have a gun, though... nor any usable weapon for that matter.
Seriously, a vape pen? The most she was getting out of that was something to take the edge off later. Maybe she could blow vapor into somebody's face and make them flinch. Yeah, right before she got gutted by whatever real gnarly blade they were holding. That'd be good for a laugh.
"I ain't thinking about that," Cheri said, voice raised just to make sure both Garren and Catherine (shit, where was she?) could hear her. "Just a little on edge is all, don't mind me. You want your hat back?"
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
No, she wasn't glad to see him. Yes, she was aware the comment was dripped in sarcasm.
Garren reciprocated her identification of him by identifying the other voice: Cheridene. Not someone Catherine really knew, at all, but then that wasn't a surprise. She may have, eventually, been able to put a face to the name, if she had time to think about it for a while. She didn't have time to think about it for a while. She was still waiting for what Garren's next action was going to be.
He suddenly laughed, and she flinched. This was it, then?
But then he said that, if they were to shoot him, to shoot him now. That caught Catherine off guard more than anything else. Catherine didn't know how to respond. She wasn't the type to shoot anyone, she was pretty sure. Even Garren. Even if she had a gun.
So she just shrugged, showing off the quickly drying but still damp empty plastic bag she held in her hand.
Garren reciprocated her identification of him by identifying the other voice: Cheridene. Not someone Catherine really knew, at all, but then that wasn't a surprise. She may have, eventually, been able to put a face to the name, if she had time to think about it for a while. She didn't have time to think about it for a while. She was still waiting for what Garren's next action was going to be.
He suddenly laughed, and she flinched. This was it, then?
But then he said that, if they were to shoot him, to shoot him now. That caught Catherine off guard more than anything else. Catherine didn't know how to respond. She wasn't the type to shoot anyone, she was pretty sure. Even Garren. Even if she had a gun.
So she just shrugged, showing off the quickly drying but still damp empty plastic bag she held in her hand.
He half expected the gunshot to ring out instantly.
When it didn’t, he wasn’t totally surprised, though. He couldn’t say he was disappointed, either, but then, nor could he say he was totally relieved. It was just… a fact. Grass grew, sun shone, and Cheridene and Catherine weren’t gonna shoot him. Cheridene just straight up wasn’t considering it, and you know what, sure, he’d take that one at face value. You gave someone the chance to shoot, when they were planning to shoot, then they were gonna. Y’know. Shit.
Didn’t mean she didn’t have a gun, ‘n all. Just meant she wasn’t planning on using it right here, right now. He’d keep that in mind, just in case someone got the bright idea of pissing her off at some point. Make sure to stand behind her, if the bullets started flying.
Catherine, meanwhile, had… an empty plastic bag. The fuck. Even from his vantage point, Garren could see water dripping off of it, a small puddle forming near her feet. He frowned, gently drumming his fingers against the roof. Catherine didn’t look like she’d gone for a dip, recently, sooo… what the hell was the deal with the bag? Had there been something in it that she’d gotten with it? Or had the terrorists just given her a fucking empty, soggy bag? Surely they wouldn’t give her something that shitty as a weapon, right?
Hahaha, who was he fucking kidding, of course they fucking would. They’d kidnapped a bunch of kids and put them on an island to kill each other, they didn’t give two shits about things like ‘fairness’ and ‘not being cunts’.
He looked down at the two Cs, and at his trucker cap gently lolling in the breeze. Y’know, he was doing a lot of brooding and thinking for someone who apparently already had his options laid out bare in front of him. Cheridene wasn’t gonna shoot him and the wind wasn’t gonna push him, but he could still just drop. Or he could clamber back down again and just start swinging with his sharp metal spike, before Cheri could react, and leaving Catherine unable to do anything.
He was still sitting there. Existing. He knew the reason why, knew exactly why he hadn’t gotten back to earth already, in some form or another. He didn’t wanna admit it though, because if he did, then he had no clue what he was gonna do from here on out.
Cheridene had asked him a question, hadn’t he? He could focus on that. Maybe think about everything else later. He stared at the hat for a little longer. It hadn’t been cheap, that thing, base costs on top of getting next day delivery, because how on earth could he live without that in his life as soon as possible, right? Plus it had taken a whole lot of work to keep it hidden from his parents. Lot of stress. Lot of time devoted to it, and the ideology printed across the front.
“Nah,” Garren said. “You can keep it, or whatever. Don’t think you’ll care much for the design, but hey, it’s comfy.”
He laughed again, then placed his hands on his bags, gently pressing into them. Pretty well cushioned, both of them. Anything fragile would be well protected. And thank God, he didn’t know how he could live if his Xtra Large Nacho Cheese Doritos got damaged.
“Hey, uh, I’m gonna chuck my bags down there. Don’t go ahead and steal ‘em, or else I’ll be really really upset.”
When it didn’t, he wasn’t totally surprised, though. He couldn’t say he was disappointed, either, but then, nor could he say he was totally relieved. It was just… a fact. Grass grew, sun shone, and Cheridene and Catherine weren’t gonna shoot him. Cheridene just straight up wasn’t considering it, and you know what, sure, he’d take that one at face value. You gave someone the chance to shoot, when they were planning to shoot, then they were gonna. Y’know. Shit.
Didn’t mean she didn’t have a gun, ‘n all. Just meant she wasn’t planning on using it right here, right now. He’d keep that in mind, just in case someone got the bright idea of pissing her off at some point. Make sure to stand behind her, if the bullets started flying.
Catherine, meanwhile, had… an empty plastic bag. The fuck. Even from his vantage point, Garren could see water dripping off of it, a small puddle forming near her feet. He frowned, gently drumming his fingers against the roof. Catherine didn’t look like she’d gone for a dip, recently, sooo… what the hell was the deal with the bag? Had there been something in it that she’d gotten with it? Or had the terrorists just given her a fucking empty, soggy bag? Surely they wouldn’t give her something that shitty as a weapon, right?
Hahaha, who was he fucking kidding, of course they fucking would. They’d kidnapped a bunch of kids and put them on an island to kill each other, they didn’t give two shits about things like ‘fairness’ and ‘not being cunts’.
He looked down at the two Cs, and at his trucker cap gently lolling in the breeze. Y’know, he was doing a lot of brooding and thinking for someone who apparently already had his options laid out bare in front of him. Cheridene wasn’t gonna shoot him and the wind wasn’t gonna push him, but he could still just drop. Or he could clamber back down again and just start swinging with his sharp metal spike, before Cheri could react, and leaving Catherine unable to do anything.
He was still sitting there. Existing. He knew the reason why, knew exactly why he hadn’t gotten back to earth already, in some form or another. He didn’t wanna admit it though, because if he did, then he had no clue what he was gonna do from here on out.
Cheridene had asked him a question, hadn’t he? He could focus on that. Maybe think about everything else later. He stared at the hat for a little longer. It hadn’t been cheap, that thing, base costs on top of getting next day delivery, because how on earth could he live without that in his life as soon as possible, right? Plus it had taken a whole lot of work to keep it hidden from his parents. Lot of stress. Lot of time devoted to it, and the ideology printed across the front.
“Nah,” Garren said. “You can keep it, or whatever. Don’t think you’ll care much for the design, but hey, it’s comfy.”
He laughed again, then placed his hands on his bags, gently pressing into them. Pretty well cushioned, both of them. Anything fragile would be well protected. And thank God, he didn’t know how he could live if his Xtra Large Nacho Cheese Doritos got damaged.
“Hey, uh, I’m gonna chuck my bags down there. Don’t go ahead and steal ‘em, or else I’ll be really really upset.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Sure thing," Cheri said in response to the last thing Garren said, as the only thing worth responding to. She guessed the hat hadn't been terribly valuable to him. While she got that coveting material possessions was kind of pointless if the writing's on the wall about your days being numbered, but a hat was also a practical item that could like, protect you from the outdoors and stuff. The weather was already getting kinda steamy, like midday Chattanooga steamy, and judging by the sun it didn't look to be any later than early morning. So... yeah, that was going to suck when they reached midday and she didn't have anything to protect herself from the sun.
Least she probably wasn't going to get a sunburn. Sucks to suck, white kids.
The problem was easy fixable, anyway, just by staying in the shade, which this place seemed to offer in good supply. This may have been a deserted island before her whole school got plopped on it, but thank the lord it wasn't a desert island with a few coconut trees for them to fight over. Just by standing and looking around, there actually seemed to be a good system of living in this place. Cheridene wanted to wonder what happened to them.
She also wanted to wonder what to do about Garren dropping his bags. That's what she'd really been thinking about, why she answered that statement when nothing else was worth answering. Bags had amenities and supplies. Even if Garren didn't have his weapon in there, she was bound to find something useful, and she could definitely outrun an out-of-shape basement dweller like him. Now, could she do that with her bags AND his bag? That was the question. And was she ready to risk it all here, on day one, with the first kids she met? Or should she stick around and see if they could find strength in numbers?
Strength in numbers with Garren, though? And with Catherine, who she didn't particularly dislike but also didn't particularly trust. Cheri would much sooner find Zona, Aleks, Sam... any of them. Friendly faces, teammates. If she found one of them, then she found safety.
Maybe. Hopefully.
She waited for Garren to make his move, shuffling her foot.
Least she probably wasn't going to get a sunburn. Sucks to suck, white kids.
The problem was easy fixable, anyway, just by staying in the shade, which this place seemed to offer in good supply. This may have been a deserted island before her whole school got plopped on it, but thank the lord it wasn't a desert island with a few coconut trees for them to fight over. Just by standing and looking around, there actually seemed to be a good system of living in this place. Cheridene wanted to wonder what happened to them.
She also wanted to wonder what to do about Garren dropping his bags. That's what she'd really been thinking about, why she answered that statement when nothing else was worth answering. Bags had amenities and supplies. Even if Garren didn't have his weapon in there, she was bound to find something useful, and she could definitely outrun an out-of-shape basement dweller like him. Now, could she do that with her bags AND his bag? That was the question. And was she ready to risk it all here, on day one, with the first kids she met? Or should she stick around and see if they could find strength in numbers?
Strength in numbers with Garren, though? And with Catherine, who she didn't particularly dislike but also didn't particularly trust. Cheri would much sooner find Zona, Aleks, Sam... any of them. Friendly faces, teammates. If she found one of them, then she found safety.
Maybe. Hopefully.
She waited for Garren to make his move, shuffling her foot.
The combined debris of broken buildings and straggly flora dug into his knee. The doubled weight of two separate bags pulled down on his meagre frame. The mounting pressure gave him no room to breathe.
But in spite of this, he was doing what he could to stay calm.
((Lucas Brady sets his plan in motion))
Crouched behind the convenient cover, Lucas watched the three in the distance have their conversation. He could just about make out what was being said, not that it meant a lot to him. He wasn’t familiar with either of the girls, nor did he particularly care. He knew Garren because, like Demetri, he was a cancerous tiny prick who was very good at getting known for being as much. Not the best person to run into, honestly.
He scrunched his face as he weighed up their potential. He needed allies, and quick, because he couldn’t get off this stinking rock by himself. He was a strategist, not an implementer. Leave that to everyone else. At the same time, one wrong move and he’d be shot in the face and who knew what else. That wasn’t going to happen to him, no way.
He picked up a handful of pebbles, grinding them in his palm. It hurt to do so, but he needed to hurt himself because Holy Fucking Shit he was in the middle of SOTF and why the hell did this have to happen to him!? He was so fucking close to finally escaping these fucking shits that were called his classmates, and now he had a 99% chance of dying because one of them got a random lucky fucking shot at him!?
No way, no fucking goddamn shit-eating way. He was getting off this rock, he was going to beat SOTF, and he was going to find a way to personally flip off that Danya before he sicked the FBI or whatever on them, because he was going to be the sort of politician that made the world a better place and he wasn’t going to let some roadblock like this stop him. He just had to get through this, like he’d pretty much got through Hunter High. Not unscathed, far from it, but if he could survive that then he could survive this.
He forced himself to inhale, a shallow breath that barely filled his lungs and did little to ease his temperament or his vivid features, but it made him focus all the same. None of those three seemed to have guns, and while his own weapon seemed like a pile of hot garbage, it was better than nothing. Some kind of bladed whip, or an ‘urumi’ as the note had said. He had given it a tentative whip when he’d woken up, and that had confirmed it would be completely useless to him and whatever backwards primitive had decided it was good technology when they invented it and apparently kept making it. But it was still his weapon, and it still had a sharp edge. Better than nothing. Better than a dildo.
He decided to chance it. He could keep looking for more allies until he found someone he knew, but it was the painful truth that there were probably two people on the island he actually liked at this point, and one of them was stupid and probably not very much help period. Hopefully he’d bump into Toby later when he was better established. Maybe he could play Magic with others to get them to keep their cool. Still, he was much better off forming an alliance of people who weren’t about to shoot him on sight, and that meant joining up with anyone without a gun or just had the good sense not to listen to social media. Once he had enough people in his team, then he could control how the game went and avoid the most common blunders. Turns out reading all that shit online had a purpose after all.
Looking at the pebbles in his hand, he put together a cunning plan to make sure no-one had any guns that were just keeping out of sight. Pitching back like all those successful rock skippers did, he aimed to land them just far enough away from him and towards them that they’d hear it, but he could duck out of sight before they saw him. If any of them panic fired, he knew to get the fuck out. Genius.
Unfortunately, he’d overlooked a key flaw in his plan: his complete inability to throw with any accuracy. The handful of rocks clattered hard against the debris not six feet away from him.
But in spite of this, he was doing what he could to stay calm.
((Lucas Brady sets his plan in motion))
Crouched behind the convenient cover, Lucas watched the three in the distance have their conversation. He could just about make out what was being said, not that it meant a lot to him. He wasn’t familiar with either of the girls, nor did he particularly care. He knew Garren because, like Demetri, he was a cancerous tiny prick who was very good at getting known for being as much. Not the best person to run into, honestly.
He scrunched his face as he weighed up their potential. He needed allies, and quick, because he couldn’t get off this stinking rock by himself. He was a strategist, not an implementer. Leave that to everyone else. At the same time, one wrong move and he’d be shot in the face and who knew what else. That wasn’t going to happen to him, no way.
He picked up a handful of pebbles, grinding them in his palm. It hurt to do so, but he needed to hurt himself because Holy Fucking Shit he was in the middle of SOTF and why the hell did this have to happen to him!? He was so fucking close to finally escaping these fucking shits that were called his classmates, and now he had a 99% chance of dying because one of them got a random lucky fucking shot at him!?
No way, no fucking goddamn shit-eating way. He was getting off this rock, he was going to beat SOTF, and he was going to find a way to personally flip off that Danya before he sicked the FBI or whatever on them, because he was going to be the sort of politician that made the world a better place and he wasn’t going to let some roadblock like this stop him. He just had to get through this, like he’d pretty much got through Hunter High. Not unscathed, far from it, but if he could survive that then he could survive this.
He forced himself to inhale, a shallow breath that barely filled his lungs and did little to ease his temperament or his vivid features, but it made him focus all the same. None of those three seemed to have guns, and while his own weapon seemed like a pile of hot garbage, it was better than nothing. Some kind of bladed whip, or an ‘urumi’ as the note had said. He had given it a tentative whip when he’d woken up, and that had confirmed it would be completely useless to him and whatever backwards primitive had decided it was good technology when they invented it and apparently kept making it. But it was still his weapon, and it still had a sharp edge. Better than nothing. Better than a dildo.
He decided to chance it. He could keep looking for more allies until he found someone he knew, but it was the painful truth that there were probably two people on the island he actually liked at this point, and one of them was stupid and probably not very much help period. Hopefully he’d bump into Toby later when he was better established. Maybe he could play Magic with others to get them to keep their cool. Still, he was much better off forming an alliance of people who weren’t about to shoot him on sight, and that meant joining up with anyone without a gun or just had the good sense not to listen to social media. Once he had enough people in his team, then he could control how the game went and avoid the most common blunders. Turns out reading all that shit online had a purpose after all.
Looking at the pebbles in his hand, he put together a cunning plan to make sure no-one had any guns that were just keeping out of sight. Pitching back like all those successful rock skippers did, he aimed to land them just far enough away from him and towards them that they’d hear it, but he could duck out of sight before they saw him. If any of them panic fired, he knew to get the fuck out. Genius.
Unfortunately, he’d overlooked a key flaw in his plan: his complete inability to throw with any accuracy. The handful of rocks clattered hard against the debris not six feet away from him.
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
They were talking about hats. Catherine didn't know anything about that. Had Garren been wearing a hat? She didn't know. She didn't why she was focussing on that detail over anything else.
As Garren talked about dropping his bags, Catherine had to really think about that long-term 'don't die' plan. Sure, not dying meant not running afoul of anyone who could kill her. But she also had to think about things like... water, food, supplies... things that those bags held in abundance. And really, how much did she really care about Garren, anyway? Enough not to kill him, but that's about it. But wouldn't stealing his supplies mean that she was condemning him to death anyway?
Was she objecting to Garren dying, or just to her killing him? Was it a question of ethics here, or just personal comfort?
Before she could really come to a conclusion about that, or even about whether or not she should just take the bags, she heard a noise, a kind of weird clattering off to the side; it was something that couldn't possibly have been made by anything other than a person.
"Wh-Who's there?" she called out.
As Garren talked about dropping his bags, Catherine had to really think about that long-term 'don't die' plan. Sure, not dying meant not running afoul of anyone who could kill her. But she also had to think about things like... water, food, supplies... things that those bags held in abundance. And really, how much did she really care about Garren, anyway? Enough not to kill him, but that's about it. But wouldn't stealing his supplies mean that she was condemning him to death anyway?
Was she objecting to Garren dying, or just to her killing him? Was it a question of ethics here, or just personal comfort?
Before she could really come to a conclusion about that, or even about whether or not she should just take the bags, she heard a noise, a kind of weird clattering off to the side; it was something that couldn't possibly have been made by anything other than a person.
"Wh-Who's there?" she called out.
That wasn’t the most encouraging reaction, all things told. Fairly standard reaction from Cheri, absolutely fuckin’ nothing from Catherine. Didn’t exactly make it easy for him to trust that they wouldn’t just run off with his shit as soon as he chucked it down there. But then again, what reason did they have for trusting him? He was Garren Fucking Mortimer, for Christ’s sake. Sure, they weren’t gonna shoot him. Didn’t mean they’d all suddenly become best buds. Didn’t erase his actions from the past… god, way-too-many-fucking years.
But climbing up here with his bags and his weapon had been enough of a ballache, even with the adrenaline and fear after waking up powering him up the vines and branches enveloping the house. Climbing back down with all of it strapped to his back was gonna suck. Shortest way of getting down to the ground was by falling. Garren was breakable; his bags were not.
He was about to bite the bullet - not literally, because hey, that was a real fucking possibility out here, Jesus Christ - when the clattering sound from down below rang out, and Garren’s attention instantly flicked to the direction it had come from. He saw the debris the pebbles had smacked against, and then he saw the figure trying to hide out of sight, and a wry smile formed on his face.
Oh dear.
Sometimes, Garren felt kinda sorry for Lucas Brady. The guy had managed to tank his entire reputation in the span of a single evening. That was legit impressive; it had taken way longer for Garren’s social standing to drop that low. He could sympathise, y’know? Going from hundred to zero, that was something that… well, Garren had never really been at one hundred, but he could still understand how shitty that had to feel.
Mostly, though, he was just glad there was someone else in the dregs along with himself and Demetri.
He really didn’t know what stunt Lucas had been trying to pull with his little rock throwing escapades, but he was willing to bet it hadn’t gone anywhere near how the guy had planned it all out. He tutted, loudly, hoping it carried on the wind to Brady’s ears.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Garren said, smiling, even though he doubted anybody could see it. “It’s just good ol’ Lucas Brady throwing a tantrum and chucking stuff. Yo, Brady! You gonna come out now?”
He angled his grin down at Cheridene.
“You’re doing a worse job of hiding than I am!”
But climbing up here with his bags and his weapon had been enough of a ballache, even with the adrenaline and fear after waking up powering him up the vines and branches enveloping the house. Climbing back down with all of it strapped to his back was gonna suck. Shortest way of getting down to the ground was by falling. Garren was breakable; his bags were not.
He was about to bite the bullet - not literally, because hey, that was a real fucking possibility out here, Jesus Christ - when the clattering sound from down below rang out, and Garren’s attention instantly flicked to the direction it had come from. He saw the debris the pebbles had smacked against, and then he saw the figure trying to hide out of sight, and a wry smile formed on his face.
Oh dear.
Sometimes, Garren felt kinda sorry for Lucas Brady. The guy had managed to tank his entire reputation in the span of a single evening. That was legit impressive; it had taken way longer for Garren’s social standing to drop that low. He could sympathise, y’know? Going from hundred to zero, that was something that… well, Garren had never really been at one hundred, but he could still understand how shitty that had to feel.
Mostly, though, he was just glad there was someone else in the dregs along with himself and Demetri.
He really didn’t know what stunt Lucas had been trying to pull with his little rock throwing escapades, but he was willing to bet it hadn’t gone anywhere near how the guy had planned it all out. He tutted, loudly, hoping it carried on the wind to Brady’s ears.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Garren said, smiling, even though he doubted anybody could see it. “It’s just good ol’ Lucas Brady throwing a tantrum and chucking stuff. Yo, Brady! You gonna come out now?”
He angled his grin down at Cheridene.
“You’re doing a worse job of hiding than I am!”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Fuh-hucking christ!"
Honestly, Cheridene wasn't sure what scared her more, the clattering of rocks or Catherine's jumpy reaction, but that shit was making her equally jumpy. Now she had a mysterious third party to divide her attention between, and that shit was getting more limited by the time because, while she was looking at Catherine, what if Garren made a move? What if Catherine actually had something up her sleeve while looking at Garren who was the more apparent threat, even if he was up on that rooftop, just by virtue of having the higher ground or whatever (though he couldn't stay up there forever, the sun was surely going to become unbearable for him). And worst of all, what if somebody else just decided to pop in with a machine gun and spray them all down while no one was looking?
Cheri sidestepped until her shoulder found a wall, and she leaned on it like a long-lost friend. Wall would never betray her. She breathed in and out, heavily, once each, trying and failing to stop her heart from pounding.
Garren saw what she could not and called out the newcomer. Lucas, you little prick.
"Oh, that boy needs a whoopin," Cheri muttered under her breath, letting out another deep sigh. Lucas was a little shithead who lead others to a pillory and then locked himself inside to be crucified, but he didn't strike her as an immediate danger. And if he was resorting to silly little tricks like throwing rocks, then he either wasn't out to shoot first and ask questions later, or he probably didn't even have a gun. Both meant she wasn't getting shot right this second, but she was definitely hurting to have the insurance offered to her by a gun right about now. Too bad nobody had one here she could take, at least not one that was apparent. She could hold out on Garren having one in his bag, and just being too considerate not to have it out. Or too stupid.
On this day, really, Cheri would take anything.
Honestly, Cheridene wasn't sure what scared her more, the clattering of rocks or Catherine's jumpy reaction, but that shit was making her equally jumpy. Now she had a mysterious third party to divide her attention between, and that shit was getting more limited by the time because, while she was looking at Catherine, what if Garren made a move? What if Catherine actually had something up her sleeve while looking at Garren who was the more apparent threat, even if he was up on that rooftop, just by virtue of having the higher ground or whatever (though he couldn't stay up there forever, the sun was surely going to become unbearable for him). And worst of all, what if somebody else just decided to pop in with a machine gun and spray them all down while no one was looking?
Cheri sidestepped until her shoulder found a wall, and she leaned on it like a long-lost friend. Wall would never betray her. She breathed in and out, heavily, once each, trying and failing to stop her heart from pounding.
Garren saw what she could not and called out the newcomer. Lucas, you little prick.
"Oh, that boy needs a whoopin," Cheri muttered under her breath, letting out another deep sigh. Lucas was a little shithead who lead others to a pillory and then locked himself inside to be crucified, but he didn't strike her as an immediate danger. And if he was resorting to silly little tricks like throwing rocks, then he either wasn't out to shoot first and ask questions later, or he probably didn't even have a gun. Both meant she wasn't getting shot right this second, but she was definitely hurting to have the insurance offered to her by a gun right about now. Too bad nobody had one here she could take, at least not one that was apparent. She could hold out on Garren having one in his bag, and just being too considerate not to have it out. Or too stupid.
On this day, really, Cheri would take anything.
Lucas cursed under his breath as his cunning plan fell to pieces immediately. He’d tried to duck out of sight when the rocks hadn’t gone as far as planned, but he had unfortunately been too slow on the draw. Of all the people to have spotted him and act like a smug bastard, it had to be Garren.
He didn’t rush out, pondering his next move instead. No-one had shot at him, which had mostly confirmed his theory that no-one had a gun. And really, if either of the girls had a gun they would’ve opened fire on Garren straight away, like a rational human being. If Garren had one then he either would’ve shot the girls already, or he wasn’t smart enough to know how it worked. He’d believe either.
It wasn’t fool proof, he acknowledged that, but these were very much the definition of desperate times. He could run off there and then, but if anyone actually did have a gun and was just holding back, then he could get shot while fleeing and it would’ve been pointless. No, he’d have to rely on his charisma to navigate this minefield.
‘Fuck you, Garren’ was what he wanted to say as he stepped out, hands in the air to indicate his harmlessness, but again, charisma.
“Yeah ok, you caught me. I’m not having a tantrum though. I was just checking no-one here was feeling too trigger happy.”
He laughed at his own joke, grinning oh-so-awkwardly, as he took a few more steps forward until both parties could hear each other clearly. Not close enough for anyone to stab or bash anyone, but close enough.
“Since no-one’s shooting anyone, I’m hoping we could work together.” He directed himself towards the two girls, for obvious reasons. “If you tw-“ he caught himself, because he didn’t want to make it completely obvious who he was excluding, and one less unknown variable was always a help to his plan. “if you all are up for it, I’m putting together a team to get us off this rock.”
He didn’t rush out, pondering his next move instead. No-one had shot at him, which had mostly confirmed his theory that no-one had a gun. And really, if either of the girls had a gun they would’ve opened fire on Garren straight away, like a rational human being. If Garren had one then he either would’ve shot the girls already, or he wasn’t smart enough to know how it worked. He’d believe either.
It wasn’t fool proof, he acknowledged that, but these were very much the definition of desperate times. He could run off there and then, but if anyone actually did have a gun and was just holding back, then he could get shot while fleeing and it would’ve been pointless. No, he’d have to rely on his charisma to navigate this minefield.
‘Fuck you, Garren’ was what he wanted to say as he stepped out, hands in the air to indicate his harmlessness, but again, charisma.
“Yeah ok, you caught me. I’m not having a tantrum though. I was just checking no-one here was feeling too trigger happy.”
He laughed at his own joke, grinning oh-so-awkwardly, as he took a few more steps forward until both parties could hear each other clearly. Not close enough for anyone to stab or bash anyone, but close enough.
“Since no-one’s shooting anyone, I’m hoping we could work together.” He directed himself towards the two girls, for obvious reasons. “If you tw-“ he caught himself, because he didn’t want to make it completely obvious who he was excluding, and one less unknown variable was always a help to his plan. “if you all are up for it, I’m putting together a team to get us off this rock.”
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
Ooookay, this was starting to approach 'too many people' territory for Catherine. She was already straining her mind and sanity just dealing with one other person (though to be fair, it was Garren). Two was a reeeal stretch, but three?
The only real thing stopping her from leaving right now was that this wasn't back at home. This was on a remote island and she had her well-being to think about. These people weren't (for now, anyway) killing or robbing her, and Catherine would rather not flee a group only to find that the next person she ran into would be her last. So she sighed, before turning to face the newcomer.
She didn't like Lucas Brady. She actually had no real reason to, though; it's not like the guy had done anything to her personally, but he had views he disagreed with, and he wasn't afraid to say them, and apparently he made fun of the disabled on social media or something? Catherine hadn't seen the post herself, but she'd heard about it, and... yeah, that wasn't a great thing to add to his... er... portfolio.
Oh, and now he was asking them (and her, more importantly) to join them. Catherine wanted to shrink back into the shadows here, make herself invisible so that she could at least pretend like he wasn't talking to her. Like anyone wasn't talking to her. But no such thing was here. And, she realized, his 'plan' was still more concrete than anything she'd be coming up with on her own.
She didn't say anything yet, though. Instead, she put all her weight onto one foot, and crossed her arms before giving Lucas an 'I'm listening, but make it quick' kind of look.
The only real thing stopping her from leaving right now was that this wasn't back at home. This was on a remote island and she had her well-being to think about. These people weren't (for now, anyway) killing or robbing her, and Catherine would rather not flee a group only to find that the next person she ran into would be her last. So she sighed, before turning to face the newcomer.
She didn't like Lucas Brady. She actually had no real reason to, though; it's not like the guy had done anything to her personally, but he had views he disagreed with, and he wasn't afraid to say them, and apparently he made fun of the disabled on social media or something? Catherine hadn't seen the post herself, but she'd heard about it, and... yeah, that wasn't a great thing to add to his... er... portfolio.
Oh, and now he was asking them (and her, more importantly) to join them. Catherine wanted to shrink back into the shadows here, make herself invisible so that she could at least pretend like he wasn't talking to her. Like anyone wasn't talking to her. But no such thing was here. And, she realized, his 'plan' was still more concrete than anything she'd be coming up with on her own.
She didn't say anything yet, though. Instead, she put all her weight onto one foot, and crossed her arms before giving Lucas an 'I'm listening, but make it quick' kind of look.
Man, Brady was just launching his spaghetti all over the place, wasn’t he? Throwing rocks about for God knows what reason, crappy joke and even crappier laugh, stumbling over his own words. It was pretty easy to see the process that had led to that Facebook post, now, but even so, Jesus Christ. How had Garren’s social skills gotten better on the island (not that there was much place else to go but up) and Brady’s had gotten worse?
At least the things he was actually saying were interesting.
Garren raised an eyebrow, up atop his perch. He knew more than his fair share about escape attempts in Survival of the Fittest, more than he had any desire to know. Everybody threw out the possibility of it on the island, and there was at least one group every version that made a concerted attempt to actually get away scot free. Understandable, obviously. Turns out people didn’t really like seeing their teacher murdered in front of them before getting chucked into a deathmatch. Who knew!
So, yeah, every version, a group of kids tried their darnedest to escape. And, every version, those hopes and dreams got crushed underfoot, and each and every one of them died, either all by themselves, or with their friends and allies forced to watch them do so.
So that was all very promising!
Still, Garren couldn’t say he wasn’t prepared to listen to what Lucas had to say. Cause really, what did he have to lose? There was no point pretending anymore; despite how powerful the urges were, he didn’t really want to kill, and he really didn’t want to just die for no reason. He hadn’t wanted to admit it until there’d been a third option in front of him.
And, well, there it was. Ready to be grabbed.
“Hey, heads up!”
Garren stood up, placing his foot on the handle of the pickaroon to stop it sliding off the roof, grabbing the straps of his two bags in both hands before dangling them over the edge and letting go. They fell to the ground with a couple of soft ‘thump’ noises, and Garren nodded once before grabbing his weapon and turning away. He was pretty sure nobody was gonna steal anything. If they did, it’d suck a whole boat load of dicks, but it still wasn’t the end of the world. He’d know at least three people he couldn’t trust, at least. The person who stole his bags, obviously, and the two people who watched ‘em do it and didn’t lift a finger to help him.
The climb down was just as much of a pain in the ass as the climb up; literally, given he had to secure the pickaroon in his belt loop, and the handle kept on jabbing his cheek whenever he dropped down a ledge. The vines and thorns cut and dug into his skin, leaving brand new marks and reopening fresh cuts; still shallow, still just as sharp and painful as they happened.
Still. Better a long, arduous climb down than a quick drop and a short stop.
“All right, Brady,” Garren called out, placing his foot on a broken plank before thinking better of it and stretching his leg out to the windowsill instead. “Let’s hear it, then. You got a plan, or just a hope?”
At least the things he was actually saying were interesting.
Garren raised an eyebrow, up atop his perch. He knew more than his fair share about escape attempts in Survival of the Fittest, more than he had any desire to know. Everybody threw out the possibility of it on the island, and there was at least one group every version that made a concerted attempt to actually get away scot free. Understandable, obviously. Turns out people didn’t really like seeing their teacher murdered in front of them before getting chucked into a deathmatch. Who knew!
So, yeah, every version, a group of kids tried their darnedest to escape. And, every version, those hopes and dreams got crushed underfoot, and each and every one of them died, either all by themselves, or with their friends and allies forced to watch them do so.
So that was all very promising!
Still, Garren couldn’t say he wasn’t prepared to listen to what Lucas had to say. Cause really, what did he have to lose? There was no point pretending anymore; despite how powerful the urges were, he didn’t really want to kill, and he really didn’t want to just die for no reason. He hadn’t wanted to admit it until there’d been a third option in front of him.
And, well, there it was. Ready to be grabbed.
“Hey, heads up!”
Garren stood up, placing his foot on the handle of the pickaroon to stop it sliding off the roof, grabbing the straps of his two bags in both hands before dangling them over the edge and letting go. They fell to the ground with a couple of soft ‘thump’ noises, and Garren nodded once before grabbing his weapon and turning away. He was pretty sure nobody was gonna steal anything. If they did, it’d suck a whole boat load of dicks, but it still wasn’t the end of the world. He’d know at least three people he couldn’t trust, at least. The person who stole his bags, obviously, and the two people who watched ‘em do it and didn’t lift a finger to help him.
The climb down was just as much of a pain in the ass as the climb up; literally, given he had to secure the pickaroon in his belt loop, and the handle kept on jabbing his cheek whenever he dropped down a ledge. The vines and thorns cut and dug into his skin, leaving brand new marks and reopening fresh cuts; still shallow, still just as sharp and painful as they happened.
Still. Better a long, arduous climb down than a quick drop and a short stop.
“All right, Brady,” Garren called out, placing his foot on a broken plank before thinking better of it and stretching his leg out to the windowsill instead. “Let’s hear it, then. You got a plan, or just a hope?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017