As the fire crackled and the light danced upon his face, Claudeson Bademosi breathed the humid air in through his nose. Still sore, still not entirely back up to snuff after his fight with Tyrell on the first day, he still felt alive. Invigorated; he had a purpose now.
The same could not be said for Bret Carter.
A smile crept upon his face.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Swerve))
After a moment of feeling content with himself and what he had done, Claudeson glanced over at his travelling companion. Perenially one who wore a sour expression around the school, Lori Martin seemed almost bewildered at the events that had befallen them since they had stumbled onto the lookout point. While searching around from their site, they had become separated. Lori had stumbled upon the bearded Carter brother, and after a short confrontation, Claudeson had put an end to his reign of terror with the powerful help from Min-jae. As the crossbow bolt had met its target with a sickening thud, Claudeson preferred not to admit the feelings that it stirred, deep within him.
There was a distinct pleasure in watching Bret Carter fall.
Not in the act of killing him, of course. He could not lie to himself; the act itself was unenjoyable. Each time he shut his eyes, he could still picture the twisted visage that Bryan Merryweather had left burnt upon his corneas. Removing someone from the world held a steep price, and Claudeson knew that for what he had done, he would be forever burdened by its cost. It was not the action of destruction that caused such pleasure within him; rather the feeling of power that it gave him. He had taken the most supreme of powers in his own hands, and had dictated life and death. He had given Lori her life, much like he had Tyrell before her. Bret and Bryan — they were casualties, their power taken away for better or for worse. Bret's power was to do wrong to many, such as he had at home. Bret was a menace, Bret had to be taken care of before he could hurt anyone else.
Bryan, on the other hand — that was a merciful action. Bryan was a pure soul, someone who had an absence of malice, a complete lack of anything that could be construed as evil within his body. Letting him suffer on this island with all of the miscreant populace of George Hunter was a disservice, and Claudeson could not stand idly by and let such horrors fall upon someone so good. So he had done what he had to, even though it had devastated him so. He now understood why the darkness lurked within him for so long. The cloud that had refused to allow him happiness, it had been preparing him for these moments, where he would have to take unconscionable action in service of sparing those who would be otherwise dealt harm.
Lori was a different story, of course. Unlike so many others, she saw herself through no mirror, no lens. Her view of herself was honest, there was no fallacy to be found. She was not lying to herself, believing that she was any better than anyone else. Lori was generally miserable, unsure of her own path and not knowing how to be happy, admitting as much out loud. Her own path was uncertain, but she took at least a small bit of solace in that uncertainty. She admitted it to him, to Michael, to all of them.
He could help Lori. He had helped Lori. The girl had said little since they'd made their way away from Bret Carter's body — being anywhere close to Wyatt was a bad idea at present, so their trek had been lengthy, the night stretching out until they'd reached the marshy rice paddies. Making camp upon the edge of it meant that there was at least a modicum of dry material around for a small fire, though keeping it small was smarter to avoid attracting attention. So here they sat, neither able to sleep, both staring into the flames. They needed one another. Claudeson wondered if she had realized it yet.
"We must be vigilant," he started, breaking the long silence but keeping his voice low, "after tomorrow morning's announcement, we will be sought after. Former friends will be trustworthy no longer."
Had Lori even had many friends? Claudeson barely recalled seeing her speak with anyone.
"You have nothing to fear while I stand by your side, Lori. I promise you that."
His conviction felt hollow inside, fake somehow. Yet his voice remained resolute, and the earnesty with which he spoke almost surprised him.
"You are important to me."
The Chemicals Between Us
2am of day 6, closed
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori lay with her head on her bag. She made a small noise of agreement.
"I never really trusted anyone anyway," she said quietly, as she felt that this time of night required a lowered tone of voice. "Well, except Madison. She was the only person I considered a real friend," she said, reminiscing briefly on times they would hang out. Mainly it was after school as a lot of times Madison missed cheer practice. "But I don't know where she is or if she's OK." Lori felt that Madison had to be ok. Sure, maybe she was screaming at a goat or something for existing, but that's why she'd be ok. Lori really couldn't imagine anyone getting through Madison's iron will.
Slowly, Lori became less unsettled. The adrenaline was coming down. Bret was dead, but he did start it and he was threatening and Claudeson did come to her rescue. What else could she have done? Her eyes lowered and stayed closed for a second before she blinked extra wide.
"I don't know why you feel that way," she said, this time her eyes staying closed for two seconds before she blinked wide. In a way she was suspicious of Claudeson's motivations a little, because why else would someone say they would stay by her side?
"I never really trusted anyone anyway," she said quietly, as she felt that this time of night required a lowered tone of voice. "Well, except Madison. She was the only person I considered a real friend," she said, reminiscing briefly on times they would hang out. Mainly it was after school as a lot of times Madison missed cheer practice. "But I don't know where she is or if she's OK." Lori felt that Madison had to be ok. Sure, maybe she was screaming at a goat or something for existing, but that's why she'd be ok. Lori really couldn't imagine anyone getting through Madison's iron will.
Slowly, Lori became less unsettled. The adrenaline was coming down. Bret was dead, but he did start it and he was threatening and Claudeson did come to her rescue. What else could she have done? Her eyes lowered and stayed closed for a second before she blinked extra wide.
"I don't know why you feel that way," she said, this time her eyes staying closed for two seconds before she blinked wide. In a way she was suspicious of Claudeson's motivations a little, because why else would someone say they would stay by her side?
"People in our lives, they come," Claudeson paused, giving heavy contemplation to his words, "and they go. How much we truly understand about other people is based almost entirely upon how honest they are."
Looking down, he studied the crossbow in his hands for a moment. The implement of Bret Carter's destruction. The weapon that he'd taken to calling Min-jae after its former owner seemed to almost have a persona of its own, one that he had almost unintentionally crafted for it. But why not tell himself that falsehood, why not assign the weapon an identity? People claimed that they saw God in all sorts of different places. He himself had once claimed that God was all around them, that he was pervasively involved in all of creation.
Preposterous, as he now knew. His own self-loathing sparked up at the thought, the bile in his throat working its way into a sneer that rested upon his face.
"Honesty is a commodity, Lori. It is a commodity that each of us claim to have in abundance. Yet how many of us can truly say that we are honest, even with ourselves? How many of our peers claim to be 'good people', yet all they do is hide behind a belief, a reputation, an appearance?"
Eyes slowing moving back up to where Lori was seated, his expression softened.
"I was as bad as any of them," he shook his head disdainfully. "I could not even admit to myself what kind of a person I truly was, foisting my own perceived values upon others with a sickening sense of moral superiority. What good is belief if you have to force it upon others in order to feel its impact?"
He stopped for a moment and when he picked up, his tone went flat, lifeless. Claudeson's eyes stared out past Lori, into the jungle and seemingly past everything tangible.
"I had acquaintances, once. I knew people. But friends?"
Claudeson was unable to complete the thought. The pain was apparent on his face.
"You are," he shut his eyes and grimaced as they opened, "one of the few people that I have met whom I believe to be truly honest. To truly understand yourself, and acknowledge where you are able, and where you are not. That is important. Here, most of all."
Looking down, he studied the crossbow in his hands for a moment. The implement of Bret Carter's destruction. The weapon that he'd taken to calling Min-jae after its former owner seemed to almost have a persona of its own, one that he had almost unintentionally crafted for it. But why not tell himself that falsehood, why not assign the weapon an identity? People claimed that they saw God in all sorts of different places. He himself had once claimed that God was all around them, that he was pervasively involved in all of creation.
Preposterous, as he now knew. His own self-loathing sparked up at the thought, the bile in his throat working its way into a sneer that rested upon his face.
"Honesty is a commodity, Lori. It is a commodity that each of us claim to have in abundance. Yet how many of us can truly say that we are honest, even with ourselves? How many of our peers claim to be 'good people', yet all they do is hide behind a belief, a reputation, an appearance?"
Eyes slowing moving back up to where Lori was seated, his expression softened.
"I was as bad as any of them," he shook his head disdainfully. "I could not even admit to myself what kind of a person I truly was, foisting my own perceived values upon others with a sickening sense of moral superiority. What good is belief if you have to force it upon others in order to feel its impact?"
He stopped for a moment and when he picked up, his tone went flat, lifeless. Claudeson's eyes stared out past Lori, into the jungle and seemingly past everything tangible.
"I had acquaintances, once. I knew people. But friends?"
Claudeson was unable to complete the thought. The pain was apparent on his face.
"You are," he shut his eyes and grimaced as they opened, "one of the few people that I have met whom I believe to be truly honest. To truly understand yourself, and acknowledge where you are able, and where you are not. That is important. Here, most of all."
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori stuck part of a meal bar on the end of a stick and put it to the fire. Maybe it was better warm?
"I just think being honest is really important," she said quietly. "I don't think it's worth it to hide how you feel. People know anyway."
She lazily rotated the stick and looked at the hypnotic fire. She thought about Madison again and about Michael. He was acting really weird, but it seemed like there was something in him that wanted to care about people and about her. Madison would probably tell her to forget that loser.
"Thanks for saving me."
"I just think being honest is really important," she said quietly. "I don't think it's worth it to hide how you feel. People know anyway."
She lazily rotated the stick and looked at the hypnotic fire. She thought about Madison again and about Michael. He was acting really weird, but it seemed like there was something in him that wanted to care about people and about her. Madison would probably tell her to forget that loser.
"Thanks for saving me."
((Meka Gibson continued from Someone's Watching))
Meka trudged through the dark woods, having covered a lot of ground since he left the Inner Circle. It had been a quiet, lethargic day since he left the meeting in the gardens. He took refuge in one of the leadership houses, having secluded himself inside and waited. Valerija didn't follow after him, so Meka simply tried to make the most of his solitude. Which wasn't much, all things considered. Not when there were more names to add to his list.
Justin's murder of MacKenzie was now made clear to the whole island. The terrorists praised him for his accomplishment, to which Meka literally spat at the ground. It wasn't the sort of action he'd normally do, but he felt it was appropriate here. It'd only feel better if he could spit in Justin's face, but Meka knew that was unlikely. Justin was on his shit list more than anything.
Quinn killed more people, this time adding Liberty Wren and Richard Smith. Blaise and Erika were getting more kills to their names as well.
The part that really upset him was learning that Ariana died. He hadn't seen her since the first day, but it still pained him to know she was gone. Especially since she was killed by the garbage heap known as Marco Volker. Apparently, she died quite violently if a chainsaw was involved, so Meka knew that he'd have to pay Marco back tenfold if he met him.
Of course, meeting people like Justin, Quinn, and Marco was easier said than done. Meka could kill himself trying to hunt them down, or he could focus on instead trying to break the game like he decided. To do so, he'd need a clear mind and a plan to enact. With that, Meka spent most of Day 5 in the house, repeating the ideas over and over again in his mind, as well as the names of everyone he could think of. He was sure he wasn't going to remember every single person who died at this rate. Hunger and fatigue were definitely starting to affect his memory, so he would at least try to focus on the important ones.
After a day of his meditation, Meka set out once it was dark. As he saw it, people would head for shelters at night, and deaths were likely to slow down. He could try to traverse the island in hopes of finding supplies or notable people. Odds were he wasn't going to find any allies, but at the very least, he hoped to get some parts of his ideas into action, or at least find something that could get him to try.
As he walked deep into the evening, he could tell he was heading south and that the terrain was starting to change. It was then he noticed something glowing in the distance. He could partially make out two figures in the distance, but not well enough to tell who they were, or even if they were male or female. What mattered was that he realized what the glow was: fire.
Meka kept his bow by his side and slowly approached the fire. Maybe this was where Harriet Tubman's lantern was leading him.
Meka trudged through the dark woods, having covered a lot of ground since he left the Inner Circle. It had been a quiet, lethargic day since he left the meeting in the gardens. He took refuge in one of the leadership houses, having secluded himself inside and waited. Valerija didn't follow after him, so Meka simply tried to make the most of his solitude. Which wasn't much, all things considered. Not when there were more names to add to his list.
Justin's murder of MacKenzie was now made clear to the whole island. The terrorists praised him for his accomplishment, to which Meka literally spat at the ground. It wasn't the sort of action he'd normally do, but he felt it was appropriate here. It'd only feel better if he could spit in Justin's face, but Meka knew that was unlikely. Justin was on his shit list more than anything.
Quinn killed more people, this time adding Liberty Wren and Richard Smith. Blaise and Erika were getting more kills to their names as well.
The part that really upset him was learning that Ariana died. He hadn't seen her since the first day, but it still pained him to know she was gone. Especially since she was killed by the garbage heap known as Marco Volker. Apparently, she died quite violently if a chainsaw was involved, so Meka knew that he'd have to pay Marco back tenfold if he met him.
Of course, meeting people like Justin, Quinn, and Marco was easier said than done. Meka could kill himself trying to hunt them down, or he could focus on instead trying to break the game like he decided. To do so, he'd need a clear mind and a plan to enact. With that, Meka spent most of Day 5 in the house, repeating the ideas over and over again in his mind, as well as the names of everyone he could think of. He was sure he wasn't going to remember every single person who died at this rate. Hunger and fatigue were definitely starting to affect his memory, so he would at least try to focus on the important ones.
After a day of his meditation, Meka set out once it was dark. As he saw it, people would head for shelters at night, and deaths were likely to slow down. He could try to traverse the island in hopes of finding supplies or notable people. Odds were he wasn't going to find any allies, but at the very least, he hoped to get some parts of his ideas into action, or at least find something that could get him to try.
As he walked deep into the evening, he could tell he was heading south and that the terrain was starting to change. It was then he noticed something glowing in the distance. He could partially make out two figures in the distance, but not well enough to tell who they were, or even if they were male or female. What mattered was that he realized what the glow was: fire.
Meka kept his bow by his side and slowly approached the fire. Maybe this was where Harriet Tubman's lantern was leading him.
((Manuel Figueroa continued from Need A Little Time To Wake Up))
No Sal. No Yuka. No Yuki. This was bad. Any combination of them could be lying in a pool of their own blood, and Manuel wouldn't even know. He didn't even know where they were, to be honest. All those years of learning how to orient, and his method of finding his way around the island was pretty much to walk in a straight line and not trip over a corpse or a killer. He was just hoping that nobody would come up to him and hand him a knife blade first. He just shook his head as he went on his way to noticing a fire and around it, two people. As he approached the pair, he started noticing more details, at least, as much as could be done from the light he saw, he could only see that one of them was a black guy and the other was a white ... girl? He was still not that sure from this distance.
Couldn't hurt to check it out, though ... okay, it most definitely could, since things were really ramping up. In a couple days, there'd likely be someone hitting double digits in the kills, and the people most likely to do so weren't the only ones chomping for action. It came down to whether he wanted to risk going it alone or risk safety in numbers.
He approached the fire.
No Sal. No Yuka. No Yuki. This was bad. Any combination of them could be lying in a pool of their own blood, and Manuel wouldn't even know. He didn't even know where they were, to be honest. All those years of learning how to orient, and his method of finding his way around the island was pretty much to walk in a straight line and not trip over a corpse or a killer. He was just hoping that nobody would come up to him and hand him a knife blade first. He just shook his head as he went on his way to noticing a fire and around it, two people. As he approached the pair, he started noticing more details, at least, as much as could be done from the light he saw, he could only see that one of them was a black guy and the other was a white ... girl? He was still not that sure from this distance.
Couldn't hurt to check it out, though ... okay, it most definitely could, since things were really ramping up. In a couple days, there'd likely be someone hitting double digits in the kills, and the people most likely to do so weren't the only ones chomping for action. It came down to whether he wanted to risk going it alone or risk safety in numbers.
He approached the fire.
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Claudeson nodded, the gratitude lending him a measure of strength. It wasn't much, but it was something. At this particular juncture, his emotions were in a myriad of places. His mind was telling him one thing, his heart another. His soul; damned and lost in the ether, occasionally came close and affirmed his damnation. It was strange, he thought as he looked into the fire. Every time that his soul chastised him for the horror that he had inflicted upon others, it did so wearing Bryan's face. It shrieked at him with a disjointed jaw and an eye socket that was distorted in a grotesque manner, the bullet having wrecked the brain and tissue behind his eyes.
It was a face that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
"You are welcome," he said simply.
More, he stared into the fire; Lori was trying to roast one of the meal supplement bars; a meager attempt to make them more palatable. At this point, taste and comfort was but a material pleasure, something that he no longer deserved, something that was no longer imperative. Captivity had a way of stripping away the layers of fat and filth that had accumulated on their person, replacing them with callouses that would harden, strengthening them for the task at hand. Make no mistake about it, for however much personal freedom they had, they were all a prisoner here on this island, all of them languishing away, never to see freedom again.
At least — one of them might. A sole survivor was how this particular group of terrorists saw fit to spread their message; whatever message it might have been likely depended upon the identity of that individual. Like any missive; it would be a fallacy, a creation of someone's twisted mind that was spread to generate fear, paranoia, and obedience.
"There is no honesty in this," he whispered, "we are born, we live, and we die. Yet we must make do as best as we know how."
Looking up at Lori, his eyes were haunted, reflections of the flame dancing within the blacks of his pupils.
"I appreciate your efforts. Too few are—"
There was a crackle, a noise; yet not from the fire, from the bushes beyond where they had set up camp. Quickly after, another one, from another direction. Tensing, Claudeson, held a finger to his lips, hoping to push the duo into silence.
"Someone is coming."
Almost automatically, he had his pistol in his right hand. Min-jae would be ineffective in the darkness, and whomever was coming could easily stay hidden behind cover. If whomever was out there intended them harm, then he would do what he had to in order to keep them safe.
Lori's honesty was too precious, too sacred to let away. He would not let them have it.
He would do what he must.
It was a face that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
"You are welcome," he said simply.
More, he stared into the fire; Lori was trying to roast one of the meal supplement bars; a meager attempt to make them more palatable. At this point, taste and comfort was but a material pleasure, something that he no longer deserved, something that was no longer imperative. Captivity had a way of stripping away the layers of fat and filth that had accumulated on their person, replacing them with callouses that would harden, strengthening them for the task at hand. Make no mistake about it, for however much personal freedom they had, they were all a prisoner here on this island, all of them languishing away, never to see freedom again.
At least — one of them might. A sole survivor was how this particular group of terrorists saw fit to spread their message; whatever message it might have been likely depended upon the identity of that individual. Like any missive; it would be a fallacy, a creation of someone's twisted mind that was spread to generate fear, paranoia, and obedience.
"There is no honesty in this," he whispered, "we are born, we live, and we die. Yet we must make do as best as we know how."
Looking up at Lori, his eyes were haunted, reflections of the flame dancing within the blacks of his pupils.
"I appreciate your efforts. Too few are—"
There was a crackle, a noise; yet not from the fire, from the bushes beyond where they had set up camp. Quickly after, another one, from another direction. Tensing, Claudeson, held a finger to his lips, hoping to push the duo into silence.
"Someone is coming."
Almost automatically, he had his pistol in his right hand. Min-jae would be ineffective in the darkness, and whomever was coming could easily stay hidden behind cover. If whomever was out there intended them harm, then he would do what he had to in order to keep them safe.
Lori's honesty was too precious, too sacred to let away. He would not let them have it.
He would do what he must.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori pulled the stick from the fire and twirled it a few more times to make it less hot. Steam rose off the little brick and made small circles as it spun around. She sat with her chin resting on her hand and her elbow resting on her knee, which was folded into a cross-legged position. Claudeson had whispered something, but she only caught the end of it about doing the best that they could. Lori made a thoughtful noise to this, and looked up at the stars. Deciding that the bar wouldn't burn her mouth, she tried taking a bite. Lori wasn't sure if it was an improvement or not, but it was a little different and the variety was it's own kind of improvement.
He started talking to her when something made a noise from somewhere around them. Lori was conscious now of the fact that their little fire made a perimeter of light around them and after the boarders of the fire glow, it was unknowable darkness. She shrunk her shoulders down, making herself smaller, trying not to have any part of her outside of the light. Lori looked at her companion and nodded. She picked up her rifle, which she hadn't really properly considered since she'd acquired it. This whole time on the island she had desperately struggled to get a real weapon so that she wouldn't be a sitting duck (owl) for anyone who wanted to pick her off, as she was sure no one had very fond feelings for her outside of a few. Then with Claudeson's help, after he saved her, she had one. If she believed in miracles, this might nearly qualify. But she didn't.
Lori put the owl head on and readied the rifle just in case. She figured it would be disorienting to see at least, for whoever it was. Slowly, she turned her head to see if there would be anyone popping out from beyond.
He started talking to her when something made a noise from somewhere around them. Lori was conscious now of the fact that their little fire made a perimeter of light around them and after the boarders of the fire glow, it was unknowable darkness. She shrunk her shoulders down, making herself smaller, trying not to have any part of her outside of the light. Lori looked at her companion and nodded. She picked up her rifle, which she hadn't really properly considered since she'd acquired it. This whole time on the island she had desperately struggled to get a real weapon so that she wouldn't be a sitting duck (owl) for anyone who wanted to pick her off, as she was sure no one had very fond feelings for her outside of a few. Then with Claudeson's help, after he saved her, she had one. If she believed in miracles, this might nearly qualify. But she didn't.
Lori put the owl head on and readied the rifle just in case. She figured it would be disorienting to see at least, for whoever it was. Slowly, she turned her head to see if there would be anyone popping out from beyond.
Meka stepped closer to the fire. He breathed in and out quietly. He knew that there was a chance that this was an absolutely terrible idea and he could get killed in doing so. But then again, he was probably already dead, so he didn't see why it mattered. Whoever was at the fire was also playing loose with their mortality, so he was sure he could at least try to play it cool and see if he could hold a conversation.
Besides, he wasn't coming close because he wanted to see who was there.
Meka moved the bow to one hand and slowly raised his arms to the side. He was starting to make out the figures.
"Hey, I'm not here for trouble," he said to the figures. "It's Meka Gibson, and I just want to..."
Meka could now see the figures. The first was someone he remembered from a few days ago, and from the last few announcements.
"Hey Claudeson," he said.
He then glanced over to the other person.
"And...owl...girl..."
Yeah, he had no clue who the owl-headed person was sitting next to Claudeson around the campfire. They'd probably reveal themselves soon anyways.
Meka glanced back to Claudeson.
"Good evening. It's been a while."
Besides, he wasn't coming close because he wanted to see who was there.
Meka moved the bow to one hand and slowly raised his arms to the side. He was starting to make out the figures.
"Hey, I'm not here for trouble," he said to the figures. "It's Meka Gibson, and I just want to..."
Meka could now see the figures. The first was someone he remembered from a few days ago, and from the last few announcements.
"Hey Claudeson," he said.
He then glanced over to the other person.
"And...owl...girl..."
Yeah, he had no clue who the owl-headed person was sitting next to Claudeson around the campfire. They'd probably reveal themselves soon anyways.
Meka glanced back to Claudeson.
"Good evening. It's been a while."
Claudeson, Claudeson, he'd killed people, hadn't he? Meka he hadn't heard, so that was ... good, he guessed? The only question is if that would matter. Manuel himself hadn't been on an announcement, so that made him a target or safe or whatever. Manuel just looked forward as he decided to either lengthen or shorten his life.
He continued walking towards the fire, keeping his hands up and his eyes on the crossbow and the gun.
"Hey, guys."
He continued walking towards the fire, keeping his hands up and his eyes on the crossbow and the gun.
"Hey, guys."
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
With Lori's rifle and his pistol firmly aimed at the newcomers, Claudeson felt no fear of what either boy might be capable of. With a wry smile at the fact that Lori was now clad in the owl head once more, he waited until both approached and he could make out their identities. The fire cast a dim shadow over both of their features, but the first was unmistakably Emeka Gibson. An untrained, possibly more racist observer may have likened Claudeson and Emeka together, as both dark-skinned boys wore their hair similarly.
Many of their peers often mistook the two for one another, so he was rather familiar with the boy. The thought put a sour taste in his mouth and it only reinforced his distaste for the dishonesty of his peers. Liars, racists, and phonies alike, they were a scourge on this island that in the end, would require cleansing. Emeka greeted them, and Claudeson nodded, keeping the pistol at the ready. He had no personal grief with the boy, the two had always been cordial, Claudeson occasionally appreciating the righteous indignation with which his peer more outwardly expressed.
Too long, his own emotions and feelings had remained pent up, obfuscated by the lies of his so-called faith.
No longer.
"Meka."
The second individual was less familiar to him, but Claudeson still recognized the boy. Volunteering at the various school functions exposed him to a large section of the student body, and Manuel was no stranger to the more artistic endeavours of George Hunter High. As far as opinions, he had none on Manuel. The two had perhaps occasionally shared a class, but he could not recall any meaningful conversation. Where he knew Emeka to be willful, Manuel was more of a wild-card. He would have to be wary. Perhaps Lori, whose identity was wholly concealed by the owl head, would have more of an opinion on either boy.
For now, though, he would wait.
"Manuel. Welcome, both of you. Please, come and sit a while, if you would like."
His lips curled into a smile, showing his teeth. Claudeson's weapon remained at the ready.
"We have no wish for violence," he looked from Emeka to Manuel, "only rest."
There had been enough violence for one night. The morning announcement would reveal to the island that one Carter had fallen, and would undoubtedly paint a larger target upon his back than the one that his previous— No! —for a moment, he saw Bryan's misshapen form standing in the darkness between the two boys. Widening his eyes, he blinked heavily once, and it was gone.
Squinting in the darkness, he made a point of keeping his gaze away from the void. Who knew what horrors were lurking beyond? Wyatt Carter would surely be coming his way, the second the morning came and betrayed his secret to the class.
Until then, however — he might rest. Provided his guests opted to behave.
Many of their peers often mistook the two for one another, so he was rather familiar with the boy. The thought put a sour taste in his mouth and it only reinforced his distaste for the dishonesty of his peers. Liars, racists, and phonies alike, they were a scourge on this island that in the end, would require cleansing. Emeka greeted them, and Claudeson nodded, keeping the pistol at the ready. He had no personal grief with the boy, the two had always been cordial, Claudeson occasionally appreciating the righteous indignation with which his peer more outwardly expressed.
Too long, his own emotions and feelings had remained pent up, obfuscated by the lies of his so-called faith.
No longer.
"Meka."
The second individual was less familiar to him, but Claudeson still recognized the boy. Volunteering at the various school functions exposed him to a large section of the student body, and Manuel was no stranger to the more artistic endeavours of George Hunter High. As far as opinions, he had none on Manuel. The two had perhaps occasionally shared a class, but he could not recall any meaningful conversation. Where he knew Emeka to be willful, Manuel was more of a wild-card. He would have to be wary. Perhaps Lori, whose identity was wholly concealed by the owl head, would have more of an opinion on either boy.
For now, though, he would wait.
"Manuel. Welcome, both of you. Please, come and sit a while, if you would like."
His lips curled into a smile, showing his teeth. Claudeson's weapon remained at the ready.
"We have no wish for violence," he looked from Emeka to Manuel, "only rest."
There had been enough violence for one night. The morning announcement would reveal to the island that one Carter had fallen, and would undoubtedly paint a larger target upon his back than the one that his previous— No! —for a moment, he saw Bryan's misshapen form standing in the darkness between the two boys. Widening his eyes, he blinked heavily once, and it was gone.
Squinting in the darkness, he made a point of keeping his gaze away from the void. Who knew what horrors were lurking beyond? Wyatt Carter would surely be coming his way, the second the morning came and betrayed his secret to the class.
Until then, however — he might rest. Provided his guests opted to behave.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
"Oh, hi Meka!" Lori responded, though slightly muffled. She nodded along in agreement when Claudeson said that they only wanted rest, not trouble. She didn't know the other boy that well, but he was being cautious. This was the first time that Lori had ever held a gun and the first time in the game she had anything worth a damn as far as a weapon. Now that she had this rifle, people were treating her with some fear and respect. It was kind of nice. No one was going to snark at her or toss an insult her way with the rifle and with Claudeson. This made her sit up a little straighter, a little prouder.
Maybe now would treat her how she was meant to be treated, now that she had might on her side. Didn't might make right?
Maybe now would treat her how she was meant to be treated, now that she had might on her side. Didn't might make right?
There was another boy there, Manuel, but Meka was more focused on the two around the fire. Claudeson seemed bizarrely calm after the first time Meka saw him, making it clear he and the Owl were simply looking for rest and peaceful interactions.
That was fine with Meka. He could be cautious and know his options, but for now, he wanted to at least speak with these two. The fire was inviting him, anyways.
"Fine with me," Meka said, "I can comply."
Meka walked to an open space near the fire and sat down, laying the bow across his lap.
He sighed in, and spoke.
"So, I do have a few questions," Meka said. "The first one..."
Meka looked over at the Owl.
"Who are you?"
If he was going to get information, he had to know who he was sitting with first.
That was fine with Meka. He could be cautious and know his options, but for now, he wanted to at least speak with these two. The fire was inviting him, anyways.
"Fine with me," Meka said, "I can comply."
Meka walked to an open space near the fire and sat down, laying the bow across his lap.
He sighed in, and spoke.
"So, I do have a few questions," Meka said. "The first one..."
Meka looked over at the Owl.
"Who are you?"
If he was going to get information, he had to know who he was sitting with first.
So, Meka, Claudeson, and someone else whom Manuel didn't immediately recognize, although the owl on her(?) head looked interesting.
"We have no wish for violence, only rest." To which Manuel was in agreement about. If only Claudeson and his friend would put down their guns, it would be a little easier to believe him. Meka, for his part, sat down and put what looked like a piece of something tied to a string into his lap before asking the obvious question.
"Who are you?"
As Manuel lowered his arms, he quickly looked to the as of yet unknown fourth person.
"We have no wish for violence, only rest." To which Manuel was in agreement about. If only Claudeson and his friend would put down their guns, it would be a little easier to believe him. Meka, for his part, sat down and put what looked like a piece of something tied to a string into his lap before asking the obvious question.
"Who are you?"
As Manuel lowered his arms, he quickly looked to the as of yet unknown fourth person.
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Something about the whole situation made him smile. It was an ugly smile, teeth tucked firmly behind his lips. There was a distinct lack of trust, lack of agency around this particular fire, and Claudeson was not about to let Lori's diversionary tactic fall by the wayside.
"Do you not recognize your classmates when you see them?"
"Do you not recognize your classmates when you see them?"