Leila let out an impatient sigh as Nathan finally finished up with her feet. What was so complicated about it? Something like that would've taken her Mom less than a-
Mom.
Oh, wow.
She hadn't thought about home for a while.
The others argued amongst themselves for a while, as Nathan wandered back to them in an attempt to calm down the situation, leaving her mind to stew in the memories she had of her family. Her parents worked at the local hospital, where they both met 2 years before they married and had their one and only daughter - the bowl of sunshine that she'd become. Looking back, she knew she'd had it good. Really good, actually. If she compared her life to the average student's, she'd easily come out covered in the smell of middle class snobbery. She even had a nanny when she was younger, which, okay, was her mother's attempt at being a working mother, but still, she had a nanny. Not many people could afford those, could they?
Whenever she felt like this, she'd remind herself that she'd had her fair share of problems too, especially once her mother quit her job to focus on caring for her. It was at this point that Leila started to develop her most unpleasant traits - spending money she didn't have, going out to clubs and bars when she was clearly under age, and the best one of all: how to manipulate people into giving her what she wanted. It didn't matter if they needed the money more than she did, or that the top they were wearing was a birthday present from their grandmother. If she wanted it, she got it. No exceptions.
Then she happened to glance up at the boys, as they bickered on about the do's and don't's of waving guns in people's faces. Specifically, she happened to glance up at one of the boys in particular. He looked so scared, so confused. Obviously, he was the weak link of the gang, the nervous mumbler who stood behind them as they decided whether or not to shoot a guy who hadn't even done anything wrong. See, that's what separated herself from the boys. If she had a gun, she wouldn't even have to use it. If she had a gun, everyone else would drop theirs, because they knew that she wasn't the kind of person to let a situation like this go by without trying to grab a piece of the action.
Leaning forward, she took a good look at the state of her feet, then turned to the pair of flip-flops she'd been so kindly given. She touched the soles of her feet with the tips of her fingers, feeling the sticky blood still oozing slightly beneath the bandages. Pressing just a little too hard, the red seeped through the gauze and pasted itself to her skin. Her eyes stared intently at the blood as she squished it in between her index finger and thumb, before switching over to the image of Brook standing just far away enough from the others for her plan to work.
She stood, wincing as she strapped her feet into the almost-sandals, then walked on over to the boy who was now giving her an intense look of disgust. His pupils contracted, locking on to the patches of red on her hands. He lifted the gun slightly - he was far too nervous to be handling a gun, she thought. With her hand raised in front of her, she reached out for his face, sticking and un-sticking her fingers as the blood began to dry. His hands shook, trembling at the sight of it. He looked like he might use the gun, he looked fevered and mad. She smiled, baring her teeth, then lunged forward, wiping the blood down the side of his face as he shrieked and cried out in hysterics. Now! Using this opportunity to wrestle the gun free of his hand, she pushed him back against the wall, then aimed her gun at the others, who now looked very angry.
Nobody said a word (aside from Brook, who wouldn't shut the fuck up), as she made her way forward, towards the other side of the tunnel. Their guns were aimed right back at her, but she made them move aside. Her gun was pointed at their friend - the one she'd marked. If they tried to get in her way, she'd make sure they'd need a new fourth member. And slowly, terribly, they each put down their guns, not wanting to risk the life of one of their own. If she hadn't seen it herself, she'd have called it fucking typical. Pack mentality was something every guy shared, whether they admitted it or not, and right now it was losing them one of their ever so precious weapons. Diddums.
Eventually, nervously - she could feel her frantic heartbeat pulsing wildly in the wounds of her feet - she made it past the group and on to the other side, her gun trained of every one of them now.
"I know, right? Big shocker everyone, Leila's a backstabbing bitch."
She laughed dryly, shaking her head as though she was disappointed in them for taking her this far.
"But hey, don't blame me. That's the name of the game; survival of the fucking fittest. You know? And yeah, I'm feeling pretty fit right now; really fucking fit. I owe you one, Nath, I really do."
She cocked the trigger gently, giving it a slow, painful squeeze. Her finger twitched as it stuck there for a moment.
"But you heard that guy - the fat fucker on the video. Only one of us gets off this island alive."
She gave them all the sweetest smile, while her tongue balanced delicately on her last few words.
"And that, my boys, is yours truly."
Backing away from the flowerheads, she kept her gun in plain view, for all of them to see, until she turned the very last corner of the longest tunnel in the world.
((Leila Langford continued in Heartbeat Symphony))
-All GM'ing permitted by MK Kilmarnock-
Carpe Noctum
Day 3
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Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinojelly. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Hello, I'm Inky, your local tech support, who'll be babysitting Maf until our local sheep-shagger comes back from wherever. I also apologive for any present and future eviseration of Maf's character))
When did it all decide to go to hell?
One moment, he was standing there in front of Brook as the newcomer introduced himself. The bitch in the back was going off again, everyone was talking, and then...she got the gun. Leila managed to somehow get ahold of Brook's gun, and the tall Fijian's eye's flickered from the scared guy behind him sprawling into the wall, to the gun now perched in bitch's hands.
He was right all along, she was going to bring them down.
He didn't even register the fact that his humungous hands were suddenly to his front again, gun aimed right at the bitch's head. It scared him how easily this was becoming, but he still kept his silent aim on the short-haired traitor who still was mouthing off at them, talking about survival again.
Survival of the Fittest, again those words struck.
There was something inside of him, something that didn't even attempt to stop her as she ran away.
Jennifer...
She was the most important thing to him as he thought about the true fact, that whether he wanted to believe it or not, there was the ever increasing chance that only him or her was going to make it off of here alive.
He watched her go.
The gun fell limp to his side.
When did it all decide to go to hell?
One moment, he was standing there in front of Brook as the newcomer introduced himself. The bitch in the back was going off again, everyone was talking, and then...she got the gun. Leila managed to somehow get ahold of Brook's gun, and the tall Fijian's eye's flickered from the scared guy behind him sprawling into the wall, to the gun now perched in bitch's hands.
He was right all along, she was going to bring them down.
He didn't even register the fact that his humungous hands were suddenly to his front again, gun aimed right at the bitch's head. It scared him how easily this was becoming, but he still kept his silent aim on the short-haired traitor who still was mouthing off at them, talking about survival again.
Survival of the Fittest, again those words struck.
There was something inside of him, something that didn't even attempt to stop her as she ran away.
Jennifer...
She was the most important thing to him as he thought about the true fact, that whether he wanted to believe it or not, there was the ever increasing chance that only him or her was going to make it off of here alive.
He watched her go.
The gun fell limp to his side.
Jason whirled around as Brook cried out, just in time to see Leila pull the gun away from his friend. In an instant his gun was up, safety off, pointing at the traitorous little bitch. Squeeze that trigger he thought to himself as he stood stock still. Squeeze the trigger. Brook's life depended on it. Leila had Brooks gun up now, pointing at the shrieking boy with a shit eating grin on her face. It had all happened so fast. Jason mentally kicked himself. He should of been watching. I should of been watching. Squeeze that fucking trigger. He had a perfectly clean shot, there was no way he could miss at this range but she had her gun pointed at Brook. He couldn't take the risk. Jason had promised to make sure his friends got out of this and he just couldn't risk it. What if she shot him? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. SHOOT. Jason didn't say a single word. He lowered the pistol and the look of furious, murderous intent he shot Leila was something he had never done before. He watched as she edged away, moving in to the dark. As soon as she was out of line with Brook his gun went back up, but it was far too late she had gone, disappeared in to the dark of the tunnels.
Jason felt a rage like he had never had before burn through him. He had just be played by a rich bitch of all people. The kind of dumb girl who he always looked down upon and thought 'if anything at least I'm smarter than her.' His whole body was filled with adrenaline. Spinning to face Brook he ran over, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. He was inconsolable, the kid screamed as he clawed at his face, desperate to remove all the blood from his skin. "Brook. Brook! Listen to me. Look at me!" Jason yelled, trying to get the boy's attention. Brooks eyes were wild as if he had seen something he shouldn't of. Jason had seen it before and it wasn't good, it usually took hours to calm him down, but Jason didn't have hours. He'd have to lie. It was for Brooks own good. "Brook, snap out of it." Jason tucked his hand under his shirt before using it to wipe at Brooks face. Smearing it with the blood he pushed it in to the dirt. "It's not blood Brook, it's not blood. It's just mud - look, look." He continued as he held up the shirt in the dim torchlight. It was hard to see and Jason hoped that Brook would believe him. There was no way they could catch that sneaky whore Leila if Brook didn't calm down right now. Jason let the shirt fall away. "Just mud Brook." He took a deep breath. He wasn't sure but Brook looked like he was calming down, at the very least the screams had lessened. Jason inwardly cursed. Anyone in these tunnels had probably heard the outburst and were headed this way, things were not good. He turned away, moving up to Nathan and Maf and grasping his friends shoulder. He lowered his voice slightly.
"Nath, this is ridiculous. We're moving with no direction - we need to be smart about this. Look you go with Maf," Jason motioned to the new arrival, "take the new guy if you have to, find Jennifer. We'll meet up at the town. If it's a dangerzone, the light house. One day ok? We wait one more day there. If no one shows up then we check in from time to time. Leave a message. I'm going to take Brook and get his gun back." Jason paused once more his mind racing. "It might be a bit stupid splitting up but this needs to be done. Leila could hurt someone, plus I think it would be better if Brook was away if you get in to a fight. I'll keep him safe. Take the rations, the bags, I have my compass and map on me, we should be ok." He turned to Maf and smiled sadly. "Find Jen, stay safe mate."
Jason side-five'd the walking giant as they were want to do and then moved back to Brook and hoisted him up. "Brook, she played you. Breathe deep mate, breathe deep. We've got to find her, you're going to be fine, but we have to go now. It's going to be fine." Jason hoped his words were reassuring but he could not hide the urgency in his tone. He motioned for Brook to follow and then took off. They had to find Leila, get Brooks gun back and...
and what?
That scratching at the cupboard door was back, and this time it was getting louder.
With Brook in tow Jason headed in to the dark.
((Jason Harris continued in It's Everything's Nature To Fall))
Jason felt a rage like he had never had before burn through him. He had just be played by a rich bitch of all people. The kind of dumb girl who he always looked down upon and thought 'if anything at least I'm smarter than her.' His whole body was filled with adrenaline. Spinning to face Brook he ran over, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. He was inconsolable, the kid screamed as he clawed at his face, desperate to remove all the blood from his skin. "Brook. Brook! Listen to me. Look at me!" Jason yelled, trying to get the boy's attention. Brooks eyes were wild as if he had seen something he shouldn't of. Jason had seen it before and it wasn't good, it usually took hours to calm him down, but Jason didn't have hours. He'd have to lie. It was for Brooks own good. "Brook, snap out of it." Jason tucked his hand under his shirt before using it to wipe at Brooks face. Smearing it with the blood he pushed it in to the dirt. "It's not blood Brook, it's not blood. It's just mud - look, look." He continued as he held up the shirt in the dim torchlight. It was hard to see and Jason hoped that Brook would believe him. There was no way they could catch that sneaky whore Leila if Brook didn't calm down right now. Jason let the shirt fall away. "Just mud Brook." He took a deep breath. He wasn't sure but Brook looked like he was calming down, at the very least the screams had lessened. Jason inwardly cursed. Anyone in these tunnels had probably heard the outburst and were headed this way, things were not good. He turned away, moving up to Nathan and Maf and grasping his friends shoulder. He lowered his voice slightly.
"Nath, this is ridiculous. We're moving with no direction - we need to be smart about this. Look you go with Maf," Jason motioned to the new arrival, "take the new guy if you have to, find Jennifer. We'll meet up at the town. If it's a dangerzone, the light house. One day ok? We wait one more day there. If no one shows up then we check in from time to time. Leave a message. I'm going to take Brook and get his gun back." Jason paused once more his mind racing. "It might be a bit stupid splitting up but this needs to be done. Leila could hurt someone, plus I think it would be better if Brook was away if you get in to a fight. I'll keep him safe. Take the rations, the bags, I have my compass and map on me, we should be ok." He turned to Maf and smiled sadly. "Find Jen, stay safe mate."
Jason side-five'd the walking giant as they were want to do and then moved back to Brook and hoisted him up. "Brook, she played you. Breathe deep mate, breathe deep. We've got to find her, you're going to be fine, but we have to go now. It's going to be fine." Jason hoped his words were reassuring but he could not hide the urgency in his tone. He motioned for Brook to follow and then took off. They had to find Leila, get Brooks gun back and...
and what?
That scratching at the cupboard door was back, and this time it was getting louder.
With Brook in tow Jason headed in to the dark.
((Jason Harris continued in It's Everything's Nature To Fall))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Mud?
Was it just mud? But the smell was there, the feel of it, practically the taste... and it was on his face. When Leila first smeared it there, his body ran cold and his mind just wanted to shut down. It was that first day on the island all over again... but this time, there was blood. Lots.... and LOTS... of blood.
Jason had called it mud, though, and Brook was startled with a cry when his friend grabbed him to try and shake him out of it. It was true... in the dim light, the fluid that Jason wiped from Brook's face onto his shirt looked a lot like mud, and... well, why would Jason lie to him? Brook had blood on him before and Jason hadn't lied then, so why would he now?
"Okay... j-j-just mud..." the boy panted, cupping his face in an attempt to try and slow his breathing. He had nearly clawed scratches into his cheek just trying to get the blood (which had to have been mud all along... it had to be) off, so his cheek stung a little from his own hot breath being trapped against his hands. He accepted Jason's help in standing up, however, taking the opportunity to hug Jason close in order to regain his strength. "That bitch... I hate her, she.... oh god, she knows I hate blood... she KNEW, Jason.." Brook babbled to his friend, finally letting go and being able to stand on his own.
Brook looked to Maf and Nathan, then back to Jason, shaking his head. Leila was now a dangerous girl, all because he had let his guard down. "I'm so sorry, guys... I didn't mean... shit... we'll see each other again soon, okay?" Brook sighed, following Jason out of the cave. Somewhere between now and where they were going, maybe his heartrate would finally return to normal.
"Just mud... ha... what an idiot I am..."
((Liam "Brook" Brooks, continued in It's Everything's Nature to Fall))
Was it just mud? But the smell was there, the feel of it, practically the taste... and it was on his face. When Leila first smeared it there, his body ran cold and his mind just wanted to shut down. It was that first day on the island all over again... but this time, there was blood. Lots.... and LOTS... of blood.
Jason had called it mud, though, and Brook was startled with a cry when his friend grabbed him to try and shake him out of it. It was true... in the dim light, the fluid that Jason wiped from Brook's face onto his shirt looked a lot like mud, and... well, why would Jason lie to him? Brook had blood on him before and Jason hadn't lied then, so why would he now?
"Okay... j-j-just mud..." the boy panted, cupping his face in an attempt to try and slow his breathing. He had nearly clawed scratches into his cheek just trying to get the blood (which had to have been mud all along... it had to be) off, so his cheek stung a little from his own hot breath being trapped against his hands. He accepted Jason's help in standing up, however, taking the opportunity to hug Jason close in order to regain his strength. "That bitch... I hate her, she.... oh god, she knows I hate blood... she KNEW, Jason.." Brook babbled to his friend, finally letting go and being able to stand on his own.
Brook looked to Maf and Nathan, then back to Jason, shaking his head. Leila was now a dangerous girl, all because he had let his guard down. "I'm so sorry, guys... I didn't mean... shit... we'll see each other again soon, okay?" Brook sighed, following Jason out of the cave. Somewhere between now and where they were going, maybe his heartrate would finally return to normal.
"Just mud... ha... what an idiot I am..."
((Liam "Brook" Brooks, continued in It's Everything's Nature to Fall))
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
((Nick Reid continued from F**king Science!))
To Nick, it all seemed endless. Walking through the clear-cut woods was almost like a long car ride, except instead of a humming engine and some book to keep him occupied, there was only his tired feet and the back-and-forth confluence of whirling bits of thought. Visions of winning the game, meditations on swordplay, triumphant imaginings of throwing his collar to the ground, showing the world his unprecedented genius. He passed stump after stump after stump after stump, marveling at how stupidly boring such a dangerous landscape could be, thinking of the trees that had spent hundreds of years growing, walking in the shade with the blade in his hand and a mission to accomplish...
He shivered heartily.
That way lies madness.
Soon stump after stump became tree after tree, and the whole thing was somehow even more dull and depressing. The shade held no comfort for him now. He pressed onward, but there was no visible progress to be made. For all he knew, he could be on some sort of vast, leafy treadmill. He could even be on some movie set. Like in Return of the King, he'd seen the special features where the elves are walking through an endless forest that's just a sound stage with a couple dozen fake trees. It was an almost foolish thought - but the way the week had been going, what could he really rule out? And after all, what better way could you top off murder and kidnapping than with a nice spatial anomaly?
After walking for an eternity that might have been five minutes, he'd crossed the stream and gazed once more at the all-too familiar mountain and the dark tunnel openings like missing teeth. One of those was the right one. The place where he'd found brief happiness, taken refuge, mur- acquired his sword. Closing his eyes, watching the mountain draw closer in the fading light of the first day - that one.
He knew he was right. There was a little trail of old gore by the entrance. He didn't follow it, because he sure as hell wasn't going to find a pot of gold at the end. It was a hopeful sign, though. Why would Jennifer move the body out if she was just going to leave the tunnels behind, too? And that kid, he wasn't going anywhere fast. He hadn't died yet - surely Jennifer hadn't moved him? It was an awful long time to stay in that tunnel, but if she treated him for shock or whatever, let him rest, spent the night, maybe, just maybe...
Well, there was clearly something going on in there. Indistinct voices ricocheted weakly off walls illuminated by his dim flashlight beam. His heartbeat picked up, he walked so loudly anyone could hear him, but that didn't matter, because the only ones who could hear it would be the girl that didn't want to kill him and the kid whose death he'd prolonged life he'd saved. He was almost there, the rusty brown trail of gore was growing thicker, it was almost the place that-
"Jennifer? Jennifer? Please tell me you're still in here."
To Nick, it all seemed endless. Walking through the clear-cut woods was almost like a long car ride, except instead of a humming engine and some book to keep him occupied, there was only his tired feet and the back-and-forth confluence of whirling bits of thought. Visions of winning the game, meditations on swordplay, triumphant imaginings of throwing his collar to the ground, showing the world his unprecedented genius. He passed stump after stump after stump after stump, marveling at how stupidly boring such a dangerous landscape could be, thinking of the trees that had spent hundreds of years growing, walking in the shade with the blade in his hand and a mission to accomplish...
He shivered heartily.
That way lies madness.
Soon stump after stump became tree after tree, and the whole thing was somehow even more dull and depressing. The shade held no comfort for him now. He pressed onward, but there was no visible progress to be made. For all he knew, he could be on some sort of vast, leafy treadmill. He could even be on some movie set. Like in Return of the King, he'd seen the special features where the elves are walking through an endless forest that's just a sound stage with a couple dozen fake trees. It was an almost foolish thought - but the way the week had been going, what could he really rule out? And after all, what better way could you top off murder and kidnapping than with a nice spatial anomaly?
After walking for an eternity that might have been five minutes, he'd crossed the stream and gazed once more at the all-too familiar mountain and the dark tunnel openings like missing teeth. One of those was the right one. The place where he'd found brief happiness, taken refuge, mur- acquired his sword. Closing his eyes, watching the mountain draw closer in the fading light of the first day - that one.
He knew he was right. There was a little trail of old gore by the entrance. He didn't follow it, because he sure as hell wasn't going to find a pot of gold at the end. It was a hopeful sign, though. Why would Jennifer move the body out if she was just going to leave the tunnels behind, too? And that kid, he wasn't going anywhere fast. He hadn't died yet - surely Jennifer hadn't moved him? It was an awful long time to stay in that tunnel, but if she treated him for shock or whatever, let him rest, spent the night, maybe, just maybe...
Well, there was clearly something going on in there. Indistinct voices ricocheted weakly off walls illuminated by his dim flashlight beam. His heartbeat picked up, he walked so loudly anyone could hear him, but that didn't matter, because the only ones who could hear it would be the girl that didn't want to kill him and the kid whose death he'd prolonged life he'd saved. He was almost there, the rusty brown trail of gore was growing thicker, it was almost the place that-
"Jennifer? Jennifer? Please tell me you're still in here."
"Jennifer? Jennifer? Please tell me you're still in here."
It took David a few moments to process just what was going on around him: People getting shot, him running, thinking he was going to be killed, when he was just trying to help...you name it. The whole time he'd been on the island was just so damn surreal it wasn't even funny. And now? Now he was facing someone looking for their long-lost love...or something like that.
Truth be told, David wasn't sure...he was low on food (even with the junk food he'd brought along for the camping trip, he was running low) and water (those bottles weren't going to last him forever). The whole situation was getting less and less pleasant...and now there was a bit of random murder that he was running into. This was not a good day.
"Who...who the hell is Jennifer?!?" David hollered back down the corridor once he caught his breath. It's not like he cared, but...he was at least hoping to get whomever-it-was to go away. Hoping, that is, but not likely succeding, he knew. And amid the dark, dank mess that the tunnel was, and not being entirely "with it" (but at least knowing he was out of it, which was a start)...
Oh, I've got a bad feeling about this...
It took David a few moments to process just what was going on around him: People getting shot, him running, thinking he was going to be killed, when he was just trying to help...you name it. The whole time he'd been on the island was just so damn surreal it wasn't even funny. And now? Now he was facing someone looking for their long-lost love...or something like that.
Truth be told, David wasn't sure...he was low on food (even with the junk food he'd brought along for the camping trip, he was running low) and water (those bottles weren't going to last him forever). The whole situation was getting less and less pleasant...and now there was a bit of random murder that he was running into. This was not a good day.
"Who...who the hell is Jennifer?!?" David hollered back down the corridor once he caught his breath. It's not like he cared, but...he was at least hoping to get whomever-it-was to go away. Hoping, that is, but not likely succeding, he knew. And amid the dark, dank mess that the tunnel was, and not being entirely "with it" (but at least knowing he was out of it, which was a start)...
Oh, I've got a bad feeling about this...
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Nathan nodded and then proceeded to watch as the man infront of him paniced and ran directly into the tunnel wall. A part of him felt the need to run over and make sure that he was alright. The other part of him wanted to just shake his head. This guy was officially harmless, he wasn't going to do anything now and it would be best to just let him go on his way.
He was going to speak when he heard a loud shreek from Brook. The young athlete turned around and saw Brook careening into a wall and Leila now holding Brook's gun. She gave the four of them the smugest look possible. The look sent Nathan's heart down to his stomach and a deep hurt was now taking its place.
Nathan didn't feel anger when she tried to goad them into reaction. Instead, he felt like the dumbest person alive right now. He was the idiot that decided whether she would be able to join their group. She was clearly not in the clearest frame of mind when he had let her follow them, and now; here she was, standing with a gun and pointing.
He had waited for the trigger...
But nothing came. Leila just gave one last wicked smile after saying her piece and then she ran away from the four of them. Leaving them a group of four once more.
Nathan was sure he heard words. There was Jason's at first and then it seemed like it was Brook's voice trailing after it. He couldn't process it right now, but then again, it didn't matter right now anyways. They were just words. There were more important things on his mind.
Like being a screwup...again...
Nathan tensed himself when he felt the hand touch his shoulder. He found himself wrenching away from it, worried that Leila wanted to thank him for his idiocy. Instead he found the oddly solemn face of Jason looking to him. It was bizzare to see him looking at him the way he was now, gone was the gleeful smile, the mirth filled eyes. Instead he only see little dots, all the meaning in the word conveyed if he had chosen not to speak. It was time to take charge and everything was back the way it should be. Jason leading the way. Jason with the plan.
He listened to his plan. The plan to split the four of them up. Instinct told him that he should speak up about this being a bad idea, but then again instinct was providing him with a 0-1 record right now so he kept his mouth shut.
"Alright...I'll do it...I'll see you at the town on day 5 bro..."
There was no response from Jason. He just sidefived Maf, picked up Brook and wandered away. Nathan sighed, he knew it. Jason was pissed and he was to blame. He couldn't argue against the evidence though. They were now down a gun, and it was all thanks to him.
"You take care of yourself bro..." he thought aloud, knowing he wasn't likely able to hear him.
The blonde slowly shuffled over to where his backpack and satchel(with his unloaded Firestar still inside) were sitting. He looped the straps onto his body and moved over to Maf. His feet still hurt, and he still felt sick in his stomach, but they had to move on now.
"Well Maf...lets get going I guess..."
His head turned when he heard the echoing voice. It was a new voice, that much he knew, but Nathan couldn't discern what was said. It didn't sound friendly to him, but he wasn't sure...there was no time to find out though.
"Maf! We should get out of here now! Follow me!"
Nathan gave him a curt nod and began to rush away from where the mystery boy had stood. They had to find light. They had to get out.
((Nathan Choultard continued in Where Was My Brain?))
He was going to speak when he heard a loud shreek from Brook. The young athlete turned around and saw Brook careening into a wall and Leila now holding Brook's gun. She gave the four of them the smugest look possible. The look sent Nathan's heart down to his stomach and a deep hurt was now taking its place.
Nathan didn't feel anger when she tried to goad them into reaction. Instead, he felt like the dumbest person alive right now. He was the idiot that decided whether she would be able to join their group. She was clearly not in the clearest frame of mind when he had let her follow them, and now; here she was, standing with a gun and pointing.
He had waited for the trigger...
But nothing came. Leila just gave one last wicked smile after saying her piece and then she ran away from the four of them. Leaving them a group of four once more.
Nathan was sure he heard words. There was Jason's at first and then it seemed like it was Brook's voice trailing after it. He couldn't process it right now, but then again, it didn't matter right now anyways. They were just words. There were more important things on his mind.
Like being a screwup...again...
Nathan tensed himself when he felt the hand touch his shoulder. He found himself wrenching away from it, worried that Leila wanted to thank him for his idiocy. Instead he found the oddly solemn face of Jason looking to him. It was bizzare to see him looking at him the way he was now, gone was the gleeful smile, the mirth filled eyes. Instead he only see little dots, all the meaning in the word conveyed if he had chosen not to speak. It was time to take charge and everything was back the way it should be. Jason leading the way. Jason with the plan.
He listened to his plan. The plan to split the four of them up. Instinct told him that he should speak up about this being a bad idea, but then again instinct was providing him with a 0-1 record right now so he kept his mouth shut.
"Alright...I'll do it...I'll see you at the town on day 5 bro..."
There was no response from Jason. He just sidefived Maf, picked up Brook and wandered away. Nathan sighed, he knew it. Jason was pissed and he was to blame. He couldn't argue against the evidence though. They were now down a gun, and it was all thanks to him.
"You take care of yourself bro..." he thought aloud, knowing he wasn't likely able to hear him.
The blonde slowly shuffled over to where his backpack and satchel(with his unloaded Firestar still inside) were sitting. He looped the straps onto his body and moved over to Maf. His feet still hurt, and he still felt sick in his stomach, but they had to move on now.
"Well Maf...lets get going I guess..."
His head turned when he heard the echoing voice. It was a new voice, that much he knew, but Nathan couldn't discern what was said. It didn't sound friendly to him, but he wasn't sure...there was no time to find out though.
"Maf! We should get out of here now! Follow me!"
Nathan gave him a curt nod and began to rush away from where the mystery boy had stood. They had to find light. They had to get out.
((Nathan Choultard continued in Where Was My Brain?))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler GregTheAnti-Viking. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
And then, faster than he could tell, there was the three of them left.
After Leila ran off, Jason began to spout off plan after plan again. No sooner had he left with Brook in tow someone else arrived, and the tunnel became a lot more crowded. They needed to get out of there, away from the tunnels and into the open light, so he could really tell where he was going. The tunnels had no maps, only entrances to their domains, and if he and Nathan wanted to find everyone they needed to and stay safe, there was no point in getting caught unawares in the dark.
Picking up the extra bags, the tall Fijian boy followed Nathan into the darkness and away from the newcomer.
((Ma'afu Tuigamala continues elsewhe-
"Jennifer? Jennifer? Please tell me you're still in here."
"Who...who the hell is Jennifer?!?"
Maf froze.
He was well into the darkness of the tunnels when he heard the name and the voices. Turning back, he tried to make out through the dim amount of light, squinting as hard as he could in an attempt to focus his retinas, at the fellow students who were now speaking. He wasn't concerned with them, more or less, but the fact remained that a name still lingered through the darkness of the tunnels.
Now he was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place. He could follow Nathan, get out of here, and plan something with the guy and really try to find Jennifer. Or there was the isolated but everpresent chance that the newcomer in the tunnel had seen her. There was the even bigger chance that it was the other Jennifer in the class, the Romita girl.
Or he could hang back here and find out how much the guy knew.
Taking a breath, Maf silently crept closer to the people just ahead of him. He could hear Nathan leaving, probably wondering where he was, but this chance, this slim chance, hovered in front of him, and if he ignored it the chances were that he wasn't going to get it again.
A small amount of cover, only just large enough to hide him, greeted him as he got closer to the two. Maf didn't know how he was going to really ask them, or wait until the tension in the area just dropped down to static.
Maybe he should have given Nathan the rest of the bags.
After Leila ran off, Jason began to spout off plan after plan again. No sooner had he left with Brook in tow someone else arrived, and the tunnel became a lot more crowded. They needed to get out of there, away from the tunnels and into the open light, so he could really tell where he was going. The tunnels had no maps, only entrances to their domains, and if he and Nathan wanted to find everyone they needed to and stay safe, there was no point in getting caught unawares in the dark.
Picking up the extra bags, the tall Fijian boy followed Nathan into the darkness and away from the newcomer.
((Ma'afu Tuigamala continues elsewhe-
"Jennifer? Jennifer? Please tell me you're still in here."
"Who...who the hell is Jennifer?!?"
Maf froze.
He was well into the darkness of the tunnels when he heard the name and the voices. Turning back, he tried to make out through the dim amount of light, squinting as hard as he could in an attempt to focus his retinas, at the fellow students who were now speaking. He wasn't concerned with them, more or less, but the fact remained that a name still lingered through the darkness of the tunnels.
Now he was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place. He could follow Nathan, get out of here, and plan something with the guy and really try to find Jennifer. Or there was the isolated but everpresent chance that the newcomer in the tunnel had seen her. There was the even bigger chance that it was the other Jennifer in the class, the Romita girl.
Or he could hang back here and find out how much the guy knew.
Taking a breath, Maf silently crept closer to the people just ahead of him. He could hear Nathan leaving, probably wondering where he was, but this chance, this slim chance, hovered in front of him, and if he ignored it the chances were that he wasn't going to get it again.
A small amount of cover, only just large enough to hide him, greeted him as he got closer to the two. Maf didn't know how he was going to really ask them, or wait until the tension in the area just dropped down to static.
Maybe he should have given Nathan the rest of the bags.
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Nick rounded the corner. No Jennifer. No whoever the poor sap Tom had run through was. Just that disgusting puddle of blackening gore, filled with bugs and oxidized flakes and little bits and pieces, which made him try desperately not to think about how they'd fit back into a broken human head, at which he failed marvelously. Because trying not to think about something just -
Dangit, I just lost The Game, too.
Wasn't that just the best cherry on top of it all. It was like the world was tailor-made to get on his nerves or something. He stopped a moment to consider it. If he told everyone they'd won - he wasn't the British Prime Minister, but a contestant of SotF must count for something. Except that would involve stopping and talking to a camera, and talking right at the camera like the whole thing was some sort of documentary gone spectacularly wrong was on the alarmingly short list of things that weren't annoying to him at the moment, and
What? "Who the hell is Jennifer?" What kind of gormless jerk says something like that?
He swept past the murder scene, towards the ledge where he'd slept an eternity ago, shining the flashlight in search of the gormless jerk. It wasn't a long search. There we was, standing there, having the nerve to not know where Jennifer was or even who she was. He lowered the sword off his shoulder.
Whoa, there. Sane men don't kill over stupid crap like that. And you're the sanest guy in this place, yeah?
He lowered the sword grudgingly. "Look," he said, "Perez. Dark hair, Spanish descent or whatever. Armed with an icepick - hopefully. Unless maybe you stole it off the ground or something - and she's with a guy who I don't know how he isn't dead yet. I saved that kid's life, or what's left of it. And if you like yours," - Whoa, too far... "You can just tell me if you've seen them and go wherever to die in peace. Sound good?"
Dangit, I just lost The Game, too.
Wasn't that just the best cherry on top of it all. It was like the world was tailor-made to get on his nerves or something. He stopped a moment to consider it. If he told everyone they'd won - he wasn't the British Prime Minister, but a contestant of SotF must count for something. Except that would involve stopping and talking to a camera, and talking right at the camera like the whole thing was some sort of documentary gone spectacularly wrong was on the alarmingly short list of things that weren't annoying to him at the moment, and
What? "Who the hell is Jennifer?" What kind of gormless jerk says something like that?
He swept past the murder scene, towards the ledge where he'd slept an eternity ago, shining the flashlight in search of the gormless jerk. It wasn't a long search. There we was, standing there, having the nerve to not know where Jennifer was or even who she was. He lowered the sword off his shoulder.
Whoa, there. Sane men don't kill over stupid crap like that. And you're the sanest guy in this place, yeah?
He lowered the sword grudgingly. "Look," he said, "Perez. Dark hair, Spanish descent or whatever. Armed with an icepick - hopefully. Unless maybe you stole it off the ground or something - and she's with a guy who I don't know how he isn't dead yet. I saved that kid's life, or what's left of it. And if you like yours," - Whoa, too far... "You can just tell me if you've seen them and go wherever to die in peace. Sound good?"
David stared at Nick for a moment, considering what he'd said.
He lowered the sword grudgingly. "Look," he said, "Perez. Dark hair, Spanish descent or whatever. Armed with an icepick - hopefully. Unless maybe you stole it off the ground or something - and she's with a guy who I don't know how he isn't dead yet. I saved that kid's life, or what's left of it. And if you like yours," - Whoa, too far... "You can just tell me if you've seen them and go wherever to die in peace. Sound good?"
"I haven't met any Jennifer Perez. Haven't seen her or heard her name yet." David's heart was beating a bit more quickly amid the verbal barrage. "I don't have an icepick, either. Look, I don't know where the girl you're looking for is...so why don't you just put the sword down and we can both walk away."
David forced himself to take a deep breath. "Look, we're all under a lot of stress..."
And why am I trying to calm things down here, again? Right, not dying. Not dying is good.
"...but I don't know where Jennifer is or whether she's alive or dead or anything. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know."
David's heart was beating loudly enough that he could really hear it in his ears...between someone getting killed not too far away and the sight of that sword, nothing was acting to calm him down.
And then he winced, turned to a camera, and groaned...and mumbled out "I just lost the game" almost instinctively.
Turning from Nick, David shook his head. "Look, good luck finding her, wherever she is, if she's alive." And good luck finding her in the next if she isn't, because we're all probably dead after one fashion or another anyway. This game sucks.
He lowered the sword grudgingly. "Look," he said, "Perez. Dark hair, Spanish descent or whatever. Armed with an icepick - hopefully. Unless maybe you stole it off the ground or something - and she's with a guy who I don't know how he isn't dead yet. I saved that kid's life, or what's left of it. And if you like yours," - Whoa, too far... "You can just tell me if you've seen them and go wherever to die in peace. Sound good?"
"I haven't met any Jennifer Perez. Haven't seen her or heard her name yet." David's heart was beating a bit more quickly amid the verbal barrage. "I don't have an icepick, either. Look, I don't know where the girl you're looking for is...so why don't you just put the sword down and we can both walk away."
David forced himself to take a deep breath. "Look, we're all under a lot of stress..."
And why am I trying to calm things down here, again? Right, not dying. Not dying is good.
"...but I don't know where Jennifer is or whether she's alive or dead or anything. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know."
David's heart was beating loudly enough that he could really hear it in his ears...between someone getting killed not too far away and the sight of that sword, nothing was acting to calm him down.
And then he winced, turned to a camera, and groaned...and mumbled out "I just lost the game" almost instinctively.
Turning from Nick, David shook his head. "Look, good luck finding her, wherever she is, if she's alive." And good luck finding her in the next if she isn't, because we're all probably dead after one fashion or another anyway. This game sucks.
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
So, Nick had just threaten to kill the student standing in front of him. And David had just stood there and taken it. Nick really had to admire the kid. It took something to try to step back, disarm the situation. Talk things over, enumerate exactly why a murder would be low on each others' priority lists. He was smart and coolheaded. Maybe he'd go far.
Maybe he would go far. That was a problem. Nick didn't know what kind of weapon the guy had. Was it a gun in his pocket? A dagger hidden up his shirt sleeve? Or some joke weapon, long-discarded? There was another student who had stood, weaponless, in front of a hardened killer - a killer who could've just made one simple motion and ended the life of one of the biggest threats on the island. He probably would have pulled that trigger had he known the danger of letting that bedraggled wretch go.
When you were playing to win, there was no room for error. Good guys always won because the bad guys made some mistake. Took a second to gloat, captured without killing, divulged their plans, installed a giant red "Blow it all to Hell" button on their doomsday device. The question, though: was Nick the bad guy?
Yes, he thought, he must be that bad guy, because so many people seemed to keen on killing him. But that also made him the good guy, because everyone knows that every villain is the hero of his own story. Voldemort wanted the power and glory of his birthright. Palpatine wanted to unite the galaxy. That one dwarf in Thud! just wanted to do away with the institutionalized dictatorship of the monarchy. Nick wanted to live. Was that really such a despicable goal?
David turned around. Just flat-out turned his back on the bedraggled wretch who had now come full circle. Did he know who he was dealing with? Didn't he know how easily Nick could snuff out his life? Swish, stab. Three minutes left on the clock. He'd turned his back... Was it trust, or sheer stupidity? Those two were practically the same. Maybe it was to make Nick lower his guard. Maybe he did have a gun in his pocket. And just when Nick turned around and said goodbye, David would whip it out of his pocket, spin around, take the sword from the scrawny beaten kid's still-warm hands.
There was another kid who had done that. Done that right here, right in this very cave. With this very sword. It was so cold in the cave, but Nick found himself sweating. A knot of heat in his stomach, not of fear or anger or pain or any of the other emotions he'd flown through at the speed of sound, but attentiveness, his heart beating to let him know it was there for him, a stomach churning uselessly to lend more valuable blood to his extremities, dumping fuel into his paranoia, letting it roar like a dragster, making his fingers tremble on the flashlight he held police-style so he could use it as a weapon, hunching his right shoulder against the strap of his bag, his right shoulder because his left needed to be free because his left held the sword because his left was dominan-
"SONUFA-"
David faced him again for whatever reason, letting his flashlight beam hit him full force in the eyes. Nick flung his arm up to shield his face.
His left arm.
The arm that still held the sword.
Maybe he would go far. That was a problem. Nick didn't know what kind of weapon the guy had. Was it a gun in his pocket? A dagger hidden up his shirt sleeve? Or some joke weapon, long-discarded? There was another student who had stood, weaponless, in front of a hardened killer - a killer who could've just made one simple motion and ended the life of one of the biggest threats on the island. He probably would have pulled that trigger had he known the danger of letting that bedraggled wretch go.
When you were playing to win, there was no room for error. Good guys always won because the bad guys made some mistake. Took a second to gloat, captured without killing, divulged their plans, installed a giant red "Blow it all to Hell" button on their doomsday device. The question, though: was Nick the bad guy?
Yes, he thought, he must be that bad guy, because so many people seemed to keen on killing him. But that also made him the good guy, because everyone knows that every villain is the hero of his own story. Voldemort wanted the power and glory of his birthright. Palpatine wanted to unite the galaxy. That one dwarf in Thud! just wanted to do away with the institutionalized dictatorship of the monarchy. Nick wanted to live. Was that really such a despicable goal?
David turned around. Just flat-out turned his back on the bedraggled wretch who had now come full circle. Did he know who he was dealing with? Didn't he know how easily Nick could snuff out his life? Swish, stab. Three minutes left on the clock. He'd turned his back... Was it trust, or sheer stupidity? Those two were practically the same. Maybe it was to make Nick lower his guard. Maybe he did have a gun in his pocket. And just when Nick turned around and said goodbye, David would whip it out of his pocket, spin around, take the sword from the scrawny beaten kid's still-warm hands.
There was another kid who had done that. Done that right here, right in this very cave. With this very sword. It was so cold in the cave, but Nick found himself sweating. A knot of heat in his stomach, not of fear or anger or pain or any of the other emotions he'd flown through at the speed of sound, but attentiveness, his heart beating to let him know it was there for him, a stomach churning uselessly to lend more valuable blood to his extremities, dumping fuel into his paranoia, letting it roar like a dragster, making his fingers tremble on the flashlight he held police-style so he could use it as a weapon, hunching his right shoulder against the strap of his bag, his right shoulder because his left needed to be free because his left held the sword because his left was dominan-
"SONUFA-"
David faced him again for whatever reason, letting his flashlight beam hit him full force in the eyes. Nick flung his arm up to shield his face.
His left arm.
The arm that still held the sword.
You might say that David knew he was in trouble...he knew, but on some fundamental level, he just didn't give a damn anymore. Seeing people randomly getting shot in front of him, throwing up on national TV, not getting a lot of sleep...it wore him out. He was exhausted, just trying to muddle through the game without killing or being killed (as unlikely as that was), and it was wearing on him.
And then, Nick raised his sword hand, causing David to jump just a bit at the sight of it coming up. "Woah..." Dropping his backpack on the ground, aiming for mobility over having all of his stuff on him, and suddenly grabbing his...pool cue up to parry what certainly looks like Nick attempting to bring his sword down on him.
In any other setting, this would be hilarious. Here, however, on this particular island and in this tunnel, it is nothing but the panicked reaction of two teenagers who have just royally crossed a couple of wires in their brain. This is not going to end well for anybody involved, and David knows it all too well: He's out...(-sworded, perhaps?). And so, after that moment of panic, of knowing that this little situation he's in just got way out of control, something hits him:
You only die once. Make it a good one.
And so, as useless as he knows it's going to be, David takes a swing at Nick's sword hand in an attempt to disarm him...or something. He really wishes he knew what he was doing, but there's at least some comfort in the fact that he's not going down without trying to fight.
And then, Nick raised his sword hand, causing David to jump just a bit at the sight of it coming up. "Woah..." Dropping his backpack on the ground, aiming for mobility over having all of his stuff on him, and suddenly grabbing his...pool cue up to parry what certainly looks like Nick attempting to bring his sword down on him.
In any other setting, this would be hilarious. Here, however, on this particular island and in this tunnel, it is nothing but the panicked reaction of two teenagers who have just royally crossed a couple of wires in their brain. This is not going to end well for anybody involved, and David knows it all too well: He's out...(-sworded, perhaps?). And so, after that moment of panic, of knowing that this little situation he's in just got way out of control, something hits him:
You only die once. Make it a good one.
And so, as useless as he knows it's going to be, David takes a swing at Nick's sword hand in an attempt to disarm him...or something. He really wishes he knew what he was doing, but there's at least some comfort in the fact that he's not going down without trying to fight.
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
There was a searing pain in Nick's eyes.
There was a searing pain in his hand.
There was one searing thought in his head.
I am not going to die.
He didn't even have time to berate himself over the temporary stunning: he had ground to make up. He shifted his right shoulder, dropping off his bag. The movement snagged the back of his flashlight, which went tumbling onto the rocky floor. It didn't matter to him. He'd fight in the dark. he'd fight in the light. He'd fight in whatever twisted arena fate threw at him, light or dark, open or cramped, but the important thing is he would absolutely fight to win.
David had, unfortunately, struck true; Nick's bony hand throbbed with every frantic heartbeat. His vice-like swordsman's grip faltered and broke. The wrapped leather handle twisted its way out between his spindly fingers.
"No!"
The sword was his lifeline. His ticket off the island. To lose it would be to die. Just like Tom. He searched quickly, blindly for the blade. No dice. There had been a clang, a clatter on the floor of metal and stone. His right hand could engage the enemy but his left hand just clutched air. Hurt but not crippled, but that left him with only one
Arm. Elbow. His elbow swished in front of him, cutting a little arc through the darkness, and found a target. He didn't know what, but he swung again. Pummel it into submission, whatever it was. Take out the knee, take out the shoulder. He didn't care what. Smash, wound, break, give the enemy fewer tools to fight with.
He hit the wall, the hard, uneven, unyielding wall. More pain, but at least it wasn't the floor. Or his head. And then something hit him. That wooden rod that caused so much pain already. He grasped for it. No, stupid. Too long, to weak. He just needed his hands, his bare, bloody hands.
And knees, and elbows. They did their work too. Queensbury knew nothing about playing to win. They traded blows. Pointless. They'd just wear each other down. He needed to be in top shape, he needed to be unhurt, he needed to be strong he NEEDED TO WIN!
He pushed forward with claws and teeth and gouging and foaming and tearing and a sure of fury, a longing to feel the enemy die under his grip, bleed out his life in his arms. Too cramped. He'd never get a good swing. He needed the sword. No, he needed his bare hands and if the foe didn't have the sword then
Release. And then grabbing not for the weapons but for the shapeless foe, whatever it was, because it would never be a classmate and it would never be someone he'd known before or he'd never stay sane when he walked through the door at home and he couldn't let the darkness overcome him.
He saw Maxwell's face in Tom's face in David's face and he wanted to smash it so hard, in fact that's what he'd do, he'd smash it to little pieces but his hands were tied and
Maxwell. Bleeding. That face, the face of evil, the face of the devil himself, the face that was making him do this. Bleeding from the nose. Inspiration.
He drew back, gripped the head, shoved it back into the wall not like Tom this time but like himself, pinned there and helpless and receiving blows except there was no running away for him now, not for either of them, and he just needed his bare hands. No, not hands. Bracing the head, he drew his own head back and wrenched it forwards as hard as he'd ever done anything in his life.
He would shatter that face.
There was a searing pain in his hand.
There was one searing thought in his head.
I am not going to die.
He didn't even have time to berate himself over the temporary stunning: he had ground to make up. He shifted his right shoulder, dropping off his bag. The movement snagged the back of his flashlight, which went tumbling onto the rocky floor. It didn't matter to him. He'd fight in the dark. he'd fight in the light. He'd fight in whatever twisted arena fate threw at him, light or dark, open or cramped, but the important thing is he would absolutely fight to win.
David had, unfortunately, struck true; Nick's bony hand throbbed with every frantic heartbeat. His vice-like swordsman's grip faltered and broke. The wrapped leather handle twisted its way out between his spindly fingers.
"No!"
The sword was his lifeline. His ticket off the island. To lose it would be to die. Just like Tom. He searched quickly, blindly for the blade. No dice. There had been a clang, a clatter on the floor of metal and stone. His right hand could engage the enemy but his left hand just clutched air. Hurt but not crippled, but that left him with only one
Arm. Elbow. His elbow swished in front of him, cutting a little arc through the darkness, and found a target. He didn't know what, but he swung again. Pummel it into submission, whatever it was. Take out the knee, take out the shoulder. He didn't care what. Smash, wound, break, give the enemy fewer tools to fight with.
He hit the wall, the hard, uneven, unyielding wall. More pain, but at least it wasn't the floor. Or his head. And then something hit him. That wooden rod that caused so much pain already. He grasped for it. No, stupid. Too long, to weak. He just needed his hands, his bare, bloody hands.
And knees, and elbows. They did their work too. Queensbury knew nothing about playing to win. They traded blows. Pointless. They'd just wear each other down. He needed to be in top shape, he needed to be unhurt, he needed to be strong he NEEDED TO WIN!
He pushed forward with claws and teeth and gouging and foaming and tearing and a sure of fury, a longing to feel the enemy die under his grip, bleed out his life in his arms. Too cramped. He'd never get a good swing. He needed the sword. No, he needed his bare hands and if the foe didn't have the sword then
Release. And then grabbing not for the weapons but for the shapeless foe, whatever it was, because it would never be a classmate and it would never be someone he'd known before or he'd never stay sane when he walked through the door at home and he couldn't let the darkness overcome him.
He saw Maxwell's face in Tom's face in David's face and he wanted to smash it so hard, in fact that's what he'd do, he'd smash it to little pieces but his hands were tied and
Maxwell. Bleeding. That face, the face of evil, the face of the devil himself, the face that was making him do this. Bleeding from the nose. Inspiration.
He drew back, gripped the head, shoved it back into the wall not like Tom this time but like himself, pinned there and helpless and receiving blows except there was no running away for him now, not for either of them, and he just needed his bare hands. No, not hands. Bracing the head, he drew his own head back and wrenched it forwards as hard as he'd ever done anything in his life.
He would shatter that face.
That his swing actually worked caught David by surprise: He had hoped to at best block or distract an incoming shot, not actually disarm his opponent. When he succeeded in doing so, it caused a small smile to emerge on his face as his eyes followed the sword to the ground, and the thought crossed his mind to grab for it, if for no other reason than to keep Nick disarmed.
"No!"
Let's see if I can't end this without having to kill you...
"I'm not the one who..."
His victory, however, was short-lived: The speed with which Nick responded in a furt of blows, surging forward to drive him into the wall, caught him totally unprepared and cut him off mid-sentence. He tried to grab for the sword, but by the time he went for it, Nick was upon him, causing him to drop the pool cue and grabbing him to tackle...
...no, not a tackle.
As Nick put his weight into his attack, David felt his back hit the wall. Then, his head hit it, pinned as Nick grabbed it and braced it against the hard rock. He felt Nick's hands, pushing his head into the wall, and tried to push them off so he could grapple with him and fend him off, only to see Nick's forehead rushing towards his fa...
===============================
To be fair, David Anderson probably got out of Survival of the Fittest lucky: By the time he saw Nick Reid's head coming at his face, his mind didn't even have enough time to register what was about to happen to him. When Nick's forehead slammed into his face, the fragments of his nasal bones narrowly beat the pain signals in the race to his brain, saving him actually feeling the impact. And there being no pain receptors in the brain, David didn't feel a thing as those fragments brought his higher brain functions to a swift, sudden halt. There was no time for pain, nor even for thought. One second he was being shoved into a wall, the next, not only was he not simply being shoved into the wall, he simply wasn't.
===============================
No sooner than Nick Reid's forehead had plowed into his face, David Anderson's body went limp. Pressed against the wall, his eyes stared vacantly forward, his face still showing the surprise of the incoming attack. There was blood, and plenty of it, as it took a while for his heart to stop beating: Blood streamed from his nose and leaked from his eyes while his heart kept beating, covering his chest in blood. Even as his body ultimately slid down to the ground once Nick let it go, ending up in a sort of heap, the blood continued to flow, pooling on the floor around him. His lungs kept breathing as well, driven by involuntary, automatic reflexes that his brain never got the chance to tell to stop.
The fact that his heart kept beating also meant that his death didn't actually register on his collar for a while, and on the live stream from the island, this caused perhaps a bit of confusion and prevented the camera from even cutting away for a few minutes while he lay still on the ground. On the evening highlights, of course, the death registered on the screen 'properly' after a few moments, causing a heated and troll-prone debate on the SOTF forums about exactly when (or, in a few cases, 'whether') he actually died among the more devout fans of the show for a few days.
B086 ANDERSON, DAVID DECEASED
"No!"
Let's see if I can't end this without having to kill you...
"I'm not the one who..."
His victory, however, was short-lived: The speed with which Nick responded in a furt of blows, surging forward to drive him into the wall, caught him totally unprepared and cut him off mid-sentence. He tried to grab for the sword, but by the time he went for it, Nick was upon him, causing him to drop the pool cue and grabbing him to tackle...
...no, not a tackle.
As Nick put his weight into his attack, David felt his back hit the wall. Then, his head hit it, pinned as Nick grabbed it and braced it against the hard rock. He felt Nick's hands, pushing his head into the wall, and tried to push them off so he could grapple with him and fend him off, only to see Nick's forehead rushing towards his fa...
===============================
To be fair, David Anderson probably got out of Survival of the Fittest lucky: By the time he saw Nick Reid's head coming at his face, his mind didn't even have enough time to register what was about to happen to him. When Nick's forehead slammed into his face, the fragments of his nasal bones narrowly beat the pain signals in the race to his brain, saving him actually feeling the impact. And there being no pain receptors in the brain, David didn't feel a thing as those fragments brought his higher brain functions to a swift, sudden halt. There was no time for pain, nor even for thought. One second he was being shoved into a wall, the next, not only was he not simply being shoved into the wall, he simply wasn't.
===============================
No sooner than Nick Reid's forehead had plowed into his face, David Anderson's body went limp. Pressed against the wall, his eyes stared vacantly forward, his face still showing the surprise of the incoming attack. There was blood, and plenty of it, as it took a while for his heart to stop beating: Blood streamed from his nose and leaked from his eyes while his heart kept beating, covering his chest in blood. Even as his body ultimately slid down to the ground once Nick let it go, ending up in a sort of heap, the blood continued to flow, pooling on the floor around him. His lungs kept breathing as well, driven by involuntary, automatic reflexes that his brain never got the chance to tell to stop.
The fact that his heart kept beating also meant that his death didn't actually register on his collar for a while, and on the live stream from the island, this caused perhaps a bit of confusion and prevented the camera from even cutting away for a few minutes while he lay still on the ground. On the evening highlights, of course, the death registered on the screen 'properly' after a few moments, causing a heated and troll-prone debate on the SOTF forums about exactly when (or, in a few cases, 'whether') he actually died among the more devout fans of the show for a few days.
B086 ANDERSON, DAVID DECEASED
Unlike the people on those forum's, however, Maf knew perfectly well what he saw.
It had all flashed by him in a matter of mintues, possibly even seconds. Time in this tunnel seemed to stand still.
First, the skinny boy, Nick Reid (was he the NR on the note?) confirmed to him that they were both looking for the same Jennifer. He described her to a tee, and part of him wanted to walk forth and ask him what he knew.
Then, almost like the frames in a movie had been edited, the guy who wasn't Nick now lay dead on the cave wall.
And Maf did nothing.
He should have done something. Hell, even yelling out at the last second would have done something, allieved him of his conscience if only slightly. He'd been responsible for one too many accidents in his time, and if he'd only stepped in, made sure that he wasn't just being a bystander, a bystander of all things, then...his fist would not have been clenched, and he would not have strode forth through the blackness that surrounded him, bags stored behind the hiding place he'd so secretly found.
He wouldn't have stepped into the light as his back was turned.
He wouldn't have made the smallest of sounds just so that he could see the killer's face.
He wouldn't have thrown the first punch, sending him sprawling to the tunnel floor.
He wouldn't have stood over him briefly, before doing the one thing he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't do on this island.
Maf reached for the boy's neck and lifted him up against the tunnel wall. His hand wasn't around his neck, but actually clenched tightly on his jaw, but not tight so that he could die at a moment's notice, but tight so that he held a grasp on the boy without being able to deprive him of the information that he so damn well wanted at this point. The game, SOTF, it tired him, and now he wanted answers for once.
"Don't try and get out, I'll put you down when I find out what I need. If you try and hit me, I'll squeeze. If you struggle, I'll slip." Maf said emptily. No matter the fact that the gravest of circumstances stood before him, he would never have it inside of him to take another person's life, deprive him of his soul. It would be at that point in which he'd know there'd be no turning back from that point.
"I need to know, Nick Reid. Where did you last see Jennifer Perez? And why are you looking for her?"
((OOC: All GMing approved))
It had all flashed by him in a matter of mintues, possibly even seconds. Time in this tunnel seemed to stand still.
First, the skinny boy, Nick Reid (was he the NR on the note?) confirmed to him that they were both looking for the same Jennifer. He described her to a tee, and part of him wanted to walk forth and ask him what he knew.
Then, almost like the frames in a movie had been edited, the guy who wasn't Nick now lay dead on the cave wall.
And Maf did nothing.
He should have done something. Hell, even yelling out at the last second would have done something, allieved him of his conscience if only slightly. He'd been responsible for one too many accidents in his time, and if he'd only stepped in, made sure that he wasn't just being a bystander, a bystander of all things, then...his fist would not have been clenched, and he would not have strode forth through the blackness that surrounded him, bags stored behind the hiding place he'd so secretly found.
He wouldn't have stepped into the light as his back was turned.
He wouldn't have made the smallest of sounds just so that he could see the killer's face.
He wouldn't have thrown the first punch, sending him sprawling to the tunnel floor.
He wouldn't have stood over him briefly, before doing the one thing he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't do on this island.
Maf reached for the boy's neck and lifted him up against the tunnel wall. His hand wasn't around his neck, but actually clenched tightly on his jaw, but not tight so that he could die at a moment's notice, but tight so that he held a grasp on the boy without being able to deprive him of the information that he so damn well wanted at this point. The game, SOTF, it tired him, and now he wanted answers for once.
"Don't try and get out, I'll put you down when I find out what I need. If you try and hit me, I'll squeeze. If you struggle, I'll slip." Maf said emptily. No matter the fact that the gravest of circumstances stood before him, he would never have it inside of him to take another person's life, deprive him of his soul. It would be at that point in which he'd know there'd be no turning back from that point.
"I need to know, Nick Reid. Where did you last see Jennifer Perez? And why are you looking for her?"
((OOC: All GMing approved))