A vague feeling of uneasiness drifted like a fog over Nick's mind. He had gone too far, he knew, had been pushing it since the moment he'd seen Andrea. The best, most rational thing to do would be to pack up and excuse himself.
But despite his claims to the contrary, Nick Reid did not always act rationally.
He looked out, leaning his chin on his hand, which still hung limply onto the orange plastic medicine bottle. It would be so much nicer, he mused, to just go to sleep. He was so tired, as anyone who looked at him could tell, with deep purple crescents underlining his sunken eyes. Besides, and this was the best part, it would mean he could ignore the trouble around him, ignore the sullenness of his mood and the atrocity of what reality had most recently thrown his way. Even if he could, though, he knew it wouldn't end well, and when he awoke hours later, if he awoke, massaging his head and wiping mingled sweat and drool out of his hair, off of his face, clenching his limbs and sponging dribbles of sweat issuing from his armpits and knees and wherever else he was folded in on himself, it would be from nightmare into nightmare. He stared impassively.
That is, his face betrayed no hint of what he thought, but he stared hard into space, as if to ignite some arbitrary point in midair with the intensity of his gaze. And he stared. He stared past the trees, wondering how far they stretched, what lay beyond them, who lay beyond them. He stared past the underbrush, wondering what sorts of creatures played out their own little game of Survival of the Fittest, albeit one that didn't mandate genocide or death within a week or two. He stared past Alex, stalking forward like a man possessed, and thought there might be a little connection in the way they felt. He stared past Andrea, who was rifling through her bag. But he didn't stare for long, because she was finishing her inspection.
She tossed a bottle at him. He snapped to, caught between twin reflexes to grab and to block, sending it spinning off the back of his hand. Now what was she playing at? He wasn't some druggie, living from high to high. He didn't bend to pick it up, and he wouldn't. In this state, every stimulus was just another source of sheer annoyance, and he felt himself bristling over it, but didn't say anything. He wasn't sure she had noticed.
"Know what?" he said, standing up and dilating his eyes momentarily against the brief curtain of darkness. "I think I've gone right off the bottle."
Almost carelessly, he flung it onto the stump. He didn't watch it tilt and spin and disgorge half its contents. Instead, he reached into his pack, finding by feel a flat blue plastic container and pulling it out. He drew out the silvery plastic studded with little orange pills, and chucked that too.
Nick was sure he didn't score any points with Andrea, but he was past caring, really, if she wasn't going to hurt him. The more important person was Alex, who seemed absorbed in his thoughts, betrayed by the glassy expression Nick himself had worn so many times. It was curious, he thought, how Andrea's flip-flop had been lying right in front of them, but Alex derailed that train of thought by escalating the situation.
"Better, eh? Not likely."
Don't take the bait. Oh, whoops, too late...
"My little friend's hard as steel, and's got a nice heft to boot. Heck of a weapon, if you're unfamiliar with bar fights and bushmen. Reach really isn't everything." And to drive the point home, or to hopefully drive the point home but look cool anyways even the point wasn't driven home, he flicked his wrist and produced a neat little twirling motion.
While Alex stepped slowly forward, Nick shouldered his pack, ostensibly to vacate the premises. But he took care to sling it lightly, and that the skinny neck of a second bottle was within his grasp. He kept his eyes locked on Alex's stick.
Waking Up is Hard to do
B055: Start - TOPIC CLOSED
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Andrea was still thinking. Trying to get back to that 'plan' word.
She knew this show. Her knowledge was her advantage. So she would use that knowledge, and people would watch.
Yes, they would watch for her. But not because she was some psycho, she was way too smart for that, she was so fucking smart that she would know exactly what to do, and, and.... she had the sudden feeling of someone yelling at her to fucking CALM DOWN and stop your rambling thinking Andrea Raymer and take things one at a time!!
Her synapses slowed. Whoa. That had sounded kinda like Doc Mac, except more profane. But accurate enough. Remembering Doc Mac's occasionally sage pieces of advice would help her out here.
OK. OK. Okokokokokokok. One thing at a time. It didn't matter whether she felt pissed for how few pills she had or grateful for having any at all, because that didn't change the reality of the situation, duh, which was that she had a certain number, and them's the facts, as her dad liked to say. She would just need to ration them! Keep to a schedule or something!
That was shudder-worthy. The word 'schedule' was not often a part of Andrea's vocabulary. But well, them's the facts.
Her eyes popped open as Alex lobbed the shoe over. "Woo. Uh, thanks." she said, then closed them again, not really paying attention to his other comment.
OK. OK. Next thing. She'd look at the map, get a feel for the layout the island. Then she'd get the hell out of these woods, and figure out her actual position on it. And then she'd find a place, or a building, where she could sort through everything she had, and plan. See, that was easy. A basic start to the game, sure, but that was OK. It was workable, and she wasn't getting ahead of herself. One step at a time. Now, what about these other tw-
What the hell did Nick just say?
Andrea looked back up just in time to see Nick's bottle spiral through the air and hit a stump, spilling its precious cargo across the forest. Dang. Hadn't expected that from the pouty bastard.
Then she saw Alex. He'd come closer, like she suggested. But he didn't look quite right. No, he really didn't look like he was coming closer in a 'Hey alright, let's all get together and be snarky and philosophic about this situation, and let's all admire Andrea for being awesome and keeping everything together yay Andrea you rule' sort of way. He looked kinda pissed. He looked kinda like any number of kids she'd seen on previous shows.
Holy crap.
That suggestion might have been a bad idea.
And Nick responded to him.
Ho.
Lee.
Shit.
She felt ice on her skin. Ho. Lee. Shit. This was all about to happen, it was going to happen here, these two were going to get Survival of the Fittest started and she had front row seats.
She didn't run. She didn't even say anything, hell, she couldn't, the only sound her throat was making was some kind of low "uhhhhhhh" thing, and she got to unsteady feet and looked over at Nick, who was just staring at Alex and twirling his bottle. And this was only the first hour of the game.
Andrea was more excited and terrified than she'd ever been in her life.
She knew this show. Her knowledge was her advantage. So she would use that knowledge, and people would watch.
Yes, they would watch for her. But not because she was some psycho, she was way too smart for that, she was so fucking smart that she would know exactly what to do, and, and.... she had the sudden feeling of someone yelling at her to fucking CALM DOWN and stop your rambling thinking Andrea Raymer and take things one at a time!!
Her synapses slowed. Whoa. That had sounded kinda like Doc Mac, except more profane. But accurate enough. Remembering Doc Mac's occasionally sage pieces of advice would help her out here.
OK. OK. Okokokokokokok. One thing at a time. It didn't matter whether she felt pissed for how few pills she had or grateful for having any at all, because that didn't change the reality of the situation, duh, which was that she had a certain number, and them's the facts, as her dad liked to say. She would just need to ration them! Keep to a schedule or something!
That was shudder-worthy. The word 'schedule' was not often a part of Andrea's vocabulary. But well, them's the facts.
Her eyes popped open as Alex lobbed the shoe over. "Woo. Uh, thanks." she said, then closed them again, not really paying attention to his other comment.
OK. OK. Next thing. She'd look at the map, get a feel for the layout the island. Then she'd get the hell out of these woods, and figure out her actual position on it. And then she'd find a place, or a building, where she could sort through everything she had, and plan. See, that was easy. A basic start to the game, sure, but that was OK. It was workable, and she wasn't getting ahead of herself. One step at a time. Now, what about these other tw-
What the hell did Nick just say?
Andrea looked back up just in time to see Nick's bottle spiral through the air and hit a stump, spilling its precious cargo across the forest. Dang. Hadn't expected that from the pouty bastard.
Then she saw Alex. He'd come closer, like she suggested. But he didn't look quite right. No, he really didn't look like he was coming closer in a 'Hey alright, let's all get together and be snarky and philosophic about this situation, and let's all admire Andrea for being awesome and keeping everything together yay Andrea you rule' sort of way. He looked kinda pissed. He looked kinda like any number of kids she'd seen on previous shows.
Holy crap.
That suggestion might have been a bad idea.
And Nick responded to him.
Ho.
Lee.
Shit.
She felt ice on her skin. Ho. Lee. Shit. This was all about to happen, it was going to happen here, these two were going to get Survival of the Fittest started and she had front row seats.
She didn't run. She didn't even say anything, hell, she couldn't, the only sound her throat was making was some kind of low "uhhhhhhh" thing, and she got to unsteady feet and looked over at Nick, who was just staring at Alex and twirling his bottle. And this was only the first hour of the game.
Andrea was more excited and terrified than she'd ever been in her life.
Ugh never say never
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
No.
No. No. No.
Not yet, too soon, too risky.
Don't need to hurt them, just wait for the opportunity.
Deep breath.
Everything came back to him in that moment, realizing just what he was planning on doing, realizing just how close he was to committing himself to fighting in this 'game', to participating and putting his strength to the test against his classmates; The realization what he was willing to do weighed on his mind as he loosened his grip momentarily upon the branch in his hand, as he stopped his slow stride forward. Would he really do that? Would he really attack someone else to take their assigned weapon? He knew that he could, that it would be easy, simple, that he was confident in his own abilities, sure enough in himself that no one could stand against him; But was he really willing to use what he was taught, the techniques his father taught him to defend himself in this world, would he really use them without reason on his classmates?
His will wavered, his determination to disarm the two people in front of him unsure; They weren't dangerous, were they? How could he be sure that they would hurt someone, to be sure enough to do something about it here and now, to justify attacking them? But if he didn't, they could go on to do more harm to others, they could make use of what weapons they had been assigned kill another person. He didn't want them to have to deal with that, or for others to die from his inaction; He was the one responsible now, the one who would decide what would happen. It was his choice, and his alone.
Would he attack them, disarm them, prevent the possible deaths and injuries they could cause.
Or would he take the risk and leave them, unsure of what they were capable of doing.
I can't let anything happen to them.
Familiar faces flashed before him, voices of his friends passing through his mind, the ones he cared for and the ones he loved; The ones he'd spent time with, the ones he'd experienced the world with. Would he risk their lives by leaving a loose end, by leaving Nick with his molotovs and Andrea with her... what did she have? He didn't know, he didn't get a good look at what it was before he approached them, he didn't know what exactly she held within that pack with her name on it.
I never saw it.
He lied already, he had said they had nothing. Molotov Cocktails are not 'nothing'. Was Andrea's assigned weapon similar? Was she even more of a threat to Alex, to others, than Nick was? They already lied to him once, but could her weapon be worse than Nick's? His blank stare shot to her bag, the closed container upon her back, trying to make out a familiar form among the folds; But nothing matched what he saw, nothing he could think of made such an indentation to match. But he knew it was heavy, the way it hung from her back.
A large weapon.
Panic and paranoia washed over his mind, scenes of death and sorrow and pain filling his thoughts. His grip tightened again upon the branch, his brow furrowing. Anger and contempt and fear and worry and paranoia and rage and.... He couldn't let that happen. He knew they would do something, he just knew that they would be dangerous; Nick's attitude and Andrea's history with this 'game', they were flashing signs, warnings. His eyes narrowed upon the molotov that Nick held. He had to stop it from happening, to keep them from doing anything.
I have to. I have to.
He stepped forward once more.
The world was silent, the silence deafening, nothing moved and nothing remained in place.
His arms raised.
His body twisted.
He swung.
No. No. No.
Not yet, too soon, too risky.
Don't need to hurt them, just wait for the opportunity.
Deep breath.
Everything came back to him in that moment, realizing just what he was planning on doing, realizing just how close he was to committing himself to fighting in this 'game', to participating and putting his strength to the test against his classmates; The realization what he was willing to do weighed on his mind as he loosened his grip momentarily upon the branch in his hand, as he stopped his slow stride forward. Would he really do that? Would he really attack someone else to take their assigned weapon? He knew that he could, that it would be easy, simple, that he was confident in his own abilities, sure enough in himself that no one could stand against him; But was he really willing to use what he was taught, the techniques his father taught him to defend himself in this world, would he really use them without reason on his classmates?
His will wavered, his determination to disarm the two people in front of him unsure; They weren't dangerous, were they? How could he be sure that they would hurt someone, to be sure enough to do something about it here and now, to justify attacking them? But if he didn't, they could go on to do more harm to others, they could make use of what weapons they had been assigned kill another person. He didn't want them to have to deal with that, or for others to die from his inaction; He was the one responsible now, the one who would decide what would happen. It was his choice, and his alone.
Would he attack them, disarm them, prevent the possible deaths and injuries they could cause.
Or would he take the risk and leave them, unsure of what they were capable of doing.
I can't let anything happen to them.
Familiar faces flashed before him, voices of his friends passing through his mind, the ones he cared for and the ones he loved; The ones he'd spent time with, the ones he'd experienced the world with. Would he risk their lives by leaving a loose end, by leaving Nick with his molotovs and Andrea with her... what did she have? He didn't know, he didn't get a good look at what it was before he approached them, he didn't know what exactly she held within that pack with her name on it.
I never saw it.
He lied already, he had said they had nothing. Molotov Cocktails are not 'nothing'. Was Andrea's assigned weapon similar? Was she even more of a threat to Alex, to others, than Nick was? They already lied to him once, but could her weapon be worse than Nick's? His blank stare shot to her bag, the closed container upon her back, trying to make out a familiar form among the folds; But nothing matched what he saw, nothing he could think of made such an indentation to match. But he knew it was heavy, the way it hung from her back.
A large weapon.
Panic and paranoia washed over his mind, scenes of death and sorrow and pain filling his thoughts. His grip tightened again upon the branch, his brow furrowing. Anger and contempt and fear and worry and paranoia and rage and.... He couldn't let that happen. He knew they would do something, he just knew that they would be dangerous; Nick's attitude and Andrea's history with this 'game', they were flashing signs, warnings. His eyes narrowed upon the molotov that Nick held. He had to stop it from happening, to keep them from doing anything.
I have to. I have to.
He stepped forward once more.
The world was silent, the silence deafening, nothing moved and nothing remained in place.
His arms raised.
His body twisted.
He swung.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Dr. Nic. 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.
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Here it comes...
It was going to happen, it was really going to happen, he was about to to really truly get into a fight with someone that he realized was quite large and not unskilled in beating the snot out of people. Nick took a step backwards, grabbing the topmost molotov with a sweaty palm and discarding his bag roughly onto the ground. Then, with more bravery than he thought possible, he took a step forwards. He'd fought larger opponents and come out on top, this was nothing compared to the Cu Sith, Alex was -
WHOOSH.
- a heck of a guy to be fighting.
Oh, bugger.
The branch swooshed by, carving itself a tunnel of rushing air that closed loudly behind it. Alex meant business. Nick nearly stumbled, stepping quickly backwards onto questionable footing. He went to seize the opening, but it was too late - hesitating out of surprise, he rushed forward only to be swept aside by Alex's backswing. There wasn't much momentum to it, but Nick found himself gritting his teeth from the pain. Sweeping aside the branch with one molotov, he dashed forward again, swinging heavily but not quite fast enough at Alex's head.
Nick stood a second, thinking - had he really just made an earnest attempt to smash Alex's skull? - but darted in again. Hard as steel yet brittle as, well, glass, his makeshift maces were no good for blocking heavy swings. Or for blocking light swings, or taking swings, really, he thought, as they were really not much better than just holding a rock in each hand.
Now fighting in earnest he thought he felt the same kind of nervousness as a test pilot or acrobat - he knew what he was doing, he was in his element, but to let his concentration slip for just an instant off the knife-edge between success and failure would have dire consequences. Really, the best thing to do would be to do what he did best and run. Run far away from his problems, mental and physical, outstrip them and keep running and then, as he had half-jokingly written in his senior goodbye in the yearbook, run long enough and far enough and someone will just take care of them for you. But here, there was everything to run from and nowhere to run to, because the collars wouldn't come off, and home was a thousand miles away or more.
None of that really registered with his conscious mind. He was too occupied with parrying and footwork and feints and crosses and jabs. A little tendril of thought snaked across his mind, telling him that he was dead anyways, that he might as well put on a show. Consciously, however, he knew that caution was key. It was no use getting injured on day one of what, a week? Two weeks? And if he got really badly hurt, he wouldn't make it that far. He just had to stay close, block the branch before it could get going, but close to Alex was exactly where he didn't want to be...
He darted in, stabbing forward, and was rewarded with a heavy exhalation. A good solid strike at last. But before he could do more than mentally congratulate himself, Alex acted with alarming speed, bringing the pine branch crashing down. Nick put up the old standby, the double dagger defense - dominant hand behind the weaker one, catch the blade in an x and then stab with the dominant. Or at least that was the plan. What was not part of the plan was the fact that the branch did not stop but rather crashed downwards, shattering the bottle in Nick's left hand and gouging his right with glistening, stinging shrapnel.
He fell back, panting, looking down at what most closely resembled a curious sort of glass shiv. It was a lucky thing that the bottleneck hadn't shattered completely, leaving his hand bloody and useless, but it was much less lucky that the lacerations on his right arm were smarting and stinging from the contents of the molotov. He clutched his shiv, less dangerous yet more deadly than the unbroken bottle, and waited for the next move.
It was going to happen, it was really going to happen, he was about to to really truly get into a fight with someone that he realized was quite large and not unskilled in beating the snot out of people. Nick took a step backwards, grabbing the topmost molotov with a sweaty palm and discarding his bag roughly onto the ground. Then, with more bravery than he thought possible, he took a step forwards. He'd fought larger opponents and come out on top, this was nothing compared to the Cu Sith, Alex was -
WHOOSH.
- a heck of a guy to be fighting.
Oh, bugger.
The branch swooshed by, carving itself a tunnel of rushing air that closed loudly behind it. Alex meant business. Nick nearly stumbled, stepping quickly backwards onto questionable footing. He went to seize the opening, but it was too late - hesitating out of surprise, he rushed forward only to be swept aside by Alex's backswing. There wasn't much momentum to it, but Nick found himself gritting his teeth from the pain. Sweeping aside the branch with one molotov, he dashed forward again, swinging heavily but not quite fast enough at Alex's head.
Nick stood a second, thinking - had he really just made an earnest attempt to smash Alex's skull? - but darted in again. Hard as steel yet brittle as, well, glass, his makeshift maces were no good for blocking heavy swings. Or for blocking light swings, or taking swings, really, he thought, as they were really not much better than just holding a rock in each hand.
Now fighting in earnest he thought he felt the same kind of nervousness as a test pilot or acrobat - he knew what he was doing, he was in his element, but to let his concentration slip for just an instant off the knife-edge between success and failure would have dire consequences. Really, the best thing to do would be to do what he did best and run. Run far away from his problems, mental and physical, outstrip them and keep running and then, as he had half-jokingly written in his senior goodbye in the yearbook, run long enough and far enough and someone will just take care of them for you. But here, there was everything to run from and nowhere to run to, because the collars wouldn't come off, and home was a thousand miles away or more.
None of that really registered with his conscious mind. He was too occupied with parrying and footwork and feints and crosses and jabs. A little tendril of thought snaked across his mind, telling him that he was dead anyways, that he might as well put on a show. Consciously, however, he knew that caution was key. It was no use getting injured on day one of what, a week? Two weeks? And if he got really badly hurt, he wouldn't make it that far. He just had to stay close, block the branch before it could get going, but close to Alex was exactly where he didn't want to be...
He darted in, stabbing forward, and was rewarded with a heavy exhalation. A good solid strike at last. But before he could do more than mentally congratulate himself, Alex acted with alarming speed, bringing the pine branch crashing down. Nick put up the old standby, the double dagger defense - dominant hand behind the weaker one, catch the blade in an x and then stab with the dominant. Or at least that was the plan. What was not part of the plan was the fact that the branch did not stop but rather crashed downwards, shattering the bottle in Nick's left hand and gouging his right with glistening, stinging shrapnel.
He fell back, panting, looking down at what most closely resembled a curious sort of glass shiv. It was a lucky thing that the bottleneck hadn't shattered completely, leaving his hand bloody and useless, but it was much less lucky that the lacerations on his right arm were smarting and stinging from the contents of the molotov. He clutched his shiv, less dangerous yet more deadly than the unbroken bottle, and waited for the next move.
(sorry for taking longer than I should have to reply here)
She had been jamming her foot into the flip flop in front of her, and didn't see the first swing Alex took at Nick. But she heard Nick's response. Unbelievable. They were actually fighting. Hell, she had no idea what the whole status of the game was right now, maybe one of them was going to score the first kill of V4 right in front of her. This was nuts. This was nuts, the game had just started and they were clubbing at each other with a big stick and a bottle of gasoline.
Nick scored a hit on Alex's chest with one of the bottles. Damnit, didn't he know how dumb this was? It was the first day, he was gonna get injured or killed here, or at least use up all his weaponry, didn't he know anything about how to play?
"Dude, you guys are nuts here you're gonna--"
She didn't get a chance to finish or even catch their attention before Alex took a swing and smashed one of Nick's molotovs into pieces, sending glass bits and gas fumes spraying from the impact. Holy crap, how quick had that been? She wasn't expecting things to go this fast. Daydreaming or RPing, she'd always thought she'd have time to plan things out, time to give big coherent speeches, but she couldn't even get out a sentence here.
She should run.
Yes, she should get out of here now while the getting was good.
Instead, she fumbled for the pack on her back, bringing out the gunpowder.
Ever since she'd started watching SOTF, Andrea had wondered why so many kids started attacking each other so early on. Sure, later on, when the gravity of the situation had fully occurred to them, that made sense. But so early? She'd never really understood that. And she still didn't, not now at least. Later that day, given time to think over it, she'd come to the conclusion that no one would understand unless they were part of the game itself.
She poured a bit of the gunpowder in her hand, then tossed the bottle back in her bag. Just a bit, she needed to ration the stuff after all, there was so much more she'd end up doing here.
Yes, after the rush had worn off, Andrea would understand the hows and whys of it. She'd even find it to have been obvious in retrospect. It was the thrill of the game. Watching the fight from up close had been one thing, but she couldn't just leave it at that. She'd always craved the bigger thrill. Besides, she was totally safe, she was the expert, she was the star, and stars didn't just slink off in the background when shit got real.
No, they asserted themselves.
She zipped her bag back up and moved forward. Toss, then run. Easy.
"Hey, asshole!"
Andrea threw the gunpowder at Alex's face. Alex White thought he could come in and take her out with a fucking stick? No way.
She had been jamming her foot into the flip flop in front of her, and didn't see the first swing Alex took at Nick. But she heard Nick's response. Unbelievable. They were actually fighting. Hell, she had no idea what the whole status of the game was right now, maybe one of them was going to score the first kill of V4 right in front of her. This was nuts. This was nuts, the game had just started and they were clubbing at each other with a big stick and a bottle of gasoline.
Nick scored a hit on Alex's chest with one of the bottles. Damnit, didn't he know how dumb this was? It was the first day, he was gonna get injured or killed here, or at least use up all his weaponry, didn't he know anything about how to play?
"Dude, you guys are nuts here you're gonna--"
She didn't get a chance to finish or even catch their attention before Alex took a swing and smashed one of Nick's molotovs into pieces, sending glass bits and gas fumes spraying from the impact. Holy crap, how quick had that been? She wasn't expecting things to go this fast. Daydreaming or RPing, she'd always thought she'd have time to plan things out, time to give big coherent speeches, but she couldn't even get out a sentence here.
She should run.
Yes, she should get out of here now while the getting was good.
Instead, she fumbled for the pack on her back, bringing out the gunpowder.
Ever since she'd started watching SOTF, Andrea had wondered why so many kids started attacking each other so early on. Sure, later on, when the gravity of the situation had fully occurred to them, that made sense. But so early? She'd never really understood that. And she still didn't, not now at least. Later that day, given time to think over it, she'd come to the conclusion that no one would understand unless they were part of the game itself.
She poured a bit of the gunpowder in her hand, then tossed the bottle back in her bag. Just a bit, she needed to ration the stuff after all, there was so much more she'd end up doing here.
Yes, after the rush had worn off, Andrea would understand the hows and whys of it. She'd even find it to have been obvious in retrospect. It was the thrill of the game. Watching the fight from up close had been one thing, but she couldn't just leave it at that. She'd always craved the bigger thrill. Besides, she was totally safe, she was the expert, she was the star, and stars didn't just slink off in the background when shit got real.
No, they asserted themselves.
She zipped her bag back up and moved forward. Toss, then run. Easy.
"Hey, asshole!"
Andrea threw the gunpowder at Alex's face. Alex White thought he could come in and take her out with a fucking stick? No way.
Ugh never say never
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
This won't be easy...
Nick surprised him.
Alex didn't think he would have been capable of really putting up a fight, of defending himself in any true capacity, not with a brittle weapon and what Alex thought to be a lack of experience; But the way he fought, even with such brittle and almost useless weapons, meant he might have had more experience than Alex did in dirty fights. Everything screamed at him to push harder, to fight harder, to take those stronger swings and to keep pushing back, but Alex's will wavered when it came down to it; He wanted to disarm Nick, to take his strength and his weapon, to keep him from using either on someone else, but his resolve was not enough. His first swing didn't make contact, his second just barely, not strength behind the wild swing to catch his opponent; A glimpse of something came into view, a wild swing.
Crack!
It sent him reeling for a moment, the sound of the impact against his skull, the hard glass slamming into the side of his head; It was a wild swing, without strength or true intent, but it was a solid blow. But it was enough to bring the realization to light, that Alex may not win, that he may not succeed if he didn't step up, if he didn't ascend to the challenge; He would have to push back, to push hard, to fight and swing stronger than he intended. Seething, he swung. Again and again, against his better judgment, in anger and in fury he swung hard, swung wild, pushed back and fought; White knuckle grip on the weapon he relied upon, on the one thing he trusted in, not realizing his mistakes. The branch wasn't going to protect him, it wasn't going to fight for him, and it wasn't going to keep him alive.
...Shit.
But knowledge came too late.
Nick closed the gap every time, swinging and stabbing, trying to land another blow; They traded strikes, or they broke apart, seeking the upper hand on one another. The reasons for the fight escaped all thought, replaced by anger, by contempt and rage, by fight or flight and the will to survive; Every stinging blow was met with a fierce reply, every strike becoming stronger. Neither of them were holding back, neither wanting to die, neither knowing why they fought save survival and strength being put to the test; Do or die, a test of clashing wills, of resolve and survival instinct. An opening appeared, a fault in Alex's choice of weapon and his judgment of the fight; Nick took the chance, stepped forward, and struck.
A sharp blow.
A gasp for breath.
That hurt.
Unprepared, the blow to his chest took the breath from Alex, but a furious counter was at hand; Nick was getting away, breaking off and backing away. No quarter given, no restraint, Alex pushed forward and raised his arms; A look in his eyes like none other as he brought the weapon down, harder than he had before, with a deadly intent behind the blow. It came down fast, it came down hard, the intent behind it was clear and the strength invested was high; He wasn't going to hold back anymore, not now, not when he had the opportunity and the will to cash in. Nick tried to defend himself, moving forward, bracing himself.
It worked, to a point.
The sound of shattering glass broke the relative silence, the smell of fuel filling the air around them, the choking fumes of diesel filling his mouth and nose. Coughing and seeking a clear breath, Alex stepped back, breaking away from Nick, something he knew would come back to bite him; And sure enough, a voice called out, outside of his view, grabbing his attention. Alex turned, facing Andrea with anger in his eyes and contempt in his voice, with rage filling his thoughts and fueling his actions; He didn't realize what she was up to until it was too late, the black powder stinging his eyes and sticking to his sweat covered skin.
"You bitch!"
He coughed and cursed, his hand upon his face, removing the offending particulate as fast as he could. He released his grip upon his chosen weapon, wiping the substance from his eyes; Though stinging, he could see, his vision clouded and barely clearing when he spotted the movement off to the side. He had ignored Nick for too long, left him to his thoughts and his actions longer than he should have; Nick had a plan, had the means and the will to complete it, the rage that filled both their minds and their veins fueling his actions. Alex's opponent was dangerous now, far more than he ever had been; The faint glint of light reflecting off of the glass in Nick's hand.
He knew what was coming.
Shit!
Turning quickly, he braced himself for the coming attack, the broken glass showing Nick's intentions as clear as day; He knew he would end up hurt if he didn't try to stop Nick, didn't try to disarm him, but he didn't have his weapon. He didn't need his weapon. He had almost forgotten that brief moment of clarity, of the realization that in this fight, the branch would do nothing but hinder him; it gave him reach and gave his strikes more power, but it hindered him when Nick got close, it was too slow to combat Nick's comparatively unhindered, fast movements. In that moment, he realized what he was capable of, what he was being presented with, the opportunity that was in front of him; And he took it. His feet slid, his body shifted slightly, as he braced himself. He had to time it just right; Too soon, and he'd have a nice gash sliced into his arm, but if he was too late, he'd have a hole in his side.
He focused on the glass.
He watched Nick rush closer.
And he acted.
His hand closed around Nick's left wrist as his body shifted, the leaf litter upon the ground making his actions that much easier; His leg slid between Nick's, his hip moving in to place, and he pulled Nick forward by his shoulder. He used Nick's speed, his momentum, against him; He forced the opponent over his hip, off his feet, and unto the ground before them as hard as he could. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't as strong as it should have been, but it would be more than enough; Knocking the wind out of Nick was what he wanted, was what he needed, and taking the broken glass was easy. But Alex didn't know what Nick was capable of, didn't know if he would counter right then and there; prying the broken piece of glass from his hand was quick, but he wouldn't remain next to the fallen opponent. If nothing else, he would at least be able to get away while Nick was knocked down, while he was out of it and unable to react. But something wasn't right, something was clawing at Alex's mind as he backed away from his opponent; Everything was screaming at him to realize what had happened.
He had made a mistake.
"Fuck."
His arm stung and burned; He hadn't pulled off the defense perfectly, and the shallow, bleeding cut was proof enough. His shirt and his jacket were torn, perhaps being the only reasons why the cut wasn't deeper, wasn't as serious as it could have been; But it hurt, and the pain broke his focus on Nick. The fight had ended, and reality was snapping back to punish Alex for his recklessness; His body was sore, his arm was bleeding, and he'd barely done anything to disarm either one of the people before him. He'd beaten Nick, but he wasn't in any position to take the pack from where he had left it.
He made a mistake.
He was worn out, sore, injured and regretting his actions; His own packs upon his back were heavy, and he knew that leaving them there during the fight was a mistake. Everything he had done was a mistake, all the things he had assumed and the actions he had taken, everything he had tried to do based upon nothing but his own paranoia, his own fear and panic; Mistakes that couldn't be fixed, actions that couldn't be taken back. The weight of his actions, the realization that he had just attacked someone, had even tried to kill him, it all hit him then and there as the pain in his arm dragged him back to reality and held him there.
Oh god...
He made a mistake.
How would he face the ones he intended to protect, what would he do if they knew what he had tried to do; Without provocation, he had attacked someone, he had tried to kill them. But he had a reason, right? It was a good reason, wasn't it? He wanted to protect the ones he cared about, he wanted to keep others from killing people. But as the realization of what he had done, what he had tried to do, slipped into his mind and invaded his thoughts, he questioned that resolve; They hadn't shown any intentions of harming others, had they? No... the only one to show hostility was Alex himself. But... he had to protect them, didn't he? He was responsible... wasn't he? He had to shoulder the weight of the decision, to carry that responsibility... didn't he?
He made a mistake.
"I... I just wanted to protect them."
No excuses.
He knew. In the back of his mind, he knew what he had done was wrong, that it wasn't necessary, that it wasn't needed. Nothing he had done would protect those he cared about, nothing he had done would prevent anything from happening; The only person who was causing harm now, who was threatening the lives of those around him... was him. No one else. He was responsible. He was to blame.
He was guilty.
"I'm guilty."
Yes.
"I'm to blame..."
Yes.
"It's my fault..."
Yes.
"I made a mistake."
Nick surprised him.
Alex didn't think he would have been capable of really putting up a fight, of defending himself in any true capacity, not with a brittle weapon and what Alex thought to be a lack of experience; But the way he fought, even with such brittle and almost useless weapons, meant he might have had more experience than Alex did in dirty fights. Everything screamed at him to push harder, to fight harder, to take those stronger swings and to keep pushing back, but Alex's will wavered when it came down to it; He wanted to disarm Nick, to take his strength and his weapon, to keep him from using either on someone else, but his resolve was not enough. His first swing didn't make contact, his second just barely, not strength behind the wild swing to catch his opponent; A glimpse of something came into view, a wild swing.
Crack!
It sent him reeling for a moment, the sound of the impact against his skull, the hard glass slamming into the side of his head; It was a wild swing, without strength or true intent, but it was a solid blow. But it was enough to bring the realization to light, that Alex may not win, that he may not succeed if he didn't step up, if he didn't ascend to the challenge; He would have to push back, to push hard, to fight and swing stronger than he intended. Seething, he swung. Again and again, against his better judgment, in anger and in fury he swung hard, swung wild, pushed back and fought; White knuckle grip on the weapon he relied upon, on the one thing he trusted in, not realizing his mistakes. The branch wasn't going to protect him, it wasn't going to fight for him, and it wasn't going to keep him alive.
...Shit.
But knowledge came too late.
Nick closed the gap every time, swinging and stabbing, trying to land another blow; They traded strikes, or they broke apart, seeking the upper hand on one another. The reasons for the fight escaped all thought, replaced by anger, by contempt and rage, by fight or flight and the will to survive; Every stinging blow was met with a fierce reply, every strike becoming stronger. Neither of them were holding back, neither wanting to die, neither knowing why they fought save survival and strength being put to the test; Do or die, a test of clashing wills, of resolve and survival instinct. An opening appeared, a fault in Alex's choice of weapon and his judgment of the fight; Nick took the chance, stepped forward, and struck.
A sharp blow.
A gasp for breath.
That hurt.
Unprepared, the blow to his chest took the breath from Alex, but a furious counter was at hand; Nick was getting away, breaking off and backing away. No quarter given, no restraint, Alex pushed forward and raised his arms; A look in his eyes like none other as he brought the weapon down, harder than he had before, with a deadly intent behind the blow. It came down fast, it came down hard, the intent behind it was clear and the strength invested was high; He wasn't going to hold back anymore, not now, not when he had the opportunity and the will to cash in. Nick tried to defend himself, moving forward, bracing himself.
It worked, to a point.
The sound of shattering glass broke the relative silence, the smell of fuel filling the air around them, the choking fumes of diesel filling his mouth and nose. Coughing and seeking a clear breath, Alex stepped back, breaking away from Nick, something he knew would come back to bite him; And sure enough, a voice called out, outside of his view, grabbing his attention. Alex turned, facing Andrea with anger in his eyes and contempt in his voice, with rage filling his thoughts and fueling his actions; He didn't realize what she was up to until it was too late, the black powder stinging his eyes and sticking to his sweat covered skin.
"You bitch!"
He coughed and cursed, his hand upon his face, removing the offending particulate as fast as he could. He released his grip upon his chosen weapon, wiping the substance from his eyes; Though stinging, he could see, his vision clouded and barely clearing when he spotted the movement off to the side. He had ignored Nick for too long, left him to his thoughts and his actions longer than he should have; Nick had a plan, had the means and the will to complete it, the rage that filled both their minds and their veins fueling his actions. Alex's opponent was dangerous now, far more than he ever had been; The faint glint of light reflecting off of the glass in Nick's hand.
He knew what was coming.
Shit!
Turning quickly, he braced himself for the coming attack, the broken glass showing Nick's intentions as clear as day; He knew he would end up hurt if he didn't try to stop Nick, didn't try to disarm him, but he didn't have his weapon. He didn't need his weapon. He had almost forgotten that brief moment of clarity, of the realization that in this fight, the branch would do nothing but hinder him; it gave him reach and gave his strikes more power, but it hindered him when Nick got close, it was too slow to combat Nick's comparatively unhindered, fast movements. In that moment, he realized what he was capable of, what he was being presented with, the opportunity that was in front of him; And he took it. His feet slid, his body shifted slightly, as he braced himself. He had to time it just right; Too soon, and he'd have a nice gash sliced into his arm, but if he was too late, he'd have a hole in his side.
He focused on the glass.
He watched Nick rush closer.
And he acted.
His hand closed around Nick's left wrist as his body shifted, the leaf litter upon the ground making his actions that much easier; His leg slid between Nick's, his hip moving in to place, and he pulled Nick forward by his shoulder. He used Nick's speed, his momentum, against him; He forced the opponent over his hip, off his feet, and unto the ground before them as hard as he could. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't as strong as it should have been, but it would be more than enough; Knocking the wind out of Nick was what he wanted, was what he needed, and taking the broken glass was easy. But Alex didn't know what Nick was capable of, didn't know if he would counter right then and there; prying the broken piece of glass from his hand was quick, but he wouldn't remain next to the fallen opponent. If nothing else, he would at least be able to get away while Nick was knocked down, while he was out of it and unable to react. But something wasn't right, something was clawing at Alex's mind as he backed away from his opponent; Everything was screaming at him to realize what had happened.
He had made a mistake.
"Fuck."
His arm stung and burned; He hadn't pulled off the defense perfectly, and the shallow, bleeding cut was proof enough. His shirt and his jacket were torn, perhaps being the only reasons why the cut wasn't deeper, wasn't as serious as it could have been; But it hurt, and the pain broke his focus on Nick. The fight had ended, and reality was snapping back to punish Alex for his recklessness; His body was sore, his arm was bleeding, and he'd barely done anything to disarm either one of the people before him. He'd beaten Nick, but he wasn't in any position to take the pack from where he had left it.
He made a mistake.
He was worn out, sore, injured and regretting his actions; His own packs upon his back were heavy, and he knew that leaving them there during the fight was a mistake. Everything he had done was a mistake, all the things he had assumed and the actions he had taken, everything he had tried to do based upon nothing but his own paranoia, his own fear and panic; Mistakes that couldn't be fixed, actions that couldn't be taken back. The weight of his actions, the realization that he had just attacked someone, had even tried to kill him, it all hit him then and there as the pain in his arm dragged him back to reality and held him there.
Oh god...
He made a mistake.
How would he face the ones he intended to protect, what would he do if they knew what he had tried to do; Without provocation, he had attacked someone, he had tried to kill them. But he had a reason, right? It was a good reason, wasn't it? He wanted to protect the ones he cared about, he wanted to keep others from killing people. But as the realization of what he had done, what he had tried to do, slipped into his mind and invaded his thoughts, he questioned that resolve; They hadn't shown any intentions of harming others, had they? No... the only one to show hostility was Alex himself. But... he had to protect them, didn't he? He was responsible... wasn't he? He had to shoulder the weight of the decision, to carry that responsibility... didn't he?
He made a mistake.
"I... I just wanted to protect them."
No excuses.
He knew. In the back of his mind, he knew what he had done was wrong, that it wasn't necessary, that it wasn't needed. Nothing he had done would protect those he cared about, nothing he had done would prevent anything from happening; The only person who was causing harm now, who was threatening the lives of those around him... was him. No one else. He was responsible. He was to blame.
He was guilty.
"I'm guilty."
Yes.
"I'm to blame..."
Yes.
"It's my fault..."
Yes.
"I made a mistake."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Dr. Nic. 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.
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
What in the world did he think he was doing?
There was no reason for it. No reason at all. He should be a hundred yards away by now, leaving Alex and Andrea to their fates. No, he should be a thousand miles away, in a perfectly innocuous stretch of woodland on a perfectly innocuous senior trip. But he was blinded by anger and frustration and pain and who knows else, trading blows for no good reason, the motive behind the scuffle forgotten...
It was a mistake, really, thinking that he could weather the fury of a much bigger student with a much more robust weapon. He'd stepped forward instinctively, trying to reduce the arc of his swing, trying to rob the branch of its deadly momentum, and been rewarded for all his skills and reflexes with what? A bloody arm and a broken weapon.
"Hey, asshole!"
It was a perfect opportunity, just what he needed. If his thoughts ever chanced upon the subject, there were two rules that he thought to obey had he ever gotten into a real altercation. Number one was fight dirty, and number two was run like a madman. The thought came swirling through the heady stew of light and sound and adrenaline that ensnared his mind, blocking out all rational thought. And for the first time, he acted not to dissuade or to beat off his attacker, but to wound and tear in earnest. He made his move uncoiling like a spring, exploding forward with an almighty lunge from his legs, the only portion of his wiry little frame he could be proud of. But Alex knew what he was doing, too.
For a moment, the world spun, and then stopped, brutally, harshly, showing him the forest canopy far above. The shock of it pounded through him, unhindered by such underrated cushions as body fat. All strength left him, and his grip on the sharp glass was pitifully weak, surrendering it without much resistance. Adrenaline left his body with his breath, and his ribcage, previously slathered in molten lead, felt small and weak as it heaved. Any moment now, he'd see that branch coming down like a world-shattering meteor.
Where the intact bottle had gone, he neither knew nor cared. He rolled to the side, heaving himself onto unwilling legs, and stared dizzily through the trees. Alex might have been saying something, or might not. Its importance was nil. Nick was listening to his brain now, and every synapse was screaming the same command, "RUN!" There would be no restitution, no apologies or even continued hostility. He stumbled unsteadily forward then broke into a run, giving Alex a wide berth and kicking of a tree to send him in the right direction, towards his bag, which he grabbed with a hand coated in a slimy film of grime and thin, oily blood.
And then he got the hell out of Dodge.
((Nick Reid continued in The Right Thing for the Wrong Reasons))
There was no reason for it. No reason at all. He should be a hundred yards away by now, leaving Alex and Andrea to their fates. No, he should be a thousand miles away, in a perfectly innocuous stretch of woodland on a perfectly innocuous senior trip. But he was blinded by anger and frustration and pain and who knows else, trading blows for no good reason, the motive behind the scuffle forgotten...
It was a mistake, really, thinking that he could weather the fury of a much bigger student with a much more robust weapon. He'd stepped forward instinctively, trying to reduce the arc of his swing, trying to rob the branch of its deadly momentum, and been rewarded for all his skills and reflexes with what? A bloody arm and a broken weapon.
"Hey, asshole!"
It was a perfect opportunity, just what he needed. If his thoughts ever chanced upon the subject, there were two rules that he thought to obey had he ever gotten into a real altercation. Number one was fight dirty, and number two was run like a madman. The thought came swirling through the heady stew of light and sound and adrenaline that ensnared his mind, blocking out all rational thought. And for the first time, he acted not to dissuade or to beat off his attacker, but to wound and tear in earnest. He made his move uncoiling like a spring, exploding forward with an almighty lunge from his legs, the only portion of his wiry little frame he could be proud of. But Alex knew what he was doing, too.
For a moment, the world spun, and then stopped, brutally, harshly, showing him the forest canopy far above. The shock of it pounded through him, unhindered by such underrated cushions as body fat. All strength left him, and his grip on the sharp glass was pitifully weak, surrendering it without much resistance. Adrenaline left his body with his breath, and his ribcage, previously slathered in molten lead, felt small and weak as it heaved. Any moment now, he'd see that branch coming down like a world-shattering meteor.
Where the intact bottle had gone, he neither knew nor cared. He rolled to the side, heaving himself onto unwilling legs, and stared dizzily through the trees. Alex might have been saying something, or might not. Its importance was nil. Nick was listening to his brain now, and every synapse was screaming the same command, "RUN!" There would be no restitution, no apologies or even continued hostility. He stumbled unsteadily forward then broke into a run, giving Alex a wide berth and kicking of a tree to send him in the right direction, towards his bag, which he grabbed with a hand coated in a slimy film of grime and thin, oily blood.
And then he got the hell out of Dodge.
((Nick Reid continued in The Right Thing for the Wrong Reasons))
After chucking the gunpowder, Andrea stood her ground with a twisted grin on her face and gunpowder stuck to her sweaty palm, just long enough to relish the moment of victory expressed in Alex's surprise. Then he turned to her, blinking. And angry. Eep.
She backpedaled, hands up, nearly tripping over her own feet, when Alex's attention shifted to a charging Nick Reid, and she was able to right the ship before she went down. Awesome sauce. Andrea owed that guy a drink at some point.
'Course, she did save his ass first.
Slowing her pace, she edged closer to the treeline, and watched the rest of the fight play itself out. For a moment she was afraid she might have to come in with her ass-kicking, day-saving gunpowder toss again, but then it seemed the skirmish was over. She could feel her heartbeat begin its slow journey back to the land of normality.
From there, Nick took off, sprinting to the trees like he'd realized his daily allotted supply of bravery had been tapped. What, no thank you?
"You're fucking welcome, Nick Reid!" she called out, then turned and started jogging away. This group session was done with and she wasn't going to stick around to see what Alex thought of her pitching arm.
She got a few feet before the realization hit her. Shit. Nick's pills. They were still there.
She should have grabbed them while the boys were distracted. Nick had said they were Buproprion, and that meant they were the same as the Wellbutrin she had, and that in turn meant they might be useful. Couldn't hurt to grab them, in any case.
Well, unless she went back and a pissed off Alex White beat her to death.
She'd just scope out the situation, real quick. Turning on her heel, she retraced her last few steps and took a peek.
Instead of raging, Alex was just standing there, apologizing. Andrea didn't think he was talking to her or Nick, or anyone in particular.
She stood there a moment, When he called out again, her mouth twisted. He'd made a mistake? What, did he expect her to come up and offer him a hug or some shit? Jackass.
Jesus, why the hell had he attacked them anyway? Her and Nick had just been chilling out, going over their pharmaceutical supplies and making snarky remarks about his stick, and-- oh yeah.
Andrea didn't know much about Alex, hell she didn't even know if they'd had any classes together. But when you run in certain circles you hear things, and while she'd never actually sold to him, she knew that Alex had a taste for the same line of drugs that she did. And SOTF wasn't always as... generous with supplies as they had been with hers. Could be the reason he got so pissed.
Even if it was though, that was still a pretty fucking lame excuse. But what the hell. Wellbutrin was pretty crap and she already had a bottle of the stuff. Besides, this was SOTF. And poor Alex White, he really didn't stand a chance.
"Hey Alex. Those pills of Nick's, they're stimulants. Kinda suck from my experience, but uh, might help. Don't fucking follow me."
She smiled, then turned and jogged off, ready to up her speed if it looked like Alex might want to follow. She'd made her Survival of the Fittest debut, and as far as Andrea was concerned, it had been a smashing success. Obviously they wouldn't all be this easy, but she could deal with whatever came. Now it was time to plan, to draw on the knowledge she had and figure out where she was going to go from here.
Survivor of the Fittest, Version 4. It was going to be her game.
Andrea Raymer was made for this.
(Andrea Raymer continued in Can't Fall Down)
She backpedaled, hands up, nearly tripping over her own feet, when Alex's attention shifted to a charging Nick Reid, and she was able to right the ship before she went down. Awesome sauce. Andrea owed that guy a drink at some point.
'Course, she did save his ass first.
Slowing her pace, she edged closer to the treeline, and watched the rest of the fight play itself out. For a moment she was afraid she might have to come in with her ass-kicking, day-saving gunpowder toss again, but then it seemed the skirmish was over. She could feel her heartbeat begin its slow journey back to the land of normality.
From there, Nick took off, sprinting to the trees like he'd realized his daily allotted supply of bravery had been tapped. What, no thank you?
"You're fucking welcome, Nick Reid!" she called out, then turned and started jogging away. This group session was done with and she wasn't going to stick around to see what Alex thought of her pitching arm.
She got a few feet before the realization hit her. Shit. Nick's pills. They were still there.
She should have grabbed them while the boys were distracted. Nick had said they were Buproprion, and that meant they were the same as the Wellbutrin she had, and that in turn meant they might be useful. Couldn't hurt to grab them, in any case.
Well, unless she went back and a pissed off Alex White beat her to death.
She'd just scope out the situation, real quick. Turning on her heel, she retraced her last few steps and took a peek.
Instead of raging, Alex was just standing there, apologizing. Andrea didn't think he was talking to her or Nick, or anyone in particular.
She stood there a moment, When he called out again, her mouth twisted. He'd made a mistake? What, did he expect her to come up and offer him a hug or some shit? Jackass.
Jesus, why the hell had he attacked them anyway? Her and Nick had just been chilling out, going over their pharmaceutical supplies and making snarky remarks about his stick, and-- oh yeah.
Andrea didn't know much about Alex, hell she didn't even know if they'd had any classes together. But when you run in certain circles you hear things, and while she'd never actually sold to him, she knew that Alex had a taste for the same line of drugs that she did. And SOTF wasn't always as... generous with supplies as they had been with hers. Could be the reason he got so pissed.
Even if it was though, that was still a pretty fucking lame excuse. But what the hell. Wellbutrin was pretty crap and she already had a bottle of the stuff. Besides, this was SOTF. And poor Alex White, he really didn't stand a chance.
"Hey Alex. Those pills of Nick's, they're stimulants. Kinda suck from my experience, but uh, might help. Don't fucking follow me."
She smiled, then turned and jogged off, ready to up her speed if it looked like Alex might want to follow. She'd made her Survival of the Fittest debut, and as far as Andrea was concerned, it had been a smashing success. Obviously they wouldn't all be this easy, but she could deal with whatever came. Now it was time to plan, to draw on the knowledge she had and figure out where she was going to go from here.
Survivor of the Fittest, Version 4. It was going to be her game.
Andrea Raymer was made for this.
(Andrea Raymer continued in Can't Fall Down)
Ugh never say never
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Brayden Betancourt
Chris Passilidis
Adi Wheelwright
Fey Zelenka-Morrison
Always Remembered:
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
"I really did it this time, didn't I..."
There was no coming back from what he had done, no way he could make up for it and no way he could apologize. He made a mistake, a big one, and there was nothing he could do to fix it, not this time; Sure, he'd made mistakes in the past, but this was the worst yet. He'd tried to kill Nick just now, with his so called weapon high above his head, rage and fury burning in his veins, all telling him to bring that hammer down, to kill Nick then and there; There was no good intent behind that, he just wanted him dead in that moment, for everything he had done and everything he would do. But something wasn't right.
What had he done?
He couldn't answer that, not honestly at least; He could speculate and guess and worry and panic over what Nick would do, but there was no answer to the question of what he had already done. He hadn't done anything besides carry a bad attitude, and Alex attacked him for it. He hadn't done anything to deserve such reaction, and yet Alex tried to beat him, tried to kill him, tried to end his life with brutal attacks. He had no answer for his actions, no explanations, no excuses.
No excuses huh?
He had to take responsibility for what he had done, for his choice; It was his choice and his alone, and no one forced him to do it. Not Andrea or Nick or anyone he wanted to protect, none of them forced him to take action or make that choice; He didn't even know if the people he tried to preemptively were still alive or in the same situation. No, that's not right. He knew they were. This was Survival of the Fittest, that horrible show that everyone couldn't help but watch or take note of; The premise was always the same, the class was always taken in whole, and no one ever escaped capture. No, he knew they were there, he knew who he wanted to protect, but he didn't know if they were still alive and safe, if his actions were even justified in the slightest.
No! They're still alive, I just know it!
He lied to himself.
No!
Yes.
He knew it was a lie, that it was a desperate grasp at the strings, that he just wanted justification for his actions; He wanted his choice to be the right one, and to forget it was a mistake. But he couldn't. No, he couldn't forget it or try to justify it. He had to step up and take the blame; No one else was to blame for what he had done, only him. He had to take responsibility for his choices, he had to bear the burden of the mistakes he had made and would continue to make, and it the only one to blame was him. Only him.
Only me.
Yes.
He didn't feel like moving; For a long time, he didn't do anything, barely realizing that he was alone in the woods, that no one was around. When he finally came to, it wasn't because he had come to a conclusion, that he had ended his train of thought; No, the reason for him to snap back to reality was the searing pain in his arm, that cut from the glass and the biting breeze against the stinging wound. He had to do something about that. But what could he do besides... Wait, no, inside the bag. He lifted his daypack off his back, dropped it unto the ground, and tore it open as fast as he could; There, right there, was the first aid kit he had seen earlier. It would have what he needed for his arm.
"What was it she mentioned about pills?"
His arm cleaned, bandaged and out of mind, he had time to think back on what Andrea had said before she took off running; Why had she said anything to him after what he had tried to do? But the word she chose to use, what she told him about the pills, it got his interest piqued; He didn't have his pills, his personal stash, so those stolen from others would have to do. But did he really want that crutch now? The bottle was within reach, just there on the ground, surrounded by little white pieces of that ever present crutch in his life; There were still a few in the bottle. He outstretched his hand, grabbed the little plastic container, and picked it up.
But something shot into his mind, his memory, when he heard the rattle of the pills.
He had heard that noise before, earlier; When Andrea was digging through her bag, he could just barely make out the rattle of pills in their container, the tell tale sound of his addiction. She sold the same ones he took, she had done so for a long time; Selling to his classmates, to the people she knew, but he had never taken the chance for an easier supply. But he knew she had them, the ones he wanted, the ones he needed. He looked down at his hand. The name on the bottle Nick had wasn't right, didn't match the names he pulled from his memory. No, these weren't the ones he needed.
She lied.
Repeating Nick's action, he cast the bottle of pills from his sight, spilling the last of its contents onto the ground. The anger returned, the resentment and the contempt; She lied to him, kept it hidden from him. But she couldn't be far away now, he could chase after her, take the pills he knew she had; Retake the hold on his crutch and give in to his addiction, by hook or by crook. It would be easy, simple, and the choice was his to make. But there was something else; something in the air around him, something coming from the distance. He could smell it. He knew what it was.
"Smoke.... Shit!"
He made a mistake.
"I shouldn't have let him go!"
He made his choice.
He grabbed his day pack, ready to close it, to put it on his back and be on his way from this place, to chase after his mistake; But he stopped. He spotted the item Nick had left behind, the intact bottle on the ground. He must had dropped it when Alex slammed him, and forgotten to take it with him when he ran. Moving closer, Alex took the cause for his mistake into his hand; He stared at the bottle with contempt in his eyes, tempted to throw it, to be rid of it, to cast it from his sight and make sure no one else could make use of it. But if that smoke meant what he knew it did, he might need this weapon; This, and the piece of glass he had taken from his fallen opponent. It was in his pocket, the blood stained edge wrapped in a torn piece of his jacket.
He made his choice.
Sliding the molotov into his day pack, Alex removed his jacket and tore the rest of the sleeve from it; He wouldn't wear it any longer, putting the rest into his pack. He knew what he was doing; Picking up each piece of glass from the ground with cautious fingers, he placed them into the sleeve, holding them in it until he gathered every last piece. The diesel soaked shards in his possession, he cast his focus upon the last thing that still sat nearby; The branch he had taken from the trees, the weapon he invested his strength and his trust in. He made a mistake in using it the first time, but it was still his weapon, one he had taken up by choice; He made a mistake the first time, but when he met Nick again, he wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't miss. With weapon in hand, with the diesel soaked shards resting carefully in his pocket, he swung his day pack unto his back.
He made his choice.
He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
He followed after Nick.
[Boy #14 - Alex White. Continued in Hideaway.]
[End of Thread]
There was no coming back from what he had done, no way he could make up for it and no way he could apologize. He made a mistake, a big one, and there was nothing he could do to fix it, not this time; Sure, he'd made mistakes in the past, but this was the worst yet. He'd tried to kill Nick just now, with his so called weapon high above his head, rage and fury burning in his veins, all telling him to bring that hammer down, to kill Nick then and there; There was no good intent behind that, he just wanted him dead in that moment, for everything he had done and everything he would do. But something wasn't right.
What had he done?
He couldn't answer that, not honestly at least; He could speculate and guess and worry and panic over what Nick would do, but there was no answer to the question of what he had already done. He hadn't done anything besides carry a bad attitude, and Alex attacked him for it. He hadn't done anything to deserve such reaction, and yet Alex tried to beat him, tried to kill him, tried to end his life with brutal attacks. He had no answer for his actions, no explanations, no excuses.
No excuses huh?
He had to take responsibility for what he had done, for his choice; It was his choice and his alone, and no one forced him to do it. Not Andrea or Nick or anyone he wanted to protect, none of them forced him to take action or make that choice; He didn't even know if the people he tried to preemptively were still alive or in the same situation. No, that's not right. He knew they were. This was Survival of the Fittest, that horrible show that everyone couldn't help but watch or take note of; The premise was always the same, the class was always taken in whole, and no one ever escaped capture. No, he knew they were there, he knew who he wanted to protect, but he didn't know if they were still alive and safe, if his actions were even justified in the slightest.
No! They're still alive, I just know it!
He lied to himself.
No!
Yes.
He knew it was a lie, that it was a desperate grasp at the strings, that he just wanted justification for his actions; He wanted his choice to be the right one, and to forget it was a mistake. But he couldn't. No, he couldn't forget it or try to justify it. He had to step up and take the blame; No one else was to blame for what he had done, only him. He had to take responsibility for his choices, he had to bear the burden of the mistakes he had made and would continue to make, and it the only one to blame was him. Only him.
Only me.
Yes.
He didn't feel like moving; For a long time, he didn't do anything, barely realizing that he was alone in the woods, that no one was around. When he finally came to, it wasn't because he had come to a conclusion, that he had ended his train of thought; No, the reason for him to snap back to reality was the searing pain in his arm, that cut from the glass and the biting breeze against the stinging wound. He had to do something about that. But what could he do besides... Wait, no, inside the bag. He lifted his daypack off his back, dropped it unto the ground, and tore it open as fast as he could; There, right there, was the first aid kit he had seen earlier. It would have what he needed for his arm.
"What was it she mentioned about pills?"
His arm cleaned, bandaged and out of mind, he had time to think back on what Andrea had said before she took off running; Why had she said anything to him after what he had tried to do? But the word she chose to use, what she told him about the pills, it got his interest piqued; He didn't have his pills, his personal stash, so those stolen from others would have to do. But did he really want that crutch now? The bottle was within reach, just there on the ground, surrounded by little white pieces of that ever present crutch in his life; There were still a few in the bottle. He outstretched his hand, grabbed the little plastic container, and picked it up.
But something shot into his mind, his memory, when he heard the rattle of the pills.
He had heard that noise before, earlier; When Andrea was digging through her bag, he could just barely make out the rattle of pills in their container, the tell tale sound of his addiction. She sold the same ones he took, she had done so for a long time; Selling to his classmates, to the people she knew, but he had never taken the chance for an easier supply. But he knew she had them, the ones he wanted, the ones he needed. He looked down at his hand. The name on the bottle Nick had wasn't right, didn't match the names he pulled from his memory. No, these weren't the ones he needed.
She lied.
Repeating Nick's action, he cast the bottle of pills from his sight, spilling the last of its contents onto the ground. The anger returned, the resentment and the contempt; She lied to him, kept it hidden from him. But she couldn't be far away now, he could chase after her, take the pills he knew she had; Retake the hold on his crutch and give in to his addiction, by hook or by crook. It would be easy, simple, and the choice was his to make. But there was something else; something in the air around him, something coming from the distance. He could smell it. He knew what it was.
"Smoke.... Shit!"
He made a mistake.
"I shouldn't have let him go!"
He made his choice.
He grabbed his day pack, ready to close it, to put it on his back and be on his way from this place, to chase after his mistake; But he stopped. He spotted the item Nick had left behind, the intact bottle on the ground. He must had dropped it when Alex slammed him, and forgotten to take it with him when he ran. Moving closer, Alex took the cause for his mistake into his hand; He stared at the bottle with contempt in his eyes, tempted to throw it, to be rid of it, to cast it from his sight and make sure no one else could make use of it. But if that smoke meant what he knew it did, he might need this weapon; This, and the piece of glass he had taken from his fallen opponent. It was in his pocket, the blood stained edge wrapped in a torn piece of his jacket.
He made his choice.
Sliding the molotov into his day pack, Alex removed his jacket and tore the rest of the sleeve from it; He wouldn't wear it any longer, putting the rest into his pack. He knew what he was doing; Picking up each piece of glass from the ground with cautious fingers, he placed them into the sleeve, holding them in it until he gathered every last piece. The diesel soaked shards in his possession, he cast his focus upon the last thing that still sat nearby; The branch he had taken from the trees, the weapon he invested his strength and his trust in. He made a mistake in using it the first time, but it was still his weapon, one he had taken up by choice; He made a mistake the first time, but when he met Nick again, he wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't miss. With weapon in hand, with the diesel soaked shards resting carefully in his pocket, he swung his day pack unto his back.
He made his choice.
He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
He followed after Nick.
[Boy #14 - Alex White. Continued in Hideaway.]
[End of Thread]
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