Alex watched in amazement as her suggestion and discussion suddenly turned into action. Maria had the grave well in hand before Alex managed to kneel down and join her. She smiled that to herself, she didn't know about anyone else she came across, but burying Warren had seemed like the right thing today. Once they had Warren buried she stood and absently brushed her hands off on her already stained jeans.
By then Jessica had grabbed her hand. "Are we going with them?" Jessica asked, her voice shaking. "I-I mean... I don't... C'mon, let's go."
Alex regarded the girl she'd been trying to bring out of her shell for the last year and half. Jessica was right; since they'd buried Warren there wasn't a whole lot for them to do now besides stand here out in the open. She needed to get going if she was going to find Roman. He obviously wasn't here, so she figured she should explore more of the island. She paused and bit her lip, what if he was looking for her and they missed each other because they were both on the move. She shook her head, she couldn't just sit her and do nothing, and she needed to be on the move.
Sighing, she squeezed Jessica's hand. "Yeah come on let's get going. I need to find Roman. If you guys see him will you tell him that I was here and looking for him," she asked the group that was still standing around Warren's makeshift grave.
Decision made she randomly picked a direction, bent down and grabbed her bag, and then headed out of the town center with Jessica in tow.
((Alex Jackson continued in Mad World))
Ten Shades of Gray
B067 Start --- Private Thread
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Super Llama†
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
Slowly, Maria's awareness of her surroundings was coming back to her, and as she noticed Cass in tears as well, and Fiona reassuring her that she had done a good job, she began to realize how much of a selfish bitch she was being.
How could she just break down like this? She was supposed to be happy-go-lucky one that never let anything get her down. That's how everyone knew her. If she had to cry, she'd go and do it by herself, where no one could hear her. This was even more important right here and now. Here was Cass, bawling her eyes out (no thanks to her, she was sure), and she could be helping her, reassuring her, but she wasn't, because she was too busy letting her own grief take over.
If she was no good for anything else, she might as well be good for this.
Listening as Cass delivered her eulogy, she began to do what she normally did in situations like this: She buried all her grief and pain deep inside. She liked to imagine a little lock box that she just stuffed it all into, to just keep it there and let it out later. This time, though, it didn't seem like it would all fit. She desperately tried to cram it all in there, and after a while it felt like it would all spill out again, stronger than before. But after some effort, she succeeded. It was a heavy, painful weight in her chest, and it left her feeling numb, staring blankly at Warren's body as the tears dried up and Cass finished her eulogy. She felt like she should add something, but it took a moment before she could come up with anything.
"Yeah, Warren. You really were a great bass player. Blank Nation isn't going to be the same without you. Now that you're..."
Dead. Just like I'll be soon. And Cass, and Max, and Duncan, and everyone else.
Maria quietly grit her teeth. She could feel the weight getting bigger, and as Cass laid Warren down into the grave she tried to occupy herself with burying him. Her hands stung as she pushed the dirt over him, but she couldn't allow herself to stop. All this grief, anger, frustration, indignation, despair were only getting worse as she tried to hold them back, like water building up behind a dam. But she didn't want anybody to see them. Not anymore. She couldn't let anyone see her cry anymore. She had to be strong.
Dead. Just because someone had to be so goddamn selfish and kill right at the starting gate. If I ever run into him, I'll...
But she just wasn't strong enough. Already she could feel the cracks in the damn as she pushed the last of the dirt over Warren. It looked like such a pitiful grave. Just not good enough...
At least the picture made it look better. To be honest, Maria had barely noticed that Mizore was there. She was too busy grieving to really get angry at her or anything for asking for paint in a situation like this. But at least she did this. That was nice of her.
It wouldn't have even been necessary if it wasn't for that bastard...who the hell does he think he is...
This wasn't good. She had to get out of here. Away from this body, away from the group. Not away from the group PERMANENTLY, mind you, but at least away long enough to be able to vent. She noticed the other group taking their leave. She knew that they all knew who killed Warren, and part of her wanted to ask who did it, but another part was glad that they didn't. She was afraid of what she might do if she found out. Looking over at Cass, she realized that there was something else she should do before she excused herself.
She walked up, and she gave Cass a hug. A big, almost possessive hug, as if she was afraid she might disappear into thin air if she let go. There wasn't really anything else she could do. She couldn't save her, she couldn't even reassure her, not without looking like a hypocrite now. This was the best thing she could do. As she held onto Cass, not even noticing how long the hug was, she came to a realization.
She had to go to the bathroom.
Maria was taken by surprise. She wasn't expecting this to go to...well, that so suddenly. She would've laughed at the absurdity if she didn't feel like she was about to explode. What she wouldn't give to just allow herself to be the one to be reassured and comforted. To just let it out without fear of guilt. At least now she had an excuse to go off in a corner and cry now.
Reluctantly pulling herself away from Cass, she gave her a smile. A weak, almost pained smile, but a smile nonetheless.
"I...I have to go use the bathroom." She said, picking up her flare gun and tucking it into the back of her pants. "I'll be right back." She says, taking a look over at Dustin nearby, then back over, one more time, at Warren's grave, before heading off for the nearby treeline, leaving her pack behind.
Just a little bit further. She walked off towards the treeline, eventually disappearing into the foliage. She kept going until she decided she was far enough.
And she let the floodgates open.
{{continued in Woods of Paranoia}}
How could she just break down like this? She was supposed to be happy-go-lucky one that never let anything get her down. That's how everyone knew her. If she had to cry, she'd go and do it by herself, where no one could hear her. This was even more important right here and now. Here was Cass, bawling her eyes out (no thanks to her, she was sure), and she could be helping her, reassuring her, but she wasn't, because she was too busy letting her own grief take over.
If she was no good for anything else, she might as well be good for this.
Listening as Cass delivered her eulogy, she began to do what she normally did in situations like this: She buried all her grief and pain deep inside. She liked to imagine a little lock box that she just stuffed it all into, to just keep it there and let it out later. This time, though, it didn't seem like it would all fit. She desperately tried to cram it all in there, and after a while it felt like it would all spill out again, stronger than before. But after some effort, she succeeded. It was a heavy, painful weight in her chest, and it left her feeling numb, staring blankly at Warren's body as the tears dried up and Cass finished her eulogy. She felt like she should add something, but it took a moment before she could come up with anything.
"Yeah, Warren. You really were a great bass player. Blank Nation isn't going to be the same without you. Now that you're..."
Dead. Just like I'll be soon. And Cass, and Max, and Duncan, and everyone else.
Maria quietly grit her teeth. She could feel the weight getting bigger, and as Cass laid Warren down into the grave she tried to occupy herself with burying him. Her hands stung as she pushed the dirt over him, but she couldn't allow herself to stop. All this grief, anger, frustration, indignation, despair were only getting worse as she tried to hold them back, like water building up behind a dam. But she didn't want anybody to see them. Not anymore. She couldn't let anyone see her cry anymore. She had to be strong.
Dead. Just because someone had to be so goddamn selfish and kill right at the starting gate. If I ever run into him, I'll...
But she just wasn't strong enough. Already she could feel the cracks in the damn as she pushed the last of the dirt over Warren. It looked like such a pitiful grave. Just not good enough...
At least the picture made it look better. To be honest, Maria had barely noticed that Mizore was there. She was too busy grieving to really get angry at her or anything for asking for paint in a situation like this. But at least she did this. That was nice of her.
It wouldn't have even been necessary if it wasn't for that bastard...who the hell does he think he is...
This wasn't good. She had to get out of here. Away from this body, away from the group. Not away from the group PERMANENTLY, mind you, but at least away long enough to be able to vent. She noticed the other group taking their leave. She knew that they all knew who killed Warren, and part of her wanted to ask who did it, but another part was glad that they didn't. She was afraid of what she might do if she found out. Looking over at Cass, she realized that there was something else she should do before she excused herself.
She walked up, and she gave Cass a hug. A big, almost possessive hug, as if she was afraid she might disappear into thin air if she let go. There wasn't really anything else she could do. She couldn't save her, she couldn't even reassure her, not without looking like a hypocrite now. This was the best thing she could do. As she held onto Cass, not even noticing how long the hug was, she came to a realization.
She had to go to the bathroom.
Maria was taken by surprise. She wasn't expecting this to go to...well, that so suddenly. She would've laughed at the absurdity if she didn't feel like she was about to explode. What she wouldn't give to just allow herself to be the one to be reassured and comforted. To just let it out without fear of guilt. At least now she had an excuse to go off in a corner and cry now.
Reluctantly pulling herself away from Cass, she gave her a smile. A weak, almost pained smile, but a smile nonetheless.
"I...I have to go use the bathroom." She said, picking up her flare gun and tucking it into the back of her pants. "I'll be right back." She says, taking a look over at Dustin nearby, then back over, one more time, at Warren's grave, before heading off for the nearby treeline, leaving her pack behind.
Just a little bit further. She walked off towards the treeline, eventually disappearing into the foliage. She kept going until she decided she was far enough.
And she let the floodgates open.
{{continued in Woods of Paranoia}}
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Super Llama.
(Zach Jamis continued from A Pit Stop of Sorts)
"Waste of time."
Zach just grimaced. He had just broken into five different houses and not a single thing. No food, no clothes, a ratty old bed MAYBE. Not even makeshift weapons. All that was left were the creaky wood panels that made up the floors, and Zach sure as hell had no crowbar to get at those. Everything had been empty. They had just passed a pub but Zach was into that. Breaking into a pub? If there weren't going to be anything in the houses then there sure wasn't going to be shit in the pub. What was the point?
"I should have expected them to have emptied the houses out but for shit's sake, why the hell couldn't they have left SOMETHING there?"
Zach wasn't really angry about not finding any supplies. He just hated wasting his time. Every second was precious, and while you could make an argument that Zach wasn't playing the game smart (then again he wasn't exactly playing it at all at this stage), you can sure as hell say that he was making every second on this island count. Zach grit his teeth before taking a drag on his almost finished cigarette.
They were almost at the end of the road. How long had they been walking? Had to be like a hour or so. He hadn't expected this town to be so big. This island was turning out to have more surprises than he really wanted to know. This was like learning terrible things about his parents. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Didn't mix well with the cigarette.
There was something in the distance. Zach squinted his eyes.
"Sam," Zach started as he flicked the butt of his now-finished cigarette onto the ground. He didn't stop walking. "What is that?"
IT was a naked chick. Granted, she was stone and she was worse for the wear with graffiti lined all over it, but damn. What would the children think? Zach almost chuckled, almost, before reaching for another cigarette reflexively. He was going to make each one last though. No Zach. Put the fucking lighter down. As he finally got him to stop, he finally realized the
Dustin fuckin' Royal, captain of the SS douchebag, was coughing a lung up like the puss that he was. Jesus. Zach had just walked away from vomit, he didn't want to start walking in it again. Shit. And there was Aquafina, the chick in his one English class. One of those writers that always read their shit in front of the class. Zach had always thought Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening was about stopping by the woods on a snowy evening. Making it represent things that it does not won't help solve world hunger, that was for damn sure. Aquafina was looking down at something...
A patch of dirt. Looked like it was dug up and then replaced. A pitiful grave that was so pitiful that Zach couldn't even figure out what it was for. Zach furrowed his brow and told Royal and Aquafina just what he was thinking.
"Just what in the fucking hell is going on?!"
He really needed another cigarette.
"Waste of time."
Zach just grimaced. He had just broken into five different houses and not a single thing. No food, no clothes, a ratty old bed MAYBE. Not even makeshift weapons. All that was left were the creaky wood panels that made up the floors, and Zach sure as hell had no crowbar to get at those. Everything had been empty. They had just passed a pub but Zach was into that. Breaking into a pub? If there weren't going to be anything in the houses then there sure wasn't going to be shit in the pub. What was the point?
"I should have expected them to have emptied the houses out but for shit's sake, why the hell couldn't they have left SOMETHING there?"
Zach wasn't really angry about not finding any supplies. He just hated wasting his time. Every second was precious, and while you could make an argument that Zach wasn't playing the game smart (then again he wasn't exactly playing it at all at this stage), you can sure as hell say that he was making every second on this island count. Zach grit his teeth before taking a drag on his almost finished cigarette.
They were almost at the end of the road. How long had they been walking? Had to be like a hour or so. He hadn't expected this town to be so big. This island was turning out to have more surprises than he really wanted to know. This was like learning terrible things about his parents. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Didn't mix well with the cigarette.
There was something in the distance. Zach squinted his eyes.
"Sam," Zach started as he flicked the butt of his now-finished cigarette onto the ground. He didn't stop walking. "What is that?"
IT was a naked chick. Granted, she was stone and she was worse for the wear with graffiti lined all over it, but damn. What would the children think? Zach almost chuckled, almost, before reaching for another cigarette reflexively. He was going to make each one last though. No Zach. Put the fucking lighter down. As he finally got him to stop, he finally realized the
Dustin fuckin' Royal, captain of the SS douchebag, was coughing a lung up like the puss that he was. Jesus. Zach had just walked away from vomit, he didn't want to start walking in it again. Shit. And there was Aquafina, the chick in his one English class. One of those writers that always read their shit in front of the class. Zach had always thought Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening was about stopping by the woods on a snowy evening. Making it represent things that it does not won't help solve world hunger, that was for damn sure. Aquafina was looking down at something...
A patch of dirt. Looked like it was dug up and then replaced. A pitiful grave that was so pitiful that Zach couldn't even figure out what it was for. Zach furrowed his brow and told Royal and Aquafina just what he was thinking.
"Just what in the fucking hell is going on?!"
He really needed another cigarette.
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Sunnybunny
- Posts: 384
- Joined: Fri May 17, 2019 7:35 pm
((Samya Franklin continued from A Pit Stop of Sorts))
Well, that idea had, oh she didn't know, failed miserbly. There wasn't anything of use in the houses, she was tired, Zach was mad as hell, Ash was still creepy, Simon was . . . well he was something, and they were still walking, and she wanted to hit something! Not that anyone would know that, she was just humming. Of course, she was humming Hellfire, but what would any of them know about that? She was just good old happy Sammy, she didn't get frustrated, she didn't get mad, she just was nice to everyone.
Unless she was debating with them, then she was a beast. But that wasn't personal, mostly.
She wished those other guys would . . . maybe, leave? Strength in numbers and all that, but they weren't all that social. It was like dealing with Zach and then dealing with puppets. She needed someone with personality, or least a bit more talkative. Guess she'd make do with what she had. Zach was saying something, she should stop humming now. Mea maxima culpa could wait.
"Umm, looks like a drawing of something." She walked closer. Okay, this was just strange. But for why though? Zach started to pull out a another stick and then Samya's world became even harder to deal with. Not because of Cassidy, she wished it was just Cassidy. But Dustin Royal. Dustin, of the blond hair, blue eyes, and whorish ways. He of the many, many, women.
The guy Samya fell head over heels for in ninth grade.
Can't do this. Ugh.
It would be simple if it was just that she'd liked the guy then. But she still, it was still, so impossible, but why oh why of all the guys, she didn't like him during school, it's okay. Except it wasn't okay, not even in the same ballpark as okay.
She had gotten questions about her sexuality. She'd giggled over cute guys, and was nice to them. But she didn't flirt, really. She didn't have a boyfriend, ever. She didn't even have a date for prom, going with the Stagettes. She told them, "I'm waiting til college to have a boyfriend." They believed her when she said she didn't like anyone (even though Zach had given her a funny look). And she smiled, and she went home. She skated, she hung out with her fam, she went to her room, shut the door, and turned into a love-sick fool.
So stupid, so . . . I just can't.
It was so cliché, the girl afraid of love falling for the handsome, intelligent, talented, whoremonging guy. I mean, she couldn't have been original? And she hated it, hated her self for the buzz she got everytime she saw him. She wasn't supposed to do that. She was supposed to be a princess. One guy, boom, happily ever after. And she adored Dustin, truly. But just because his last name was Royal, didn't mean he was her . . . Ugh, she was too freaking young for this! And now they were here and hell, now what? What was there to do?
People are dying here, buck up Sammy. He's just a guy. One guy.
But he's that One Guy, damnit.
She looked drained now, tired. The sight of Dustin had done what all the work couldn't. Exhausted her. Made her feel helpless, she was never good enough for him, why even bother, four years of that flooding her. A mistake? Maybe.
She looked at Zack, wished she could tell him everything. Needed a shoulder to lean on. She was really confused, she didn't want to admit she'd lost her mind at the moment. Couldn't stop that lo . . . that liking feeling, she didn't love him. She could not possibly be that stupid. Back to the real world. A grave and the smell of vomit (Really, again? That was all sorts of bull.). Zach was right, something was seriously off here. Besides the fact that her hands were shaking.
"Did someone . . . oh no, did someone die already?"
It was terrible, but she was glad they could talk about the grave. Keep movin' foward, that's it. You can do this, it's like riding a bike. Did it all this time in school.
Samya Franklin did not like Dustin Royal. She didn't. Really.
Mea maxima culpa, indeed.
Well, that idea had, oh she didn't know, failed miserbly. There wasn't anything of use in the houses, she was tired, Zach was mad as hell, Ash was still creepy, Simon was . . . well he was something, and they were still walking, and she wanted to hit something! Not that anyone would know that, she was just humming. Of course, she was humming Hellfire, but what would any of them know about that? She was just good old happy Sammy, she didn't get frustrated, she didn't get mad, she just was nice to everyone.
Unless she was debating with them, then she was a beast. But that wasn't personal, mostly.
She wished those other guys would . . . maybe, leave? Strength in numbers and all that, but they weren't all that social. It was like dealing with Zach and then dealing with puppets. She needed someone with personality, or least a bit more talkative. Guess she'd make do with what she had. Zach was saying something, she should stop humming now. Mea maxima culpa could wait.
"Umm, looks like a drawing of something." She walked closer. Okay, this was just strange. But for why though? Zach started to pull out a another stick and then Samya's world became even harder to deal with. Not because of Cassidy, she wished it was just Cassidy. But Dustin Royal. Dustin, of the blond hair, blue eyes, and whorish ways. He of the many, many, women.
The guy Samya fell head over heels for in ninth grade.
Can't do this. Ugh.
It would be simple if it was just that she'd liked the guy then. But she still, it was still, so impossible, but why oh why of all the guys, she didn't like him during school, it's okay. Except it wasn't okay, not even in the same ballpark as okay.
She had gotten questions about her sexuality. She'd giggled over cute guys, and was nice to them. But she didn't flirt, really. She didn't have a boyfriend, ever. She didn't even have a date for prom, going with the Stagettes. She told them, "I'm waiting til college to have a boyfriend." They believed her when she said she didn't like anyone (even though Zach had given her a funny look). And she smiled, and she went home. She skated, she hung out with her fam, she went to her room, shut the door, and turned into a love-sick fool.
So stupid, so . . . I just can't.
It was so cliché, the girl afraid of love falling for the handsome, intelligent, talented, whoremonging guy. I mean, she couldn't have been original? And she hated it, hated her self for the buzz she got everytime she saw him. She wasn't supposed to do that. She was supposed to be a princess. One guy, boom, happily ever after. And she adored Dustin, truly. But just because his last name was Royal, didn't mean he was her . . . Ugh, she was too freaking young for this! And now they were here and hell, now what? What was there to do?
People are dying here, buck up Sammy. He's just a guy. One guy.
But he's that One Guy, damnit.
She looked drained now, tired. The sight of Dustin had done what all the work couldn't. Exhausted her. Made her feel helpless, she was never good enough for him, why even bother, four years of that flooding her. A mistake? Maybe.
She looked at Zack, wished she could tell him everything. Needed a shoulder to lean on. She was really confused, she didn't want to admit she'd lost her mind at the moment. Couldn't stop that lo . . . that liking feeling, she didn't love him. She could not possibly be that stupid. Back to the real world. A grave and the smell of vomit (Really, again? That was all sorts of bull.). Zach was right, something was seriously off here. Besides the fact that her hands were shaking.
"Did someone . . . oh no, did someone die already?"
It was terrible, but she was glad they could talk about the grave. Keep movin' foward, that's it. You can do this, it's like riding a bike. Did it all this time in school.
Samya Franklin did not like Dustin Royal. She didn't. Really.
Mea maxima culpa, indeed.
VII
G071 - Sakurako Adina Jackson - i'll be ready every day / for as long as i can say / here I am in the future with my friends
VIII
Dancing Shoes
Bare Knuckles
Wild Horses
G071 - Sakurako Adina Jackson - i'll be ready every day / for as long as i can say / here I am in the future with my friends
VIII
Dancing Shoes
Bare Knuckles
Wild Horses
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Pigeon Army†
- Posts: 232
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:17 am
"Huhwah?"
Dustin's head jerked up as he caught himself nodding off for the fifth time. He always seemed to get sleepy after throwing up - not that he'd thrown up often, but he'd done it enough to notice the pattern - and it didn't help that he'd been tramping across half the goddamn island. Exercise that intense? Never kept anyone awake.
Dustin rubbed his eyes and spat a remnant of vomit into the puddle next to him on the concrete. The collection of spew wasn't exactly the most pleasant sight or smell in the world, but Dustin could think of worse right now.
Speaking of worse...
Dustin suddenly twigged to the silence. Maybe they're just doing some memoriam shit for the dead kid. He glanced around the plaza, but there were no students, no bodies, and definitely none of that memoriam shit. Everyone had gone. They'd fucked off and left him there.
Dicks.
Dustin pushed himself up off the dusty asphalt, brushing the dirt off his jeans and picking up the yatagan lying idly on the ground next to him. He was alone on this island now. A lone wolf. A renegade. A loose cannon, deemed too 'hardcore' for everyone else. He lived on the wild side. Nothing stood in his way in the pursuit of truth, justice, and the American way.
"You're out of control, Royal!" Dustin joked to himself, his fake Boston sneer as painful as his throat, rough and sore from the spontaneous mass regurgitation. He coughed for a few seconds, flinching and doubling over as the hacking took to his oesophagus like sandpaper. Straightening up, Dustin grabbed his guitar and slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed his daypack and slung that over his other shoulder. Like some sort of Chinese peasant carrying water to his family, Dustin started off, wobbling ever-so-slightly. Then, almost immediately, he stopped.
Was that...?
Dustin dared not look behind him. He could've sworn it was her voice, but she was the year below him, wasn't she? Besides, even if she was here, what were the chances of...
"Did someone . . . oh no, did someone die already?"
Oh. Oh no.
Ever since he'd shown an interest in girls, his awesome cousin in New York had told him all about them. Terriers, he'd called them. Every man worth his salt had one. The more appealing you were to women, the more you were likely to have. They always seemed to find you, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from them, and there was a 99% chance that any interaction between you and them would be so awkward that you would throw yourself into a furnace if it meant getting out of the conversation. They tended to be girls you wanted to avoid getting involved with, sexually or otherwise - and if you did get involved, you had to make damn sure you had enough money to go to court and get a restraining order, because it'd spiral into some creepy Fatal Attraction shit soon enough.
Samya Franklin was, as far as Dustin could work it out, his terrier.
Dustin wasn't attracted to Samya in the slightest. She was dumpy, childish, was covered in pimple scars. Given the choice between fucking her and spending a night with St Paul's most famous homeless person, University Uder, he'd much prefer sculling back bourbon and eating rubbish-bin food with the crazy guy. It was clear to anyone with all five senses and a brain to process them, however, that Samya liked him in that romantic Prince-Charming-here-to-sweep-me-off-my-feet kind of way. That kind of way was a creepy kind of way, and not the way Dustin operated. He wasn't no-one's Romeo. He was temporary, not constant. He wasn't a fucking emotional bellboy.
But there she was. Bounding in his direction like some kind of high school Oompa Loompa. If he wasn't careful, he wouldn't just be the emotional bellboy - he'd be bellboy, check-in, room service, maid and hotel manager all-in-fucking-one.
Dustin recognised one of the other people Samya was travelling with. She wasn't looking particularly happy to see him, but it was Survival of the Fittest, and besides, she didn't look particularly happy to see anyone. Ever. Quickly, Dustin put together a play to avoid contact with the simpering overweight puppy in teenage form. Pulling his guitar to his front, he began strumming a little tune, humming along to it as he ambled towards Ash Morrison, the terse girl who was cute in the same way red wine was delicious - an acquired taste. Striding right past the terrier, he stopped in front of the button-nosed potential-paramour and bowed to her, the sweeping gesture as over-the-top as it was unnecessary.
He looked up, a cheeky glint in his eyes - as there always was when he was shamelessly flirting. "M'lady," he said, a grand English lilt in his voice. "May I be of service to you?"
Dustin's head jerked up as he caught himself nodding off for the fifth time. He always seemed to get sleepy after throwing up - not that he'd thrown up often, but he'd done it enough to notice the pattern - and it didn't help that he'd been tramping across half the goddamn island. Exercise that intense? Never kept anyone awake.
Dustin rubbed his eyes and spat a remnant of vomit into the puddle next to him on the concrete. The collection of spew wasn't exactly the most pleasant sight or smell in the world, but Dustin could think of worse right now.
Speaking of worse...
Dustin suddenly twigged to the silence. Maybe they're just doing some memoriam shit for the dead kid. He glanced around the plaza, but there were no students, no bodies, and definitely none of that memoriam shit. Everyone had gone. They'd fucked off and left him there.
Dicks.
Dustin pushed himself up off the dusty asphalt, brushing the dirt off his jeans and picking up the yatagan lying idly on the ground next to him. He was alone on this island now. A lone wolf. A renegade. A loose cannon, deemed too 'hardcore' for everyone else. He lived on the wild side. Nothing stood in his way in the pursuit of truth, justice, and the American way.
"You're out of control, Royal!" Dustin joked to himself, his fake Boston sneer as painful as his throat, rough and sore from the spontaneous mass regurgitation. He coughed for a few seconds, flinching and doubling over as the hacking took to his oesophagus like sandpaper. Straightening up, Dustin grabbed his guitar and slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed his daypack and slung that over his other shoulder. Like some sort of Chinese peasant carrying water to his family, Dustin started off, wobbling ever-so-slightly. Then, almost immediately, he stopped.
Was that...?
Dustin dared not look behind him. He could've sworn it was her voice, but she was the year below him, wasn't she? Besides, even if she was here, what were the chances of...
"Did someone . . . oh no, did someone die already?"
Oh. Oh no.
Ever since he'd shown an interest in girls, his awesome cousin in New York had told him all about them. Terriers, he'd called them. Every man worth his salt had one. The more appealing you were to women, the more you were likely to have. They always seemed to find you, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from them, and there was a 99% chance that any interaction between you and them would be so awkward that you would throw yourself into a furnace if it meant getting out of the conversation. They tended to be girls you wanted to avoid getting involved with, sexually or otherwise - and if you did get involved, you had to make damn sure you had enough money to go to court and get a restraining order, because it'd spiral into some creepy Fatal Attraction shit soon enough.
Samya Franklin was, as far as Dustin could work it out, his terrier.
Dustin wasn't attracted to Samya in the slightest. She was dumpy, childish, was covered in pimple scars. Given the choice between fucking her and spending a night with St Paul's most famous homeless person, University Uder, he'd much prefer sculling back bourbon and eating rubbish-bin food with the crazy guy. It was clear to anyone with all five senses and a brain to process them, however, that Samya liked him in that romantic Prince-Charming-here-to-sweep-me-off-my-feet kind of way. That kind of way was a creepy kind of way, and not the way Dustin operated. He wasn't no-one's Romeo. He was temporary, not constant. He wasn't a fucking emotional bellboy.
But there she was. Bounding in his direction like some kind of high school Oompa Loompa. If he wasn't careful, he wouldn't just be the emotional bellboy - he'd be bellboy, check-in, room service, maid and hotel manager all-in-fucking-one.
Dustin recognised one of the other people Samya was travelling with. She wasn't looking particularly happy to see him, but it was Survival of the Fittest, and besides, she didn't look particularly happy to see anyone. Ever. Quickly, Dustin put together a play to avoid contact with the simpering overweight puppy in teenage form. Pulling his guitar to his front, he began strumming a little tune, humming along to it as he ambled towards Ash Morrison, the terse girl who was cute in the same way red wine was delicious - an acquired taste. Striding right past the terrier, he stopped in front of the button-nosed potential-paramour and bowed to her, the sweeping gesture as over-the-top as it was unnecessary.
He looked up, a cheeky glint in his eyes - as there always was when he was shamelessly flirting. "M'lady," he said, a grand English lilt in his voice. "May I be of service to you?"
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((Simon Fletcher continued from A Pit Stop of Sorts))
So, basically, they haven't found anything. Simon had picked up another stick, a few rocks, and a pencil that had beat ground into the dirt ages ago, but he didn't think those counted. He only brought them for the very, very slim chance that they would end up in some kind of situation where they needed everything they could find to MacGyver their way out. But he had always been a pit of a packrat; maybe this was just a chance for Simon to use that fact to stay as sane as he could.
Zach was complaining about the lack of, well, anything. Simon sighed along with him. It had been a really long day, and would a blanket be too much to ask for? Not even a bed-a blanket. Simon had woken up in a place that had beds, though you couldn't pay him to go back. "That Danya guy really has got to get something better to do. This place must have taken forever for the terrorists to fix up to their liking."
Their little team was still plugging along, though. Ash was still staying quiet, but Simon had no reason to think that she was untrustworthy. He was not going to become paranoid. If he did that, it would be only a few small steps until he was panicking and trying to attack someone. Sam was humming The Hunchback of Norte Dame. Well, not really, but it was the only song Simon knew from that movie. The priest/judge/whatever's song by the fireplace, the one that had freaked him out a little when he was six, especially with the Latin in the background. Simon was debating whatever to start going with Be Prepared or something to lighten the mood when Zach stopped.
There were two people nearby, Dustin from his English and a girl named Cassidy. Dustin was had just finished vomiting. More puke? Actually, it was amazing Simon had kept everything inside of him. This was the kind of situation where you really couldn't be judged for throwing up. You know, with the whole killing your classmates thing? But Simon didn't know if that was what was getting to Dustin; he didn't know that guy that well. Only that he was great at English and liked women. He knew even less about Cassidy. She liked books and comics, like him, but they never really talked.
They were not the thing that Simon focused on. Zach was staring at a patch in the ground and Sam asked "Did someone . . . oh no, did someone die already?"
"Looks like it." Simon's voice was almost inaudible. He remembered the feeling of being attacked by Sarah, the sound of the gunshot where they came from...The game certainly had it's players. He opened his bag, pulled out one of the rolls and broke it in half. In Chinese class, that long ago, Simon could faintly recall hearing about how paper objects and food were left for the spirits of the dead. Here you go, whoever you are. I'm sorry this had to happen to you. To us. Simon placed the piece of the roll in the dirt.
Dustin was hitting on Ash, completely ignoring Zach's question. Of course. Simon turned to Cassidy.
"Who was it?" Simon was still looking at the grave; he assumed she'd catch his meaning. Please don't say Gloria, or Trevor, or Alex, or even R.J. or Adrian or Sarah. He didn't want to remember seeing a person's face a few hours before that would never come back, and Simon didn't know what he would say if it was one of his friends.
So, basically, they haven't found anything. Simon had picked up another stick, a few rocks, and a pencil that had beat ground into the dirt ages ago, but he didn't think those counted. He only brought them for the very, very slim chance that they would end up in some kind of situation where they needed everything they could find to MacGyver their way out. But he had always been a pit of a packrat; maybe this was just a chance for Simon to use that fact to stay as sane as he could.
Zach was complaining about the lack of, well, anything. Simon sighed along with him. It had been a really long day, and would a blanket be too much to ask for? Not even a bed-a blanket. Simon had woken up in a place that had beds, though you couldn't pay him to go back. "That Danya guy really has got to get something better to do. This place must have taken forever for the terrorists to fix up to their liking."
Their little team was still plugging along, though. Ash was still staying quiet, but Simon had no reason to think that she was untrustworthy. He was not going to become paranoid. If he did that, it would be only a few small steps until he was panicking and trying to attack someone. Sam was humming The Hunchback of Norte Dame. Well, not really, but it was the only song Simon knew from that movie. The priest/judge/whatever's song by the fireplace, the one that had freaked him out a little when he was six, especially with the Latin in the background. Simon was debating whatever to start going with Be Prepared or something to lighten the mood when Zach stopped.
There were two people nearby, Dustin from his English and a girl named Cassidy. Dustin was had just finished vomiting. More puke? Actually, it was amazing Simon had kept everything inside of him. This was the kind of situation where you really couldn't be judged for throwing up. You know, with the whole killing your classmates thing? But Simon didn't know if that was what was getting to Dustin; he didn't know that guy that well. Only that he was great at English and liked women. He knew even less about Cassidy. She liked books and comics, like him, but they never really talked.
They were not the thing that Simon focused on. Zach was staring at a patch in the ground and Sam asked "Did someone . . . oh no, did someone die already?"
"Looks like it." Simon's voice was almost inaudible. He remembered the feeling of being attacked by Sarah, the sound of the gunshot where they came from...The game certainly had it's players. He opened his bag, pulled out one of the rolls and broke it in half. In Chinese class, that long ago, Simon could faintly recall hearing about how paper objects and food were left for the spirits of the dead. Here you go, whoever you are. I'm sorry this had to happen to you. To us. Simon placed the piece of the roll in the dirt.
Dustin was hitting on Ash, completely ignoring Zach's question. Of course. Simon turned to Cassidy.
"Who was it?" Simon was still looking at the grave; he assumed she'd catch his meaning. Please don't say Gloria, or Trevor, or Alex, or even R.J. or Adrian or Sarah. He didn't want to remember seeing a person's face a few hours before that would never come back, and Simon didn't know what he would say if it was one of his friends.
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ET.Requiem†
- Posts: 73
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:14 am
((Ash Morrison continued from A Pit Stop of Sorts))
"What is this?" She looked down at the bowing teenager. Being an outsider in all social circles but her own, she was not too familiar with the people that were in her grade. But she knew this 'gentleman' from his reputation and muttered words from conversations she overheard.
He was.... Dustin.
The 'player'. The man who broke hearts and ravished women with careless abandon. The blonde devil that flaunted his wealth and looks as if he was a king amongst men. A scoundrel of many talents and vices, with nothing in his grin but lust and greed.
Ash narrowed her icy grey eyes. He was not somebody to be trusted or even respected. Sure, he didn't deserve to die. But he wasn't the type she would try to save.
Even worse was the attention that he was paying to her. Was she to be his next catch? She would not allow that to happen, but he was already making his move. She had to get out of here, and fast.
"I do not need your help. Get out of my sight." Ash backed up a step, getting ready for a fight if necessary. She suspected that his type did not take rejection lightly.
"What is this?" She looked down at the bowing teenager. Being an outsider in all social circles but her own, she was not too familiar with the people that were in her grade. But she knew this 'gentleman' from his reputation and muttered words from conversations she overheard.
He was.... Dustin.
The 'player'. The man who broke hearts and ravished women with careless abandon. The blonde devil that flaunted his wealth and looks as if he was a king amongst men. A scoundrel of many talents and vices, with nothing in his grin but lust and greed.
Ash narrowed her icy grey eyes. He was not somebody to be trusted or even respected. Sure, he didn't deserve to die. But he wasn't the type she would try to save.
Even worse was the attention that he was paying to her. Was she to be his next catch? She would not allow that to happen, but he was already making his move. She had to get out of here, and fast.
"I do not need your help. Get out of my sight." Ash backed up a step, getting ready for a fight if necessary. She suspected that his type did not take rejection lightly.
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She'd seen funeral processions before, and right now everything felt oddly like one. Maria only had one thing to say before she hugged Cassidy, afraid of losing another friend so soon after Warren. The other people who were there before, Nik, Jessica, Fiona, Alex... they looked like the people at a funeral with no real connection to the deceased. They were just sad that someone died, not breaking down but looking very serious.
Jessica apologized, and Cassie looked back at her. "It's OK," she said, not because she forgave her for disregarding Warren - she was still on the fence about that - but because for a moment, Cassie saw her dying. And she liked it. But she couldn't very well apologize for that, could she? That was the best she could do.
Then, at the end of the funeral, the peripheral mourners left, chasing after their own concerns and worries. Sometime earlier, Maria had disengaged from her hug, and even someone of Cassidy's limited social graces could tell that she was a dam waiting to burst. It was almost a relief when she announced she had to take a piss. She could do with some alone time, some time to cry in privacy.
Just her and Dustin, then. She looked down at the grave they made for Warren, which Mizore had been so kind to ornament with an impromptu portrait of him. She bent down and stared at it, ignoring the sound of footsteps approaching.
Even with her lack of quality materials, Mizore still managed to turn out a great piece of work. Cassie gave the drawing a wistful smile, examining its every detail. She wasn't as well-acquianted with Mizore as she was with, say, the Blank Nation members, but they met up from time to time earlier in the semester, when Maria tried her hand at drawing and Mizore gave her a few tips.
Cassie looked up and saw that a group of four had stumbled across them, not a single familiar face among them. First came an athletic-looking guy wearing all black, looking pissed at something, she couldn't tell what. Then there was a healthy-looking black girl giving Dustin a weird look, followed by a weird-looking boy with glasses. Finally, Cassie saw the only face she could put a name to, an introverted-looking named Ash. Dustin ignored the black girl and immediately tried to make friends with Ash, only for her to summarily reject him. Groovy.
The glasses boy asked her who died. "Warren Brown," she told him. "Someone named Omar did it." She couldn't look at Simon's face, instead flitting her gaze to her feet, the trees, the buildings, the wall carving.
Hold it.
Cassie dropped everything, running past the group to look at a strategic absence of paint on the wall. It looked like something. Something familiar.
Jessica apologized, and Cassie looked back at her. "It's OK," she said, not because she forgave her for disregarding Warren - she was still on the fence about that - but because for a moment, Cassie saw her dying. And she liked it. But she couldn't very well apologize for that, could she? That was the best she could do.
Then, at the end of the funeral, the peripheral mourners left, chasing after their own concerns and worries. Sometime earlier, Maria had disengaged from her hug, and even someone of Cassidy's limited social graces could tell that she was a dam waiting to burst. It was almost a relief when she announced she had to take a piss. She could do with some alone time, some time to cry in privacy.
Just her and Dustin, then. She looked down at the grave they made for Warren, which Mizore had been so kind to ornament with an impromptu portrait of him. She bent down and stared at it, ignoring the sound of footsteps approaching.
Even with her lack of quality materials, Mizore still managed to turn out a great piece of work. Cassie gave the drawing a wistful smile, examining its every detail. She wasn't as well-acquianted with Mizore as she was with, say, the Blank Nation members, but they met up from time to time earlier in the semester, when Maria tried her hand at drawing and Mizore gave her a few tips.
Cassie looked up and saw that a group of four had stumbled across them, not a single familiar face among them. First came an athletic-looking guy wearing all black, looking pissed at something, she couldn't tell what. Then there was a healthy-looking black girl giving Dustin a weird look, followed by a weird-looking boy with glasses. Finally, Cassie saw the only face she could put a name to, an introverted-looking named Ash. Dustin ignored the black girl and immediately tried to make friends with Ash, only for her to summarily reject him. Groovy.
The glasses boy asked her who died. "Warren Brown," she told him. "Someone named Omar did it." She couldn't look at Simon's face, instead flitting her gaze to her feet, the trees, the buildings, the wall carving.
Hold it.
Cassie dropped everything, running past the group to look at a strategic absence of paint on the wall. It looked like something. Something familiar.
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The second Dustin cooed "M'lady," someone started laughing. Loudly. It wasn't Samya, she looked like she just ate something really sour. Not Cassie - she was too busy staring at something. Simon? No, he wasn't the kind of kid who would laugh like that. Then who was left? There was...
Zach Jamis was... laughing?
Zach Jamis was laughing. No, not just laughing. He was bellowing, at the top of his lungs. Laughing at Dustin.
"Royal," he snrked, "you're a sad fuck y'know that?"
He wiped a tear out of his eye. Dustin Royal was hitting on Ash? SERIOUSLY? Zach had to admit, Ash wasn't hard on the eyes, but it wasn't like she was the only girl around! Holy shit! That was a laugh and a half! What the hell was wrong with this asshole? Zach couldn't stop laughing. His stomach was on fire and he couldn't stop laughing! Dustin wasn't joking. He wasn't joking! He really wanted to sex it up! Right now! Right here! What a creep! He didn't think Royal was that desperate.
Zach stopped after a minute. He was out of breath.
"Haha... go fuck yourself. Really. No one likes you."
Okay, back to outright ignoring Dustin. Zach's face went blank again, almost instantaneously. Back to being Zach Jamis.
Jesus he needed a smoke.
He turned to Doc and Aquafina. They were talking about someone, Warren Brown. Name was familiar. Zach didn't care. His problem was the grave. What the hell was this shit? It looked like a five-year old dug this up with a shovel and pail. Jesus christ. Zach was about to start laughing again.
"You mean to tell me this is a grave? Just looks like you filled in a pothole." Zach scratched his head. "Put a stick in there or somethin'. A tombstone, y'know? Jesus, I would hate to step over that thing and have it cave in. At least make a mark-"
The announcements screeched. It made Zach sick to his stomach. Nineteen people dead. Over ten people actually wanted to play this shit. Zach tried to force himself to stand still. Didn't work. The cigarette was in his mouth before he could stop himself.
Flick. Light. Click. Inhale. Exhale.
"It's gonna be one loooong week."
Zach pocketed the lighter and held his cigarette between his fingers.
"Alright, alright." Zach growled, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't like talking so this is going to be short. We have a group together. Four people, with you two it makes six. Six people is alot. Whatever. You want in, that's cool. If you don't, then that's cool too. I, like, don't care."
Zach Jamis was... laughing?
Zach Jamis was laughing. No, not just laughing. He was bellowing, at the top of his lungs. Laughing at Dustin.
"Royal," he snrked, "you're a sad fuck y'know that?"
He wiped a tear out of his eye. Dustin Royal was hitting on Ash? SERIOUSLY? Zach had to admit, Ash wasn't hard on the eyes, but it wasn't like she was the only girl around! Holy shit! That was a laugh and a half! What the hell was wrong with this asshole? Zach couldn't stop laughing. His stomach was on fire and he couldn't stop laughing! Dustin wasn't joking. He wasn't joking! He really wanted to sex it up! Right now! Right here! What a creep! He didn't think Royal was that desperate.
Zach stopped after a minute. He was out of breath.
"Haha... go fuck yourself. Really. No one likes you."
Okay, back to outright ignoring Dustin. Zach's face went blank again, almost instantaneously. Back to being Zach Jamis.
Jesus he needed a smoke.
He turned to Doc and Aquafina. They were talking about someone, Warren Brown. Name was familiar. Zach didn't care. His problem was the grave. What the hell was this shit? It looked like a five-year old dug this up with a shovel and pail. Jesus christ. Zach was about to start laughing again.
"You mean to tell me this is a grave? Just looks like you filled in a pothole." Zach scratched his head. "Put a stick in there or somethin'. A tombstone, y'know? Jesus, I would hate to step over that thing and have it cave in. At least make a mark-"
The announcements screeched. It made Zach sick to his stomach. Nineteen people dead. Over ten people actually wanted to play this shit. Zach tried to force himself to stand still. Didn't work. The cigarette was in his mouth before he could stop himself.
Flick. Light. Click. Inhale. Exhale.
"It's gonna be one loooong week."
Zach pocketed the lighter and held his cigarette between his fingers.
"Alright, alright." Zach growled, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't like talking so this is going to be short. We have a group together. Four people, with you two it makes six. Six people is alot. Whatever. You want in, that's cool. If you don't, then that's cool too. I, like, don't care."
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Sunnybunny
- Posts: 384
- Joined: Fri May 17, 2019 7:35 pm
Dustin and Ash? It didn't make her happy, stung a little that he ignored her existance. But she had been ignoring him for years, she was pretty sure sure she hadn't had anything to him for a long time. Plus, he could have and did do a lot worse than Ash over the years. Like, walking STD-type chicks.
She didn't have long to be sad though, as Zach proceeded to laugh at Dustin's sad sad attempt at being a gentleman. Sammy had never heard Zach laugh like that before. It made her happy. Dustin deserved to be called out on his crap, and she wasn't brave enough to say two words to the guy. And Ash didn't want him anyway, which made her a lot smarter than Samya was. Good job girl.
Cassie ran off after she told them Warren had died. Good thing too, as Zach had basically said Warren's grave wasn't worth crap. That boy was gonna wind up hurt if he kept screwing with everyone. Being a jerk wasn't a crime worth dying over, but someone might think so. That's was she was she was there for though, to keep hope and Zach and Simon and Ash alive. And she'd only failed at one of those so far.
The announcements. God, people were not playing around. Kris had already killed two people. Sammy could help but feel sorry for her, but she was glad Kris hadn't managed to kill them. Maybe she could have stopped her from killing those other girls, but that was one of those things she really couldn't think about. She took a deep breath, got a deep whiff of vomit again.
They needed to make a no throwing up rule. All these people tossing their cookies was yucky.
Zach offered for Cassie and Dustin to join the group.
The group that she was in. Somehow hearing someone else saying it made her feel more secure. They could be musketeers, or the Power Rangers or . . . the crew of Atlantis! Being in a group with Dustin would be the death of her though, she hoped he said yes (so she could protect him, sad as that notion was) and no (did she really need that kind of stress in her life, hell no). But that sword could be useful, the more people with good weapons, the less she had to worry about all of them. She had to think for the good of the group.
She had to convince Dustin to join them, God help her soul. And if he said no, she could stop feeling like she was holding her breath.
We're gonna live, not just survive. Gonna be as happy as we can be in this place.
She looked at Dustin, who was still trying to get at Ash, she guessed. "Yeah, we were just looking for supplies, we kinda failed at that. But a big group is good, we can sleep in shifts and share supplies if we have to. It'll be like the camping trip we were supposed to have, except for the people trying to kill us, of course."
Mr. Kwong would not have been impressed. But she certainly was proud of herself. Self-respect, hurrah.
She didn't have long to be sad though, as Zach proceeded to laugh at Dustin's sad sad attempt at being a gentleman. Sammy had never heard Zach laugh like that before. It made her happy. Dustin deserved to be called out on his crap, and she wasn't brave enough to say two words to the guy. And Ash didn't want him anyway, which made her a lot smarter than Samya was. Good job girl.
Cassie ran off after she told them Warren had died. Good thing too, as Zach had basically said Warren's grave wasn't worth crap. That boy was gonna wind up hurt if he kept screwing with everyone. Being a jerk wasn't a crime worth dying over, but someone might think so. That's was she was she was there for though, to keep hope and Zach and Simon and Ash alive. And she'd only failed at one of those so far.
The announcements. God, people were not playing around. Kris had already killed two people. Sammy could help but feel sorry for her, but she was glad Kris hadn't managed to kill them. Maybe she could have stopped her from killing those other girls, but that was one of those things she really couldn't think about. She took a deep breath, got a deep whiff of vomit again.
They needed to make a no throwing up rule. All these people tossing their cookies was yucky.
Zach offered for Cassie and Dustin to join the group.
The group that she was in. Somehow hearing someone else saying it made her feel more secure. They could be musketeers, or the Power Rangers or . . . the crew of Atlantis! Being in a group with Dustin would be the death of her though, she hoped he said yes (so she could protect him, sad as that notion was) and no (did she really need that kind of stress in her life, hell no). But that sword could be useful, the more people with good weapons, the less she had to worry about all of them. She had to think for the good of the group.
She had to convince Dustin to join them, God help her soul. And if he said no, she could stop feeling like she was holding her breath.
We're gonna live, not just survive. Gonna be as happy as we can be in this place.
She looked at Dustin, who was still trying to get at Ash, she guessed. "Yeah, we were just looking for supplies, we kinda failed at that. But a big group is good, we can sleep in shifts and share supplies if we have to. It'll be like the camping trip we were supposed to have, except for the people trying to kill us, of course."
Mr. Kwong would not have been impressed. But she certainly was proud of herself. Self-respect, hurrah.
VII
G071 - Sakurako Adina Jackson - i'll be ready every day / for as long as i can say / here I am in the future with my friends
VIII
Dancing Shoes
Bare Knuckles
Wild Horses
G071 - Sakurako Adina Jackson - i'll be ready every day / for as long as i can say / here I am in the future with my friends
VIII
Dancing Shoes
Bare Knuckles
Wild Horses
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Pigeon Army†
- Posts: 232
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:17 am
"I do not need your help. Get out of my sight."
Dustin had been rejected a lot of times. It was an occupational hazard, and if you couldn't take it in your stride, you had no place in this line of work. Dustin wouldn't have slept with nearly as many chicks as he had if he doubled over and had a good cry every time a girl had thrown a drink in his face or slapped him. And boy, had he been slapped in his time. Ash's riposte was like water off a Baywatch girl's back in comparison.
Dustin backed up, his giant grin still plastered across his face. "Well, whenever you need me," he teased, "my offer still stands. If you're ever keen."
Then one of the other people in Dustin's group piped up. He was a solid dude decked out in black - hell, he even had a black tanktop, as if he was heading to some sort of Brainless Thug Convention. The guy was laughing. Like, actually laughing. He didn't even bother trying to hide it, he was just guffawing away like a donkey on nitrous.
"Royal," he managed between laughing and gasping, "you're a sad fuck y'know that? Haha... go fuck yourself. Really. No one likes you."
Dustin couldn't help but snigger at the guy's shameless bravado. He had encountered a few of the guy's type in his time - simpletons who couldn't keep their girls locked down, that sort of thing. He'd faced down one of his type earlier, for christ's sakes. He knew how to handle them.
"Um...whatever your name is," Dustin said, waving his hand around as if winding string around his fingers, "I don't know you, so I really couldn't give a shit what you think everyone thinks. Hell, I'm surprised you can think - nobody with a brain would go around wearing that. Jesus, you look like you beat women for a fucking living."
The focus then turned to the boy in the ground, thanks to the last minute re-arrival of Cassie. Had she even left? Dustin didn't know, didn't care. He switched off from the conversation - he really didn't want to think about the dead bassist any more. He didn't really want to vomit any more. Then, the topic shifted to teaming up, instigating by the wannabe Lundgren himself. The chubby yapper added her own two cents, and Dustin shrugged. "Sure," he said without any enthusiasm for the idea, "whatever goes. As long as people keep shit civil. And y'all can stomach a bit of guitar," he added, patting his trusty instrument.
Dustin had been rejected a lot of times. It was an occupational hazard, and if you couldn't take it in your stride, you had no place in this line of work. Dustin wouldn't have slept with nearly as many chicks as he had if he doubled over and had a good cry every time a girl had thrown a drink in his face or slapped him. And boy, had he been slapped in his time. Ash's riposte was like water off a Baywatch girl's back in comparison.
Dustin backed up, his giant grin still plastered across his face. "Well, whenever you need me," he teased, "my offer still stands. If you're ever keen."
Then one of the other people in Dustin's group piped up. He was a solid dude decked out in black - hell, he even had a black tanktop, as if he was heading to some sort of Brainless Thug Convention. The guy was laughing. Like, actually laughing. He didn't even bother trying to hide it, he was just guffawing away like a donkey on nitrous.
"Royal," he managed between laughing and gasping, "you're a sad fuck y'know that? Haha... go fuck yourself. Really. No one likes you."
Dustin couldn't help but snigger at the guy's shameless bravado. He had encountered a few of the guy's type in his time - simpletons who couldn't keep their girls locked down, that sort of thing. He'd faced down one of his type earlier, for christ's sakes. He knew how to handle them.
"Um...whatever your name is," Dustin said, waving his hand around as if winding string around his fingers, "I don't know you, so I really couldn't give a shit what you think everyone thinks. Hell, I'm surprised you can think - nobody with a brain would go around wearing that. Jesus, you look like you beat women for a fucking living."
The focus then turned to the boy in the ground, thanks to the last minute re-arrival of Cassie. Had she even left? Dustin didn't know, didn't care. He switched off from the conversation - he really didn't want to think about the dead bassist any more. He didn't really want to vomit any more. Then, the topic shifted to teaming up, instigating by the wannabe Lundgren himself. The chubby yapper added her own two cents, and Dustin shrugged. "Sure," he said without any enthusiasm for the idea, "whatever goes. As long as people keep shit civil. And y'all can stomach a bit of guitar," he added, patting his trusty instrument.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Pigeon Army. 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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Super Llama†
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
{{Continued from Woods of Paranoia}}
Maria really wanted the world to just slow down for a minute.
Her frantic running had at least slowed down to a stumbling, hurried walk. Her body just ached all over, not just from her injuries anymore, but from the sunburn and her exertions from getting the hell away from the fire and the carnage behind her. She wanted nothing more than to just stop and take a break for a few minutes, but she couldn't. She didn't know why she was still moving, but she just couldn't will herself to stop, as if something was chasing her. But what? It wasn't like the girl was going to rise from her grave and come after her.
The girl.
The fire, and the heat, and the screaming, and the smell of burning flesh.
No matter how far she'd gotten, she couldn't seem to get rid of that smell, as if it had latched on to the inside of her nose and refused to let go. Refused to let her forget, even for a second, what she'd done. Her hand still gripped the empty flare gun. She wanted to just throw it away, to never see that damn thing again, but she just couldn't let go, and thinking about it only made her think more about what had happened.
"How does it feel to be a killer, Maria? You know you killed her. Murderer!"
That poor girl had died a horrible, painful, fiery death, and it was all her fault. What would Cass and Dustin think of her? Max? Duncan? Would they take her back? Would they even want anything to do with her now? Or would they just attack on site, thinking she had become a player? Maria began to tear up in panic. She didn't want to be alone out here anymore, facing anymore Phils and the like without anybody to back her up. She had already come so close to death, and it terrified her now that she reflected on it. If Phil hadn't let up for that moment, if she couldn't stay concious, that could've been it.
She shivered a bit as she felt a breeze blow through the trees against her bare skin. She really wished she'd held onto that shirt. She really liked that shirt. Fortunately, she was wearing a fishnet undershirt and a black bra underneath, so it wasn't like she was waking around the woods topless. She brought a hand up to rest against her shoulder, wincing as she felt a sharp pain in her chest as she did so. She felt like Phil might've busted a rib, though she hoped that wasn't the case while the skin just underneath the bra was starting to turn purple. She could only imagine what her face looked like. Come to think of it, she was feeling kind of dizzy as well, and her vision was blurring in and out at times. From the assault she'd been given, he could've very well have given her a concussion as well.
After a bit, Maria could've sworn she saw something off in the distance, and as she approached she broke out into a run as she realized what it was. She'd finally found her way back. She could already see Cass and Dustin, and...some other people that weren't there before, but it didn't seem like they were hostile, so that was good. Breaking out of the woods, Maria-
"Kids, I have to say that I'm truly impressed with your first day showing."
...skidded to a halt.
No!
Was it time for the announcements already? They were all going to know what she'd done, before she had a chance to explain herself. Instead, they were going to hear it from one of the people she least wanted them to hear it from. Danya's voice, and the glee in which he announced everyone's deaths made her sick to her stomach. Would that happen if she died? The only recognition she'd get was some vindictive mocking? Maria stood there, frozen in place like a deer in the headlights as she listened to the announcements. To anyone who hadn't seen her already, the shirtless girl suddenly standing there wordlessly, covered in bruises, with dried blood all over her face, clutching a flare gun and with a look in her eyes that made it look like she'd just gotten back from a dinner date with Cthluhlu probably wasn't the most friendly-looking sight.
""Third to die, as a shining example of why you really ought to keep good hold of your weapon if you were lucky enough to get a half-decent draw, was Warren Brown. Omar Burton shot him in the chest with his own gun, which would really have been quite embarrassing if he wasn't dead and all."
So that's what happened. Turns out it really WAS Omar after all. Any thoughts of revenge, though, were definitely put on hold at the moment. She began to break out into a cold sweat as the announcements continued. It was only a matter of time before Danya called her name. Probably with some horrid commentary.
"After giving us something of a show this morning, new fan favourite Maria"
There it was!
"Santiago was the next on the executioner's block"
...huh? It wasn't her? Instead, he was talking about some other Maria that had been killed, instead of doing any killing. Come to think of it, that was a red name, and the red names were the ones who got killed, actually. It was probably coming up any second, though.
"Jackie Broughten"
Any second...
"Colin Falcone"
The tension was unbelievable. Her heart was racing so fast she felt like it might burst out of her chest. There was one more, name, and it took everything she had to keep from visibly cringing as the last name was read.
"...Kris Hartmann"
What? That was 19 kills, right? (19 kills, holy shit that was a lot) Did she miscount?
...
...
"To keep you all on your toes, it's time for the dangerzones!"
Maria let out a deep breath she didn't even know she was holding. She didn't know what was going on, but it seemed that, by some grace of God, Danya had skipped over her for some reason. At least she'd get some time to explain herself. As the announcements wrapped up (thankfully where they were at hadn't become a dangerzone.) She looked back over towards the group, stepping forward.
"Uh...h-hi guys. I'm back." She said as she felt all the strength just drain out of her as the danger passed, wobbling a bit. "I see we've got some new people here. That's" She lost track of her sentence as she took a few more steps, her eyes getting too tired to see straight. "I...I'm kind of...tired...I'm gonna take a nap, okay?"
And then Maria fell over and took a nap.
Maria really wanted the world to just slow down for a minute.
Her frantic running had at least slowed down to a stumbling, hurried walk. Her body just ached all over, not just from her injuries anymore, but from the sunburn and her exertions from getting the hell away from the fire and the carnage behind her. She wanted nothing more than to just stop and take a break for a few minutes, but she couldn't. She didn't know why she was still moving, but she just couldn't will herself to stop, as if something was chasing her. But what? It wasn't like the girl was going to rise from her grave and come after her.
The girl.
The fire, and the heat, and the screaming, and the smell of burning flesh.
No matter how far she'd gotten, she couldn't seem to get rid of that smell, as if it had latched on to the inside of her nose and refused to let go. Refused to let her forget, even for a second, what she'd done. Her hand still gripped the empty flare gun. She wanted to just throw it away, to never see that damn thing again, but she just couldn't let go, and thinking about it only made her think more about what had happened.
"How does it feel to be a killer, Maria? You know you killed her. Murderer!"
That poor girl had died a horrible, painful, fiery death, and it was all her fault. What would Cass and Dustin think of her? Max? Duncan? Would they take her back? Would they even want anything to do with her now? Or would they just attack on site, thinking she had become a player? Maria began to tear up in panic. She didn't want to be alone out here anymore, facing anymore Phils and the like without anybody to back her up. She had already come so close to death, and it terrified her now that she reflected on it. If Phil hadn't let up for that moment, if she couldn't stay concious, that could've been it.
She shivered a bit as she felt a breeze blow through the trees against her bare skin. She really wished she'd held onto that shirt. She really liked that shirt. Fortunately, she was wearing a fishnet undershirt and a black bra underneath, so it wasn't like she was waking around the woods topless. She brought a hand up to rest against her shoulder, wincing as she felt a sharp pain in her chest as she did so. She felt like Phil might've busted a rib, though she hoped that wasn't the case while the skin just underneath the bra was starting to turn purple. She could only imagine what her face looked like. Come to think of it, she was feeling kind of dizzy as well, and her vision was blurring in and out at times. From the assault she'd been given, he could've very well have given her a concussion as well.
After a bit, Maria could've sworn she saw something off in the distance, and as she approached she broke out into a run as she realized what it was. She'd finally found her way back. She could already see Cass and Dustin, and...some other people that weren't there before, but it didn't seem like they were hostile, so that was good. Breaking out of the woods, Maria-
"Kids, I have to say that I'm truly impressed with your first day showing."
...skidded to a halt.
No!
Was it time for the announcements already? They were all going to know what she'd done, before she had a chance to explain herself. Instead, they were going to hear it from one of the people she least wanted them to hear it from. Danya's voice, and the glee in which he announced everyone's deaths made her sick to her stomach. Would that happen if she died? The only recognition she'd get was some vindictive mocking? Maria stood there, frozen in place like a deer in the headlights as she listened to the announcements. To anyone who hadn't seen her already, the shirtless girl suddenly standing there wordlessly, covered in bruises, with dried blood all over her face, clutching a flare gun and with a look in her eyes that made it look like she'd just gotten back from a dinner date with Cthluhlu probably wasn't the most friendly-looking sight.
""Third to die, as a shining example of why you really ought to keep good hold of your weapon if you were lucky enough to get a half-decent draw, was Warren Brown. Omar Burton shot him in the chest with his own gun, which would really have been quite embarrassing if he wasn't dead and all."
So that's what happened. Turns out it really WAS Omar after all. Any thoughts of revenge, though, were definitely put on hold at the moment. She began to break out into a cold sweat as the announcements continued. It was only a matter of time before Danya called her name. Probably with some horrid commentary.
"After giving us something of a show this morning, new fan favourite Maria"
There it was!
"Santiago was the next on the executioner's block"
...huh? It wasn't her? Instead, he was talking about some other Maria that had been killed, instead of doing any killing. Come to think of it, that was a red name, and the red names were the ones who got killed, actually. It was probably coming up any second, though.
"Jackie Broughten"
Any second...
"Colin Falcone"
The tension was unbelievable. Her heart was racing so fast she felt like it might burst out of her chest. There was one more, name, and it took everything she had to keep from visibly cringing as the last name was read.
"...Kris Hartmann"
What? That was 19 kills, right? (19 kills, holy shit that was a lot) Did she miscount?
...
...
"To keep you all on your toes, it's time for the dangerzones!"
Maria let out a deep breath she didn't even know she was holding. She didn't know what was going on, but it seemed that, by some grace of God, Danya had skipped over her for some reason. At least she'd get some time to explain herself. As the announcements wrapped up (thankfully where they were at hadn't become a dangerzone.) She looked back over towards the group, stepping forward.
"Uh...h-hi guys. I'm back." She said as she felt all the strength just drain out of her as the danger passed, wobbling a bit. "I see we've got some new people here. That's" She lost track of her sentence as she took a few more steps, her eyes getting too tired to see straight. "I...I'm kind of...tired...I'm gonna take a nap, okay?"
And then Maria fell over and took a nap.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Super Llama.
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ET.Requiem†
- Posts: 73
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:14 am
Ash watched Dustin carefully. Though his ego was too big to be injured by a small remark such as that, she wasn't about to let her guard down around a scoundrel like that. Who knew what he was capable of in a 'game' like this?
She took a few steps back, placing Samya and Zach between her and the guitar playing fiend. Though they were part of the same team for now, she wasn't comfortable with turning her back to them.
"What will we do now? Camp down here for the night?" Ash looked at Zach warily. Staying here didn't sound like a bad idea. although having a 'player' show up here was an ever-present danger.
The announcement had rattled her, but she tried not to let it show. There weren't any names she recognized in it, except for one. Kris Hartmann.... Come to think of it, wasn't that the name of the girl who had been lying facedown on the ground?
She thought back. It... Oh, God. It was. Even somebody as ill as her was fully capable of killing others. This was not a good sign. The short, short time she had left to live was being steadily cut away with every death on this island. She had to do something about it. This unreasonable fear was driving her crazy. Her life, everything was going to end-
Ash slapped herself hard, snapping her out of this panicked daze. She couldn't let her emotions take over. She had to stay calm, and think rationally. She had to use her judgement here.
The red palm mark on her cheek would serve as a reminder of that. If she lost focus on her goal of getting out alive, it would bring nothing but pain and death to her.
She took a few steps back, placing Samya and Zach between her and the guitar playing fiend. Though they were part of the same team for now, she wasn't comfortable with turning her back to them.
"What will we do now? Camp down here for the night?" Ash looked at Zach warily. Staying here didn't sound like a bad idea. although having a 'player' show up here was an ever-present danger.
The announcement had rattled her, but she tried not to let it show. There weren't any names she recognized in it, except for one. Kris Hartmann.... Come to think of it, wasn't that the name of the girl who had been lying facedown on the ground?
She thought back. It... Oh, God. It was. Even somebody as ill as her was fully capable of killing others. This was not a good sign. The short, short time she had left to live was being steadily cut away with every death on this island. She had to do something about it. This unreasonable fear was driving her crazy. Her life, everything was going to end-
Ash slapped herself hard, snapping her out of this panicked daze. She couldn't let her emotions take over. She had to stay calm, and think rationally. She had to use her judgement here.
The red palm mark on her cheek would serve as a reminder of that. If she lost focus on her goal of getting out alive, it would bring nothing but pain and death to her.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ET.Requiem. 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.
Ash had shot down Dustin, which made Zach start to crack up. That was odd. Simon had never heard the man laugh before, and he found himself slightly grinning. This is okay. This is alright. We might not be a lot, but we're a group. Maybe there's some way something will come to save us, take us off this damn island?
Simon Fletcher almost immediately banished the idea. Nobody had saved them yet, and all the previous versions of this game game had gone on without complaint. As if to confirm him, the announcements came on. A list of 19 students, Simon's friends and classmates, was read out loud. They had all died in the last day.
Reika? Was that the tutor, the intelligent girl who could have done anything she wanted with her life (or was that her sister. Simon wasn't sure)? Chris? He was an extreme Bible-lover, but he had almost seemed happy and...well...nice. Everett, Paige, Tony, Amber? Simon could put a face with every single one of those name. But even with all the deaths, there was a part of him that was almost relieved. None of those names were Adrian, the guy I left with Sarah. Not R.J., who I let run off. Not Trevor or Alex or Glory, who I haven't even seen yet.
The names that really amazed him were the killers. Another Alex, who he barely knew. Omar, who liked a lot of the same books as Simon did. Clio, who he never thought would actually murder somebody. And, worst of all, Kris. He remembered how panicked she looked, how she told them to get away, and Simon wondered if he should hate her or not.
The announcements ended, and Simon felt a little light headed. It had been, by anybody's scale, a ridiculously stressful day. He was honestly surprised he hadn't killed himself, but maybe he was too much of a coward for that. He looked once again at the final resting place of Warren Brown.
"I think it's fine." The make-shirt grave wasn't much, but it was something. "It proves somebody cared, at least." Simon started at the dirt. Omar Burton really did this?
"Uh...h-hi guys. I'm back." Another voice said.
Simon jumped,and snapped his head around. The new girl was someone he knew was called Maria. His head went through a stream of questions. Wait, isn't she supposed to be dead. No, no, that's the other Maria. This one wasn't mentioned at all. So maybe that meant she was safe. So far, all she had done was fall asleep, which wasn't exactly threatening.
"Um, should we move her to someplace, er, better for sleeping?" Simon asked the group in general. It felt good not to be on his own anymore. Hopefully, nobody in this team would try to rob or kill him.
Simon Fletcher almost immediately banished the idea. Nobody had saved them yet, and all the previous versions of this game game had gone on without complaint. As if to confirm him, the announcements came on. A list of 19 students, Simon's friends and classmates, was read out loud. They had all died in the last day.
Reika? Was that the tutor, the intelligent girl who could have done anything she wanted with her life (or was that her sister. Simon wasn't sure)? Chris? He was an extreme Bible-lover, but he had almost seemed happy and...well...nice. Everett, Paige, Tony, Amber? Simon could put a face with every single one of those name. But even with all the deaths, there was a part of him that was almost relieved. None of those names were Adrian, the guy I left with Sarah. Not R.J., who I let run off. Not Trevor or Alex or Glory, who I haven't even seen yet.
The names that really amazed him were the killers. Another Alex, who he barely knew. Omar, who liked a lot of the same books as Simon did. Clio, who he never thought would actually murder somebody. And, worst of all, Kris. He remembered how panicked she looked, how she told them to get away, and Simon wondered if he should hate her or not.
The announcements ended, and Simon felt a little light headed. It had been, by anybody's scale, a ridiculously stressful day. He was honestly surprised he hadn't killed himself, but maybe he was too much of a coward for that. He looked once again at the final resting place of Warren Brown.
"I think it's fine." The make-shirt grave wasn't much, but it was something. "It proves somebody cared, at least." Simon started at the dirt. Omar Burton really did this?
"Uh...h-hi guys. I'm back." Another voice said.
Simon jumped,and snapped his head around. The new girl was someone he knew was called Maria. His head went through a stream of questions. Wait, isn't she supposed to be dead. No, no, that's the other Maria. This one wasn't mentioned at all. So maybe that meant she was safe. So far, all she had done was fall asleep, which wasn't exactly threatening.
"Um, should we move her to someplace, er, better for sleeping?" Simon asked the group in general. It felt good not to be on his own anymore. Hopefully, nobody in this team would try to rob or kill him.
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She got so into the carving on the wall that she reached out with one hand and felt its ragged grooves, its angles and contours. There was no mistaking the style. Radio Asuka was here. The thought of such a promising new artist dying a pointless death on the island doubled Cassidy's sorrow, but just like Titus Andronicus, she had no more tears to shed for her.
She slumped back over to the central area to set Asuka's picture back on Warren's grave. She'd heard what the other group said, including Dustin getting rebuffed by the smartass of the group. The same smartass who just offered to have the two of them accompany him on their quest. She'd also heard the announcement, but she wasn't in much of a state to place names to faces. The only name she knew was Warren's, and she didn't need the announcement to tell her what happened to him. It was more the number that registered with her. Nineteen dead. How much did that leave the rest of them, at that rate? Two weeks? Less?
The throbbing of her finger and the feeling of blood on her hand delayed her answer to the dickmeister's offer of alliance. Those feelings had been there for a while, but she'd ignored them up until now. The cut didn't seem to hit anything major, so she'd given it no attention. But now she sat next to the grave, cracking open her first aid kit and figuring out how to best apply a bandage.
"Yeah, sure thing, man," she said, unwrapping the bandage after having applied them too tightly on her first try. "Just let me fix up this gash I got from digging this piece of shit pothole grave for my friend Warren. It's kind of tricky for me to patch it up, but I'm sure someone like you would have no problem with that, eh?"
She flashed a grin in the smartass's direction and finished bandaging her finger. "Seriously, though, I think I'd better just go with my friend Maria when she gets back. We've got some things of our own to do and we should probably do them ourselves.
"As for you," she told Dustin, who'd chosen a less passive-aggressive way of retorting to the ass in black, "just go wherever your cock leads you, hound dog." She giggled a bit at her joke before the devil she spoke of came crashing through the brush, looking panicked and scared and above all, battered.
"Holy fuck, Maria, what happened to you?!" she shouted, rushing to the aid of her best friend, who didn't seem to address her injuries that much. She just acknowledged the group and promptly fell asleep. Cassie did her best to hold the taller and heavier girl in her arms. So many things happened all at once that day, from Warren's body to Radio Asuka to Maria's collapse to the oppressive, heavy feeling in her brain compelling her to shut her eyes and join Maria in her sleep.
With a sigh, she turned back to the other group, hoping that she hadn't been too flippant in dealing with them just a minute ago. "You know what? Forget what I said. Maria's not gonna be doing anything for a while. I think I'll take you up on that offer after all." She gave the nice boy in black another, rather sheepish grin.
She slumped back over to the central area to set Asuka's picture back on Warren's grave. She'd heard what the other group said, including Dustin getting rebuffed by the smartass of the group. The same smartass who just offered to have the two of them accompany him on their quest. She'd also heard the announcement, but she wasn't in much of a state to place names to faces. The only name she knew was Warren's, and she didn't need the announcement to tell her what happened to him. It was more the number that registered with her. Nineteen dead. How much did that leave the rest of them, at that rate? Two weeks? Less?
The throbbing of her finger and the feeling of blood on her hand delayed her answer to the dickmeister's offer of alliance. Those feelings had been there for a while, but she'd ignored them up until now. The cut didn't seem to hit anything major, so she'd given it no attention. But now she sat next to the grave, cracking open her first aid kit and figuring out how to best apply a bandage.
"Yeah, sure thing, man," she said, unwrapping the bandage after having applied them too tightly on her first try. "Just let me fix up this gash I got from digging this piece of shit pothole grave for my friend Warren. It's kind of tricky for me to patch it up, but I'm sure someone like you would have no problem with that, eh?"
She flashed a grin in the smartass's direction and finished bandaging her finger. "Seriously, though, I think I'd better just go with my friend Maria when she gets back. We've got some things of our own to do and we should probably do them ourselves.
"As for you," she told Dustin, who'd chosen a less passive-aggressive way of retorting to the ass in black, "just go wherever your cock leads you, hound dog." She giggled a bit at her joke before the devil she spoke of came crashing through the brush, looking panicked and scared and above all, battered.
"Holy fuck, Maria, what happened to you?!" she shouted, rushing to the aid of her best friend, who didn't seem to address her injuries that much. She just acknowledged the group and promptly fell asleep. Cassie did her best to hold the taller and heavier girl in her arms. So many things happened all at once that day, from Warren's body to Radio Asuka to Maria's collapse to the oppressive, heavy feeling in her brain compelling her to shut her eyes and join Maria in her sleep.
With a sigh, she turned back to the other group, hoping that she hadn't been too flippant in dealing with them just a minute ago. "You know what? Forget what I said. Maria's not gonna be doing anything for a while. I think I'll take you up on that offer after all." She gave the nice boy in black another, rather sheepish grin.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.