G 105 Isabel Guerra - Start
Isabel's eyes opened. She squeezed them shut and then opened them again. All she could see was her own hair blocking her vision. She unsteadily pushed herself up into a half- seated position and covered her eyes with her hands. If she could have seen anything, her version would have been blurred and fading in and out of focus. As it was, all she saw was darkness.
Where am I?
In the darkness, she had nothing to distract her mind from what she had seen. The image of a boy slicing into a girl from that video flashed vividly in her mind. It seemed to play back in clearer, brighter color than she had originally seen it. Isabel slammed both of her hands onto the floor and retched violently. She didn''t vomit; she assumed her stomach was too empty for that to happen.
Her eyes began to adjust to the dim light of the room. All she could make out were strange, almost silvery surfaces that seemed crowd around her. She lifted her head and saw something move. Cold fear drained the blood from her now that she thought someone else was in the room, watching her. She gripped the edge of her white sleeves that extended far past her hands.
He said ...we have to kill each other. That man. Danya. Survival of the fittest.
Isabel got up onto her hands and knees. A few feet away she could see a lump that she assumed was her bag. Carefully she crawled over to the shape in the dark. She leaned forward, glad to finally have her pack. However, when she finally reached out to grab the bag her fingers smashed against a cold, hard surface. The shock threw her off balance and she fell forward. A hollow BANG rang out in the darkened room as her head crashed against the mirror. If her head wasn't throbbing before, it was certainly spinning now. She groaned and slipped down the mirror, cheek to cheek with her equally dizzy reflection.
Mirror Mirror
Topic Closed
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Ruggahissy
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selphie_trabia†
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((G107 - Meredith Black Starto))
A loud banging noise shocked Meredith into wakefulness. Her eyes snapped open.
"GAH!" Meredith said, hearing the word echo down the chambers of the room.
The fact that she was in immediate danger did not quite occur to her until a couple of seconds later, when the scene of carnage that was the shooting of her teachers flashed before her eyes. Meredith whimpered. She'd been one of the few in the front row to watch that. Mrs Bishop, her head exploded, brains splattered over the floor.
Meredith rolled over onto her stomach and retched, only to find a long thread of drool dangle out of her mouth. She'd already vomited when she was tied up and her stomach was empty. It was a miracle that those people didn't shoot her for soiling her own clothes. They still stank, but the vomit seemed to have been cleaned off. Slid off, most likely. Vinyl didn't lend itself to being particularly absorbent.
She kept retching, trying to will the memories out of her head. She wondered vaguely if people had started shooting each other yet and if they were where she was.
Looking up, Meredith caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a wreck. Her hair was a mess, her makeup messed up. A damp patch on her clothes indicated where her vomit had landed and was wiped off. It was a look any shock rocker would be proud of.
Feeling rotten, Meredith leaned against a mirror and sobbed angrily. This wasn't goth. This was just disgusting. Her thoughts flipped back and forth, constantly focussing on the scene of carnage in front of her. Of Mrs Bishop's brains splattered on the floor.
"ARGH!" she yelled, angry and irritated.
Meredith balled her hands up into fists and hit the glass of the mirror, hard enough that the mirror shook a little, but not hard enough for it to break.
A loud banging noise shocked Meredith into wakefulness. Her eyes snapped open.
"GAH!" Meredith said, hearing the word echo down the chambers of the room.
The fact that she was in immediate danger did not quite occur to her until a couple of seconds later, when the scene of carnage that was the shooting of her teachers flashed before her eyes. Meredith whimpered. She'd been one of the few in the front row to watch that. Mrs Bishop, her head exploded, brains splattered over the floor.
Meredith rolled over onto her stomach and retched, only to find a long thread of drool dangle out of her mouth. She'd already vomited when she was tied up and her stomach was empty. It was a miracle that those people didn't shoot her for soiling her own clothes. They still stank, but the vomit seemed to have been cleaned off. Slid off, most likely. Vinyl didn't lend itself to being particularly absorbent.
She kept retching, trying to will the memories out of her head. She wondered vaguely if people had started shooting each other yet and if they were where she was.
Looking up, Meredith caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a wreck. Her hair was a mess, her makeup messed up. A damp patch on her clothes indicated where her vomit had landed and was wiped off. It was a look any shock rocker would be proud of.
Feeling rotten, Meredith leaned against a mirror and sobbed angrily. This wasn't goth. This was just disgusting. Her thoughts flipped back and forth, constantly focussing on the scene of carnage in front of her. Of Mrs Bishop's brains splattered on the floor.
"ARGH!" she yelled, angry and irritated.
Meredith balled her hands up into fists and hit the glass of the mirror, hard enough that the mirror shook a little, but not hard enough for it to break.
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Little Boy†
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((B137 - Roland Harte - Start))
"ARGH!"
Roland Harte jolted upwards off the floor, his eyes wide in suprise, his heart pounding. He blinked rapidly, dazed, head throbbing as the scream echoed throughout the darkened corridor he found himself in. He rolled on the hard floor, looking about in confusion for the source of the noise that had awakened him from his sleep. The corridor was empty, safe for a small lumpy backpack (His?) laying on the ground next to him.
"Dad...?" He called out deliriously into the darkness.
Shit... what... what the hell?
He swallowed and tasted bile in the back of his throat. He reached up to rub his eyes and felt his hand hit the cold metal of his glasses, a reassuring feeling in the sudden confusion.
Glasses. Why would I fall asleep with my glasses on? That voice was familiar.. I've heard it before, why does that sound famil- what's on my neck..?
As Roland's hand ran down his stubble covered face and touched the cool metal band around his neck, he felt his blood run cold. He knew what this was. The memories flooded back, invading his mind. He let out a halfgasp and felt the color drain from his face. Roland Harte sat in the darkness, heart pounding in his chest.
You know what's happened, you know what this means. Do or die Roland, you've entered the most important week of your life. Don't choke now.
Roland gulped and slide his hand back through his greasy black hair. He kept his eyes locked down the corridor and slid across the floor towards the pack, labeled B137. His eyes darted side to side.
Windows, no wait, mirrors? Where the hell am I?
Roland reached down and hurriedly unzipped the pack, rummaging about trying to find his weapon.
"Stay where you are, make no sudden movement!" He yelled down the hallway. He looked down, a flash of light rebounded off something in his pack, and Roland soon found himself holding a sharp bladed sword with a wavy blade .
Woah, talk about luck of the draw... alright focus Roland focus. Heheh... "The only easy day was yesterday..."
"ARGH!"
Roland Harte jolted upwards off the floor, his eyes wide in suprise, his heart pounding. He blinked rapidly, dazed, head throbbing as the scream echoed throughout the darkened corridor he found himself in. He rolled on the hard floor, looking about in confusion for the source of the noise that had awakened him from his sleep. The corridor was empty, safe for a small lumpy backpack (His?) laying on the ground next to him.
"Dad...?" He called out deliriously into the darkness.
Shit... what... what the hell?
He swallowed and tasted bile in the back of his throat. He reached up to rub his eyes and felt his hand hit the cold metal of his glasses, a reassuring feeling in the sudden confusion.
Glasses. Why would I fall asleep with my glasses on? That voice was familiar.. I've heard it before, why does that sound famil- what's on my neck..?
As Roland's hand ran down his stubble covered face and touched the cool metal band around his neck, he felt his blood run cold. He knew what this was. The memories flooded back, invading his mind. He let out a halfgasp and felt the color drain from his face. Roland Harte sat in the darkness, heart pounding in his chest.
You know what's happened, you know what this means. Do or die Roland, you've entered the most important week of your life. Don't choke now.
Roland gulped and slide his hand back through his greasy black hair. He kept his eyes locked down the corridor and slid across the floor towards the pack, labeled B137. His eyes darted side to side.
Windows, no wait, mirrors? Where the hell am I?
Roland reached down and hurriedly unzipped the pack, rummaging about trying to find his weapon.
"Stay where you are, make no sudden movement!" He yelled down the hallway. He looked down, a flash of light rebounded off something in his pack, and Roland soon found himself holding a sharp bladed sword with a wavy blade .
Woah, talk about luck of the draw... alright focus Roland focus. Heheh... "The only easy day was yesterday..."
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((B020, Dave Morrison.))
David Morrison, known to his friends as Dave and soon any fans he'd pick up on his run of Survival of the Fittest as B020, Was pissed off. Pissed off and stuck in a hall of mirrors.
Of ALL the God-damned places to get stuck.
"ARGH!"
The angry yell startled David, making him break into a run. A run that lasted until he almost ran into a mirror, only stopping himself by putting his hand out in front of him.
Alright, rushing around in here's only gonna lead to me running into something and busting my face in. I gotta keep slow and stay calm.
Dave slowed himself down, trying to keep himself moving around at a more gentle pace. He heard various bangs and crashes around the building, and guessed that more people were in there. He hoped however, that it wasn't anyone that was playing right off the bat, or whatever the term for it was on the show.
"Hey!" David shouted, as he heard another crash "Anyone there?"
Dave shone his torch around the room, looking for the source of the shouting and the crashes, but he caught nothing but hundreds of his own reflection.
Halls of mirrors had always creeped Dave out as a kid, even in the daytime, so a darkened one really didn't help matters much. Neither did the fact that the door closed behind him as soon as he walked in. Dave checked that he had the pissy little kitchen knife that was his assigned weapon in the pocket of his combats, and carried on walking forwards.
Shit. I knew it was a bad idea to come in here.
Dave wandered around for a little while, trying to discern what was a reflection and where he could actually walk. It was a painful few minutes of bumping into mirrors and catching his bag on the corners of them.
"Hey?!" He repeated. Now he was further in the building, he guessed more people would hear him this time. "Anyone around here?!"
He carried on, eventually coming to some emo-looking chick, who looked like she was venting a frustration at a reflection of herself.
Dave kept his distance. She was angry, and angry definitely wasn't good, if the little SotF Dave had watched was anything to go by.
"Hey," He said, his voice much quieter now. "What're you shouting about?"
David Morrison, known to his friends as Dave and soon any fans he'd pick up on his run of Survival of the Fittest as B020, Was pissed off. Pissed off and stuck in a hall of mirrors.
Of ALL the God-damned places to get stuck.
"ARGH!"
The angry yell startled David, making him break into a run. A run that lasted until he almost ran into a mirror, only stopping himself by putting his hand out in front of him.
Alright, rushing around in here's only gonna lead to me running into something and busting my face in. I gotta keep slow and stay calm.
Dave slowed himself down, trying to keep himself moving around at a more gentle pace. He heard various bangs and crashes around the building, and guessed that more people were in there. He hoped however, that it wasn't anyone that was playing right off the bat, or whatever the term for it was on the show.
"Hey!" David shouted, as he heard another crash "Anyone there?"
Dave shone his torch around the room, looking for the source of the shouting and the crashes, but he caught nothing but hundreds of his own reflection.
Halls of mirrors had always creeped Dave out as a kid, even in the daytime, so a darkened one really didn't help matters much. Neither did the fact that the door closed behind him as soon as he walked in. Dave checked that he had the pissy little kitchen knife that was his assigned weapon in the pocket of his combats, and carried on walking forwards.
Shit. I knew it was a bad idea to come in here.
Dave wandered around for a little while, trying to discern what was a reflection and where he could actually walk. It was a painful few minutes of bumping into mirrors and catching his bag on the corners of them.
"Hey?!" He repeated. Now he was further in the building, he guessed more people would hear him this time. "Anyone around here?!"
He carried on, eventually coming to some emo-looking chick, who looked like she was venting a frustration at a reflection of herself.
Dave kept his distance. She was angry, and angry definitely wasn't good, if the little SotF Dave had watched was anything to go by.
"Hey," He said, his voice much quieter now. "What're you shouting about?"
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Ruggahissy
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Isabel leaned forward on her knees with her elbows on the ground, clutching her head.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why are you so stupid? It was a mirror.
She glanced around her and found several replica girls clutching their heads and peering up at her.
"ARGH!"
Isabel heard the frustrated cry of a girl coming from somewhere. They were in a maze. She wondered how many others might be stuck in the maze when another voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Stay where you are, make no sudden movement!"
From somewhere else she heard a second male voice.
"Anyone around here?!"
The first voice sounded like someone who meant business. The second voice sounded friendlier. Either way, Isabel didn't like the idea of sticking around in a dark, confusing maze with that first male voice. Out of habit she looked around to see where the voices came from. Her dark reflections looked back at her in confusion.
She shuffled on her knees to her bag and opened it with the hope that she had been given a good weapon. Isabel silently prayed that the sound of the zipper wasn't loud enough to bring attention to herself. It seemed unlikely when every few moments a new bang or crash was heard. Something long and metallic brushed against her nails in the bag. She pulled it out and puzzled at what she saw.
This is a weapon?
She couldn't be sure in the dark, but it looked like an instrument of some sort.
Well that was a bust.
Even still, the thing looked long and felt sort of heavy, so she decided to keep it by her side. She zipped the bag back up and slung the strap over her shoulder. Slowly, she started walking forward with her empty hand flat against the glass to her side and her instrument out in front of her to prevent her from running face first into another mirror.
I just need to be quiet. I need to find a way out of this place.
She bent down low as she walked and took slow steps to make sure her movements made the least noise possible. She turned a corner and the end of the trumpet tapped the glass. Isabel turned and went the other direction, trying to keep straight in her head which turns were dead ends.
It's okay. Stay calm. You can get out of here.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why are you so stupid? It was a mirror.
She glanced around her and found several replica girls clutching their heads and peering up at her.
"ARGH!"
Isabel heard the frustrated cry of a girl coming from somewhere. They were in a maze. She wondered how many others might be stuck in the maze when another voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Stay where you are, make no sudden movement!"
From somewhere else she heard a second male voice.
"Anyone around here?!"
The first voice sounded like someone who meant business. The second voice sounded friendlier. Either way, Isabel didn't like the idea of sticking around in a dark, confusing maze with that first male voice. Out of habit she looked around to see where the voices came from. Her dark reflections looked back at her in confusion.
She shuffled on her knees to her bag and opened it with the hope that she had been given a good weapon. Isabel silently prayed that the sound of the zipper wasn't loud enough to bring attention to herself. It seemed unlikely when every few moments a new bang or crash was heard. Something long and metallic brushed against her nails in the bag. She pulled it out and puzzled at what she saw.
This is a weapon?
She couldn't be sure in the dark, but it looked like an instrument of some sort.
Well that was a bust.
Even still, the thing looked long and felt sort of heavy, so she decided to keep it by her side. She zipped the bag back up and slung the strap over her shoulder. Slowly, she started walking forward with her empty hand flat against the glass to her side and her instrument out in front of her to prevent her from running face first into another mirror.
I just need to be quiet. I need to find a way out of this place.
She bent down low as she walked and took slow steps to make sure her movements made the least noise possible. She turned a corner and the end of the trumpet tapped the glass. Isabel turned and went the other direction, trying to keep straight in her head which turns were dead ends.
It's okay. Stay calm. You can get out of here.
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selphie_trabia†
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The scene of carnage played out over and over again in Meredith's mind. The teachers shot execution style. Gunned down like the dogs they were and weren't.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Meredith pounded the glass of the mirror one more time and gave another unearthly howl of frustration.
She heard other voices, recognising only one as it ordered her to stay put and not move. Like hell she would. It seemed to her that keeping mobile would be a better survival tactic and she wasn't sure who the voice belonged to.
"A house of mirrors. A reflection of the darkness of the human soul, I suppose." Meredith murmured, "A place for killers to reflect on whether they are going to do what their disgusting souls tell them to do."
The crappy dark poetry calmed her down a bit. She stood, scrambled to her bags and picked them up, feeling around inside for her weapon and pulling it out. The weapon flopped around in her hands. She kept a firm grip on it... them? She had no idea what this was, perhaps it was some kind of triplenunchuck?
As she slung the bags over her shoulders, Meredith shoved all three sections of the weird kung-fu thing in one hand, but found that it was a little too big to fit in her fist. She hefted it a little, testing its weight, then settled for holding two sections in one hand and one in the other.
It was then that she noticed someone else in her immediate vicinity. Meredith turned to face Dave, allowing him full view of her running black mascara, her hair with bits of vomit in it (they may have wiped off her jacket but they did nothing for her hair) and the full force of her anger.
"What do you THINK I'm angry about?" she snapped at him, "You have three guesses. First two don't count. And the last one involves a fat slob."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Meredith pounded the glass of the mirror one more time and gave another unearthly howl of frustration.
She heard other voices, recognising only one as it ordered her to stay put and not move. Like hell she would. It seemed to her that keeping mobile would be a better survival tactic and she wasn't sure who the voice belonged to.
"A house of mirrors. A reflection of the darkness of the human soul, I suppose." Meredith murmured, "A place for killers to reflect on whether they are going to do what their disgusting souls tell them to do."
The crappy dark poetry calmed her down a bit. She stood, scrambled to her bags and picked them up, feeling around inside for her weapon and pulling it out. The weapon flopped around in her hands. She kept a firm grip on it... them? She had no idea what this was, perhaps it was some kind of triplenunchuck?
As she slung the bags over her shoulders, Meredith shoved all three sections of the weird kung-fu thing in one hand, but found that it was a little too big to fit in her fist. She hefted it a little, testing its weight, then settled for holding two sections in one hand and one in the other.
It was then that she noticed someone else in her immediate vicinity. Meredith turned to face Dave, allowing him full view of her running black mascara, her hair with bits of vomit in it (they may have wiped off her jacket but they did nothing for her hair) and the full force of her anger.
"What do you THINK I'm angry about?" she snapped at him, "You have three guesses. First two don't count. And the last one involves a fat slob."
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Little Boy†
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Roland could feel the blood pumping through him as he made his way down the hallway, his knife gripped tightly in his arm, ready to strike at a moments notice. The noise was close, he could hear the voice again, a girls voice. It seemed familiar to Roland, but he wasn't exactly sure why.
Stupid, this is an island filled with your classmates. Of COURSE their voices sound familiar, you've been to school with them for 4 years...
His heart beat faster. He turned the corner and mercifully saw no one. They were close. A boy now, and the girl. Talking. No gunfire yet, no screams yet. He proceeded onwards down the hall.
Yeah, but in 4 years have any of them learned enough about you so they decide AGAINST killing you on sight? Shit, what if they have a gun? Oh God help me, I'm fucked if they have a gun.... Christ, focus Roland focus! You're an army boy, you need to keep your mind on the mission ahead.
Suddenly as Roland neared the end of the hall, he froze. The mirrors. He could see someone in the mirrors. Footsteps. Sweat began to drip from his forehead. He pushed up his glasses and prepared his knife. A swift jab to the ribs would be enough to take someone down if he put enough force behind it. If he twisted, they'd be as good as fucked trying to yank the blade out...
Roland, you twisted fuck. You macabre twisted fuck, thinking like that? You can't just think like that! God.. God dammit, this is it. Pray they don't have a gun. Pray they don't rush you. Just fucking pray.
Roland yelled out a warcry and rushed around the corner, blade raised, his free hand out. He saw the figure for the first clear time and his eyes went wide with shock as he stood in front of her.
Isabel. Fucking Isabel GUERRA. I know this girl. I KNOW THIS GIRL. God have mercy...
A flash of steel in the dark and Roland found himself backing up. He'd surprised her yes, but she was armed evidently. He could only pray that it was a knife rather than a gun.
"Isabel! Drop it! Drop the knife and back up!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, in a bid to scare the girl. He kept his free hand out and his weapon back, no need to show and tell. "Don't do anything stupid here!"
Stupid, this is an island filled with your classmates. Of COURSE their voices sound familiar, you've been to school with them for 4 years...
His heart beat faster. He turned the corner and mercifully saw no one. They were close. A boy now, and the girl. Talking. No gunfire yet, no screams yet. He proceeded onwards down the hall.
Yeah, but in 4 years have any of them learned enough about you so they decide AGAINST killing you on sight? Shit, what if they have a gun? Oh God help me, I'm fucked if they have a gun.... Christ, focus Roland focus! You're an army boy, you need to keep your mind on the mission ahead.
Suddenly as Roland neared the end of the hall, he froze. The mirrors. He could see someone in the mirrors. Footsteps. Sweat began to drip from his forehead. He pushed up his glasses and prepared his knife. A swift jab to the ribs would be enough to take someone down if he put enough force behind it. If he twisted, they'd be as good as fucked trying to yank the blade out...
Roland, you twisted fuck. You macabre twisted fuck, thinking like that? You can't just think like that! God.. God dammit, this is it. Pray they don't have a gun. Pray they don't rush you. Just fucking pray.
Roland yelled out a warcry and rushed around the corner, blade raised, his free hand out. He saw the figure for the first clear time and his eyes went wide with shock as he stood in front of her.
Isabel. Fucking Isabel GUERRA. I know this girl. I KNOW THIS GIRL. God have mercy...
A flash of steel in the dark and Roland found himself backing up. He'd surprised her yes, but she was armed evidently. He could only pray that it was a knife rather than a gun.
"Isabel! Drop it! Drop the knife and back up!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, in a bid to scare the girl. He kept his free hand out and his weapon back, no need to show and tell. "Don't do anything stupid here!"
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Ruggahissy
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(GM with permission from Little)
Isabel heard a yell. In her mind it seemed like it was taking minutes just for her to turn her head, but it couldn't have been more than a second. Standing in front of her was a boy. He seemed shocked to see her. What was really of importance to her, though, was the thing he was trying to hide from her in his hand.
"...Hi Roland," she said, waving dumbly.
She wasn't very familiar with him, but she knew who he was. They might have spoken maybe once or twice in passing.
"Drop the knife and back up!"
Isabel flinched when Roland screamed at her. It appeared that she had run into the angrier of the two male voice and now that he was standing in front of her, he seemed twice as angry. She looked down at his weapon. His fist clenched the handle of something tightly. Whatever it was, it disappeared into the darkness before divulging its true nature.
She looked down at the thing in her own hands, then looked back up at Roland.
"Knife? This is a..., like, a horn or a trumpet or something. I don't really know the difference between the two," she admitted, rather embarrassed.
Slowly she took two steps forward and brought the instrument to her lips. She gave it an experimental blow and a short, ragged note came from the end. Isabel pushed down on one of the buttons and a higher note came out. She moved the trumpet away from her mouth; a glint of metal from Roland's hand revealed itself to her in her new position.
Moving quickly, Isabel brought the trumpet down a few inches, took one large step forward and swung the trumpet at Roland's head. As soon as she thought she hit her mark she took off running as fast as she could down the hall.
So much for being quiet!
Isabel turned left and kept running. At the next turn she turned right, but found herself at a dead end. The traction on Isabel's old shoes had worn down long ago and the momentum of her movement slid her right into the mirror at the end. Isabel grunted as her shoulder made contact with the shoulder of her mirrored self. With her free hand she pushed against the mirror she had run into and ran back the way she came, this time turning left. Isabel looked over her shoulder to try and see if she was being followed, and if so, how her blunder which had cost her precious seconds would effect the chase.
I have to find the exit. NOW!
Isabel heard a yell. In her mind it seemed like it was taking minutes just for her to turn her head, but it couldn't have been more than a second. Standing in front of her was a boy. He seemed shocked to see her. What was really of importance to her, though, was the thing he was trying to hide from her in his hand.
"...Hi Roland," she said, waving dumbly.
She wasn't very familiar with him, but she knew who he was. They might have spoken maybe once or twice in passing.
"Drop the knife and back up!"
Isabel flinched when Roland screamed at her. It appeared that she had run into the angrier of the two male voice and now that he was standing in front of her, he seemed twice as angry. She looked down at his weapon. His fist clenched the handle of something tightly. Whatever it was, it disappeared into the darkness before divulging its true nature.
She looked down at the thing in her own hands, then looked back up at Roland.
"Knife? This is a..., like, a horn or a trumpet or something. I don't really know the difference between the two," she admitted, rather embarrassed.
Slowly she took two steps forward and brought the instrument to her lips. She gave it an experimental blow and a short, ragged note came from the end. Isabel pushed down on one of the buttons and a higher note came out. She moved the trumpet away from her mouth; a glint of metal from Roland's hand revealed itself to her in her new position.
Moving quickly, Isabel brought the trumpet down a few inches, took one large step forward and swung the trumpet at Roland's head. As soon as she thought she hit her mark she took off running as fast as she could down the hall.
So much for being quiet!
Isabel turned left and kept running. At the next turn she turned right, but found herself at a dead end. The traction on Isabel's old shoes had worn down long ago and the momentum of her movement slid her right into the mirror at the end. Isabel grunted as her shoulder made contact with the shoulder of her mirrored self. With her free hand she pushed against the mirror she had run into and ran back the way she came, this time turning left. Isabel looked over her shoulder to try and see if she was being followed, and if so, how her blunder which had cost her precious seconds would effect the chase.
I have to find the exit. NOW!
Dave put his free hand in his pocket, wanting to keep his knife closeby in case the emo chick decided to take her anger out on him with the crazy triple nunchuck thing she was carrying.
When she turned around, Dave could see why she just went postal on a mirror. Aside from what must've been her 'gothic' smudged make-up, her hair was covered in chunks of puke and god knew what else she'd put in it.
God, she looks like a fucking mess right now.
"What do you THINK I'm angry about? You have three guesses. First two don't count. And the last one involves a fat slob."
"Oh man, I don't think I know this one..." Dave said, getting ever so slightly pissed off by the emo chick already, despite the fact he'd only just met her. "Give me a second to think this one through, alright? I wanna use my guesses wisely and all that crap."
"Right, so my first guess is that you're pissed off 'cause the lead singer of your favourite band is going out with some chick that ain't you." Dave said, slowly walking back, trying to put some distance between the two of them. "Second guess is that the shiny collar 'round our necks ain't fashionable this season."
"Right, so I guess now's the one that counts, right?" Dave was backing off much quicker now, having no idea how she was gonna react. "You're pissed off you got thrown on the trip at the last second and ended up in this shit when you could be at home listening to MCR right now?"
"Oh, by the way." Dave said, backing off a bit more. He figured he could never really be too careful about that. Scrawny emo chick or not the weapon she was holding had quite a range. "You've got puke in your hair."
When she turned around, Dave could see why she just went postal on a mirror. Aside from what must've been her 'gothic' smudged make-up, her hair was covered in chunks of puke and god knew what else she'd put in it.
God, she looks like a fucking mess right now.
"What do you THINK I'm angry about? You have three guesses. First two don't count. And the last one involves a fat slob."
"Oh man, I don't think I know this one..." Dave said, getting ever so slightly pissed off by the emo chick already, despite the fact he'd only just met her. "Give me a second to think this one through, alright? I wanna use my guesses wisely and all that crap."
"Right, so my first guess is that you're pissed off 'cause the lead singer of your favourite band is going out with some chick that ain't you." Dave said, slowly walking back, trying to put some distance between the two of them. "Second guess is that the shiny collar 'round our necks ain't fashionable this season."
"Right, so I guess now's the one that counts, right?" Dave was backing off much quicker now, having no idea how she was gonna react. "You're pissed off you got thrown on the trip at the last second and ended up in this shit when you could be at home listening to MCR right now?"
"Oh, by the way." Dave said, backing off a bit more. He figured he could never really be too careful about that. Scrawny emo chick or not the weapon she was holding had quite a range. "You've got puke in your hair."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Badb.
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
Meredith let Dave walk backwards. In her odd state of mind, she couldn't decide if he was mocking her, or just trying to be funny. She simply listened to him talk for a while, a smile threatening to tug at the corner of her lips.
"Hm...." she said, "Hnahmm..."
Her unstable emotions overrode her common sense. Meredith burst out into peals of insane, uncontrollable laughter. She laughed harder and harder until she began to cry, putting her face in her hands. Meredith doubled over, sitting back down on the ground and sobbing with abandon. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, not caring if her makeup got more smeared and not letting go of her weapon just yet.
"This is all a huge joke." she cried, "Life sucks, and then you die? This is the worst... a fear filled... remainder of life, like prey... and then... painful death at the hands... of traitors... and... I have... vomit in ...my hair..."
Suddenly, her head snapped back up from her hands, face still tearstained. Meredith had heard the odd trumpet note echoing down the hallway, followed by the sound of running steps. The glare she gave Dave was one of absolute disgust. For the moment, right at this moment, she hated him more than anything else in the world.
"Hm...." she said, "Hnahmm..."
Her unstable emotions overrode her common sense. Meredith burst out into peals of insane, uncontrollable laughter. She laughed harder and harder until she began to cry, putting her face in her hands. Meredith doubled over, sitting back down on the ground and sobbing with abandon. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, not caring if her makeup got more smeared and not letting go of her weapon just yet.
"This is all a huge joke." she cried, "Life sucks, and then you die? This is the worst... a fear filled... remainder of life, like prey... and then... painful death at the hands... of traitors... and... I have... vomit in ...my hair..."
Suddenly, her head snapped back up from her hands, face still tearstained. Meredith had heard the odd trumpet note echoing down the hallway, followed by the sound of running steps. The glare she gave Dave was one of absolute disgust. For the moment, right at this moment, she hated him more than anything else in the world.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. 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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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Isabel Fucking Guerra.
Roland was tense, primed to explode. He felt like a contracted spring, a cobra waiting to strike. He was dangerous, he was ready. One jab to the gut would be all it would take to bring her down. Grab her mouth and stop her from screaming, jab her in the chest and hold her still while she would fade to oblivion. That would be all it'd take. Wipe your hands, move on.
Isabel was in my English Class this year. I sat two seats away from her. She was always reading, even when we were supposed to be taking up questions. She's intelligent, always had good enough grades. She's pretty, and doesn't hang out with jerk-asses who only care about themselves. She told me once that she likes to cook. She's a human being.
She has a family who loves her.
Sweat dripped from Roland's brow as he moved about in the dark hallway. It seemed to get smaller as he closed in on her. He was panicking. His heart beat was fast.
She has a family who loves her, who're watching right now. They are watching in horror, thinking I'm going to gut their daughter on prime time TV. She told me once she likes to cook, she's good at it. She likes to do it in her spare time, and she can make a ton of dishes.
"Hi Roland." The Girl said, waving dumbly.
If she runs at me, I'm going to gut her. Oh Christ, I'm going to gut her..
Isabel looked down at the object in her hands, confused. She glanced back up at Roland.
This is surreal. This is... This is too surreal... I can't... Am I supposed to hurt her?
""Knife? This is a..., like, a horn or a trumpet or something." She said. Her shoes clicked noisily in the dark. Roland's glasses fell down his nose, but he didn't have time to push them back up.
No, no wrong way. Step back you stupid girl, step back and put it down!
"I don't really know the difference between the two,"
Christ, stop! I'm going to kill her... I'm going to kill her! I'm gonna' reach out quick, and stab her in the chest! Focus Roland focus! This could be a trap! She could be messing with you- on three, lean and jab on three!
Roland readjusted his grip on the knife, it was too hot in the room, far too hot.
One.... Stab her, just a clean jab, below the ribs!
Two... A clean jab so her parents don't see it get messy.. You've seen videos, just like a bayonet jab, just like a bayonet!
Three- Oh Christ, you gave her fair warning! It's a trap, she's closing in, what are you DOING!? No remorse Roland! She sat two seats away from you, fucking kill her! She has a family, who love her very much...
And just like that, the trumpet was whipping through the air, smashing into his forehead. Roland careened back in the hallway, dropping his knife and pack and tumbling backwards, crumpling against the wall. He saw stars and he cursed.
But Roland was a warrior, he was an army boy. A smack across the head wasn't going to keep him down, even if it was with a brass trumpet.
She wasn't lying. She pulled a trumpet. I've been threatening a girl with a trumpet!
Roland staggered to his feet, his vision muddled. He took a few steps and then fell again. His head hurt, his head hurt like an absolute bitch.
"Isabel! Wait!" He cried out. He managed to get up once more, using the wall for balance. He grabbed his knife and hastily threw his pack around his back. He took off after her down the twisting hallway.
"Isabel! Wait, no, you've got it all wrong! Come back!" He yelled.
Tactics be damned. She was scared, she didn't know what to do! If she ran into a real psychopath, they'll tear her limbs off! I can't let this happen, I can't ever let this happen!
Roland rushed down the hall, taking a right, then a left then another right.
Christ, how big is this hall!? Mirrors everywhere, I'm doublechecking every corner I take!
"Isabel! Please, just let me explain!"
Roland rounded a corner and much to his dismay, saw it had two potential exits.
"Fucking Christ..." He cursed and took the left and sprinted down the hallway, leaping over stray doll parts and broken mirrors laying on the floor. His feet crunched on glass and he spun around the next corner to come face to face with-
Not Isabel.
A boy and a girl were staring at him. Roland's heart sank. He knew them as well. David and Meredith. The goth (emo?) girl and Dave Morrison. He'd had classes with them. Hell, Meredith had once slipped on a dodge ball in his gym class, and damn nearly broken her back in half.
I laughed at that once. I didn't see it, but I sat on the bench and laughed at that weirdo Cisco bounded over to her aid. Romance of the social rejects. Holy Christ, Danya you are one sick mother fucker...
Roland stumbled but managed to skid to a halt before knocking into the pair. His head was still ringing from the trumpet smack and his forehead felt wet, blood? He hoped he was wrong, a bruise while ugly was preferable to bleeding all over the place. He blinked rapidly, for a second he thought he saw four of them, not two.
Christ, she really messed me up....They're staring at me. But why wouldn't they be? Not every day you see a knife wielding teen rush around the corner at you. But then again, this is Survival of the Fittest...
Roland's eyes went wide.
Wait. Then they must think I've come to- Oh Fuckshit.
Roland was tense, primed to explode. He felt like a contracted spring, a cobra waiting to strike. He was dangerous, he was ready. One jab to the gut would be all it would take to bring her down. Grab her mouth and stop her from screaming, jab her in the chest and hold her still while she would fade to oblivion. That would be all it'd take. Wipe your hands, move on.
Isabel was in my English Class this year. I sat two seats away from her. She was always reading, even when we were supposed to be taking up questions. She's intelligent, always had good enough grades. She's pretty, and doesn't hang out with jerk-asses who only care about themselves. She told me once that she likes to cook. She's a human being.
She has a family who loves her.
Sweat dripped from Roland's brow as he moved about in the dark hallway. It seemed to get smaller as he closed in on her. He was panicking. His heart beat was fast.
She has a family who loves her, who're watching right now. They are watching in horror, thinking I'm going to gut their daughter on prime time TV. She told me once she likes to cook, she's good at it. She likes to do it in her spare time, and she can make a ton of dishes.
"Hi Roland." The Girl said, waving dumbly.
If she runs at me, I'm going to gut her. Oh Christ, I'm going to gut her..
Isabel looked down at the object in her hands, confused. She glanced back up at Roland.
This is surreal. This is... This is too surreal... I can't... Am I supposed to hurt her?
""Knife? This is a..., like, a horn or a trumpet or something." She said. Her shoes clicked noisily in the dark. Roland's glasses fell down his nose, but he didn't have time to push them back up.
No, no wrong way. Step back you stupid girl, step back and put it down!
"I don't really know the difference between the two,"
Christ, stop! I'm going to kill her... I'm going to kill her! I'm gonna' reach out quick, and stab her in the chest! Focus Roland focus! This could be a trap! She could be messing with you- on three, lean and jab on three!
Roland readjusted his grip on the knife, it was too hot in the room, far too hot.
One.... Stab her, just a clean jab, below the ribs!
Two... A clean jab so her parents don't see it get messy.. You've seen videos, just like a bayonet jab, just like a bayonet!
Three- Oh Christ, you gave her fair warning! It's a trap, she's closing in, what are you DOING!? No remorse Roland! She sat two seats away from you, fucking kill her! She has a family, who love her very much...
And just like that, the trumpet was whipping through the air, smashing into his forehead. Roland careened back in the hallway, dropping his knife and pack and tumbling backwards, crumpling against the wall. He saw stars and he cursed.
But Roland was a warrior, he was an army boy. A smack across the head wasn't going to keep him down, even if it was with a brass trumpet.
She wasn't lying. She pulled a trumpet. I've been threatening a girl with a trumpet!
Roland staggered to his feet, his vision muddled. He took a few steps and then fell again. His head hurt, his head hurt like an absolute bitch.
"Isabel! Wait!" He cried out. He managed to get up once more, using the wall for balance. He grabbed his knife and hastily threw his pack around his back. He took off after her down the twisting hallway.
"Isabel! Wait, no, you've got it all wrong! Come back!" He yelled.
Tactics be damned. She was scared, she didn't know what to do! If she ran into a real psychopath, they'll tear her limbs off! I can't let this happen, I can't ever let this happen!
Roland rushed down the hall, taking a right, then a left then another right.
Christ, how big is this hall!? Mirrors everywhere, I'm doublechecking every corner I take!
"Isabel! Please, just let me explain!"
Roland rounded a corner and much to his dismay, saw it had two potential exits.
"Fucking Christ..." He cursed and took the left and sprinted down the hallway, leaping over stray doll parts and broken mirrors laying on the floor. His feet crunched on glass and he spun around the next corner to come face to face with-
Not Isabel.
A boy and a girl were staring at him. Roland's heart sank. He knew them as well. David and Meredith. The goth (emo?) girl and Dave Morrison. He'd had classes with them. Hell, Meredith had once slipped on a dodge ball in his gym class, and damn nearly broken her back in half.
I laughed at that once. I didn't see it, but I sat on the bench and laughed at that weirdo Cisco bounded over to her aid. Romance of the social rejects. Holy Christ, Danya you are one sick mother fucker...
Roland stumbled but managed to skid to a halt before knocking into the pair. His head was still ringing from the trumpet smack and his forehead felt wet, blood? He hoped he was wrong, a bruise while ugly was preferable to bleeding all over the place. He blinked rapidly, for a second he thought he saw four of them, not two.
Christ, she really messed me up....They're staring at me. But why wouldn't they be? Not every day you see a knife wielding teen rush around the corner at you. But then again, this is Survival of the Fittest...
Roland's eyes went wide.
Wait. Then they must think I've come to- Oh Fuckshit.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. 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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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
"Isabel! Wait, no, you've got it all wrong! Come back!" He yelled.
Adrenaline pumped through her body as she ran. Another right, a left, another dead end, go back, turn right.
"Isabel! Please, just let me explain!"
The voice sounded further away now. She stopped and looked back. There was no one behind her and no sounds of pursuit trying to catch up with her.
Can I trust him? Let him explain. What would he say to me? "Sorry for screaming at you. I was trying to save the knife as a surprise? Surprise!
Underneath her sneakers she heard the crunching sound of little shards of glass.
She put her hand up to a mirror and leaned on it while catching her breath. Isabel just needed time to think.
I always thought he was okay. I mean, I've heard some girls talk about how he was a crappy boyfriend and a jerk when it came to relationships, but that sort of stuff never mattered to me. Maybe I should stop thinking like that. If I assume everyone's a decent person just because they were normal in real life- but this isn't real life! I'm in a mirror maze with a trumpet being chased by a guy with a sword! That's about as far from real life as it gets.
Down the hall she saw something shine on the floor. As stealthily as she could, she walked to the spot and saw the jagged shards of a broken mirror littering the floor
I don't think I can make it out of here just with a trumpet. I might run into Roland again; maybe someone worse.
She dropped to the floor and unzipped the bag. She found the flashlight and started looking around inside. After a moment she pulled out the first aid kit and ripped it open. She pulled out a roll of gauze and smiled. Hastily she replaced the box, zipped up the bag and placed the gauze at her feet. She sifted through the broken pieces on the floor, trying to find a nice, sharp piece. Isabel stopped her search when she found a jagged shard of mirror about a foot and a half long. Not wanting to be caught kneeling on the floor, she took the roll of gauze and began wrapping it around the piece of glass and the horn of the trumped as fast she her fingers would move. In her rush to unwind the gauze she carelessly moved her hand too close and cut herself just below her thumb.
"Ah!"
Isabel bit her tongue. He might be able to find her now. She finished her work and stood up with her newly improvised trumpet-knife. The glass extended just about five inches past the horn of the trumpet.
Better than nothing.
Isabel began walking. She took a left and found herself looking down a hall. Immediately in front of her were two people, but she couldn't really recognize them in the dark. Past them was.....Roland again!
She stared open mouthed at him.
"....oops."
Adrenaline pumped through her body as she ran. Another right, a left, another dead end, go back, turn right.
"Isabel! Please, just let me explain!"
The voice sounded further away now. She stopped and looked back. There was no one behind her and no sounds of pursuit trying to catch up with her.
Can I trust him? Let him explain. What would he say to me? "Sorry for screaming at you. I was trying to save the knife as a surprise? Surprise!
Underneath her sneakers she heard the crunching sound of little shards of glass.
She put her hand up to a mirror and leaned on it while catching her breath. Isabel just needed time to think.
I always thought he was okay. I mean, I've heard some girls talk about how he was a crappy boyfriend and a jerk when it came to relationships, but that sort of stuff never mattered to me. Maybe I should stop thinking like that. If I assume everyone's a decent person just because they were normal in real life- but this isn't real life! I'm in a mirror maze with a trumpet being chased by a guy with a sword! That's about as far from real life as it gets.
Down the hall she saw something shine on the floor. As stealthily as she could, she walked to the spot and saw the jagged shards of a broken mirror littering the floor
I don't think I can make it out of here just with a trumpet. I might run into Roland again; maybe someone worse.
She dropped to the floor and unzipped the bag. She found the flashlight and started looking around inside. After a moment she pulled out the first aid kit and ripped it open. She pulled out a roll of gauze and smiled. Hastily she replaced the box, zipped up the bag and placed the gauze at her feet. She sifted through the broken pieces on the floor, trying to find a nice, sharp piece. Isabel stopped her search when she found a jagged shard of mirror about a foot and a half long. Not wanting to be caught kneeling on the floor, she took the roll of gauze and began wrapping it around the piece of glass and the horn of the trumped as fast she her fingers would move. In her rush to unwind the gauze she carelessly moved her hand too close and cut herself just below her thumb.
"Ah!"
Isabel bit her tongue. He might be able to find her now. She finished her work and stood up with her newly improvised trumpet-knife. The glass extended just about five inches past the horn of the trumpet.
Better than nothing.
Isabel began walking. She took a left and found herself looking down a hall. Immediately in front of her were two people, but she couldn't really recognize them in the dark. Past them was.....Roland again!
She stared open mouthed at him.
"....oops."
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
((Post order changed with permission from Zetta Magnetic.))
Meredith glared at Dave for a few moments before her attention was caught up by something just behind him. She looked at Roland, her eyes flicking from the blood on his forehead to the reflection of his knife in the mirror next to him. It took her less than a second to size Roland up and react to his presence. She hadn't even stopped to consider Roland's motive. She had simply reacted instinctively to the presence of an unsheathed knife.
Quick as a wink, she released the side of the nunchuck she had in her left hand, gathering all three links in her right. Using her left hand to pull the bags off her shoulder, she shook herself out of her bag straps and sprang to her feet, dropping her bags onto the floor behind her.
She'd seen people use nunchucks in movies before and they'd all hurt themselves with it. She wasn't about to. Meredith brought the weapon across her body, holding it out horizontally in front of her and compressing all the links into a single thick (but slightly unstable) baton. She'd figure out how to use the it later. For now, it was a bludgeoning tool.
Meredith ran straight towards Roland with a loud shriek of anger which reverberated off the mirrors around the trio, echoing down the corridors of the mirror maze. She tried to give Dave a rough shove towards the open corridor behind her as she passed him, rapidly closing the distance between herself and her opponent.
"GET THE HELL OUT! NOW!" Meredith snapped at Dave.
Meredith lifted her left hand to hold the other end of the weapon. Holding her makeshift baton out at chest height, she launched herself at her opponent with the intention of slamming bodily into him weapon-first, bending her elbows just slightly to allow herself some cushioning to soften the blow.
Meredith glared at Dave for a few moments before her attention was caught up by something just behind him. She looked at Roland, her eyes flicking from the blood on his forehead to the reflection of his knife in the mirror next to him. It took her less than a second to size Roland up and react to his presence. She hadn't even stopped to consider Roland's motive. She had simply reacted instinctively to the presence of an unsheathed knife.
Quick as a wink, she released the side of the nunchuck she had in her left hand, gathering all three links in her right. Using her left hand to pull the bags off her shoulder, she shook herself out of her bag straps and sprang to her feet, dropping her bags onto the floor behind her.
She'd seen people use nunchucks in movies before and they'd all hurt themselves with it. She wasn't about to. Meredith brought the weapon across her body, holding it out horizontally in front of her and compressing all the links into a single thick (but slightly unstable) baton. She'd figure out how to use the it later. For now, it was a bludgeoning tool.
Meredith ran straight towards Roland with a loud shriek of anger which reverberated off the mirrors around the trio, echoing down the corridors of the mirror maze. She tried to give Dave a rough shove towards the open corridor behind her as she passed him, rapidly closing the distance between herself and her opponent.
"GET THE HELL OUT! NOW!" Meredith snapped at Dave.
Meredith lifted her left hand to hold the other end of the weapon. Holding her makeshift baton out at chest height, she launched herself at her opponent with the intention of slamming bodily into him weapon-first, bending her elbows just slightly to allow herself some cushioning to soften the blow.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. 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.
((Wait, when the hell did I give permission to change post order?))
"Hey, you okay?" Dave said. The emo chick was... humming? "That a song?"
The emo chick started laughing like crazy. Insane crazy. Not the good, Gnarls Barkley, badass music crazy. For Dave, it was more the, get some distance between you two before she tries to ram the nunchucks up your ass crazy. And that definitely wasn't on his plans.
Well, that answers my question.
Dave took a couple more steps back for good measure, his back pressing against a mirror. The emo chick stopped laughing, grinding her knuckles into her eyes, crying like mad and reciting some more godawful poetry. Any fear Dave had for her vanished as soon as he'd heard the poetry, or at least that's what he thought it was. It definitely wasn't self-help tips, that was for sure.
"God, you're depressing the hell out of me." Dave was convinced now she was putting this on. "You almost make me want to cut my wrists."
Suddenly, Dave heard a trumpet note along with the distinct sound of someone running.
Oh great, we got a Texas Trumpet Massacre. Just my frigging luck.
Dave turned and saw a frigging huge figure approaching. Dave shone his torch towards him, looking up and seeing a somewhat familiar face. He'd been in a couple classes with him, but couldn't quite attach a name to him.
"Shit, Roland?" He asked, just expecting to be corrected if he'd gotten it wrong. "It's Roland, right?"
Then, suddenly, the emo chick snapped. She dropped her bags and linked up her nunchucks, before turning her attention to Dave.
Oh shit.
"Bitch!" Dave yelled, as the emo chick screamed something and tried to shove him through the mirror or some shit. "Get the fuck offa me!"
The emo chick launched herself at Roland, stick raised in the air and shrieking like a banshee. Dave had no damn idea what was going through her head at that moment, but he really didn't like her chances against a guy the size of a coke machine.
"The fuck are you doing?" He yelled, turning away from the imminent sword impalement that was gonna occur, seeing a girl just staring at what was going on.
"Well," He said, hand still in his pocket. "I'd definitely stay outta this one."
"Hey, you okay?" Dave said. The emo chick was... humming? "That a song?"
The emo chick started laughing like crazy. Insane crazy. Not the good, Gnarls Barkley, badass music crazy. For Dave, it was more the, get some distance between you two before she tries to ram the nunchucks up your ass crazy. And that definitely wasn't on his plans.
Well, that answers my question.
Dave took a couple more steps back for good measure, his back pressing against a mirror. The emo chick stopped laughing, grinding her knuckles into her eyes, crying like mad and reciting some more godawful poetry. Any fear Dave had for her vanished as soon as he'd heard the poetry, or at least that's what he thought it was. It definitely wasn't self-help tips, that was for sure.
"God, you're depressing the hell out of me." Dave was convinced now she was putting this on. "You almost make me want to cut my wrists."
Suddenly, Dave heard a trumpet note along with the distinct sound of someone running.
Oh great, we got a Texas Trumpet Massacre. Just my frigging luck.
Dave turned and saw a frigging huge figure approaching. Dave shone his torch towards him, looking up and seeing a somewhat familiar face. He'd been in a couple classes with him, but couldn't quite attach a name to him.
"Shit, Roland?" He asked, just expecting to be corrected if he'd gotten it wrong. "It's Roland, right?"
Then, suddenly, the emo chick snapped. She dropped her bags and linked up her nunchucks, before turning her attention to Dave.
Oh shit.
"Bitch!" Dave yelled, as the emo chick screamed something and tried to shove him through the mirror or some shit. "Get the fuck offa me!"
The emo chick launched herself at Roland, stick raised in the air and shrieking like a banshee. Dave had no damn idea what was going through her head at that moment, but he really didn't like her chances against a guy the size of a coke machine.
"The fuck are you doing?" He yelled, turning away from the imminent sword impalement that was gonna occur, seeing a girl just staring at what was going on.
"Well," He said, hand still in his pocket. "I'd definitely stay outta this one."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Badb.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
This is quite possibly, the worst day of my life.
Roland barely had time to acknowledge Dave and Meredith before another figure appeared behind them, startled at first, he raised up his knife before he realized who it was.
Isabel.
She'd somehow made it around behind them. He cocked his eyebrow confused and lowered the knife, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Oh thank God, look Isabel-" He began before Dave interrupted him. The other boy was holding up something -a torch?- shining it in his face. With his free hand, Roland shielded his eyes from the light source, bright in the darkened maze.
Dave spoke, "Shit, Roland? It's Roland right?"
Roland realized he'd be holding his breath, awaiting the inevitable "Prepare to die!" from the trio. When it didn't come however he let go. His heart was still beating fast in his chest from the run over. He opened his mouth to explain.
"Okay look, let me explain." He gazed at Isabel. "When I woke up I was- WHAT THE FUCK!"
Out of nowhere, the crumpled form of Meredith jumped up, and began running full speed towards Roland, screaming at the top of her lungs,throwing Dave out of the way. The boy protested, but didn't aim to stop her. Roland was stunned by the action, and realized what had occurred.
She's snapped. She's gone. She was always a little fucked up, fucked up gothic girl, but now holy shit, she's gonna try to kill you!
Instinctively he gripped the knife in his hand, his eyes darting down towards it.
You can't kill her! You know her! God Dammit, this isn't what it's supposed to be like..!
Before he could speak or move, Meredith was already upon him, slamming her weight into him with all the force she could muster. Roland unprepared, stumbled backwards, dropping the knife and his pack.
Stupid Roland, stupid!
The object came flying towards his face, and for a second Roland was sure he was about to be decapitated on live TV, killed by his own inability to react. But as the hit came, smacking hard into his neck, Roland realized that Meredith had a blunt object. A blunt object that hurt like a son of a bitch, but a blunt object. The shock of the sudden unprepared strike jolted through Roland as he stumbled backwards, for a second he thought it was powerful enough to have broken something. He cursed in pain and reached out, grabbing her right wrist and her left shoulder. Meredith's plan was good, as far as shock tactics went. If it was a bladed weapon, Roland would be already dead. But the harsh reality was, after one hit he was still standing.
Roland was 6''5, around 200 pounds of mostly pure muscle, fine tuned by years of Rock Climbing, Survivalist Training, Hiking and Army Prep Drills.
Meredith was 5''5, light as a feather, wearing high-heeled boots and liked to call herself Pandora Black.
Roland picked the girl up, whipped her around, and flung her, back first, against the nearby wall. She smacked against a mirror, and the noise reverberated through the darkened hall as she fell to the floor. Roland staggered back, gingerly touching his neck.
I could've killed her just then. If I threw with full force, she'd been knocked right out, she'd have been out, but- why? Why did I only aim to hurt her? She's trying to kill me, and I'm throwing her out of the way? God Dammit! What did she hit me with!? Is that some sorta staff...? Nunchucks? My knife, where did my knife go!
Roland glanced about, frightened for a second. The last thing he needed was for Meredith to grab it and jab him in the leg when he wasn't looking. Luckily however, the knife lay just a few feet away with his pack, Roland scooped it up and spun it around, ready to stab her as she regained her composure. Once more, he hesitated.
Roland, you're a fucking pussy. Stab her! Stab her while she can't run at you again!
Instead however, Roland opened his mouth and began to speak.
"Meredith, Pandora, whatever! Stay down, I don't want to hurt you!" He looked back towards Dave and Isabel, they were standing there, just watching the proceedings.
Would it kill you guys to help out when a crazy bitch runs at me!? Fuck sake!
"I don't want to hurt people! I want to join up, I mean," He licked his lips, trying to formulate his thoughts. He backed up away from the fallen girl. "We'll stand a better chance as a group. We started out on the wrong foot, I mean, I just don't want you all sticking me like a pig, I need to watch out for myself!"
Somehow Roland figured his speech was lost on Meredith, but he couldn't quite say the same for Dave and Isabel.
"How about it guys? Let's form a regiment, yeah? Cut down on all this knife wielding..?"
Roland barely had time to acknowledge Dave and Meredith before another figure appeared behind them, startled at first, he raised up his knife before he realized who it was.
Isabel.
She'd somehow made it around behind them. He cocked his eyebrow confused and lowered the knife, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Oh thank God, look Isabel-" He began before Dave interrupted him. The other boy was holding up something -a torch?- shining it in his face. With his free hand, Roland shielded his eyes from the light source, bright in the darkened maze.
Dave spoke, "Shit, Roland? It's Roland right?"
Roland realized he'd be holding his breath, awaiting the inevitable "Prepare to die!" from the trio. When it didn't come however he let go. His heart was still beating fast in his chest from the run over. He opened his mouth to explain.
"Okay look, let me explain." He gazed at Isabel. "When I woke up I was- WHAT THE FUCK!"
Out of nowhere, the crumpled form of Meredith jumped up, and began running full speed towards Roland, screaming at the top of her lungs,throwing Dave out of the way. The boy protested, but didn't aim to stop her. Roland was stunned by the action, and realized what had occurred.
She's snapped. She's gone. She was always a little fucked up, fucked up gothic girl, but now holy shit, she's gonna try to kill you!
Instinctively he gripped the knife in his hand, his eyes darting down towards it.
You can't kill her! You know her! God Dammit, this isn't what it's supposed to be like..!
Before he could speak or move, Meredith was already upon him, slamming her weight into him with all the force she could muster. Roland unprepared, stumbled backwards, dropping the knife and his pack.
Stupid Roland, stupid!
The object came flying towards his face, and for a second Roland was sure he was about to be decapitated on live TV, killed by his own inability to react. But as the hit came, smacking hard into his neck, Roland realized that Meredith had a blunt object. A blunt object that hurt like a son of a bitch, but a blunt object. The shock of the sudden unprepared strike jolted through Roland as he stumbled backwards, for a second he thought it was powerful enough to have broken something. He cursed in pain and reached out, grabbing her right wrist and her left shoulder. Meredith's plan was good, as far as shock tactics went. If it was a bladed weapon, Roland would be already dead. But the harsh reality was, after one hit he was still standing.
Roland was 6''5, around 200 pounds of mostly pure muscle, fine tuned by years of Rock Climbing, Survivalist Training, Hiking and Army Prep Drills.
Meredith was 5''5, light as a feather, wearing high-heeled boots and liked to call herself Pandora Black.
Roland picked the girl up, whipped her around, and flung her, back first, against the nearby wall. She smacked against a mirror, and the noise reverberated through the darkened hall as she fell to the floor. Roland staggered back, gingerly touching his neck.
I could've killed her just then. If I threw with full force, she'd been knocked right out, she'd have been out, but- why? Why did I only aim to hurt her? She's trying to kill me, and I'm throwing her out of the way? God Dammit! What did she hit me with!? Is that some sorta staff...? Nunchucks? My knife, where did my knife go!
Roland glanced about, frightened for a second. The last thing he needed was for Meredith to grab it and jab him in the leg when he wasn't looking. Luckily however, the knife lay just a few feet away with his pack, Roland scooped it up and spun it around, ready to stab her as she regained her composure. Once more, he hesitated.
Roland, you're a fucking pussy. Stab her! Stab her while she can't run at you again!
Instead however, Roland opened his mouth and began to speak.
"Meredith, Pandora, whatever! Stay down, I don't want to hurt you!" He looked back towards Dave and Isabel, they were standing there, just watching the proceedings.
Would it kill you guys to help out when a crazy bitch runs at me!? Fuck sake!
"I don't want to hurt people! I want to join up, I mean," He licked his lips, trying to formulate his thoughts. He backed up away from the fallen girl. "We'll stand a better chance as a group. We started out on the wrong foot, I mean, I just don't want you all sticking me like a pig, I need to watch out for myself!"
Somehow Roland figured his speech was lost on Meredith, but he couldn't quite say the same for Dave and Isabel.
"How about it guys? Let's form a regiment, yeah? Cut down on all this knife wielding..?"
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