Darren Locke's world was spinning.
Disoriented, half-blinded by sunlight, and sick in the pit of his stomach, he struggled to sit up. He found himself surrounded by trees, and the earth beneath him a steep slope. Glancing around for a moment, he crawled to the largest tree in the immediate area and propped himself up against it, the treacherous hillside now stretching upward in front of him.
Why did this happen?
Scowling and doing his best to rid his mind of panic, his attention was drawn to a pair of duffel bags propped against the root of a nearby tree. Straining himself in the reach, he caught hold of the larger of the two, his own, and pulled it towards him. He unzipped it anxiously and began rooting through his change of clothes, fixated on the one thing that could give him an honest shot of surviving, but it wasn't there.
Dad's pocket knife.... He's not gonna like this.
With a dejected sigh, he turned his attention to the other duffel. He pulled it into his lap and noted the "B106" marked in bold on the side. Unzipping the bag, he could see a folded up map, a compass, some sort of booklet, and....
This wasn't his dad's pocket knife. It was something different. Something much better. Taking a firm grip on the weathered hilt, he lifted it out of the duffel and gazed wide-eyed at the dirt-coated, but nonetheless silver blade. He knew what this was.
A gladius.
The weapon of the Roman soldiers was now his primary tool for survival. But killing his fellow students? His friends? He forced the thought to the back of his mind and instead focused on being dearly grateful for his own luck, for being given a real shot at making it home.
He lay the weapon gingerly on the ground and turned his attention back to the duffel bag. With another shot of relief he saw bottles of water and loaves of bread. He reached eagerly for one of the bottles and took a great hearty gulp. Rejuvenated, he closed his eyes and took a deep, measured breath. Not entirely sure of his long-term plan, he reached back into the second pack and picked up the compass. Holding it before him, unsure if it even worked, the needle told him that the steep incline before him was south.
A calm and profound desire to go home gave his legs strength and, using the great tree as support, Darren Locke stood up.
Orientation
B106: Start (THREAD CLOSED)
Orientation
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Riz. 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.
((Start of B063))
Dallas' world as he knew it had been rocked. One minute he was tilting his 6 gallon Stetson over his eyes for a nap on the bus ride to the campground, the next minute he was watching first hand as his classmates died trying to escape the room.
Mr. Danya and Survival of the Fittest...
The Texan knew of the sick game, but he never thought he was in any real danger of the program. He certainly felt terrible for the families of the kids who had died during the game. He almost felt worse for the families of the winners. Still, dwelling on his personal feelings was not what he had to do right now. He had to focus and try to find some people and sort out the situation. They needed to formulate a plan. The problem was Dallas kept thinking the word "they", when it still just "He".
As if on cue, Dallas happened upon a fellow student standing in a very cinematic pose, holding a sword and checking a compass.
"Darren Locke, you sight for sore eyes." Dallas said, with the slightest of southern drawls.
Dallas approached the boy slowly and continued to speak.
"I tell you what, this is not what I had in mind when I got on that bus. Hell I'd be willing to bet that it ain't what anyone had in mind when they got on the bus. Really makes you wonder what the hell we're going to do."
Dallas took a breath as he sat down on the stump of a tree.
"I mean, look at my weapons. Handcuffs and a ball gag. I looked at these and laughed. Probably the only time I'll laugh while I'm out here. Ah well. I'm glad I ran into you though. I think he we can get enough people together, we might be able to actually do something about this pickle we find ourselves in. What do you think man? Think its...OW!"
Dallas' question was interrupted by a sharp pain on his arm. He looked down at his right arm. His eyes widened in horror at the sight. There sat a large wasp, and next to the wasp was the clear mark of a sting.
"Da...Darr...AH FUCK!" Dallas screamed as he frantically searched through his assigned bag for the epi-pen he'd packed.
"Damn it!" Came another curse of frustration.
Dallas could feel the sweat building on his face as his unfortunate allergy was beginning to sink in. Terrified, he continued to tear apart his bag searching for the antidote. Unfortunately for Dallas, the pen was nowhere to be found. He thought he'd packed it, but the pen was back home in St. Paul, sitting on his kitchen table.
"Urghh..!" Dallas' breathing was becoming more and more difficult. His throat was beginning to close.
Dallas' mind was now in full panic mode. He hastily ripped his shirt off hoping it would help, but it did nothing. Shorter and shorter breaths were coming in waves.
"N-no!" He coughed.
No longer was he thinking rationally. His throat was expanding, it needed room! He need to give it room. Dallas' hands went straight to his neck where he felt the cool collar around his neck. He had forgotten every warning that he'd been fairly given. He slipped his fingers underneath the collar and pulled with all his might.
*BOOM*
The resulting explosion severed Dallas' neck killing him instantly. No time for any thoughts, well wishes or snappy one-liners, Dallas Reynolds just fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head.
B063 - Dallas Reynolds - DECEASED
Dallas' world as he knew it had been rocked. One minute he was tilting his 6 gallon Stetson over his eyes for a nap on the bus ride to the campground, the next minute he was watching first hand as his classmates died trying to escape the room.
Mr. Danya and Survival of the Fittest...
The Texan knew of the sick game, but he never thought he was in any real danger of the program. He certainly felt terrible for the families of the kids who had died during the game. He almost felt worse for the families of the winners. Still, dwelling on his personal feelings was not what he had to do right now. He had to focus and try to find some people and sort out the situation. They needed to formulate a plan. The problem was Dallas kept thinking the word "they", when it still just "He".
As if on cue, Dallas happened upon a fellow student standing in a very cinematic pose, holding a sword and checking a compass.
"Darren Locke, you sight for sore eyes." Dallas said, with the slightest of southern drawls.
Dallas approached the boy slowly and continued to speak.
"I tell you what, this is not what I had in mind when I got on that bus. Hell I'd be willing to bet that it ain't what anyone had in mind when they got on the bus. Really makes you wonder what the hell we're going to do."
Dallas took a breath as he sat down on the stump of a tree.
"I mean, look at my weapons. Handcuffs and a ball gag. I looked at these and laughed. Probably the only time I'll laugh while I'm out here. Ah well. I'm glad I ran into you though. I think he we can get enough people together, we might be able to actually do something about this pickle we find ourselves in. What do you think man? Think its...OW!"
Dallas' question was interrupted by a sharp pain on his arm. He looked down at his right arm. His eyes widened in horror at the sight. There sat a large wasp, and next to the wasp was the clear mark of a sting.
"Da...Darr...AH FUCK!" Dallas screamed as he frantically searched through his assigned bag for the epi-pen he'd packed.
"Damn it!" Came another curse of frustration.
Dallas could feel the sweat building on his face as his unfortunate allergy was beginning to sink in. Terrified, he continued to tear apart his bag searching for the antidote. Unfortunately for Dallas, the pen was nowhere to be found. He thought he'd packed it, but the pen was back home in St. Paul, sitting on his kitchen table.
"Urghh..!" Dallas' breathing was becoming more and more difficult. His throat was beginning to close.
Dallas' mind was now in full panic mode. He hastily ripped his shirt off hoping it would help, but it did nothing. Shorter and shorter breaths were coming in waves.
"N-no!" He coughed.
No longer was he thinking rationally. His throat was expanding, it needed room! He need to give it room. Dallas' hands went straight to his neck where he felt the cool collar around his neck. He had forgotten every warning that he'd been fairly given. He slipped his fingers underneath the collar and pulled with all his might.
*BOOM*
The resulting explosion severed Dallas' neck killing him instantly. No time for any thoughts, well wishes or snappy one-liners, Dallas Reynolds just fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head.
B063 - Dallas Reynolds - DECEASED
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
((G025 Dawne Jiang start))
Dawne's world had turned into a nightmare. The girl who was assigned the number G025 had everything she ever thought was right about the world snatched from underneath her. This was supposed to be a nice little adventure. Go camping with her friends, maybe indulge in some drinking (she knew someone had brought alcohol with them). Spend time with Rekka.... none of that was going to happen any more.
Survival of the Fittest. She had heard the name before. Who hadn't? Most everyone knew the names of Adam Dodd, Bryan Calvert, and John Rizzolo. The ones who survived. The "winners", as they were called. Up to this point, Dawne didn't even believe it was real. She had watched it on occasion, the psychological aspect of the premise intrigued her, but she didn't think that it was real. Just an elaborate set up.
In fact, deep in her mind, she was still convinced of this fact. None of this was happening for real. It couldn't be. It had to be a dream, or an elaborate prank. Yeah, that's all it was. I mean, if it was real, then she would have been given a weapon, right? She had gone through the bag supplied to her, and found nothing that could be called a weapon. Just a leather strap with some sort of holster on the end.
Dawne continued down this train of thought for some time, lost in her own world, oblivious to the distant sound of voices, or a very distinctive pop...
Dawne's world had turned into a nightmare. The girl who was assigned the number G025 had everything she ever thought was right about the world snatched from underneath her. This was supposed to be a nice little adventure. Go camping with her friends, maybe indulge in some drinking (she knew someone had brought alcohol with them). Spend time with Rekka.... none of that was going to happen any more.
Survival of the Fittest. She had heard the name before. Who hadn't? Most everyone knew the names of Adam Dodd, Bryan Calvert, and John Rizzolo. The ones who survived. The "winners", as they were called. Up to this point, Dawne didn't even believe it was real. She had watched it on occasion, the psychological aspect of the premise intrigued her, but she didn't think that it was real. Just an elaborate set up.
In fact, deep in her mind, she was still convinced of this fact. None of this was happening for real. It couldn't be. It had to be a dream, or an elaborate prank. Yeah, that's all it was. I mean, if it was real, then she would have been given a weapon, right? She had gone through the bag supplied to her, and found nothing that could be called a weapon. Just a leather strap with some sort of holster on the end.
Dawne continued down this train of thought for some time, lost in her own world, oblivious to the distant sound of voices, or a very distinctive pop...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
((GMing approved by Wheeler))
"Darren Locke, you sight for sore eyes."
Immediately recognizing the boy approaching him as Dallas Reynolds, Darren lowered the sword to his side and stuffed the compass into his back pocket. He had not been close friends with Dallas, but the two had always got along well in what few classes they had together. He smiled and nodded, glad that the first person he had encountered on the island seemed as relieved to see a friendly face as he was.
Dallas had the great misfortune of being assigned handcuffs and a ball gag as his weapons, but was clearly nothing but optimistic about putting a plan into motion for what they ought to do next. That was the wonderful thing about Dallas; it seemed as though nothing could dampen his spirits.
All too suddenly, Dallas screamed and looked down at his arm. A wasp sting. Darren's first thought was that Dallas should be so lucky if that was the worst thing to happen to him on the island, but Dallas' pale and horrified expression quickly suggested just how wrong that assumption was.
"What is it? Are you all right? Talk to me!"
But Dallas was not listening. With a furious determination, he began rummaging through his bag, tossing its contents every which way.
A sudden realization hit him. Dallas was allergic. Surely he would have packed an antidote? An epi-pen perhaps? Dropping the sword, he knelt down and began searching through the things Dallas had tossed aside. He would have to do his best to keep panic at bay for Dallas' sake, hoping that his companion's condition was not too severe. But there was nothing. Nothing at all resembling what the poor terrified Texan needed.
He looked up and saw that Dallas was now shirtless and gasping for breath. He had no idea what to do, other than to put both hands firmly on the boy's shoulders and tell him whatever he thought might calm his struggled breathing.
"Dallas.... Dallas! Listen to me! You need to calm down and start taking deep breaths. Long deep breaths, you hear me? I'm going to find help, okay? Just hang on for a few minutes, you got me? I'll be right back!"
Darren gathered up his sword and duffelbags, then began to make his way downhill as quickly as he could. He only made it a few strides.
*BOOM*
His heart in his throat, his breathing suddenly as quick and terrified as Dallas' had been, Darren turned around and hazily stumbled back uphill. His neck severed, his face spattered with his own blood, lay the body of Dallas Reynolds.
The collar.
Dallas had been so delirious, his mind perhaps too unfocused to hear a word Darren had said to him, that he must have pulled the awful device off of his neck in an attempt to ease his breathing. He slowly brought his fingers up towards the cold steel around his own neck, barely daring to touch it. A mixture of shock, disbelief, and remorse threatened to consume him.
"Darren Locke, you sight for sore eyes."
Immediately recognizing the boy approaching him as Dallas Reynolds, Darren lowered the sword to his side and stuffed the compass into his back pocket. He had not been close friends with Dallas, but the two had always got along well in what few classes they had together. He smiled and nodded, glad that the first person he had encountered on the island seemed as relieved to see a friendly face as he was.
Dallas had the great misfortune of being assigned handcuffs and a ball gag as his weapons, but was clearly nothing but optimistic about putting a plan into motion for what they ought to do next. That was the wonderful thing about Dallas; it seemed as though nothing could dampen his spirits.
All too suddenly, Dallas screamed and looked down at his arm. A wasp sting. Darren's first thought was that Dallas should be so lucky if that was the worst thing to happen to him on the island, but Dallas' pale and horrified expression quickly suggested just how wrong that assumption was.
"What is it? Are you all right? Talk to me!"
But Dallas was not listening. With a furious determination, he began rummaging through his bag, tossing its contents every which way.
A sudden realization hit him. Dallas was allergic. Surely he would have packed an antidote? An epi-pen perhaps? Dropping the sword, he knelt down and began searching through the things Dallas had tossed aside. He would have to do his best to keep panic at bay for Dallas' sake, hoping that his companion's condition was not too severe. But there was nothing. Nothing at all resembling what the poor terrified Texan needed.
He looked up and saw that Dallas was now shirtless and gasping for breath. He had no idea what to do, other than to put both hands firmly on the boy's shoulders and tell him whatever he thought might calm his struggled breathing.
"Dallas.... Dallas! Listen to me! You need to calm down and start taking deep breaths. Long deep breaths, you hear me? I'm going to find help, okay? Just hang on for a few minutes, you got me? I'll be right back!"
Darren gathered up his sword and duffelbags, then began to make his way downhill as quickly as he could. He only made it a few strides.
*BOOM*
His heart in his throat, his breathing suddenly as quick and terrified as Dallas' had been, Darren turned around and hazily stumbled back uphill. His neck severed, his face spattered with his own blood, lay the body of Dallas Reynolds.
The collar.
Dallas had been so delirious, his mind perhaps too unfocused to hear a word Darren had said to him, that he must have pulled the awful device off of his neck in an attempt to ease his breathing. He slowly brought his fingers up towards the cold steel around his own neck, barely daring to touch it. A mixture of shock, disbelief, and remorse threatened to consume him.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Riz. 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.
-
Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
((G085 - Blake, Alice Start))
This situation was not ideal. Simply stated by Alice Blake, mistress of the understatement.
The first time she woke up, Alice tried to remember when she fell asleep on the bus. Then she tried to figure out why she was tied up and feeling like the time Vic got her to drink. Gradually, as she pulled herself together, her surroundings seemed to come into focus. An auditorium, large and expansive. Fellow students tied to chairs all around her, most in various states of grogginess. A voice over the loud speaker, then the sharp bark of automatic weapons. Screaming, everyone around her. Alice was silent, too shocked to do anything beside stare wide eyed. It was only during the video did she realize where she was. Well, where she'd be going.
Memories flashed through her mind. Sitting on the couch, curled up against Vic. Grinning, she snatches the remote and flips through the channels before finding one she liked. A boy was chasing a girl through the jungle. They played a brief game of cat and mouse before the girl made her move, disarming the boy with a rock before they both went to the ground, punching and kicking. Then the boy brought up a tire iron and Alice looked away. She could hear the sounds of impact on the TV, the cursing, and finally, a gunshot. Alice glanced up at the screen and felt sick. With a quick movement, she snatched away the remote and just as quickly turned the channel. She remembered looking at Vic and feeling some relief that she looked just as ill. 'Your more of a masochist then me, Vic' Alice had joked. They'd laughed uncomfortably and Vic tried to find something they both liked. Probably though Bounce, Alice learned that boy went on to win the game, killing his way to the top.
Her fears were confirmed not a minute later when the man on the speaker broke the news. Alice groaned and slumped into her chair. Other students took the news less gracefully. The man's voice faded into the background as Alice frantically scanned the rows of Bayview seniors for Vic. Then, the fans kicked in and everything first faded into unimportance, then oblivion.
When she woke up a second time in an unknown location, she decided to take inventory. General ache, caused from a painful drop by uncaring terrorists? Check. Collar, designed to separate head from body in the most gruesome way possible? Present. Underlying terror and fear of an inevitable death? Yep. Victoria, best friend and love of her life? Sadly absent. Well, there was her first goal. Identifying said goal was the easy part. Achieving it? Not so much. Alice rose gingerly, running a hand through her hair as she winced against the sunlight. She took some comfort from the familiar crinkle of her leather jacket, but even that didn't make her situation better. She was expected to kill, and if she wanted to survive, kill everyone who crossed her path. Fuck that. After some deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't have a problem with self-defense, but she wasn't playing the psycho. It was doubtful she'd get something useful anyway. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to check.
Two bags lay at her feet, one the bag she brought on the camping trip, the other the day pack Danya mentioned. Day pack first. After all, she already knew what was in the other. A-ha! Alice removed the revolver with a satisfied grin. That should help. Alice tucked the small revolver into the back of her waistband and made sure her jacket covered the grip. She was still sorting through the rest of her pack when she heard a pop. At least, it sounded a hell of a lot like a pop. Shouldering her bag and patting the revolver, she started in that direction. It wasn't long before she came upon a terrified classmate and what what clearly a headless corpse. she knew it was a bad idea, but she threw caution to the wind as she stepped into the clearing. After all, it was pretty clear the boy standing didn't do the other in. No, the lack of collar (and head) spelled things out.
"I suppose we really shouldn't mess with these collars, if our departed friend is any indication." Alice spoke up, offering a faint grin at the boy, still a safe few yards away. Well out of range of that sword of his.
This situation was not ideal. Simply stated by Alice Blake, mistress of the understatement.
The first time she woke up, Alice tried to remember when she fell asleep on the bus. Then she tried to figure out why she was tied up and feeling like the time Vic got her to drink. Gradually, as she pulled herself together, her surroundings seemed to come into focus. An auditorium, large and expansive. Fellow students tied to chairs all around her, most in various states of grogginess. A voice over the loud speaker, then the sharp bark of automatic weapons. Screaming, everyone around her. Alice was silent, too shocked to do anything beside stare wide eyed. It was only during the video did she realize where she was. Well, where she'd be going.
Memories flashed through her mind. Sitting on the couch, curled up against Vic. Grinning, she snatches the remote and flips through the channels before finding one she liked. A boy was chasing a girl through the jungle. They played a brief game of cat and mouse before the girl made her move, disarming the boy with a rock before they both went to the ground, punching and kicking. Then the boy brought up a tire iron and Alice looked away. She could hear the sounds of impact on the TV, the cursing, and finally, a gunshot. Alice glanced up at the screen and felt sick. With a quick movement, she snatched away the remote and just as quickly turned the channel. She remembered looking at Vic and feeling some relief that she looked just as ill. 'Your more of a masochist then me, Vic' Alice had joked. They'd laughed uncomfortably and Vic tried to find something they both liked. Probably though Bounce, Alice learned that boy went on to win the game, killing his way to the top.
Her fears were confirmed not a minute later when the man on the speaker broke the news. Alice groaned and slumped into her chair. Other students took the news less gracefully. The man's voice faded into the background as Alice frantically scanned the rows of Bayview seniors for Vic. Then, the fans kicked in and everything first faded into unimportance, then oblivion.
When she woke up a second time in an unknown location, she decided to take inventory. General ache, caused from a painful drop by uncaring terrorists? Check. Collar, designed to separate head from body in the most gruesome way possible? Present. Underlying terror and fear of an inevitable death? Yep. Victoria, best friend and love of her life? Sadly absent. Well, there was her first goal. Identifying said goal was the easy part. Achieving it? Not so much. Alice rose gingerly, running a hand through her hair as she winced against the sunlight. She took some comfort from the familiar crinkle of her leather jacket, but even that didn't make her situation better. She was expected to kill, and if she wanted to survive, kill everyone who crossed her path. Fuck that. After some deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't have a problem with self-defense, but she wasn't playing the psycho. It was doubtful she'd get something useful anyway. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to check.
Two bags lay at her feet, one the bag she brought on the camping trip, the other the day pack Danya mentioned. Day pack first. After all, she already knew what was in the other. A-ha! Alice removed the revolver with a satisfied grin. That should help. Alice tucked the small revolver into the back of her waistband and made sure her jacket covered the grip. She was still sorting through the rest of her pack when she heard a pop. At least, it sounded a hell of a lot like a pop. Shouldering her bag and patting the revolver, she started in that direction. It wasn't long before she came upon a terrified classmate and what what clearly a headless corpse. she knew it was a bad idea, but she threw caution to the wind as she stepped into the clearing. After all, it was pretty clear the boy standing didn't do the other in. No, the lack of collar (and head) spelled things out.
"I suppose we really shouldn't mess with these collars, if our departed friend is any indication." Alice spoke up, offering a faint grin at the boy, still a safe few yards away. Well out of range of that sword of his.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.
Dawne was finally shaken out of her own little world as she noticed a couple people out of the corner of her eye. She was still too far away from them to notice her, and at the same time she wasn't able to hear what they were saying. It was also a bit of a blessing that because of the her location, she was unable to see the body of Dallas Reynolds on the ground near them. All she knew was that there were people, and they weren't the ones she was looking for.
Rather than continue in the direction she was heading, which would take her too near the other two people for her liking, Dawne veered to the left, going away from her two classmates. She had seen this game before. Groups were bad. Especially if you didn't know the people in the group. Which wasn't to say Dawne didn't know them, she just couldn't tell from this distance. What she could tell was they weren't anyone she was looking for. She would look elsewhere.
((Dawne Jiang continued in Bump in the Night))
Rather than continue in the direction she was heading, which would take her too near the other two people for her liking, Dawne veered to the left, going away from her two classmates. She had seen this game before. Groups were bad. Especially if you didn't know the people in the group. Which wasn't to say Dawne didn't know them, she just couldn't tell from this distance. What she could tell was they weren't anyone she was looking for. She would look elsewhere.
((Dawne Jiang continued in Bump in the Night))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
-
BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
((B051 Roman Jackson debut))
Roman tried to huddle down farther into the small depression at the base of the tree stump, as if making himself a smaller target would do anything besides preserve the illusion of safety. The detonation of Dallas Reynolds' collar had driven home the knowledge of exactly how defenseless and helpless he was.
However, there is a world of difference between logically knowing something and feeling it. And the feeling of the wood at his back and earth under him provided a solid sense of security, one that he could not bring himself to abandon just yet. Shifting slightly, he curled around the pack that had been provided, hugging it to his chest.
An unfamiliar girl's voice broke the silence that had settled since the horrific boom of the exploding collar.
"I suppose we really shouldn't mess with these collars, if our departed friend is any indication."
It wasn't so much the choice of words as it was the callous, gloating tone in her voice that chilled Roman to his bones. She doesn't even care that Dallas is dead. That he's gone. She makes him sound like some kind of... object lesson rather than a person. He deserved more than this. He's someone's son.
Somewhere, someone is going to be devastated by his death. I don't know how they'll be...able to go on...
As that thought crossed his mind, his heart stuttered for a second before starting to race. Oh god. Where is Alex? Where is my sister? Oh god, where is my sister?! The sound of his pounding heart filled his ears as he fought the urge to retch. I have to go. I have to go find Alex. Oh god, please don't let her be dead. Please, God, please! A wave of choking panic washed over him as he fumbled on the ground, suddenly as uncoordinated as a newborn calf.
Stop! Stop and THINK, his rational mind screamed at him. He stilled his movements as he realized the danger he was putting himself in. You go popping up from behind this tree like some kind of demented jack-in-the-box and what's to stop those animals from shooting you in a blind panic? Do the smart thing. Call out first then slowly stand up. No sudden movements. Nobody needs any help justifying an itchy trigger finger. Then we will go and find Alex.
Forcing himself to take several deep, calming breaths, Roman slowly lifted his head to peek out over the top of the stump. "H-hello?" he called out, not caring that his voice shook. "Whoever's out there, I'm unarmed and I'm going to stand up now. Please don't shoot."
Roman tried to huddle down farther into the small depression at the base of the tree stump, as if making himself a smaller target would do anything besides preserve the illusion of safety. The detonation of Dallas Reynolds' collar had driven home the knowledge of exactly how defenseless and helpless he was.
However, there is a world of difference between logically knowing something and feeling it. And the feeling of the wood at his back and earth under him provided a solid sense of security, one that he could not bring himself to abandon just yet. Shifting slightly, he curled around the pack that had been provided, hugging it to his chest.
An unfamiliar girl's voice broke the silence that had settled since the horrific boom of the exploding collar.
"I suppose we really shouldn't mess with these collars, if our departed friend is any indication."
It wasn't so much the choice of words as it was the callous, gloating tone in her voice that chilled Roman to his bones. She doesn't even care that Dallas is dead. That he's gone. She makes him sound like some kind of... object lesson rather than a person. He deserved more than this. He's someone's son.
Somewhere, someone is going to be devastated by his death. I don't know how they'll be...able to go on...
As that thought crossed his mind, his heart stuttered for a second before starting to race. Oh god. Where is Alex? Where is my sister? Oh god, where is my sister?! The sound of his pounding heart filled his ears as he fought the urge to retch. I have to go. I have to go find Alex. Oh god, please don't let her be dead. Please, God, please! A wave of choking panic washed over him as he fumbled on the ground, suddenly as uncoordinated as a newborn calf.
Stop! Stop and THINK, his rational mind screamed at him. He stilled his movements as he realized the danger he was putting himself in. You go popping up from behind this tree like some kind of demented jack-in-the-box and what's to stop those animals from shooting you in a blind panic? Do the smart thing. Call out first then slowly stand up. No sudden movements. Nobody needs any help justifying an itchy trigger finger. Then we will go and find Alex.
Forcing himself to take several deep, calming breaths, Roman slowly lifted his head to peek out over the top of the stump. "H-hello?" he called out, not caring that his voice shook. "Whoever's out there, I'm unarmed and I'm going to stand up now. Please don't shoot."
"I suppose we really shouldn't mess with these collars, if our departed friend is any indication."
The voice brought him sharply back to reality. He turned towards the newcomer who he remembered as Alice Blake.
"I.... It was an accident. He- he just tore it off. Terrible allergic reaction and...."
He gestured in the vague direction of the spot on Dallas' arm, not daring to look at him directly. He was rambling, spouting off what must have sounded defensive. But how could he feel so guilty over something that wasn't his fault? He had no honest answer, no rational explanation at all.
His voice caught in his throat and, more to look busy than anything, he turned away from Alice and headed to the nearest gnarled tree stump. Kneeling down, he used the sword to cut two distinct parallel lines into its severed rings. He justified this impulse as making a landmark should he ever return here, but just as quickly it hit him that he never wanted to come back to this awful blight of land. Not if he could help it.
Darren shakily made his way back to Dallas' blood-soaked body, knelt down, and gently closed the Texan's eyes. A foot away was his oversized cowboy hat, which he picked up and gingerly rested on the boy's face. He admitted that the resulting image was not as dignified as he intended, but he felt a small weight lift from his shoulders as he stood up and wiped his eyes and forehead. He took a great heavy sigh, and at last turned back to Alice. Before he could say anything, he heard a shaky voice coming from a nearby tree stump.
"H-hello? Whoever's out there, I'm unarmed and I'm going to stand up now. Please don't shoot."
The voice brought him sharply back to reality. He turned towards the newcomer who he remembered as Alice Blake.
"I.... It was an accident. He- he just tore it off. Terrible allergic reaction and...."
He gestured in the vague direction of the spot on Dallas' arm, not daring to look at him directly. He was rambling, spouting off what must have sounded defensive. But how could he feel so guilty over something that wasn't his fault? He had no honest answer, no rational explanation at all.
His voice caught in his throat and, more to look busy than anything, he turned away from Alice and headed to the nearest gnarled tree stump. Kneeling down, he used the sword to cut two distinct parallel lines into its severed rings. He justified this impulse as making a landmark should he ever return here, but just as quickly it hit him that he never wanted to come back to this awful blight of land. Not if he could help it.
Darren shakily made his way back to Dallas' blood-soaked body, knelt down, and gently closed the Texan's eyes. A foot away was his oversized cowboy hat, which he picked up and gingerly rested on the boy's face. He admitted that the resulting image was not as dignified as he intended, but he felt a small weight lift from his shoulders as he stood up and wiped his eyes and forehead. He took a great heavy sigh, and at last turned back to Alice. Before he could say anything, he heard a shaky voice coming from a nearby tree stump.
"H-hello? Whoever's out there, I'm unarmed and I'm going to stand up now. Please don't shoot."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Riz. 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.
-
Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Alice didn't pay much attention to Darren as he rambled on about how Dallas ended up in his present state. After all, it was obvious what had killed him and that was all that was important. It spelled out a message, perfectly clear. The collars worked. Don't mess with them. For whatever possible reason Dallas had removed his, the end result was the same. The collar didn't care if it was...what had Darren said? An allergic reaction?...Whatever, if it was that or intentional, he was just as dead.
She mused briefly who on the island would be looking for him? After all, everybody had to have someone on the island worrying about them. Even Alice had Bounce and Vic. Who would miss Dallas? Who would be the ones looking up in dismay when his name came over the announcements? His parents, watching at home? Of course, none of that mattered. Not to her, at least. He was dead and if he served better as a warning then a competitor, so be it.
To be honest, Alice was here to play the vulture. If she wanted to try and hold out with Vic and Bounce, they would certainly need supplies, and seeing how Dallas wasn't using his...After she'd moved out of the area, she'd check her map and try to figure out a place to go to ground after finding her friends. It wasn't like escape was an option. Danya and his lot had made all necessary preparations and preventing escape would have been the first and most important. No, it would be better to hide out somewhere and hope help would come. Of course, that was as unlikely as any other form of escape. After all, it hadn't happened before, why would it now?
Movement from Darren drew Alice out of her thoughts. He seemed to be making some sort of symbol on the tree. Maybe to mark this as an area he'd visited? Whatever it was, she waited until he'd stepped away from the body to make her way to his pack. Keeping a careful eye on Darren out of the corner of her eye, she knelt and started to rummage through the day bag with the name Dallas Reynolds printed across the side. The girl was careful to keep Darren in the corner of her vision at all times, even if he seemed too shell-shocked. to be a credible threat. "I'm only taking half his food. You can have the rest, or leave it out of respect for the dead. Whichever." Alice slung her own daypack around and stowed the food inside. After a seconds pause, she added the handcuffs and key, and after yet another moment of deliberation, left the ball gag.
Kneeling this close to him, Alice was almost compelled to take a close at Dallas, or at least, what was left of him. Her hand hovered near the brim of his hat for second before falling back across her leg. What did it matter anyway? He was dead, she wasn't. It was all a matter of practicality. If she wanted to stay alive, she couldn't let things like this bother her, even if some small part of her was still decrying this as a bad dream. It wasn't and she knew that. That meant she couldn't let things get under her skin, no matter what.
The voice calling behind her brought her to feet faster then she'd have thought possible. That didn't extend to the revolver in her waistband, but that was for the best. It was still within reach if the voice was lying, and it would be better for them to come out in the open anyway, as opposed to skulking just out of sight anyway. Still, she had her priorities. See whoever the the voice belonged to and head out. Somewhere on this god damned island were Vic and Bounce, and they both needed her.
She mused briefly who on the island would be looking for him? After all, everybody had to have someone on the island worrying about them. Even Alice had Bounce and Vic. Who would miss Dallas? Who would be the ones looking up in dismay when his name came over the announcements? His parents, watching at home? Of course, none of that mattered. Not to her, at least. He was dead and if he served better as a warning then a competitor, so be it.
To be honest, Alice was here to play the vulture. If she wanted to try and hold out with Vic and Bounce, they would certainly need supplies, and seeing how Dallas wasn't using his...After she'd moved out of the area, she'd check her map and try to figure out a place to go to ground after finding her friends. It wasn't like escape was an option. Danya and his lot had made all necessary preparations and preventing escape would have been the first and most important. No, it would be better to hide out somewhere and hope help would come. Of course, that was as unlikely as any other form of escape. After all, it hadn't happened before, why would it now?
Movement from Darren drew Alice out of her thoughts. He seemed to be making some sort of symbol on the tree. Maybe to mark this as an area he'd visited? Whatever it was, she waited until he'd stepped away from the body to make her way to his pack. Keeping a careful eye on Darren out of the corner of her eye, she knelt and started to rummage through the day bag with the name Dallas Reynolds printed across the side. The girl was careful to keep Darren in the corner of her vision at all times, even if he seemed too shell-shocked. to be a credible threat. "I'm only taking half his food. You can have the rest, or leave it out of respect for the dead. Whichever." Alice slung her own daypack around and stowed the food inside. After a seconds pause, she added the handcuffs and key, and after yet another moment of deliberation, left the ball gag.
Kneeling this close to him, Alice was almost compelled to take a close at Dallas, or at least, what was left of him. Her hand hovered near the brim of his hat for second before falling back across her leg. What did it matter anyway? He was dead, she wasn't. It was all a matter of practicality. If she wanted to stay alive, she couldn't let things like this bother her, even if some small part of her was still decrying this as a bad dream. It wasn't and she knew that. That meant she couldn't let things get under her skin, no matter what.
The voice calling behind her brought her to feet faster then she'd have thought possible. That didn't extend to the revolver in her waistband, but that was for the best. It was still within reach if the voice was lying, and it would be better for them to come out in the open anyway, as opposed to skulking just out of sight anyway. Still, she had her priorities. See whoever the the voice belonged to and head out. Somewhere on this god damned island were Vic and Bounce, and they both needed her.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.
-
BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
With a grunt, Roman slowly levered himself to his feet, leaving his bag on the ground. Don't shoot, I'm pathetic, he silently willed the others as he raised his empty hands to further illustrate that he was of no threat to either of them. The two people hovered over the remains of poor Dallas, looking to capitalize off of his ill fortune all ready. The thought of taking anything from the fallen boy made Roman want to gag. He needed to get out of here and go find Alex before she wound up like Dallas.
Still moving cautiously, he adjusted his glasses, trying to bring the features of the others into focus. Eyes widening, he realized that the girl who had spoken was Alice Blake. Not that they had been close in the slightest but Alice was easily recognizable, having the distinction of being one of the absolutely whitest people on campus in addition to being the tallest girl in the senior class. Now he could add "heartless, callous bitch" to the description. The boy looked familiar, but Roman couldn't place a face with a name. Please don't let either of them be trigger happy psychos. Please.
"S-sorry. I didn't want to startle anyone. I'm just looking to pass through," he explained, eyes nervously flicking back and forth between the pair. He could feel his pulse hammering away in his throat. "Actually, I'm trying to find my sister. Alex Jackson? About my height, but with purple hair. You...you haven't seen anyone matching that description, have you?"
Still moving cautiously, he adjusted his glasses, trying to bring the features of the others into focus. Eyes widening, he realized that the girl who had spoken was Alice Blake. Not that they had been close in the slightest but Alice was easily recognizable, having the distinction of being one of the absolutely whitest people on campus in addition to being the tallest girl in the senior class. Now he could add "heartless, callous bitch" to the description. The boy looked familiar, but Roman couldn't place a face with a name. Please don't let either of them be trigger happy psychos. Please.
"S-sorry. I didn't want to startle anyone. I'm just looking to pass through," he explained, eyes nervously flicking back and forth between the pair. He could feel his pulse hammering away in his throat. "Actually, I'm trying to find my sister. Alex Jackson? About my height, but with purple hair. You...you haven't seen anyone matching that description, have you?"
-
xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
G018 - Acacia Salinger - Start
Acacia awoke with a start. Her eyes blinked open, seeing nothing but open sky and feeling damp earth underneath her. For two glorious seconds she had no idea where she was, then it all came back to her in a sudden rush. The coach journey, the sudden sleepiness, finding it hilarious that everyone sitting around her also felt sleepy, being tied to a chair, the introduction, then... Then she was here. She felt strangely okay with everything though, removed from the situation, and sat up slowly, her head spinning. Acacia drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, looking at her surroundings. Which was trees. Or rather, what looked like used to be trees, there were endless stumps, with the odd straggly tree that had survived the cull. Next to her was her duffel bag and a supplementary bag with her name and "G018" printed on it. So that was her number, huh? She'd watched the odd episode of the programme, enough to know that she really was in deep shit.
Reaching over for the bags, she drew them closer to her, and looked from one to the other with a frown, thinking about how impractical it was to carry quite so much stuff around anyway. There was no way she'd be able to run, or use her weapon... Hang on, a weapon! Acacia looked between the bags, and decided on the one she'd been issued, it seemed like the more likely choice. Barely a moment of looking drew her eyes to the most gunnish looking gun she'd ever seen. A brown handle with a black barrel, a pistol, a revolver, she had no idea. What was the difference anyway She knew nothing about guns, and looking at her weapon felt herself beginning to succumb to tears. Her hands shook as she looked at the gun and the separate... other bit... that she somehow had to fit in to it. Why couldn't the gun have come fully loaded? Surely that was what usually happened, or was this some kind of additional trauma. The blonde bimbo who didn't know how to use a gun. Feeling self conscious suddenly she looked around for a camera, and spied one about ten metres away, affixed to a tree. Pointing directly at her. She stared at it, her eyes watering with tears, vaguely aware that anything she said now might be broadcast to her family back home.
"Fuck you," she said softly, so softly she wasn't sure if the camera could hear her. Were the microphones on the camera or were they separate? Like, in the grass? She had no idea. Could they hear her breathing, which had gradually been getting heavier and heavier as the real weight of it set in. Her mind reeled, going through all these thoughts. Why hadn't she ever planned for this? She'd always considered herself immune from bad stuff happening. What with moving twice (and not just piddly around the corner moving, like, 1000 miles each time), her aunt dying, her brother being shipped off to die in Iraq (God, we can't both die, that'd just be too unfair). She took an inventory of the bag that she'd brought with her on the trip. Clothes were all still there, cellphone gone, insulin. Insulin!
There was a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. Weren't potential weapons confiscated from bags? Potential weapons, potentially including needles? She rifled through, cursing herself for packing so badly, before unearthing the black zipped case and opening it with a practiced swoop. Two pens, test machine, testing strip, lancets, a pack of glucose tablets and additional pack of tastier jelly beans. Her medic alert bracelet, which she picked up and turned over, reading the text inscribed on the back. ACACIA SALINGER / DOB: 6/12/1992 / TYPE I DIABETIC / INSULIN DEPENDANT / ICE: K. SALINGER 777-0892-3345. She felt the tears welling up again at her mother's cellphone number. Odds she would ever ring that again? Close to zero. Maybe even actually zero, unless she could figure out how to work the damn gun. Picking up her backs, the daybag on her back and her duffel bag over one shoulder, she picked up the gun last, and started walking aimlessly. She pointed the empty pistol into the jungle, and pulled the trigger.
At the sme time there was an explosion from somewhere behind her.
Acacia started, staring at the gun in her hand for a few seconds before dropping it as though it was boiling hot. It clattered to the ground and disappeared under some ground level dust. She crouched down to recover it, then turned and began to head towards the noise. After all, noise meant people, probably, and people meant help. She didn't want to be going alone at this point. Not this early on. As she reached the scene she saw one decapitated body and a few people that she recognised. One was called, Darren, she wasn't sure of his surname. Alice Blake, she knew of her mainly because of her height even if she didn't know her especially well as a person. Still, better than nothing, at least she knew her surname. The third person she thought was called Roman, or Troy, or something like that. Still, where was the harm in saying hi? If things got tricky she had a gun to wave at them, none of them looked like especially gun savvy people, perhaps they wouldn't notice it was loaded?
"Hi!" she said in her sunniest voice, trying to hold back the tears and panic. She gave a little wave, starting it with the gun hand but then realising that might cause panic or something (and God knew she needed friends at that point) switched to the other. She stopped short as she got near the body, looking guiltily at Roman/Troy/something whom she had just sort of cut across, and nodded at him directly. She knew who he was talking about, Victoria Jackson, purple hair. But she hadn't seen her. In fact she hadn't seen anyone. "Sorry," she said to Roman, "but you're the first people I've seen."
Acacia awoke with a start. Her eyes blinked open, seeing nothing but open sky and feeling damp earth underneath her. For two glorious seconds she had no idea where she was, then it all came back to her in a sudden rush. The coach journey, the sudden sleepiness, finding it hilarious that everyone sitting around her also felt sleepy, being tied to a chair, the introduction, then... Then she was here. She felt strangely okay with everything though, removed from the situation, and sat up slowly, her head spinning. Acacia drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, looking at her surroundings. Which was trees. Or rather, what looked like used to be trees, there were endless stumps, with the odd straggly tree that had survived the cull. Next to her was her duffel bag and a supplementary bag with her name and "G018" printed on it. So that was her number, huh? She'd watched the odd episode of the programme, enough to know that she really was in deep shit.
Reaching over for the bags, she drew them closer to her, and looked from one to the other with a frown, thinking about how impractical it was to carry quite so much stuff around anyway. There was no way she'd be able to run, or use her weapon... Hang on, a weapon! Acacia looked between the bags, and decided on the one she'd been issued, it seemed like the more likely choice. Barely a moment of looking drew her eyes to the most gunnish looking gun she'd ever seen. A brown handle with a black barrel, a pistol, a revolver, she had no idea. What was the difference anyway She knew nothing about guns, and looking at her weapon felt herself beginning to succumb to tears. Her hands shook as she looked at the gun and the separate... other bit... that she somehow had to fit in to it. Why couldn't the gun have come fully loaded? Surely that was what usually happened, or was this some kind of additional trauma. The blonde bimbo who didn't know how to use a gun. Feeling self conscious suddenly she looked around for a camera, and spied one about ten metres away, affixed to a tree. Pointing directly at her. She stared at it, her eyes watering with tears, vaguely aware that anything she said now might be broadcast to her family back home.
"Fuck you," she said softly, so softly she wasn't sure if the camera could hear her. Were the microphones on the camera or were they separate? Like, in the grass? She had no idea. Could they hear her breathing, which had gradually been getting heavier and heavier as the real weight of it set in. Her mind reeled, going through all these thoughts. Why hadn't she ever planned for this? She'd always considered herself immune from bad stuff happening. What with moving twice (and not just piddly around the corner moving, like, 1000 miles each time), her aunt dying, her brother being shipped off to die in Iraq (God, we can't both die, that'd just be too unfair). She took an inventory of the bag that she'd brought with her on the trip. Clothes were all still there, cellphone gone, insulin. Insulin!
There was a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. Weren't potential weapons confiscated from bags? Potential weapons, potentially including needles? She rifled through, cursing herself for packing so badly, before unearthing the black zipped case and opening it with a practiced swoop. Two pens, test machine, testing strip, lancets, a pack of glucose tablets and additional pack of tastier jelly beans. Her medic alert bracelet, which she picked up and turned over, reading the text inscribed on the back. ACACIA SALINGER / DOB: 6/12/1992 / TYPE I DIABETIC / INSULIN DEPENDANT / ICE: K. SALINGER 777-0892-3345. She felt the tears welling up again at her mother's cellphone number. Odds she would ever ring that again? Close to zero. Maybe even actually zero, unless she could figure out how to work the damn gun. Picking up her backs, the daybag on her back and her duffel bag over one shoulder, she picked up the gun last, and started walking aimlessly. She pointed the empty pistol into the jungle, and pulled the trigger.
At the sme time there was an explosion from somewhere behind her.
Acacia started, staring at the gun in her hand for a few seconds before dropping it as though it was boiling hot. It clattered to the ground and disappeared under some ground level dust. She crouched down to recover it, then turned and began to head towards the noise. After all, noise meant people, probably, and people meant help. She didn't want to be going alone at this point. Not this early on. As she reached the scene she saw one decapitated body and a few people that she recognised. One was called, Darren, she wasn't sure of his surname. Alice Blake, she knew of her mainly because of her height even if she didn't know her especially well as a person. Still, better than nothing, at least she knew her surname. The third person she thought was called Roman, or Troy, or something like that. Still, where was the harm in saying hi? If things got tricky she had a gun to wave at them, none of them looked like especially gun savvy people, perhaps they wouldn't notice it was loaded?
"Hi!" she said in her sunniest voice, trying to hold back the tears and panic. She gave a little wave, starting it with the gun hand but then realising that might cause panic or something (and God knew she needed friends at that point) switched to the other. She stopped short as she got near the body, looking guiltily at Roman/Troy/something whom she had just sort of cut across, and nodded at him directly. She knew who he was talking about, Victoria Jackson, purple hair. But she hadn't seen her. In fact she hadn't seen anyone. "Sorry," she said to Roman, "but you're the first people I've seen."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler xylophonefairy. 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.
Roman and Acacia.
Darren's better judgment to form a group clashed with his sudden and inexplicable desire to sit alone and clear his head if only for five minutes. The fact that one of the newcomers was carrying a gun helped tilt his next decision in favour of the latter.
"I'm sorry, but I haven't seen your sister. I only just woke up here and I was hoping to explore a little and get my bearings. I do remember a girl from class with purple hair, though. If I see her, I'll tell her you're here looking for her, I promise."
He bent down to lift his duffels over his shoulder. Using the sword, he pointed in the direction that his compass had indicated as east.
"I'm gonna start by heading that way. My friends are out there somewhere and I need to know they're safe. I'll see what supplies I can find, a good place to hole up, who knows. Anyone who wants to come along is more than welcome, but I'm not looking for a fight. Anyone else.... best of luck, and I hope you find who you're looking for."
And with one last glance at the fallen Dallas, Darren Locke strode off across the felled forest.
((Darren Locke continued in Walkabout))
Darren's better judgment to form a group clashed with his sudden and inexplicable desire to sit alone and clear his head if only for five minutes. The fact that one of the newcomers was carrying a gun helped tilt his next decision in favour of the latter.
"I'm sorry, but I haven't seen your sister. I only just woke up here and I was hoping to explore a little and get my bearings. I do remember a girl from class with purple hair, though. If I see her, I'll tell her you're here looking for her, I promise."
He bent down to lift his duffels over his shoulder. Using the sword, he pointed in the direction that his compass had indicated as east.
"I'm gonna start by heading that way. My friends are out there somewhere and I need to know they're safe. I'll see what supplies I can find, a good place to hole up, who knows. Anyone who wants to come along is more than welcome, but I'm not looking for a fight. Anyone else.... best of luck, and I hope you find who you're looking for."
And with one last glance at the fallen Dallas, Darren Locke strode off across the felled forest.
((Darren Locke continued in Walkabout))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Riz. 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.
-
Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Alice waited for the figure to reveal himself, hands folded loosely behind her back. The revolver was still in easy reach, if not readily visible. Whoever was hiding out of sight, it didn't hurt to be prepared. Until she was off the island or dead, to let down her guard was asking to be killed. There were only two people on the whole of the island she could trust, and she doubted that the voice belonged to either of them. No, until she was sure that whoever was stepping forward wasn't a threat, the gun was going to be close at hand.
As the figure revealed himself, Alice relaxed. He didn't appear armed, or at least, didn't appear aggressive. Still, looks could be deceiving. For all she knew, he was just trying to get close before pulling out a gun. No, she would keep her gun close as hand, if you didn't mind. Idiot she was, she had already taken a big enough risk when she approached Darren, grinning as broad as she could. If she ever wanted to see Vic again, she would need to be more careful in the future. If being careful meant eying everyone was unconcealed suspicion, so be it.
Once Roman made it clear he was only looking for his sister, Alice's thoughts drifted to Victoria. It seemed everyone was looking for someone. Natural, of course. Boyfriends, girlfriends, brothers and sisters, at the very least friends. No one was truely alone, not really. She suspected that was a similar goal across the island and Alice was no different. She needed to find Victoria, she had to find Bounce. there were all that mattered to her and she'd be damned if something happened because she wasn't there to protect them.
At the sound of movement on her left, she spun about, her hand resting on the grip of the pistol. Another newcomer, this one with a pistol in hand. Alice froze, ready to pull the revolver like some old fashion gunslinger if the girl made any hostile gesture. The woman seemed to realize that her approach left something to be desired and lowered the gun. Alice's hand didn't leave the comfort of the pistol's grip, even if the woman did look near-panic. If her nerves were as frayed as they appeared, she was that more likely to make a rash decision that could end with someone being shot.
Alice would take that as her cue to head off. Victoria and Bounce would be looking for her, and she'd stood around long enough. There was whole island to cover, and it would be a miracle if she could find either of them before they ran into trouble. No reason not to start looking as soon as she could. Alice offered a curt nod to Roman. "Uh, best of luck with that. I'll be sure to keep an eye out." As for the girl, Alice gave her a brief glance while she readjusted her bag. Alice had places to be and people to find. Nothing in the clearing further interested her. Roman and his search for his sister, while sympathetic, didn't involve her. Darren and his squeamishness, while amusing, didn't help her find her friends. As for the new girl, well, Alice didn't want to saddled with her problem, myriad as they would undoubtedly be. With a halfhearted 'good luck' to the others in the clearing before she set off.
((Alice Blake continued in Obstacles In Our Path)))
As the figure revealed himself, Alice relaxed. He didn't appear armed, or at least, didn't appear aggressive. Still, looks could be deceiving. For all she knew, he was just trying to get close before pulling out a gun. No, she would keep her gun close as hand, if you didn't mind. Idiot she was, she had already taken a big enough risk when she approached Darren, grinning as broad as she could. If she ever wanted to see Vic again, she would need to be more careful in the future. If being careful meant eying everyone was unconcealed suspicion, so be it.
Once Roman made it clear he was only looking for his sister, Alice's thoughts drifted to Victoria. It seemed everyone was looking for someone. Natural, of course. Boyfriends, girlfriends, brothers and sisters, at the very least friends. No one was truely alone, not really. She suspected that was a similar goal across the island and Alice was no different. She needed to find Victoria, she had to find Bounce. there were all that mattered to her and she'd be damned if something happened because she wasn't there to protect them.
At the sound of movement on her left, she spun about, her hand resting on the grip of the pistol. Another newcomer, this one with a pistol in hand. Alice froze, ready to pull the revolver like some old fashion gunslinger if the girl made any hostile gesture. The woman seemed to realize that her approach left something to be desired and lowered the gun. Alice's hand didn't leave the comfort of the pistol's grip, even if the woman did look near-panic. If her nerves were as frayed as they appeared, she was that more likely to make a rash decision that could end with someone being shot.
Alice would take that as her cue to head off. Victoria and Bounce would be looking for her, and she'd stood around long enough. There was whole island to cover, and it would be a miracle if she could find either of them before they ran into trouble. No reason not to start looking as soon as she could. Alice offered a curt nod to Roman. "Uh, best of luck with that. I'll be sure to keep an eye out." As for the girl, Alice gave her a brief glance while she readjusted her bag. Alice had places to be and people to find. Nothing in the clearing further interested her. Roman and his search for his sister, while sympathetic, didn't involve her. Darren and his squeamishness, while amusing, didn't help her find her friends. As for the new girl, well, Alice didn't want to saddled with her problem, myriad as they would undoubtedly be. With a halfhearted 'good luck' to the others in the clearing before she set off.
((Alice Blake continued in Obstacles In Our Path)))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.
-
BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
Roman's eyes widened in panic as Acacia Salinger joined their little impromptu meeting, carelessly waving a gun about. He flinched and barely stopped himself from flinging himself to the ground. Her chagrined expression did little to ease his abused nerves. Uncle Jack would shit a brick if he saw someone treating a gun so casually, he thought as he returned her smile.
Darren got his attention by speaking again, followed by Alice. Roman nodded in understanding as everyone explained that they hadn't seen Alex. Of course, they had barely gotten mobile so that really was something he should have expected. He continued nodding, acknowledging both Darren and Alice's offers to keep an eye out for Alex and Darren's invite to group up later. "I appreciate it," he said as they began to move away.
Darren seemed really competent and level-headed, and a part of Roman desperately wanted to run and catch up to the other boy. But he couldn't go and try to hide until he found his sister. Unwilling to let happy gun-waver Acacia be unsupervised for too long, he turned towards her.
"Umm, I don't mean to be an ass or anything, but waving that gun around will probably get you killed super fast." Glancing furtively at Alice's retreating back, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Some people around here are already into the swing of things and don't even need an excuse to start attacking."
Darren got his attention by speaking again, followed by Alice. Roman nodded in understanding as everyone explained that they hadn't seen Alex. Of course, they had barely gotten mobile so that really was something he should have expected. He continued nodding, acknowledging both Darren and Alice's offers to keep an eye out for Alex and Darren's invite to group up later. "I appreciate it," he said as they began to move away.
Darren seemed really competent and level-headed, and a part of Roman desperately wanted to run and catch up to the other boy. But he couldn't go and try to hide until he found his sister. Unwilling to let happy gun-waver Acacia be unsupervised for too long, he turned towards her.
"Umm, I don't mean to be an ass or anything, but waving that gun around will probably get you killed super fast." Glancing furtively at Alice's retreating back, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Some people around here are already into the swing of things and don't even need an excuse to start attacking."
-
xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
Acacia let out a short laugh as Roman commented on her waving around of the gun. If it had been loaded, she was sure that she'd have been more wary of it, but right now it felt as useful as a toy, or an empty water gun. She looked at it, and shool her head, briefly following Roman's gaze towards Alice's retreating back. She turned back to him, and turned the gun to one side, showing him that it was empty. Then she fished the rounds out of her pocket, shrugging, holding them separate from the gun, clutching both of them hard enough that they couldn't be just grabbed, hopefully, not that she didn't didn't trust Roman (she'd never had any reason to mistrust him after all), but you never knew. This kind of situation changed people, she knew that much.
"It didn't come loaded," she said, looking almost pleadingly at Roman, "and I'll be honest, I don't even know where to start," her voice took on a hysterical edge towards the end, as she became gradually more certain of her own hopelessness and how little she knew about, well, anything. In all her life, Acacia had always strived to put herself into comfortable situations; high school she could do, tennis courts were her second home, she sat at the same table in the canteen every day. Familiarity; that was the thing. And the reason she didn't know how to use a gun was because she had no intention of ever needing to use a gun.
"What did you get?" Acacia asked, somewhat glumly.
"It didn't come loaded," she said, looking almost pleadingly at Roman, "and I'll be honest, I don't even know where to start," her voice took on a hysterical edge towards the end, as she became gradually more certain of her own hopelessness and how little she knew about, well, anything. In all her life, Acacia had always strived to put herself into comfortable situations; high school she could do, tennis courts were her second home, she sat at the same table in the canteen every day. Familiarity; that was the thing. And the reason she didn't know how to use a gun was because she had no intention of ever needing to use a gun.
"What did you get?" Acacia asked, somewhat glumly.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler xylophonefairy. 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.