))Mending
((Psst, you guys are getting a little too far ahead of the remainder of the roleplayers in the thread. They haven't even had time to react to the grenade explosion yet, so we don't even know if they're dead or not. ))
))This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
((sorry but I got to move Trey along and out of the area as per my deal with Bukowski))
Trey was confused. Everything was spinning and he heard a voice, a voice he didn't recognize talking to him. Trey felt something at his legs, and while it was Nick helping him, he couldn't recognize what it was, for everything was still spinning in his mind. He was a wrestler. He had felt pain before. Nothing like this of course, but he would push past it. He had to.
Keith, Izzy. There were others. The group had became rather large right before the explosion. Trey couldn't put facts together in his mind, he couldn't figure out what was going on.
Move. He had to move. Where was he?
He collapsed from holding onto the tree onto the ground. He couldn't walk. His eyesight was still blurry. If he saw himself now he would be shocked. This wasn't the same Trey Leyton that was sitting around making jokes about Keith shirtless five minutes ago.
This was a much bloodier, injured Trey Leyton. His legs were now almost useless. His vision was blurry, but he wasn't blind. All he heard was ringing. He crawled.
Hand over hand, he used his upper body strength to pull himself along across the jungle floor.
Where was he going? Safety? Help? His instincts told him to move. The killer could be closing in to finish everyone off. Trey was the type who would stay back and fight, who would defend his friends to the death. Though right now, that wasn't an option. He didn't have that ability. He couldn't defend himself let alone his friends.
His only option was to move. To let instinct kick over.
So he crawled, until he was out of strength, and while he wasn't too far from his group and where the grenade detonated, since this was the jungle and the brush was thick, he was far enough where he wasn't easily spotted.
He lied on his back and closed his eyes, breathing slowly, listening to the ringing all around him, letting the pain numb his body.
Trey was confused. Everything was spinning and he heard a voice, a voice he didn't recognize talking to him. Trey felt something at his legs, and while it was Nick helping him, he couldn't recognize what it was, for everything was still spinning in his mind. He was a wrestler. He had felt pain before. Nothing like this of course, but he would push past it. He had to.
Keith, Izzy. There were others. The group had became rather large right before the explosion. Trey couldn't put facts together in his mind, he couldn't figure out what was going on.
Move. He had to move. Where was he?
He collapsed from holding onto the tree onto the ground. He couldn't walk. His eyesight was still blurry. If he saw himself now he would be shocked. This wasn't the same Trey Leyton that was sitting around making jokes about Keith shirtless five minutes ago.
This was a much bloodier, injured Trey Leyton. His legs were now almost useless. His vision was blurry, but he wasn't blind. All he heard was ringing. He crawled.
Hand over hand, he used his upper body strength to pull himself along across the jungle floor.
Where was he going? Safety? Help? His instincts told him to move. The killer could be closing in to finish everyone off. Trey was the type who would stay back and fight, who would defend his friends to the death. Though right now, that wasn't an option. He didn't have that ability. He couldn't defend himself let alone his friends.
His only option was to move. To let instinct kick over.
So he crawled, until he was out of strength, and while he wasn't too far from his group and where the grenade detonated, since this was the jungle and the brush was thick, he was far enough where he wasn't easily spotted.
He lied on his back and closed his eyes, breathing slowly, listening to the ringing all around him, letting the pain numb his body.
Everything was happening too damn fast.
One moment, they'd been sitting around, planning on where to get to next, having overstayed their welcome in the jungle. The next, people'd been popping out of the bushes, left, right, and center; Keith himself had shot a guy who had buried a pickaxe in his shoulder, and then two others were popping up, and the next thing that he knew, a grenade was flying out of nowhere and landing right in front of him. As that happened, Keith didn't even have time to say anything, but just stared at it as though it were an unwelcome party guest. It was an unexpected entrant into the fray, and Keith found himself longing for the time when it'd just been the three of them; Trey, Izzy, and Keith himself.
Things're so much easier in small groups like that. Fuckin' kids...don't know any better...
In his pained state, though, Keith's legs won the battle over his dumbfounded brain. Recognizing the threat of imminent danger, Keith simply just jumped up, having already been clutching his shotgun and pack, and ran away from the grenade. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the new arrivals push Izzy out of the way, and shield her from the blast. Seeing a figure dart away from the scene, Keith had a split-second decision to make.
Ahhh, fuck it, I'm not gonna sit back an' have grenades lobbed at my ass....
With only a slight hesitation, and more from the pain in his shoulder than anything, Keith darted after the figure, temporarily forgetting about his two allies...
((Continued in Alive Out of Habit))
One moment, they'd been sitting around, planning on where to get to next, having overstayed their welcome in the jungle. The next, people'd been popping out of the bushes, left, right, and center; Keith himself had shot a guy who had buried a pickaxe in his shoulder, and then two others were popping up, and the next thing that he knew, a grenade was flying out of nowhere and landing right in front of him. As that happened, Keith didn't even have time to say anything, but just stared at it as though it were an unwelcome party guest. It was an unexpected entrant into the fray, and Keith found himself longing for the time when it'd just been the three of them; Trey, Izzy, and Keith himself.
Things're so much easier in small groups like that. Fuckin' kids...don't know any better...
In his pained state, though, Keith's legs won the battle over his dumbfounded brain. Recognizing the threat of imminent danger, Keith simply just jumped up, having already been clutching his shotgun and pack, and ran away from the grenade. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the new arrivals push Izzy out of the way, and shield her from the blast. Seeing a figure dart away from the scene, Keith had a split-second decision to make.
Ahhh, fuck it, I'm not gonna sit back an' have grenades lobbed at my ass....
With only a slight hesitation, and more from the pain in his shoulder than anything, Keith darted after the figure, temporarily forgetting about his two allies...
((Continued in Alive Out of Habit))
((Continued from You Can Run...))
Blood Boy was hurting on a level that was sincerely hard to comprehend, his face was swelling a little bit on his temple and he was coming to terms with the fact that his own cockiness was probably going to reveal his identity a lot quicker than Danya and his men did, Blood Boy was a smart boy, you could say he knew a lot about the world, about people. It was almost Quasimoto-esque, but Blood Boy did not yearn to be part of these crowds of people he had observed, no Blood Boy hated them, why? At a superficial level it was the overbearing sense of self importance and flat footed self confidence that annoyed him, the ones who lacked that usually had a sort of glorification of problems that weren't really there.
In fact all the people whom he killed had either one of those two outlooks on life, it was a pity that he couldn't have gotten Gabe, he would've liked to get the set. But, it didn't really matter, what mattered was the fact that Blood Boy had finally located why he was hurting the most: he was lost.
It's an odd sensation that happens when you're lost. You start getting paranoid about everything and everyone, the jungle? The jungle only made things worse as Blood Boy was keen on thinking anyone at any time could jump out and kill him, as he finally saw a clearing in the distance his eyes wandered in their tinted lenses to a groaning and heavily breathing body, a body with legs that looked like they where beaten up to a point where being functional was merely a dream. He shook his head lightly as he approached the boy and stood over him a bit, looked him in the face and laughed a little.
"I pity the person who tried to kill you," he snickered, "You must be harder to kill than a cockroach on steroids."
And that's when Blood Boy grabbed his sword and went to stick under the boy's front teeth -at this point Trey was breathing heavily from his mouth as one does in great pain- the point of the sword underneath Trey's front teeth, Blood Boy would laugh loudly as he wrenched his blade and the enamel popped out of the boys mouth.
"Oh, what do you know, I think you've lost something..."
And before Trey could respond the tip of the sword was already in his mouth again, intent on repeating the process for the remaining of Trey's teeth.
Blood Boy was hurting on a level that was sincerely hard to comprehend, his face was swelling a little bit on his temple and he was coming to terms with the fact that his own cockiness was probably going to reveal his identity a lot quicker than Danya and his men did, Blood Boy was a smart boy, you could say he knew a lot about the world, about people. It was almost Quasimoto-esque, but Blood Boy did not yearn to be part of these crowds of people he had observed, no Blood Boy hated them, why? At a superficial level it was the overbearing sense of self importance and flat footed self confidence that annoyed him, the ones who lacked that usually had a sort of glorification of problems that weren't really there.
In fact all the people whom he killed had either one of those two outlooks on life, it was a pity that he couldn't have gotten Gabe, he would've liked to get the set. But, it didn't really matter, what mattered was the fact that Blood Boy had finally located why he was hurting the most: he was lost.
It's an odd sensation that happens when you're lost. You start getting paranoid about everything and everyone, the jungle? The jungle only made things worse as Blood Boy was keen on thinking anyone at any time could jump out and kill him, as he finally saw a clearing in the distance his eyes wandered in their tinted lenses to a groaning and heavily breathing body, a body with legs that looked like they where beaten up to a point where being functional was merely a dream. He shook his head lightly as he approached the boy and stood over him a bit, looked him in the face and laughed a little.
"I pity the person who tried to kill you," he snickered, "You must be harder to kill than a cockroach on steroids."
And that's when Blood Boy grabbed his sword and went to stick under the boy's front teeth -at this point Trey was breathing heavily from his mouth as one does in great pain- the point of the sword underneath Trey's front teeth, Blood Boy would laugh loudly as he wrenched his blade and the enamel popped out of the boys mouth.
"Oh, what do you know, I think you've lost something..."
And before Trey could respond the tip of the sword was already in his mouth again, intent on repeating the process for the remaining of Trey's teeth.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Nick watched the boy drop down to the ground and start crawling away. He shouted after him, but didn't pursue him, he wanted to see who else was around. If they all got together it would be easier to take care of the crazy boy. He looked around and ran over toward a boy he had just seen stand up, and started to question him.
"Is everybody okay here? Who was the other guy here? He looked familiar, but I don't really know all the jocks very well. I was trying to clean him up because the blast had injured his legs pretty badly, but he just started crawling away. He couldn't have gotten very far, but still...I'm Nick Jones. I'm in the drama club. Is anybody injured? I don't really know all that much about this sort of thing, but I know some basic first aid." Nick realized that he was babbling. He did that when he got nervous. Everybody on the island was in his class, well, he was pretty sure that everybody on the island was a classmate of his. There might be some psychos planted here, but he was pretty sure that he knew or knew of most of the people there, and he could assume that he was somewhat known, but introductions helped out a little bit.
"Sorry if I'm talking too much, I'm a little nervous..."
"Is everybody okay here? Who was the other guy here? He looked familiar, but I don't really know all the jocks very well. I was trying to clean him up because the blast had injured his legs pretty badly, but he just started crawling away. He couldn't have gotten very far, but still...I'm Nick Jones. I'm in the drama club. Is anybody injured? I don't really know all that much about this sort of thing, but I know some basic first aid." Nick realized that he was babbling. He did that when he got nervous. Everybody on the island was in his class, well, he was pretty sure that everybody on the island was a classmate of his. There might be some psychos planted here, but he was pretty sure that he knew or knew of most of the people there, and he could assume that he was somewhat known, but introductions helped out a little bit.
"Sorry if I'm talking too much, I'm a little nervous..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Zabriel. 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.
Everything happened so fast Izzy barely had the chance to register all of it.
One moment she was sitting crouched in front of Keith trying to address him and question how he was doing after her less than up-to par patch up job to his shoulder. She briefly remembered the sight of a rounded object spinning through the air before landing on the ground with a hollowed sound and then next there was a weight against her pushing her until she toppled over onto the ground, slamming her injured shoulder none to gently into the ground.
A sharp sound, not quite a yell or scream of pain, but it was getting there, but it was mostly covered up by the sound of an explosion rattling through the air, staring dumbfounded to the tree line above, hardly able to process one of the thoughts running through her mind. Aware that there was people near her but unable to focus to figure out just who it was, feeling a sharp, searing sensation lodge painfully in her calf, the pained sound muffled into her arm.
And just as quickly it was over, her ears ringing in the aftermath as she pushed herself into a seated position, flinching at the pain in her leg as she gazed down and noted the piece of jagged shrapnel lodge into her calf, swallowing and reaching down, wrapping fingers about the piece and tugging it out with a sharp sound as she tossed it aside not bothering to listen to whatever the boys near her where saying as she pushed herself up onto her feet. Stumbling forward from the tree she had been thrown behind in the seconds before the explosion, staring wide-eyed over the scene, looking for either of her allies in the area what they had all been at once/
A flash of panic rushing through her at the sight that she couldn't see Keith or Trey, if they had been hit then they shouldn't have moved far right? So that meant they had be somewhere nearby, searching about in a frantic as she tried to spot one of them. But she couldn't see either, wobbling her way over to her bag she grasp it and pulled it up on her good shoulder and glancing around once more, without any corpses that meant that they might have ran away from the scene... that had to be it, paying no heed to the boy introducing himself as she brushed by, sent on following after and finding the two she felt she could actually trust on this island at the moment, starting to move down the path that they had been taking all that time go before they had, had to stop so she could bandage her wound.
Not even bothering to glance over her shoulder and look about the bushes for Trey, and perhaps given the chance to stop the attack happening out of sight...
But she didn't, continuing along with a limp to each step instead of the rushed pace that she wanted to take, unable to overpass the pain to even try and run, trying to at least catch up where she thought the boys had run off too.
[[ Continued in Torpor ]]
One moment she was sitting crouched in front of Keith trying to address him and question how he was doing after her less than up-to par patch up job to his shoulder. She briefly remembered the sight of a rounded object spinning through the air before landing on the ground with a hollowed sound and then next there was a weight against her pushing her until she toppled over onto the ground, slamming her injured shoulder none to gently into the ground.
A sharp sound, not quite a yell or scream of pain, but it was getting there, but it was mostly covered up by the sound of an explosion rattling through the air, staring dumbfounded to the tree line above, hardly able to process one of the thoughts running through her mind. Aware that there was people near her but unable to focus to figure out just who it was, feeling a sharp, searing sensation lodge painfully in her calf, the pained sound muffled into her arm.
And just as quickly it was over, her ears ringing in the aftermath as she pushed herself into a seated position, flinching at the pain in her leg as she gazed down and noted the piece of jagged shrapnel lodge into her calf, swallowing and reaching down, wrapping fingers about the piece and tugging it out with a sharp sound as she tossed it aside not bothering to listen to whatever the boys near her where saying as she pushed herself up onto her feet. Stumbling forward from the tree she had been thrown behind in the seconds before the explosion, staring wide-eyed over the scene, looking for either of her allies in the area what they had all been at once/
A flash of panic rushing through her at the sight that she couldn't see Keith or Trey, if they had been hit then they shouldn't have moved far right? So that meant they had be somewhere nearby, searching about in a frantic as she tried to spot one of them. But she couldn't see either, wobbling her way over to her bag she grasp it and pulled it up on her good shoulder and glancing around once more, without any corpses that meant that they might have ran away from the scene... that had to be it, paying no heed to the boy introducing himself as she brushed by, sent on following after and finding the two she felt she could actually trust on this island at the moment, starting to move down the path that they had been taking all that time go before they had, had to stop so she could bandage her wound.
Not even bothering to glance over her shoulder and look about the bushes for Trey, and perhaps given the chance to stop the attack happening out of sight...
But she didn't, continuing along with a limp to each step instead of the rushed pace that she wanted to take, unable to overpass the pain to even try and run, trying to at least catch up where she thought the boys had run off too.
[[ Continued in Torpor ]]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.
Trey was aware that someone was near him. He hoped it was someone from his group, someone coming to help him, to save him. He knew Keith wouldn't leave him. Izzy wouldn't leave him. They had stuck together to the end, and Trey would give his life helping them, surely they would help him. Trey saw the blurred visions becoming clearer in front of him, and as he looked up, he saw a student who was most definitely not Keith or Izzy. In fact, wasn't it the weird kid who always wears that mask?
Trey squinted, and tried to understand what he was saying, when he felt the cold blade enter his mouth. Trey then recognized what was going to happen. He was going to die. This was it. He wanted to fight back, it was who he was. Though he could barely move let alone fight.
Trey felt his tooth get popped out and Trey groaned at the pain. He felt the blade enter his mouth again, and Trey looked up at Blood Boy, his eyes full of hatred, wanting nothing more than to beat the kid to a pulp, but he knew it was just wishful thinking, for right now, he had no control over the situation. Trey felt hopeless, and for the first time in his life when he's been encountered in a fight, he felt weak.
Meanwhile, Neil Sinclair watched as Izzy ran off. Neil wouldn't let this happen again. He wouldn't lose another group. Granted they weren't a group yet, but he was willing to make it a group.
Neil gave his best at a re-assuring smile towards Nick and said, "I'm nervous too man. Which is why no more running ok?" Neil looked at both Nick and Matthew and said, "I'm Neil Sinclair. I don't know if you guys know me. You're Nick right? And Matthew I think? Sorry I'm not that good at names."
Truth was, back in high school they weren't apart of the main crowd he hung out with. Though Neil was the kind of guy who tried to be nice and friends with everyone, but Neil stuck more with the punk crowd, and with his bands.
On this island though, none of that mattered. Neil didn't ask to be here, and he knew that he didn't have many choices. The only choice he could truly make on this island was whether to give in and play, or resist. He chose to resist. That's how S.A.D.D came around.
Neil never would have saw himself as leader of a group of probably clinically crazy kids bent on beating the system and escaping, but that's where he saw himself now. Though the group fell apart at the cottage, he wouldn't make the same mistakes again. If these two were to join, it would be a start, and then others would join, and then the plan could go into motion.
Neil looked at Nick and Matthew and said, "Hold on both of you." Neil ran to the brush where he had left his guitar and pack, and saw they were both unharmed from the grenade explosion. He went through his pack and took out his last notebook, and he took the pencil out of the spiral. Neil went back towards Nick and Matthew and flipped to a blank page. He started to write once again.
Microphones are listening to us, we can't talk about this out loud. Must always be written. I'm leading a group called SADD. We're going to escape from the island. If you guys want to join, I need a true dedication. This plan could get us all killed, but I have plan none the less. I'd rather die trying to escape than die waiting. So if you guys truly want to join, I'll tell you my plan.
Neil looked at them and said, "That's how good I am at writing songs on the spot."
Trey squinted, and tried to understand what he was saying, when he felt the cold blade enter his mouth. Trey then recognized what was going to happen. He was going to die. This was it. He wanted to fight back, it was who he was. Though he could barely move let alone fight.
Trey felt his tooth get popped out and Trey groaned at the pain. He felt the blade enter his mouth again, and Trey looked up at Blood Boy, his eyes full of hatred, wanting nothing more than to beat the kid to a pulp, but he knew it was just wishful thinking, for right now, he had no control over the situation. Trey felt hopeless, and for the first time in his life when he's been encountered in a fight, he felt weak.
Meanwhile, Neil Sinclair watched as Izzy ran off. Neil wouldn't let this happen again. He wouldn't lose another group. Granted they weren't a group yet, but he was willing to make it a group.
Neil gave his best at a re-assuring smile towards Nick and said, "I'm nervous too man. Which is why no more running ok?" Neil looked at both Nick and Matthew and said, "I'm Neil Sinclair. I don't know if you guys know me. You're Nick right? And Matthew I think? Sorry I'm not that good at names."
Truth was, back in high school they weren't apart of the main crowd he hung out with. Though Neil was the kind of guy who tried to be nice and friends with everyone, but Neil stuck more with the punk crowd, and with his bands.
On this island though, none of that mattered. Neil didn't ask to be here, and he knew that he didn't have many choices. The only choice he could truly make on this island was whether to give in and play, or resist. He chose to resist. That's how S.A.D.D came around.
Neil never would have saw himself as leader of a group of probably clinically crazy kids bent on beating the system and escaping, but that's where he saw himself now. Though the group fell apart at the cottage, he wouldn't make the same mistakes again. If these two were to join, it would be a start, and then others would join, and then the plan could go into motion.
Neil looked at Nick and Matthew and said, "Hold on both of you." Neil ran to the brush where he had left his guitar and pack, and saw they were both unharmed from the grenade explosion. He went through his pack and took out his last notebook, and he took the pencil out of the spiral. Neil went back towards Nick and Matthew and flipped to a blank page. He started to write once again.
Microphones are listening to us, we can't talk about this out loud. Must always be written. I'm leading a group called SADD. We're going to escape from the island. If you guys want to join, I need a true dedication. This plan could get us all killed, but I have plan none the less. I'd rather die trying to escape than die waiting. So if you guys truly want to join, I'll tell you my plan.
Neil looked at them and said, "That's how good I am at writing songs on the spot."
And very soon there would be a large amount of teeth laid out in front of the area, the tip of Blood Boy's sword was now completely covered in blood, but that didn't stop him as he took his hand and stuck it into Trey's now toothless gums, more importantly grasping the tongue he pulled it as far out as he could before finally chopping off the boys tongue. At the boys luck he would now slowly drown upon his own blood, but Blood Boy, Blood Boy was meticulous, the deaths? They carried no meaning with simply a gunshot. Everybody. Everybody on this island deserved to be remembered, if it took a little bit extra work to give them a death worth remembering, well Blood Boy was a better man than most because he would give it to them.
Wasted and wounded
It ain't what the moon did
I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow
A couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
He stared down at what was most likely to be the gurgling mouth of the toothless, tongue less, and soon to be lifeless body. The tongue itself felt really odd in his hand, in fact once cannot really describe it effectfully. The slipperiness of blood mixtured with the slimy slickness of saliva built up by a day of dehydration, he stared downward as the idea for the death came to him, this one? This one was to be inspired by the old comics of the nineteen forties, the fact that the serial killer would always have to leave their calling cards in the form of blatant self referencing, he supposed that this was a rather twisted way of killing his classmates. This concern for theatrics and a lack of care, it's funny though. No matter how creatively he killed. No matter how many lives he took from innocent men and women, he'd still be considered a victim of SOTF. Nobody excludes Jacob Starr from the memorials.
I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken,
and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
And so he was calm, almost Zen-like as he once again stabbed the point of the blade and popped out one of the boys eyeballs, shocked to see the little stringy piece of muscle or skin that connected it to the brain, he simply sighed underneath his mask as he cut off the little piece and did the same to the other eye. He stared at the boy who now stood in an area of darkness and muteness, the gurgling. The screaming and incoherent nature of what would be the boys last moments of life. He pondered for a moment how painful the removal of ones face, truthfully when he did it against Joshua Goodman he didn't really feel that much pain. The scar tissue that had been removed had it's nerves long since deadened, the only memory he had was when he was four years old. It was vague. It had haunted his nightmares for years to come and now in a cruel twist of irony he was doing the same to a boy. He almost regretted removing the boy's tongue, his view on the whole situation would've been terribly enlightening.
Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
And so now he looked at the row of teeth, eyeballs and tongue that surrounded the boy and stared at the nose, putting his blade under it he sliced it off in one swift motion. Now. Now he managed to look at the bloodiness of his hands and the sleeves of his shirt. The movies. The movies lie. There was blood. Too much blood and the screaming coming from the boy was becoming nigh unbearable, the nose was now off and the boy truly looked skeletal in nature. He stared downward at him and almost shook his head in pity, he would be death number two? Really it didn't matter. They could put him in a helicopter and fly him up into the air and line up the bodies head to toe on the ground in delightful geometric patterns like an endless June Taylor dancers routine—and it would never be enough. No, he didn't keep count. Perhaps that made him a bad person, the truth of the matter is that he had no care for these ideas of good and bad. His grandparents had taken him to church quite a lot during his childhood, but when he had gotten older he had decided to stop bothering with it; how much would he have valued a confessional now?
Now I lost my Saint Christopher
Now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen
And the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
He carved the smiley face into the boys cheek with the utmost artistic precision and that's when he finally stepped away from the body, he kind've hoped that if he won the best kill contest for this one he'd get a pair of latex gloves...washing the blood off his hands was far too tiresome. Blood Boy or Nathanial as he was referred to by Danya shook his head and wiped the blood off his sword, he noted that the metal and the blood of his enemies had mixed together to give the blade a nice flamingo tint. Funny. He had a sword that could fit in at a South Beach hotel. He was feeling an almost Samurai-esque bond with the sword, now he would have to reapply the poison, but that could be done later. People don't realize the loneliness that comes with being a player in the game, Blood Boy was used to it, he had been alone most of his life...but, he could use some disillusionment, some sense of belonging.
No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets
And the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
He thought of his life in Highland Beach prior to him leaving. He had wanted to go to prom with Lauren, she...she was always one of the better parts of his day, the music, the soulful beauty. She was a rare type. An ideal type, he couldn't help but wonder what he would do to her if she was here...rape her? The idea seemed odd enough in his head, sure he had fantasies. But, he always repressed them, she was nothing like the overtly sexual images of Kallie Majors or Melina Frost, Lauren, Lauren wasn't sexy. Lauren was beautiful and it seemed at this moment in time Blood Boy wasn't exactly prepared to destroy beauty. Life, life was a currency meant to be spent. Beauty? His life was proof of one fact: beauty mattered. He sighed a bit as he sheathed his sword and now left the body with a face that seemed to be the perfect emulation of the mask he was wearing behind. This game? It represented the ending of life, death and a horrible irony is that it is only in death that you find yourself. No matter what, Blood Boy thought, the game would follow him wherever he went. Whether he won or was killed off due to some pricks twisted sense of justice, the game would never leave him.
He whistled and left.
And you can ask any sailor
And the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel to nowhere
((Blood Boy: Continued in The Piano Has Been Drinking))
Wasted and wounded
It ain't what the moon did
I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow
A couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
He stared down at what was most likely to be the gurgling mouth of the toothless, tongue less, and soon to be lifeless body. The tongue itself felt really odd in his hand, in fact once cannot really describe it effectfully. The slipperiness of blood mixtured with the slimy slickness of saliva built up by a day of dehydration, he stared downward as the idea for the death came to him, this one? This one was to be inspired by the old comics of the nineteen forties, the fact that the serial killer would always have to leave their calling cards in the form of blatant self referencing, he supposed that this was a rather twisted way of killing his classmates. This concern for theatrics and a lack of care, it's funny though. No matter how creatively he killed. No matter how many lives he took from innocent men and women, he'd still be considered a victim of SOTF. Nobody excludes Jacob Starr from the memorials.
I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken,
and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
And so he was calm, almost Zen-like as he once again stabbed the point of the blade and popped out one of the boys eyeballs, shocked to see the little stringy piece of muscle or skin that connected it to the brain, he simply sighed underneath his mask as he cut off the little piece and did the same to the other eye. He stared at the boy who now stood in an area of darkness and muteness, the gurgling. The screaming and incoherent nature of what would be the boys last moments of life. He pondered for a moment how painful the removal of ones face, truthfully when he did it against Joshua Goodman he didn't really feel that much pain. The scar tissue that had been removed had it's nerves long since deadened, the only memory he had was when he was four years old. It was vague. It had haunted his nightmares for years to come and now in a cruel twist of irony he was doing the same to a boy. He almost regretted removing the boy's tongue, his view on the whole situation would've been terribly enlightening.
Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
And so now he looked at the row of teeth, eyeballs and tongue that surrounded the boy and stared at the nose, putting his blade under it he sliced it off in one swift motion. Now. Now he managed to look at the bloodiness of his hands and the sleeves of his shirt. The movies. The movies lie. There was blood. Too much blood and the screaming coming from the boy was becoming nigh unbearable, the nose was now off and the boy truly looked skeletal in nature. He stared downward at him and almost shook his head in pity, he would be death number two? Really it didn't matter. They could put him in a helicopter and fly him up into the air and line up the bodies head to toe on the ground in delightful geometric patterns like an endless June Taylor dancers routine—and it would never be enough. No, he didn't keep count. Perhaps that made him a bad person, the truth of the matter is that he had no care for these ideas of good and bad. His grandparents had taken him to church quite a lot during his childhood, but when he had gotten older he had decided to stop bothering with it; how much would he have valued a confessional now?
Now I lost my Saint Christopher
Now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen
And the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me
He carved the smiley face into the boys cheek with the utmost artistic precision and that's when he finally stepped away from the body, he kind've hoped that if he won the best kill contest for this one he'd get a pair of latex gloves...washing the blood off his hands was far too tiresome. Blood Boy or Nathanial as he was referred to by Danya shook his head and wiped the blood off his sword, he noted that the metal and the blood of his enemies had mixed together to give the blade a nice flamingo tint. Funny. He had a sword that could fit in at a South Beach hotel. He was feeling an almost Samurai-esque bond with the sword, now he would have to reapply the poison, but that could be done later. People don't realize the loneliness that comes with being a player in the game, Blood Boy was used to it, he had been alone most of his life...but, he could use some disillusionment, some sense of belonging.
No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets
And the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
He thought of his life in Highland Beach prior to him leaving. He had wanted to go to prom with Lauren, she...she was always one of the better parts of his day, the music, the soulful beauty. She was a rare type. An ideal type, he couldn't help but wonder what he would do to her if she was here...rape her? The idea seemed odd enough in his head, sure he had fantasies. But, he always repressed them, she was nothing like the overtly sexual images of Kallie Majors or Melina Frost, Lauren, Lauren wasn't sexy. Lauren was beautiful and it seemed at this moment in time Blood Boy wasn't exactly prepared to destroy beauty. Life, life was a currency meant to be spent. Beauty? His life was proof of one fact: beauty mattered. He sighed a bit as he sheathed his sword and now left the body with a face that seemed to be the perfect emulation of the mask he was wearing behind. This game? It represented the ending of life, death and a horrible irony is that it is only in death that you find yourself. No matter what, Blood Boy thought, the game would follow him wherever he went. Whether he won or was killed off due to some pricks twisted sense of justice, the game would never leave him.
He whistled and left.
And you can ask any sailor
And the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel to nowhere
((Blood Boy: Continued in The Piano Has Been Drinking))
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Matt was so confused. Everything was happening so damn fast. His mind was clouded from the pain in his shoulder, and he really couldn't figure out what in all hell was going on. A guy named Nick showed up just as Izzy started walking off. Keith and Trey seemed to have disappeared. Matt was so confused. Neil ran and got his daypack, then rummaged through it, taking out a notebook.
Neil wanted them to try and escape. He wanted them to try and beat the unbeatable system. Matt wasn't sure that was the best of ideas, but all hell if he wasn't ready to at least try.
"Here, let me change a few words..." He took the pen and scribbled down his reply.
I'm in. But we need to get somewhere safe. Plus we should go after Izzy.
"What do you think of that?"
Neil wanted them to try and escape. He wanted them to try and beat the unbeatable system. Matt wasn't sure that was the best of ideas, but all hell if he wasn't ready to at least try.
"Here, let me change a few words..." He took the pen and scribbled down his reply.
I'm in. But we need to get somewhere safe. Plus we should go after Izzy.
"What do you think of that?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Mitsuko2. 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.
Nick read as well, liking the idea, but knowing that if they were being listened to and watched, that their captors were already suspicious. This was a weird conversation to have after having a grenade go off near them. He chewed his lip and nodded.
"I like it, but I think it may be best to discuss lyrics at a time when we're not so susceptible to attack. Though the one who threw the grenade seems to be gone, but we're off the edge of the map lads. There be monsters out here." He cast a glance around the jungle, making sure that nobody was going to come up and blow them apart.
"You got anything good for weapons? Just because you don't want to fight doesn't mean the rest of the class feels the same way. We need to be willing to defend ourselves, to fight, and if necessary kill our old friends." Nick hated the thought, but it was true.
"Now, which way are we headed?"
"I like it, but I think it may be best to discuss lyrics at a time when we're not so susceptible to attack. Though the one who threw the grenade seems to be gone, but we're off the edge of the map lads. There be monsters out here." He cast a glance around the jungle, making sure that nobody was going to come up and blow them apart.
"You got anything good for weapons? Just because you don't want to fight doesn't mean the rest of the class feels the same way. We need to be willing to defend ourselves, to fight, and if necessary kill our old friends." Nick hated the thought, but it was true.
"Now, which way are we headed?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Zabriel. 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.
Trey wanted to get up and throw some punches at Blood Boy. He wanted to stand up and fight him until he couldn't fight no more. Everything in Trey's body told him to stand up. You're a wrestler Trey! He's a freak you can take him! Though in this twisted game, everything was reversed. Trey didn't really feel the pain of his teeth being plied out, he just felt it happen. His body was in shock, he was numb to just one particular pain, though he felt a burning pain worse than he's ever felt in his entire life take over his whole body. It keeps getting worse and worse since the explosion.
Trey looked up at Blood Boy, not pleading with his eyes, for he knew he was already dead, but his eyes stared at Blood Boy with an anger that only a trapped animal could possess. Trey felt like a rabbit caught in a trap, or better yet a bear in a bear claw. Though unlike the bear Trey couldn't fight back. He could only lay as his fellow classmate did his dirty work on Trey.
Trey felt a hand enter his mouth, and grab his tongue. Trey chocked and coughed as his tongue was pulled out and he watched in horror as the blade cut it off. Trey coughed and chocked and screamed as much as he could. He screamed as loud as his weakened tongueless body would allow him, not for rescue or for help.
But as a warning. He didn't want Keith or Izzy to end up here. He didn't want those others to end up like him. They might be injured as well, if Blood Boy got to them and they couldn't defend themselves then it would be horrible. Trey wouldn't let that happen to the group that he was with pretty much since the beginning. They had to be injured. That would explain why Keith and Izzy hadn't come to his rescue by now. It didn't matter now.
Trey wasn't able to see anymore as Blood Boy pierced both of his eyes with a sword. It was an odd feeling. He didn't feel any pain with it, he only felt a pop, and his eyesight gone. Trey wanted nothing more to be dead now. Truly dead. He wanted this to be over.
He felt blood, a lot of blood in his throat, and he now screamed only to cause the blood to fill his throat faster. He wanted to choke and die. Asphyxiation was the way to go right now.
He felt the now warm blade against his nose.
No.
Then it was gone.
The burning pain that had taken over Trey Leyton's body was now passed. He felt numb to everything. No pain, no feeling. Trey's dark world grew even darker as his mind drifted...
----------------------------------------
Trey Leyton stood naked on the weight scale, some of his team behind him, others in the locker room. The ref looked at Trey's coach and said, "158.4. Next." Trey stood off the scale and put on his boxers and headed to his locker room.
Wrestling. His sport. He loved it, he hated it. That was how you know you truly found a good sport. When you can love it and hate it at the same time. Trey put on his singlet, then put on his shorts and Southridge High School sweatshirt. Trey smiled as he headed to the teams practice room and did warm ups with the rest of the team.
He grabbed his friend and together they worked on moves they knew they were going to use the most that night. As Trey tied up with him, both of them going 50% on each other, struggling for an opening, he said, "You ready for tonight?"
Trey's friend said, "You betcha. My girls here tonight, I gotta impress." Trey found an opening and shot in, wrapping both of his hands around his friends left leg, and pulling it up, knocking the wrestler off balance causing him to fall, with Trey Leyton on top.
Trey smiled and said, "Yeah you're not going to impress with those moves." Trey got off his friend and offered his hand to help him up. The other wrestler took the hand and pulled Trey down and rolled on top of him. Trey went to stand up but felt legs lock his legs down. Trey said, "You're gettin' better with your legs."
His friend said, "I've been workin' on them with my new lady friend if ya' know what I mean." The other wrestler then applied hip pressure causing Trey to flatten. "I've been practicing that with her too."
Trey couldn't help but smile before he escaped from his friends grasp, and pinned him. Trey said, "You're going to be pretty good your senior year. I can tell. Maybe as good as me." Trey winked and the other wrestler just said, "I'm already better than you what you talkin' about."
Tonight was senior night. The last home wrestling meet of the season, Trey's last home wrestling meet of his life. It was tradition for all the seniors to say something before they went to the gym and continued to warm up again, and when the team was rallied by the door, waiting to run into the gym like heroes tonight, Trey shouted, "Who are we?"
"Southridge!"
"I can't hear you! Who are we?"
An even bigger roar. "Southridge!"
"Tonight we go out and kick some ass! Wrestle with heart tonight, and don't give up! This is our house! Southridge!"
--------------------------------------
Trey couldn't breathe anymore. He was choking on the same substance that once gave him life. Everything went to black, even his thoughts, and Trey Leyton finally found the escape he needed.
Boy Number 30, Trey Leyton -- DEAD
Neil Sinclair was glad that Nick and Matthew we're in. Finding Izzy, that was a good idea. Getting the hell out of dodge, that was also a good idea. Neil looked at them and said, "This is going to be one great song. As for weapons, all I have is a stick. Nothing big. I figured we could find others with weapons and bring them into S.A.D.D." Neil looked at them and figured he would tell them his full plan when they stopped somewhere safe.
For this was not a safe place.
Neil thought he could hear screams or something nearby. He must be hearing things. Neil looked at them and said, "Keep up. We'll find someplace safe to settle."
((Continued in Alive Out of Habit))
Trey looked up at Blood Boy, not pleading with his eyes, for he knew he was already dead, but his eyes stared at Blood Boy with an anger that only a trapped animal could possess. Trey felt like a rabbit caught in a trap, or better yet a bear in a bear claw. Though unlike the bear Trey couldn't fight back. He could only lay as his fellow classmate did his dirty work on Trey.
Trey felt a hand enter his mouth, and grab his tongue. Trey chocked and coughed as his tongue was pulled out and he watched in horror as the blade cut it off. Trey coughed and chocked and screamed as much as he could. He screamed as loud as his weakened tongueless body would allow him, not for rescue or for help.
But as a warning. He didn't want Keith or Izzy to end up here. He didn't want those others to end up like him. They might be injured as well, if Blood Boy got to them and they couldn't defend themselves then it would be horrible. Trey wouldn't let that happen to the group that he was with pretty much since the beginning. They had to be injured. That would explain why Keith and Izzy hadn't come to his rescue by now. It didn't matter now.
Trey wasn't able to see anymore as Blood Boy pierced both of his eyes with a sword. It was an odd feeling. He didn't feel any pain with it, he only felt a pop, and his eyesight gone. Trey wanted nothing more to be dead now. Truly dead. He wanted this to be over.
He felt blood, a lot of blood in his throat, and he now screamed only to cause the blood to fill his throat faster. He wanted to choke and die. Asphyxiation was the way to go right now.
He felt the now warm blade against his nose.
No.
Then it was gone.
The burning pain that had taken over Trey Leyton's body was now passed. He felt numb to everything. No pain, no feeling. Trey's dark world grew even darker as his mind drifted...
----------------------------------------
Trey Leyton stood naked on the weight scale, some of his team behind him, others in the locker room. The ref looked at Trey's coach and said, "158.4. Next." Trey stood off the scale and put on his boxers and headed to his locker room.
Wrestling. His sport. He loved it, he hated it. That was how you know you truly found a good sport. When you can love it and hate it at the same time. Trey put on his singlet, then put on his shorts and Southridge High School sweatshirt. Trey smiled as he headed to the teams practice room and did warm ups with the rest of the team.
He grabbed his friend and together they worked on moves they knew they were going to use the most that night. As Trey tied up with him, both of them going 50% on each other, struggling for an opening, he said, "You ready for tonight?"
Trey's friend said, "You betcha. My girls here tonight, I gotta impress." Trey found an opening and shot in, wrapping both of his hands around his friends left leg, and pulling it up, knocking the wrestler off balance causing him to fall, with Trey Leyton on top.
Trey smiled and said, "Yeah you're not going to impress with those moves." Trey got off his friend and offered his hand to help him up. The other wrestler took the hand and pulled Trey down and rolled on top of him. Trey went to stand up but felt legs lock his legs down. Trey said, "You're gettin' better with your legs."
His friend said, "I've been workin' on them with my new lady friend if ya' know what I mean." The other wrestler then applied hip pressure causing Trey to flatten. "I've been practicing that with her too."
Trey couldn't help but smile before he escaped from his friends grasp, and pinned him. Trey said, "You're going to be pretty good your senior year. I can tell. Maybe as good as me." Trey winked and the other wrestler just said, "I'm already better than you what you talkin' about."
Tonight was senior night. The last home wrestling meet of the season, Trey's last home wrestling meet of his life. It was tradition for all the seniors to say something before they went to the gym and continued to warm up again, and when the team was rallied by the door, waiting to run into the gym like heroes tonight, Trey shouted, "Who are we?"
"Southridge!"
"I can't hear you! Who are we?"
An even bigger roar. "Southridge!"
"Tonight we go out and kick some ass! Wrestle with heart tonight, and don't give up! This is our house! Southridge!"
--------------------------------------
Trey couldn't breathe anymore. He was choking on the same substance that once gave him life. Everything went to black, even his thoughts, and Trey Leyton finally found the escape he needed.
Boy Number 30, Trey Leyton -- DEAD
Neil Sinclair was glad that Nick and Matthew we're in. Finding Izzy, that was a good idea. Getting the hell out of dodge, that was also a good idea. Neil looked at them and said, "This is going to be one great song. As for weapons, all I have is a stick. Nothing big. I figured we could find others with weapons and bring them into S.A.D.D." Neil looked at them and figured he would tell them his full plan when they stopped somewhere safe.
For this was not a safe place.
Neil thought he could hear screams or something nearby. He must be hearing things. Neil looked at them and said, "Keep up. We'll find someplace safe to settle."
((Continued in Alive Out of Habit))
Matt got up quickly, finding that his shoulder was killing him in the process, and followed after Neil.
"I have a bike chain... not like that's very helpful... I think Izzy went that way, lets go before she gets hurt worse than she already is." He said and quickly made his way toward where Izzy disappeared.
((Continued in Alive Out of Habit))
"I have a bike chain... not like that's very helpful... I think Izzy went that way, lets go before she gets hurt worse than she already is." He said and quickly made his way toward where Izzy disappeared.
((Continued in Alive Out of Habit))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Mitsuko2. 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.
Nick nodded and followed along, ready to find some more friends, and a quiet spot to plan their rebellion.
((Continued in Torpor))
((Continued in Torpor))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Zabriel. 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.