"Son of a bitch!"
Kristey took the aluminum baseball bat she was given, and started smashing up a lot of the fragile items she saw.
"Motherfucker... why am I here?!"
She threw the bat to the floor.
"I bet that bitch, Renee, had something to do with this!"
Well... isn't this fucking great?!
Kristey's anger [Content warning: Sam Sorenson and his erection show up for like two posts and then leave]
Well... isn't this fucking great?!
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((Continuada dal Ascent Into Madness))
"Today is the first day of the end of your life, Damien! Enjoy it!"
Enjoying it was the last thing Damien was doing right now.
The air above ground was fairly cool, which was not doing much to soothe the pain that racked his torso and head from Marvin's beatdown. Sure, the backpack was a lot lighter than it did when it had all the items vital to Damien's survival in it, and certainly much lighter than the backpack that made him seem like Atlas in school. But he was still practically limping away from the manhole, off the road and across grassy fields toward I-don't-know in the middle of God-knows-where.
He was brandishing his shield just in front of his chest, and it was dripping and still quite smelly from being immersed in sewage. It certainly added to his growing displeasure of being wherever the hell he was when the light of the sun revealed that this so-called "shield" turned out to be the lid of some rather large pot.
It's fairly light too...so it probably isn't that sturdy either...God, I'm so fucked... Damien thought, gritting his teeth to try to dispel this disgusting barrage on his senses.
But thoughts about potlids were merely afterthoughts. Without a map or compass he could have well been drifting around space looking for a planet. About the only other thought that occupied through his mind other than those about his imminent, and very likely slow and blindly painful doom and the recent "vision" of a man claiming to be his long-dead father was:
Where the hell am I?
Maybe it was the dreadful silence above ground that told him he wasn't in New Jersey or even America anymore, let alone the innocuous town of Denton. Or the complete lack of life (or worse, the near-complete lack of life that would soon be complete) that made the breezes blow through his ears sound like howling gusts.
Or maybe it was the gigantic Chinese (Or is it Japanese?) pagoda looming on top of a hill just ahead in the direction he was walking.
He stopped on the other side of the railing near the foot of the steps leading up to it, and ducked down behind some shrubbery, facing the pagoda to cover his exposed side.
Damien hoped there was nobody in there, and nobody was definitely better than somebody. If he could find someplace to rest in there, even a few minutes would prove so valuable. And it would certainly help to take his mind off of a lot of things.
---
When Damien Carter-Madison woke up yesterday morning - if it was indeed yesterday morning when he went on that fateful bus ride - he had pretty much estimated exactly how badly he would be treated by his peers, not only on the ride to and from the Santos-Viola Museum of Art, but in the confines of the actual museum as well. (When Ms. Garrick mentioned the word museum, memories of a certain incident with an abstract-art interpretation of the Statue of David came to mind, causing him to wince.) Not one shred of which would take his mind off what happened to him at the party/Franco's trap his mother dragged him off to some time earlier.
And why would it? As he got on the bus he could easily spot Marvin Hendrick, Franco Sebberts, maybe Rowland Kelly, and - of all people - Kristey Burrowell, and they could've easily spotted him had he not luckily found an empty seat right behind the teachers up front.
But while a couple of crumpled paperballs managed to quietly plunk onto his shoulders on the way there, just to confirm his estimates, he never counted on the entire bus being hijacked by masked gunman (and lead by the bus driver!?), the teachers shot (which would explain the blood on parts of his shirt that seemed to have been there before Marvin kicked some out of him) and the students rounded up and sent into this dark room where they were forced to view a clip of something he had actually watched before.
And while he admittedly enjoyed this twisted re-run they played for him (one of what he arguably believes is the games' "greatest moments"), it was not an enjoyment taken without a shaker full of salt. It wasn't immediate, but Damien was also filled with fear. There he was, being conscripted (an oxymoron, for in SOTF there is no such thing as a "scripted" death - ((and a double oxymoron if you break the fourth wall))) into a show he'd been an almost rabid fan of. He didn't have to read the manual to know how this game would work. But like most of the students, the only question in his mind then was... Why ME!?
Pondering the answer to that question definitely kept his mind preoccupied with something beside the party, at least until he fell unconscious and woke up in that putrid vortex of darkness, where he was later greeted by one of the few people he hadn't hoped to meet.
Was God or some other diety punishing him for his sinful thoughts, or was it Nicole who could possibly have discovered his secret stash, and kill off two birds - him and Reneé's gang - with one stone? That wouldn't be right... as much as she loves to let me loose like a lamb among wolves to serve her interests...she wouldn't want me dead...would she?
----
"Son of a bitch!"
SMASH!
What the...!? The sound of things being smashed or otherwise violently destroyed could be heard from the inside of the pagoda. Whoever was desecrating it was probably already fighting with someone else...though he could only hear the voice of only one person. But unlike Marvin's recognizable snarl, this voice was very feminine, though it certainly didn't qualm that ominous feeling of déjà vu.
Knowing his rather unfortunate luck in the fury of many different women scorned, Damien decided to keep his distance...but something inside still wanted to know who the source of that voice was, at least. That voice was oddly familiar to him.
I'll find out...then just sneak away...
As soon as he could bear enough pain to squat up, he slinked to and from the nearby shrubbery as he made his way up toward the entrance. As he did, he could begin to hear the desecration of this temple all the more clearly. But as he made it to the outer wall of the sanctuary, right beside the entryway, the beating stopped, its end heralded by the sound of a metal object crashing to the floor.
"I bet that bitch, Reneé, had something to do with this!" comes the raging female voice from inside.
It's not Reneé? What struck him as quite odd was that he didn't remember seeing the cruel redhead on the bus that morning, or in that strange room those soldiers brought him and his classmates to to be..."briefed." But she knows her...and must hate her guts...
A very disturbing thought suddenly popped into his mind, as he could recall only one girl from Gilroy who - despite being harassed by Reneé like many sorry girls and boys - would hate her guts this bad.
It can't be!
He poked his head into the entryway just enough to see the face of the rampaging person/s. Two seconds later he had recoiled in fear with a gasp, and slumped down around the outer wall, holding his "shield" close to him. His eyes opened almost wide as dinnerplates.
There was only one person in there, and it wasn't Reneé. He was certainly not thankful it wasn't. Reneé was (admittedly) sexy...but she didn't have blonde hair. There was no doubt in his mind as to who that lady was, and he definitely recalled seeing her on the bus.
Kristey?!
"Today is the first day of the end of your life, Damien! Enjoy it!"
Enjoying it was the last thing Damien was doing right now.
The air above ground was fairly cool, which was not doing much to soothe the pain that racked his torso and head from Marvin's beatdown. Sure, the backpack was a lot lighter than it did when it had all the items vital to Damien's survival in it, and certainly much lighter than the backpack that made him seem like Atlas in school. But he was still practically limping away from the manhole, off the road and across grassy fields toward I-don't-know in the middle of God-knows-where.
He was brandishing his shield just in front of his chest, and it was dripping and still quite smelly from being immersed in sewage. It certainly added to his growing displeasure of being wherever the hell he was when the light of the sun revealed that this so-called "shield" turned out to be the lid of some rather large pot.
It's fairly light too...so it probably isn't that sturdy either...God, I'm so fucked... Damien thought, gritting his teeth to try to dispel this disgusting barrage on his senses.
But thoughts about potlids were merely afterthoughts. Without a map or compass he could have well been drifting around space looking for a planet. About the only other thought that occupied through his mind other than those about his imminent, and very likely slow and blindly painful doom and the recent "vision" of a man claiming to be his long-dead father was:
Where the hell am I?
Maybe it was the dreadful silence above ground that told him he wasn't in New Jersey or even America anymore, let alone the innocuous town of Denton. Or the complete lack of life (or worse, the near-complete lack of life that would soon be complete) that made the breezes blow through his ears sound like howling gusts.
Or maybe it was the gigantic Chinese (Or is it Japanese?) pagoda looming on top of a hill just ahead in the direction he was walking.
He stopped on the other side of the railing near the foot of the steps leading up to it, and ducked down behind some shrubbery, facing the pagoda to cover his exposed side.
Damien hoped there was nobody in there, and nobody was definitely better than somebody. If he could find someplace to rest in there, even a few minutes would prove so valuable. And it would certainly help to take his mind off of a lot of things.
---
When Damien Carter-Madison woke up yesterday morning - if it was indeed yesterday morning when he went on that fateful bus ride - he had pretty much estimated exactly how badly he would be treated by his peers, not only on the ride to and from the Santos-Viola Museum of Art, but in the confines of the actual museum as well. (When Ms. Garrick mentioned the word museum, memories of a certain incident with an abstract-art interpretation of the Statue of David came to mind, causing him to wince.) Not one shred of which would take his mind off what happened to him at the party/Franco's trap his mother dragged him off to some time earlier.
And why would it? As he got on the bus he could easily spot Marvin Hendrick, Franco Sebberts, maybe Rowland Kelly, and - of all people - Kristey Burrowell, and they could've easily spotted him had he not luckily found an empty seat right behind the teachers up front.
But while a couple of crumpled paperballs managed to quietly plunk onto his shoulders on the way there, just to confirm his estimates, he never counted on the entire bus being hijacked by masked gunman (and lead by the bus driver!?), the teachers shot (which would explain the blood on parts of his shirt that seemed to have been there before Marvin kicked some out of him) and the students rounded up and sent into this dark room where they were forced to view a clip of something he had actually watched before.
And while he admittedly enjoyed this twisted re-run they played for him (one of what he arguably believes is the games' "greatest moments"), it was not an enjoyment taken without a shaker full of salt. It wasn't immediate, but Damien was also filled with fear. There he was, being conscripted (an oxymoron, for in SOTF there is no such thing as a "scripted" death - ((and a double oxymoron if you break the fourth wall))) into a show he'd been an almost rabid fan of. He didn't have to read the manual to know how this game would work. But like most of the students, the only question in his mind then was... Why ME!?
Pondering the answer to that question definitely kept his mind preoccupied with something beside the party, at least until he fell unconscious and woke up in that putrid vortex of darkness, where he was later greeted by one of the few people he hadn't hoped to meet.
Was God or some other diety punishing him for his sinful thoughts, or was it Nicole who could possibly have discovered his secret stash, and kill off two birds - him and Reneé's gang - with one stone? That wouldn't be right... as much as she loves to let me loose like a lamb among wolves to serve her interests...she wouldn't want me dead...would she?
----
"Son of a bitch!"
SMASH!
What the...!? The sound of things being smashed or otherwise violently destroyed could be heard from the inside of the pagoda. Whoever was desecrating it was probably already fighting with someone else...though he could only hear the voice of only one person. But unlike Marvin's recognizable snarl, this voice was very feminine, though it certainly didn't qualm that ominous feeling of déjà vu.
Knowing his rather unfortunate luck in the fury of many different women scorned, Damien decided to keep his distance...but something inside still wanted to know who the source of that voice was, at least. That voice was oddly familiar to him.
I'll find out...then just sneak away...
As soon as he could bear enough pain to squat up, he slinked to and from the nearby shrubbery as he made his way up toward the entrance. As he did, he could begin to hear the desecration of this temple all the more clearly. But as he made it to the outer wall of the sanctuary, right beside the entryway, the beating stopped, its end heralded by the sound of a metal object crashing to the floor.
"I bet that bitch, Reneé, had something to do with this!" comes the raging female voice from inside.
It's not Reneé? What struck him as quite odd was that he didn't remember seeing the cruel redhead on the bus that morning, or in that strange room those soldiers brought him and his classmates to to be..."briefed." But she knows her...and must hate her guts...
A very disturbing thought suddenly popped into his mind, as he could recall only one girl from Gilroy who - despite being harassed by Reneé like many sorry girls and boys - would hate her guts this bad.
It can't be!
He poked his head into the entryway just enough to see the face of the rampaging person/s. Two seconds later he had recoiled in fear with a gasp, and slumped down around the outer wall, holding his "shield" close to him. His eyes opened almost wide as dinnerplates.
There was only one person in there, and it wasn't Reneé. He was certainly not thankful it wasn't. Reneé was (admittedly) sexy...but she didn't have blonde hair. There was no doubt in his mind as to who that lady was, and he definitely recalled seeing her on the bus.
Kristey?!
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"What the...where am I?"
Those were the first thoughts that came to Peter Rosenthal's mind as he began to slowly rouse after being transported to the island...or more appropriately, the battlefield. It took him a little while to regain his bearings...whatever was in that glass of water must've been really powerful if it were to knock him out like that as he began searching through the pack that had been laid beside him. He was lucky to have the extra bag with the clothes he had packed for the planned trip beside him, but that was the least of his worries as he opened the pack that had been assigned to him and there it was...Danya's "survival guide", right on the top. "Shit...it's happened," he thought as his heart started to beat furiously. Frantic, Peter tore through the pack in the hope of finding a weapon...a gun, a knife, anything...just so long as it wasn't something like a wooden spoon or something else that was completely useless.
When Peter finally found the razorblade, he held it in front of him to study it, then growled in disgust. "Damn it...what now?" he asked himself aloud as he slipped the blade into the pocket of the denim shorts he was wearing., carefully packing up the contents of the assigned daypack and stood up, the large boy having a little bit of difficulty staying on his feet without holding onto the wall before he was able to get his bearings again. And then another sickening thought raced through Peter's mind as he took his first steps.
"Andi..."
He knew that Andi Ayala, the boy that stole his heart over the past year, was on the island somewhere as he was sitting next to him on the plane. And as he began to explore the building he was in, desperation began to set in as he raced from room to room, hoping to find him.
"Andi!" he called out, "Andi, where are you?" He repeated this a couple more times before giving up, though he continued to explore and see if anyone else was around...anyone that could help him out. "Hello? Anyone else in here?"
Those were the first thoughts that came to Peter Rosenthal's mind as he began to slowly rouse after being transported to the island...or more appropriately, the battlefield. It took him a little while to regain his bearings...whatever was in that glass of water must've been really powerful if it were to knock him out like that as he began searching through the pack that had been laid beside him. He was lucky to have the extra bag with the clothes he had packed for the planned trip beside him, but that was the least of his worries as he opened the pack that had been assigned to him and there it was...Danya's "survival guide", right on the top. "Shit...it's happened," he thought as his heart started to beat furiously. Frantic, Peter tore through the pack in the hope of finding a weapon...a gun, a knife, anything...just so long as it wasn't something like a wooden spoon or something else that was completely useless.
When Peter finally found the razorblade, he held it in front of him to study it, then growled in disgust. "Damn it...what now?" he asked himself aloud as he slipped the blade into the pocket of the denim shorts he was wearing., carefully packing up the contents of the assigned daypack and stood up, the large boy having a little bit of difficulty staying on his feet without holding onto the wall before he was able to get his bearings again. And then another sickening thought raced through Peter's mind as he took his first steps.
"Andi..."
He knew that Andi Ayala, the boy that stole his heart over the past year, was on the island somewhere as he was sitting next to him on the plane. And as he began to explore the building he was in, desperation began to set in as he raced from room to room, hoping to find him.
"Andi!" he called out, "Andi, where are you?" He repeated this a couple more times before giving up, though he continued to explore and see if anyone else was around...anyone that could help him out. "Hello? Anyone else in here?"
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Kristey, in her anger, still continued to beat the living hell out of anything in site. Crash, bang, smash. Constant sounds being done.
She eventually gave a passing glance to a figure that she couldn't make out at first.
She then stopped her rampage and gave it a closer look.
She dropped her bat, and gave a greeting.
"Hello, Damien."
She eventually gave a passing glance to a figure that she couldn't make out at first.
She then stopped her rampage and gave it a closer look.
She dropped her bat, and gave a greeting.
"Hello, Damien."
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Damien did not want to stay to see what would happen if Kristey had spotted him. He did not even want to stay to think about what would happen if he were spotted. In short, he did not want to stay, period. And his thoughts were fully concentrated on making a break for wherever, it didn't matter where, any other psycho on this island wouldn't be as merciless as that blonde would be. Except maybe Marvin, Franco, or Reneé, but that was a different matter.
Apparently, the first option would come true before Damien could grit through the pain and stand all the way up.
"Hello, Damien."
The boy made a noise akin that made by a wounded small animal, then dropped back into his posterior, his shield clanging on the cement as his hand brought it to the ground. He stared at the legs of the aggressor and slowly moved up to her eyes (passing her bosom, which would probably make his death a lot more embarrassing). It was definitely Kristey, no doubts in his mind about it. And she clearly meant business.
Ooh, someone's fucked now.
Who...it's you again?!
Damien's heart was thumping violently in his chest, and he could feel it, pumping blood to all of his injured areas. He was too scared to speak, and even then it would be hard as he'd started breathing erratically.
Hell, maybe that's why she didn't want to pick on him back at the party. Maybe she was just reserving that something very special just for a time like this. Something that, strangely enough, did not seem to involve the baseball bat that she had dropped. Right now, the bat lay on the ground just past Kristey and definitely out of his reach.
Hmm, that looks interesting.
It really was sorely tempting to lunge for that bat and grab it, but he knew he would make it, let alone have his wrist brutally stomped on in the remote likelihood that he would even lay his hands on the handle. Right now though, he feebly raised his shield in front of him.
Finally, he managed to force some words out of his lungs, in the form of whimpers. And a little blood.
"God...what...what're you doing here!?"
Apparently, the first option would come true before Damien could grit through the pain and stand all the way up.
"Hello, Damien."
The boy made a noise akin that made by a wounded small animal, then dropped back into his posterior, his shield clanging on the cement as his hand brought it to the ground. He stared at the legs of the aggressor and slowly moved up to her eyes (passing her bosom, which would probably make his death a lot more embarrassing). It was definitely Kristey, no doubts in his mind about it. And she clearly meant business.
Ooh, someone's fucked now.
Who...it's you again?!
Damien's heart was thumping violently in his chest, and he could feel it, pumping blood to all of his injured areas. He was too scared to speak, and even then it would be hard as he'd started breathing erratically.
Hell, maybe that's why she didn't want to pick on him back at the party. Maybe she was just reserving that something very special just for a time like this. Something that, strangely enough, did not seem to involve the baseball bat that she had dropped. Right now, the bat lay on the ground just past Kristey and definitely out of his reach.
Hmm, that looks interesting.
It really was sorely tempting to lunge for that bat and grab it, but he knew he would make it, let alone have his wrist brutally stomped on in the remote likelihood that he would even lay his hands on the handle. Right now though, he feebly raised his shield in front of him.
Finally, he managed to force some words out of his lungs, in the form of whimpers. And a little blood.
"God...what...what're you doing here!?"
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Kristey was getting annoyed with how long it was taking Damien to respond.
Ever since she got here, her patience has been wearing thin, and wasn't in the mood for stutterers.
"God...what...what're you doing here!?"
She heard that remark and scoffed.
"The same thing you're doing here. Apparently, people have to die.
Pfft. I'm having a ton of fun beating the shit out of this giant place."
She decided to sit down on the floor next to her bat.
"I'm betting Renee had something to do with all this, all because of that fucking party..."
Ever since she got here, her patience has been wearing thin, and wasn't in the mood for stutterers.
"God...what...what're you doing here!?"
She heard that remark and scoffed.
"The same thing you're doing here. Apparently, people have to die.
Pfft. I'm having a ton of fun beating the shit out of this giant place."
She decided to sit down on the floor next to her bat.
"I'm betting Renee had something to do with all this, all because of that fucking party..."
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Kristey seemed to easily scoff at his question.
"The same thing you're doing here. Apparently, people have to die.
Pfft. I'm having a ton of fun beating the shit out of this giant place," she said.
She'd probably have lots of fun beating the shit out of me...
Yes, she would.
Stop that!
Hey, you do have people that need dying, you know.
But all thoughts of the improbable attempt to go for Kristey's weapon quickly vanished as she sat down next to it. Nice going, getting distracted like that... It was even more distracting as the blonde "bombshell" looked even sexier up close AND sitting down. Still, Damien kept up his still-very-shaky guard. Now that she had easier access to it, it would be a lot easier for her to inflict pain with it. And Damien had plenty of pain going for him already.
"I'm betting Reneé had something to do with all this, all because of that fucking party..." she continued.
The party. Seemed like every time Damien wanted to forget about the party, it was always brought up again. Whatever slivers of solace or hope that Kristey gave him by turning on Reneé at the party had been quashed when Nicole swore vengeance on the entire clique for her battered son, eviscerated when Marvin found him for his revenge, and finally put of its misery when he finally encountered the blonde. If and when Reneé would find him - whether it was before Kristey finished him off - well...he didn't want to think about that.
He also wondered why Kristey hadn't noticed his physical condition...maybe it was because she was used to seeing him this way. In such pain.
"Yeah...the party...good times..." he muttered, the fear greatly registering in his voice as he slowly...slowly... started scooting backward and away from Kristey. If he got far enough he could summon a great reserve of his remaining strength to get away. How far didn't matter at the moment, as long as he could lose her before she could catch up. Damien ended up leaning backward onto his deflated backpack, which stopped his retreat for the moment.
"She's probably...hunting us right now...she and her friends...'cept maybe Marvin..." Damien added...
"The same thing you're doing here. Apparently, people have to die.
Pfft. I'm having a ton of fun beating the shit out of this giant place," she said.
She'd probably have lots of fun beating the shit out of me...
Yes, she would.
Stop that!
Hey, you do have people that need dying, you know.
But all thoughts of the improbable attempt to go for Kristey's weapon quickly vanished as she sat down next to it. Nice going, getting distracted like that... It was even more distracting as the blonde "bombshell" looked even sexier up close AND sitting down. Still, Damien kept up his still-very-shaky guard. Now that she had easier access to it, it would be a lot easier for her to inflict pain with it. And Damien had plenty of pain going for him already.
"I'm betting Reneé had something to do with all this, all because of that fucking party..." she continued.
The party. Seemed like every time Damien wanted to forget about the party, it was always brought up again. Whatever slivers of solace or hope that Kristey gave him by turning on Reneé at the party had been quashed when Nicole swore vengeance on the entire clique for her battered son, eviscerated when Marvin found him for his revenge, and finally put of its misery when he finally encountered the blonde. If and when Reneé would find him - whether it was before Kristey finished him off - well...he didn't want to think about that.
He also wondered why Kristey hadn't noticed his physical condition...maybe it was because she was used to seeing him this way. In such pain.
"Yeah...the party...good times..." he muttered, the fear greatly registering in his voice as he slowly...slowly... started scooting backward and away from Kristey. If he got far enough he could summon a great reserve of his remaining strength to get away. How far didn't matter at the moment, as long as he could lose her before she could catch up. Damien ended up leaning backward onto his deflated backpack, which stopped his retreat for the moment.
"She's probably...hunting us right now...she and her friends...'cept maybe Marvin..." Damien added...
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Hearing voices and the sounds of things being destroyed, Peter lumbered as fast as he could to see if he could examine the source of the ruckus. It wasn't until he got to the third or fourth room that he discovered Kristey and Damien, but he stayed back and eavesdropped on their conversation...listening as Damien mentioned something about people having to die. "What is this?", he thought as Kristey went on about this party...and good times, "Do we really have to actually kill the other kids here? There ain't no way in hell I could bring myself to do something like that...unless my life depended on it...or Andi's..." He sure remembered having a few good times as well...but that was the last thing on his mind. He knew that he was in the fight of his life...and that there was a good chance he wasn't going to survive.
It wasn't until Kristey said something about someone hunting them down that he decided to make his presence known.
"Hunting us down?" he said incredulously, "It wouldn't surprise me...I mean, do either of you know what this is?" He kept his distance upon seeing the baseball bat in the girl's hand, the larger boy not one to put his life at risk yet.
((Xaldien, check your PM box...I've left something in there for you.))
It wasn't until Kristey said something about someone hunting them down that he decided to make his presence known.
"Hunting us down?" he said incredulously, "It wouldn't surprise me...I mean, do either of you know what this is?" He kept his distance upon seeing the baseball bat in the girl's hand, the larger boy not one to put his life at risk yet.
((Xaldien, check your PM box...I've left something in there for you.))
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Kristey looked at Damien for a second. She then started to laugh.
"THat party SURE WAS a fucking blast. I know I had a good time.
As I'm sure Renee did as well."
She began laughing to herself.
Then she heard an unknown voice speak, and a figure approach.
"Hunting us down? It wouldn't surprise me...I mean, do either of you know what this is?"
Kristey picked up the baseball bat and slowly approached the new arrival.
"I don't know who you are, but since I don't know you well enough to want you dead, I'll give you two minutes to explain yourself starting now. Who are you, and what do you want?"
"THat party SURE WAS a fucking blast. I know I had a good time.
As I'm sure Renee did as well."
She began laughing to herself.
Then she heard an unknown voice speak, and a figure approach.
"Hunting us down? It wouldn't surprise me...I mean, do either of you know what this is?"
Kristey picked up the baseball bat and slowly approached the new arrival.
"I don't know who you are, but since I don't know you well enough to want you dead, I'll give you two minutes to explain yourself starting now. Who are you, and what do you want?"
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((@Croco: Check your PMs, I have a few clarifications to make about your post.))
Kristey's laughter unsettled Damien more than was already possible with him. She had a good time kicking Reneé's ass...and tacitly acknowledged that Reneé had a good time kicking Damien's ass. Vicariously, that meant Kristey finally admitted to enjoying seeing Damien's ass kicked, and that was what really unsettled him. Strangely enough, he wasn't getting more unsettled as in more scared. It seemed that - at least to him - he was getting unsettled as in more tense. Frustrated. Angry.
That's good.
His attention, of course, was diverted when a rather large individual - clearly someone other than Kristey - decided to give him a reply. It was hard not to notice the man behind Kristey, but it did turn any anger Damien might have gained back into fear. For the moment.
"Hunting us down? It wouldn't surprise me...I mean, do either of you know what this is?" the big man asked.
Damien already knew what he was into, but he didn't answer the man's question. The big guy could already probably tell that by the look of fear on his face and the scope of his visible injury anyway, most of which was concealed by the boy's rumpled and dirty uniform. His fear came out of the fact that this portly guy behind Kristey could just as easily mangle Damien's gangly figure (or eat it, some sick joke that was) as the psycho blonde could. He wouldn't stand a chance unless he had a real weapon of his own, unless of course, he could get creative with his little shield. And even then he would still need some "encouragement to get things going."
Which he was clearly getting in his rather extended period of fear.
He watches as Kristey gets up and turns to face the man. She may or may not have been exposing her back to Damien, and the Louisville Slugger was now very threatening in the blonde's hands. But she was distracted, and that was what mattered. As if not of his own accord, Damien slowly stood up, and moved his shield-hand near his ear, as if to prepare the slap of a lifetime. His target: the back of Kristey's neck, right where the spine would be.
((He's not attacking-attacking, per se. He's just readying himself. But suddenly...))
I don't know if I should do this...
C'mon. You don't have much time.
Stop that! You want me to die!?
You're going to die anyway. Why not go down swinging?
"NO!" he shouted, suddenly shifting from a potentially killer (literally) stance to covering his ears and recoiling.
Great job, dumbass. Now you're really going to die.
Kristey's laughter unsettled Damien more than was already possible with him. She had a good time kicking Reneé's ass...and tacitly acknowledged that Reneé had a good time kicking Damien's ass. Vicariously, that meant Kristey finally admitted to enjoying seeing Damien's ass kicked, and that was what really unsettled him. Strangely enough, he wasn't getting more unsettled as in more scared. It seemed that - at least to him - he was getting unsettled as in more tense. Frustrated. Angry.
That's good.
His attention, of course, was diverted when a rather large individual - clearly someone other than Kristey - decided to give him a reply. It was hard not to notice the man behind Kristey, but it did turn any anger Damien might have gained back into fear. For the moment.
"Hunting us down? It wouldn't surprise me...I mean, do either of you know what this is?" the big man asked.
Damien already knew what he was into, but he didn't answer the man's question. The big guy could already probably tell that by the look of fear on his face and the scope of his visible injury anyway, most of which was concealed by the boy's rumpled and dirty uniform. His fear came out of the fact that this portly guy behind Kristey could just as easily mangle Damien's gangly figure (or eat it, some sick joke that was) as the psycho blonde could. He wouldn't stand a chance unless he had a real weapon of his own, unless of course, he could get creative with his little shield. And even then he would still need some "encouragement to get things going."
Which he was clearly getting in his rather extended period of fear.
He watches as Kristey gets up and turns to face the man. She may or may not have been exposing her back to Damien, and the Louisville Slugger was now very threatening in the blonde's hands. But she was distracted, and that was what mattered. As if not of his own accord, Damien slowly stood up, and moved his shield-hand near his ear, as if to prepare the slap of a lifetime. His target: the back of Kristey's neck, right where the spine would be.
((He's not attacking-attacking, per se. He's just readying himself. But suddenly...))
I don't know if I should do this...
C'mon. You don't have much time.
Stop that! You want me to die!?
You're going to die anyway. Why not go down swinging?
"NO!" he shouted, suddenly shifting from a potentially killer (literally) stance to covering his ears and recoiling.
Great job, dumbass. Now you're really going to die.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.
Kristey was alarmed to hear Damien scream out loud, but was not about to deal with another problem.
She went up to him.
"Damien. I don't want to hurt you, but it seems you're not in the best state of mind. If you're going to sit here and act like a scared twit, then you can do so by yourself, I'm only going to kill those bastards responsible for me being here. If you feel competent and secure enough to stay here, then do so. I have no time to waste."
She then turned to the stranger again.
"I'll ask you once again, who are you, and what do you want?
You have one more minute."
She went up to him.
"Damien. I don't want to hurt you, but it seems you're not in the best state of mind. If you're going to sit here and act like a scared twit, then you can do so by yourself, I'm only going to kill those bastards responsible for me being here. If you feel competent and secure enough to stay here, then do so. I have no time to waste."
She then turned to the stranger again.
"I'll ask you once again, who are you, and what do you want?
You have one more minute."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Xaldien. 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.
Damien is practically hyperventilating out of his latest in what can already be considered a series of panic attacks, as Kristey gives him a rather-well-deserved berating, but not - as he figured - a fractured skull courtesy of the Louisville Slugger. Seemed that she was actually as, if not more, determined to strike back at Reneé and her gang. Either way, the berating left him looking a child after receiving some rather nasty corporal punishment at the hands of a parent.
(On a side note, Nicole actually did administer corporal punishment on several occasions in Damien's life in accordance with "homeland" tradition. That is, of course, until she learned that his bullies were doing pretty much the same thing, and did not want to appear as bad as they were to the media.)
And indeed, it was very tempting for him to stay here "like a scared twit," and being euthanized via collar explosion definitely seemed a slightly-less painful alternative than dying at the hands of Kristey AND Reneé's syndicate (or worse, living in even more excruciating and/or debilitating pain than his current condition for an extended period of time until being euthanized by a collar explosion or some opportunistic passerby who might possibly further the cycle). Because another thought that was becoming even more tempting was one that had lasted far longer than the mere hours he'd spent conscious on the island. It was a temptation that he was slowly coming to realize he could actually fall prey to and finally enjoy.
See kid? You're figuring it out.
Seriously...Shut...UP.
Plus, there dawned the possibility that if Marvin managed to find his syndicate friends, they could suspect that he was dead and feel a bit more complacent about their surroundings.
But we wouldn't be able to find them before Danya realizes I'm not dead...
Still plenty of time, buddy. Let me help you out a bit.
There's no such thing as possession...
I know. I'll tell you words you can use. Trust me, they'll work.
I don't know...
Do you want to live, or not?!
"Wait...I could...come with you guys," he finally says through tears. "I think I can help you out..."
(On a side note, Nicole actually did administer corporal punishment on several occasions in Damien's life in accordance with "homeland" tradition. That is, of course, until she learned that his bullies were doing pretty much the same thing, and did not want to appear as bad as they were to the media.)
And indeed, it was very tempting for him to stay here "like a scared twit," and being euthanized via collar explosion definitely seemed a slightly-less painful alternative than dying at the hands of Kristey AND Reneé's syndicate (or worse, living in even more excruciating and/or debilitating pain than his current condition for an extended period of time until being euthanized by a collar explosion or some opportunistic passerby who might possibly further the cycle). Because another thought that was becoming even more tempting was one that had lasted far longer than the mere hours he'd spent conscious on the island. It was a temptation that he was slowly coming to realize he could actually fall prey to and finally enjoy.
See kid? You're figuring it out.
Seriously...Shut...UP.
Plus, there dawned the possibility that if Marvin managed to find his syndicate friends, they could suspect that he was dead and feel a bit more complacent about their surroundings.
But we wouldn't be able to find them before Danya realizes I'm not dead...
Still plenty of time, buddy. Let me help you out a bit.
There's no such thing as possession...
I know. I'll tell you words you can use. Trust me, they'll work.
I don't know...
Do you want to live, or not?!
"Wait...I could...come with you guys," he finally says through tears. "I think I can help you out..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.
Stepping slowly into view, Peter put his hands up as if to surrender to Kristey's demands, though he was still wary of the tall girl's baseball bat. And judging by the racket earlier, it was apparent to him that she could wield it very well...one strike in the right place and it would be game over. Knowing this, Peter put his hands down and stood in front of the two, the larger boy ignoring Damien's screaming fit for the time being. He heard Kristey ask him again what he was doing in the pagoda and he had a response for her this time as he slowly approached her, though still minding his distance. His minute was up.
"What am I doing here? Your guess is as good as mine," he said, "All I remember was being on a plane...and then there were guys with guns...and that's all I remember. When I woke up, I was upstairs and heard a commotion." He looked at Kristey, then his eyes turned to the destruction that she had laid out. "But I am not here to kill or hurt you...either of you. I just wanna know what the hell's going on and why we're here."
A slight smirk formed on the boy's face as his blue eyes locked onto Kristey's, staring her down as he stood his ground. "Oh, sorry...my name's Peter...and now it's my turn to ask who you are..." Peter was treading in dangerous water and he realized it when he took another step back; he didn't want a confrontation but then again, he knew what was up and the thought that he might get one anyway popped in the back of his mind.
"What am I doing here? Your guess is as good as mine," he said, "All I remember was being on a plane...and then there were guys with guns...and that's all I remember. When I woke up, I was upstairs and heard a commotion." He looked at Kristey, then his eyes turned to the destruction that she had laid out. "But I am not here to kill or hurt you...either of you. I just wanna know what the hell's going on and why we're here."
A slight smirk formed on the boy's face as his blue eyes locked onto Kristey's, staring her down as he stood his ground. "Oh, sorry...my name's Peter...and now it's my turn to ask who you are..." Peter was treading in dangerous water and he realized it when he took another step back; he didn't want a confrontation but then again, he knew what was up and the thought that he might get one anyway popped in the back of his mind.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Croco. 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.
"OUr numbers grow, and our troubles with them."
Kristey put down her baseball bat, and decided that Peter was okay... for now.
"It's Kristey."
She put the bat down and started walking in the direction opposite of the two boys. She was going through her things, and then sat down to enjoy some water.
"So, Damien, based on your appearance, I'd say you ran into one of Renee's."
She said this with a smile.
"Where are they?"
She wanted some.
Kristey put down her baseball bat, and decided that Peter was okay... for now.
"It's Kristey."
She put the bat down and started walking in the direction opposite of the two boys. She was going through her things, and then sat down to enjoy some water.
"So, Damien, based on your appearance, I'd say you ran into one of Renee's."
She said this with a smile.
"Where are they?"
She wanted some.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Xaldien. 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.
"I didn't run into one of hers. Marvin ran into me." Damien replied meekly, lowering his head in shame. Exactly what happened to him that moment could easily be deduced by his current appearance and demeanor. It was his demeanor that had him backing a short distance away from both Kristey and the large kid nearby, who appeared to be trying to convince both of them that he wasn't dangerous to one's health. He also kept his guard and shield up.
"I don't know where he is though..." he added, rather humiliatingly. "I don't know where the others are either." He was correct.
I don't know what to say, kid. You are telling the truth after all, better than leading them on a wild goose chase. Best way to earn their confidence.
"The only thing I know for sure is that he thinks I'm dead." he said, facing Kristey. "And that he's unarmed, and alone. If he found his mates...they'll think I'm dead, too. I don't know how long that'll last."
Damien double-takes quickly, making sure nobody else was behind them, before returning his gaze to Peter. With Kristey on the ground it seemed like Peter was now the greater threat.
"I don't know where he is though..." he added, rather humiliatingly. "I don't know where the others are either." He was correct.
I don't know what to say, kid. You are telling the truth after all, better than leading them on a wild goose chase. Best way to earn their confidence.
"The only thing I know for sure is that he thinks I'm dead." he said, facing Kristey. "And that he's unarmed, and alone. If he found his mates...they'll think I'm dead, too. I don't know how long that'll last."
Damien double-takes quickly, making sure nobody else was behind them, before returning his gaze to Peter. With Kristey on the ground it seemed like Peter was now the greater threat.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.