((Glen Bole continued from Writing From Personal Experience))
So apparently it had turned dark or something while Glen was in the jungle. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d managed to miss that, but miss it he had. He had his flashlight out, and had considered whether it would have been worth it to take Suzanne’s as well. He’d eventually decided against it, and the darkness wasn’t really bothering him. What was bothering him, however, was the announcement that recently played.
Somebody’s already died, huh? Well, shit. That Karen girl better be on our team, or we’re in some deep shit. And if that Anthony moron was on our team, then we’re in even deeper shit.
Ever since his mentor-guy had spoken to him, Glen had been trying to make sure he didn’t lose his cool, but the mere possibility that someone from his team had gone and got killed, leaving the rest of them at a huge disadvantage, was making his temper flare. He needed to find somewhere to rest for the night, cool off a bit. Eventually, after a solid hour of walking south, Glen reached the resort beach
At first, he was disappointed and irritated that after all his walking, he’d ended up in a less hospitable place than before. Then, he saw the line of food and merchandise shops. Glen could have cried tears of joy at this point. Finally some fucking civilization! He managed to control himself, simply whispering “Fucking finally”, before heading along the line of shops and vendors. Glen was almost too tired to choose a building, and was about to head into the first one he saw, when the mentor’s voice-Glen really had to find out his goddamn name-echoed in his head.
“Like... uh, take it a bit easier, you know?”
Dude’s right. Could be twenty fuckers waiting in there, just for some retard to waltz in there, before they blow his head off. Trying to be as silent as possible, Glen switched the flashlight off, creeping towards the window. He peered in, switching the flashlight back on. There was no-one inside. Grinning, Glen was about to try the door again, when another thought hit him. What if the door was locked? He really didn’t have the time or energy to look through every single shop. There was only one thing left to do in Glen’s mind. Taking a few steps back, Glen took a deep breath, before running full pelt at the door.
It was, of course, completely unlocked. Glen’s momentum sent him flying through the door and colliding with a refrigerator with a startled cry. He fell to the floor, seeing nothing but stars, moaning “Fuck... ow, shit, shit shit...” Then he realised what he’d crashed into.
A refrigerator.
FUCKING JACKPOT.
Glen leapt to his feet, letting out another cry, not in confusion this time, but with joy, all thoughts of rest and being stealthy and quiet gone. The fridge meant there had to be food in this building, and sure enough, he spied a small plastic bottle of water in the fridge he’d crashed into. It wasn’t brilliant, but it meant Glen had a much better chance of surviving then many of the other students. His “Being Stealthy and Cautious” plan thrown completely out the window, Glen started hurriedly racing round the shop, looking for anything that would prove useful or edible, seemingly making as much noise as possible.
Finders Keepers
Private to Glen, Vincent and Tiffany.
(Vincent Sullivan continued from Columbines In My Eye)
The smell of salt in the air announced to Vincent his arrival at the coast before he reached the beach itself. He stepped out onto sand and stretched his arms out to the sides and took a deep breath of the sea air. It might have provided a nice view if it wasn’t so damn dark; he couldn’t even see where the sand met the water with nothing but the moon to provide light.
Turning away from the ocean he began to walk down the beach towards the multiple structures he could see silhouetted against the sky. Being spotted wasn’t much of a worry for him given the cover the night provided but he pulled the Desert Eagle from the back of his jeans just in case.
As he got closer to the buildings themselves he could hear movement coming from the closest one. It sounded like the place was being ransacked and the culprit was being none to subtle about it.
Stepping up to the side of the door Vincent risked a quick look around the frame to see what was going on. The inside was as dark as the beach itself – darker eve without the moon to provide light – but Vincent could see clearly enough the largish figure moving around the room from place to place before stopping, rooting around and moving on.
He – probably a he – was moving around too much to get a good shot on him with the lack of light; the bullet might miss or might only wound him, and if he had a gun of his own that could end badly for Vincent. Instead he put the gun back in his jeans and reached over his head to grab hold of the oar he had strapped to his back; the long wooden object slid free of its makeshift holster and into Vincent’s hands. Stepping carefully around the frame Vincent forewent stealth and half jogged towards the figure while his back was turned.
“Hey dipshit”
After getting the guys attention so that he would turn his way Vincent swung the wooden paddle – baseball bat style – at about head height as hard as he could, aiming to knock this guy out with a smack clear across the jaw.
The smell of salt in the air announced to Vincent his arrival at the coast before he reached the beach itself. He stepped out onto sand and stretched his arms out to the sides and took a deep breath of the sea air. It might have provided a nice view if it wasn’t so damn dark; he couldn’t even see where the sand met the water with nothing but the moon to provide light.
Turning away from the ocean he began to walk down the beach towards the multiple structures he could see silhouetted against the sky. Being spotted wasn’t much of a worry for him given the cover the night provided but he pulled the Desert Eagle from the back of his jeans just in case.
As he got closer to the buildings themselves he could hear movement coming from the closest one. It sounded like the place was being ransacked and the culprit was being none to subtle about it.
Stepping up to the side of the door Vincent risked a quick look around the frame to see what was going on. The inside was as dark as the beach itself – darker eve without the moon to provide light – but Vincent could see clearly enough the largish figure moving around the room from place to place before stopping, rooting around and moving on.
He – probably a he – was moving around too much to get a good shot on him with the lack of light; the bullet might miss or might only wound him, and if he had a gun of his own that could end badly for Vincent. Instead he put the gun back in his jeans and reached over his head to grab hold of the oar he had strapped to his back; the long wooden object slid free of its makeshift holster and into Vincent’s hands. Stepping carefully around the frame Vincent forewent stealth and half jogged towards the figure while his back was turned.
“Hey dipshit”
After getting the guys attention so that he would turn his way Vincent swung the wooden paddle – baseball bat style – at about head height as hard as he could, aiming to knock this guy out with a smack clear across the jaw.
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The first fridge had yielded nothing but another bottle of water, which Glen took anyway. He needed all the advantages he could get in this “game”. The shack seemed to only contain cardboard boxes and fridges. Glen would use one walkie-talkie to slice open the tape on the boxes, and he’d use the tree branch to lever open any stiff fridge doors. Everything was pretty much the same; one or two small items, usually a snack or bottle. There was a disappointing amount of empty packets, or food that had gone off, but he’d found even more water, a couple of bars of chocolate, and, miraculously, a sandwich that had somehow defied the whole “going stale” thing sandwiches were supposed to do.
By Glen’s reckoning, there was only one cardboard box left unsearched, sitting right next to the fridge he’d crashed into. Just as he crouched down to look inside, he heard something. A creak. A thump.
Footsteps?
Nah, you’re just being paranoid. Now, let’s see what’s in here...
Glen quickly ripped the tape apart using the walkie-talkie, and opened the box. It was full of Styrofoam peanuts, so he quickly set to work flinging them out, strewing them across the floor.
“Hey dipshit”
Okay, seriously? Who the fuck do you think you are? Glen stood up and turned round, ready to lay a verbal smackdown on whoever was-
CRACK.
Pain. Extreme fucking pain. Glen didn’t think he’d every been hurt that badly. The walkie-talkie flew out of his hand, and the tree branch clattered to the floor. Glen himself toppled backwards towards the fridge, again, seeing stars. He could feel blood trickling out of his nose and down his face. What the fuck was going on? He still couldn’t see properly, his head was pounding, but he couldn’t just sit where he was. Using the fridge to lever himself up, Glen was surprised at how much his arms were shaking. In truth, he was fucking terrified. He always tried to avoid fighting, employing his running skills to escape anyone he antagonised. But with what little he could see, this new guy was blocking the only exit, so Glen did the only thing he could. He picked the branch up, and started swinging it wildly, hoping to get a lucky hit on the unknown assailant. He really, really wanted to say something hilariously witty, but the only thing he could think of was “FUCK YOU!”
By Glen’s reckoning, there was only one cardboard box left unsearched, sitting right next to the fridge he’d crashed into. Just as he crouched down to look inside, he heard something. A creak. A thump.
Footsteps?
Nah, you’re just being paranoid. Now, let’s see what’s in here...
Glen quickly ripped the tape apart using the walkie-talkie, and opened the box. It was full of Styrofoam peanuts, so he quickly set to work flinging them out, strewing them across the floor.
“Hey dipshit”
Okay, seriously? Who the fuck do you think you are? Glen stood up and turned round, ready to lay a verbal smackdown on whoever was-
CRACK.
Pain. Extreme fucking pain. Glen didn’t think he’d every been hurt that badly. The walkie-talkie flew out of his hand, and the tree branch clattered to the floor. Glen himself toppled backwards towards the fridge, again, seeing stars. He could feel blood trickling out of his nose and down his face. What the fuck was going on? He still couldn’t see properly, his head was pounding, but he couldn’t just sit where he was. Using the fridge to lever himself up, Glen was surprised at how much his arms were shaking. In truth, he was fucking terrified. He always tried to avoid fighting, employing his running skills to escape anyone he antagonised. But with what little he could see, this new guy was blocking the only exit, so Glen did the only thing he could. He picked the branch up, and started swinging it wildly, hoping to get a lucky hit on the unknown assailant. He really, really wanted to say something hilariously witty, but the only thing he could think of was “FUCK YOU!”
As Vincent had hoped would happen the boy turned to face him just as the wooden paddle made contact with his jaw, giving him the perfect view of the guy’s surprised/pained expression as he tumbled back into the fridge behind him. Using the time it took for the boy to recover – it was only sporting after all – Vincent got a better look at his latest victim, trying to take in as many details as possible.
Detail 1: The blood leaking from his nose; Vincent could have been behind on kills by this point of the show but he was probably ahead on broken noses.
Detail 2: The tree branch that clattered to the floor as the boy stumbled. Vincent doubted that was a given weapon – unless they were seriously running out of ideas 65 seasons in – meaning this guy couldn’t have gotten anything good if he had to resort to those measures. Too bad.
Detail 3: And this one was fucking hilarious; the Pink bandana the guy was wearing. Out of a total four people Vincent had attacked on the island so far, three of them had been wearing the same pink – complete with a little love heart design – bandana somewhere on their person.
As Vincent was considering the fact that he seemed to be accidentally trying to eliminate the Pink team from the game singlehandedly, the boy managed to lever himself off of the fridge, pick up his stick and start taking swings at Vincent. Compared to the last person who tried to swing a large wooden object at him however, this guy’s swings were clumsy, wild and out of control; though if the speed they came at was any indication they came with a lot of force.
Vincent back stepped away from his fellow contestant, sometimes leaning away from any swings that came too close; some occasionally managed to graze by him leaving little trails of pain across his skin. Admittedly he was kind of playing with the guy at this point – he knew when a guy desperate in a fight like this guy was and thought he was safe – and it came back to bite him when one lucky shot hit him in the right bicep, adding a bruise there to compliment the one on his right forearm.
He decided now was the time to take a more proactive stance in the fight and blocked the next shot with his oar, locking weapons with the guy and using his slightly superior strength to keep it there. He reached out with one hand off his paddle quickly to grab hold of the branch tightly, before disengaging the oar from his opponent’s weapon and swinging it around to strike the opponent low. He turned the paddle around so that it would hit with the edge, not the flat, and aimed the strike at the other boy’s knee.
Detail 1: The blood leaking from his nose; Vincent could have been behind on kills by this point of the show but he was probably ahead on broken noses.
Detail 2: The tree branch that clattered to the floor as the boy stumbled. Vincent doubted that was a given weapon – unless they were seriously running out of ideas 65 seasons in – meaning this guy couldn’t have gotten anything good if he had to resort to those measures. Too bad.
Detail 3: And this one was fucking hilarious; the Pink bandana the guy was wearing. Out of a total four people Vincent had attacked on the island so far, three of them had been wearing the same pink – complete with a little love heart design – bandana somewhere on their person.
As Vincent was considering the fact that he seemed to be accidentally trying to eliminate the Pink team from the game singlehandedly, the boy managed to lever himself off of the fridge, pick up his stick and start taking swings at Vincent. Compared to the last person who tried to swing a large wooden object at him however, this guy’s swings were clumsy, wild and out of control; though if the speed they came at was any indication they came with a lot of force.
Vincent back stepped away from his fellow contestant, sometimes leaning away from any swings that came too close; some occasionally managed to graze by him leaving little trails of pain across his skin. Admittedly he was kind of playing with the guy at this point – he knew when a guy desperate in a fight like this guy was and thought he was safe – and it came back to bite him when one lucky shot hit him in the right bicep, adding a bruise there to compliment the one on his right forearm.
He decided now was the time to take a more proactive stance in the fight and blocked the next shot with his oar, locking weapons with the guy and using his slightly superior strength to keep it there. He reached out with one hand off his paddle quickly to grab hold of the branch tightly, before disengaging the oar from his opponent’s weapon and swinging it around to strike the opponent low. He turned the paddle around so that it would hit with the edge, not the flat, and aimed the strike at the other boy’s knee.
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Glen’s vision was slowly becoming clearer, and after a few more swings of the branch, the light from his flashlight, currently lying on a box in the corner, allowed him to have a good look at his assailant. The guy was a complete unknown, most likely someone from the shitty other school. He was also a FUCKING HUGE AND IMPOSING UNKNOWN, the sort of person Glen would normally try and stay on the good side of at all costs. He was having serious doubts about how much longer he’d be able to keep fighting, but he couldn’t exactly back down now, could he?
Glen carried on swinging, the swings becoming rhythmic, gaining in power and fury. The other guy wasn’t attacking, simply backing away from Glen. Heh. Looks like I have the advantage after all.
This, of course, was not true. Glen’s swings, while powerful, were just that; they were clumsy, and he had no strategy of attack. Still, when he managed to get a lucky hit in on Vincent, he started to believe he could win this.
And completely let his guard down. Before he knew it, the other guy had brought his oar up, and the tree branch crashed into it. Glen tried to pull it away, but his attacker had managed to use his strength to keep it there. So. Glen had no means of attacking at the moment, he was being attacked by someone stronger than him, and he was still in quite a great deal of pain. As Vincent swung the oar round, there was nothing Glen could do except say “Oh shit.”
The edge of the oar hit Glen’s knee, and his legs buckled under him, Glen himself letting out a sharp cry of pain. His grip on the branch loosened, and he collapsed to the floor. This was the worst possible situation. Well, apart from being dead of course. Rather than attempting to get back up, Glen scrambled, in a rather undignified fashion, into a corner. He tried to clamber back up, but the pain in his knee was too much, and he fell back down again.
So, again. Now, not only was Glen in even more pain, and Vincent was still here, but he also had Glen’s weapon, Glen’s only way of attacking and defending him-
Wait. What the fuck am I thinking? How the fuck did I manage to forget my fucking shotgun? That smack to the head must have done more damage than I thought. Still, better late than fucking never, I guess...
Quickly, hoping Vincent would use this time to taunt him or something, Glen pulled the bag off of his back, searching hurriedly through it for the gun. The light from the flashlight wasn’t enough to properly illuminate the bag, so Glen had to resort to touch to identify the stuff inside. He felt a handle shaped object, and, instantly assuming it to be the handle of the shotgun, pulled it out of the bag, shouting “Too bad, fucker! Shotgun beats shitty little wooden oar!”
Glen pulled the trigger. Except it wasn’t there. He’d pulled the second walkie-talkie from the bag.
... I am SO FUCKING DEAD.
Glen carried on swinging, the swings becoming rhythmic, gaining in power and fury. The other guy wasn’t attacking, simply backing away from Glen. Heh. Looks like I have the advantage after all.
This, of course, was not true. Glen’s swings, while powerful, were just that; they were clumsy, and he had no strategy of attack. Still, when he managed to get a lucky hit in on Vincent, he started to believe he could win this.
And completely let his guard down. Before he knew it, the other guy had brought his oar up, and the tree branch crashed into it. Glen tried to pull it away, but his attacker had managed to use his strength to keep it there. So. Glen had no means of attacking at the moment, he was being attacked by someone stronger than him, and he was still in quite a great deal of pain. As Vincent swung the oar round, there was nothing Glen could do except say “Oh shit.”
The edge of the oar hit Glen’s knee, and his legs buckled under him, Glen himself letting out a sharp cry of pain. His grip on the branch loosened, and he collapsed to the floor. This was the worst possible situation. Well, apart from being dead of course. Rather than attempting to get back up, Glen scrambled, in a rather undignified fashion, into a corner. He tried to clamber back up, but the pain in his knee was too much, and he fell back down again.
So, again. Now, not only was Glen in even more pain, and Vincent was still here, but he also had Glen’s weapon, Glen’s only way of attacking and defending him-
Wait. What the fuck am I thinking? How the fuck did I manage to forget my fucking shotgun? That smack to the head must have done more damage than I thought. Still, better late than fucking never, I guess...
Quickly, hoping Vincent would use this time to taunt him or something, Glen pulled the bag off of his back, searching hurriedly through it for the gun. The light from the flashlight wasn’t enough to properly illuminate the bag, so Glen had to resort to touch to identify the stuff inside. He felt a handle shaped object, and, instantly assuming it to be the handle of the shotgun, pulled it out of the bag, shouting “Too bad, fucker! Shotgun beats shitty little wooden oar!”
Glen pulled the trigger. Except it wasn’t there. He’d pulled the second walkie-talkie from the bag.
... I am SO FUCKING DEAD.
“Too bad, fucker! Shotgun beats shitty little wooden oar!”
Now when Vincent heard these words he would admit that he felt a little fear, who wouldn’t when the person you were just beating around suddenly revealed they had a damn shotgun in reserve, but when Glen pulled out the ‘shotgun’ which was obviously too small Vincent couldn’t hold back the laughter; though admittedly it was as least 30% relief to 70% ridicule.
Tossing aside the tree branch Vincent reached around to his back and pulled out his own secret weapon, levelling the Desert Eagle with Glen’s face with his finger on the trigger. Let him get a good look down the barrel and let him know that, unlike his weapon, this was the real deal.
“If you’re going to make a bluff like that, make sure the thing you pull out actually looks like a shotgun. Or downgrade your bluff to a pistol at least”, Vincent tilted his head to the side to get a better look at the thing in Glen’s hand using the light from the fridge.
“What is that thing anyway, a radio, a walkie-talkie? Better than nothing I guess. I’ll take it, along with your first aid kit. I’ll be gracious and let you keep your food” Actually Vincent just didn’t want to have to carry around another packs worth of supplies, grabbing hold of all the medical gear he could find while depriving the other people on the island of the same was a good idea.
Now when Vincent heard these words he would admit that he felt a little fear, who wouldn’t when the person you were just beating around suddenly revealed they had a damn shotgun in reserve, but when Glen pulled out the ‘shotgun’ which was obviously too small Vincent couldn’t hold back the laughter; though admittedly it was as least 30% relief to 70% ridicule.
Tossing aside the tree branch Vincent reached around to his back and pulled out his own secret weapon, levelling the Desert Eagle with Glen’s face with his finger on the trigger. Let him get a good look down the barrel and let him know that, unlike his weapon, this was the real deal.
“If you’re going to make a bluff like that, make sure the thing you pull out actually looks like a shotgun. Or downgrade your bluff to a pistol at least”, Vincent tilted his head to the side to get a better look at the thing in Glen’s hand using the light from the fridge.
“What is that thing anyway, a radio, a walkie-talkie? Better than nothing I guess. I’ll take it, along with your first aid kit. I’ll be gracious and let you keep your food” Actually Vincent just didn’t want to have to carry around another packs worth of supplies, grabbing hold of all the medical gear he could find while depriving the other people on the island of the same was a good idea.
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As soon as Glen had spoken, Vincent had started laughing at him. To be honest, Glen was pretty sure everyone watching was laughing at him right now. That or they were weeping due to the best person on the island getting injured. Whatever. The pain in his leg was slowly easing away, so Glen managed to lever himself up, this time without crashing back to the ground.
On the subject of crashing back to the ground... Moron must be getting cocky, throwing away a weapon like that. If he comes near me, I’m gonna punch his smug little face so hard, he’ll-FUCKING PISTOL SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT.
Glen could tell the pistol-type-weapon-thing in front of him was the real deal immediately, although even if it hadn’t been, Glen would still have probably done what he did: instinctively raise his hands in surrender. Vincent was talking but Glen really didn’t care. He just hoped the guy didn’t decide to just shoot him. He briefly considered getting the actual shotgun from the bag, but he doubted the other guy would just stand still while he did that.
As it turned out, the guy... just wanted the walkie-talkies and first aid kit? I fucking KNEW I should of taken Suzanne’s kit... apart from that... this is... fine! In fact, this is fucking brilliant! I keep the shotgun, my food, and my life!
Unless he pulls a fast one or some bullshit like that...
Glen knew he had to make sure Vincent didn’t want to dispose of him after taking his stuff, so he made sure he was using his friendliest tone when talking to him. “Y-you want the walkie-talkies? Yeah, sure, okay, no problem! Useless to me anyway, take them, they’re all yours, yeah! I think one of them landed, uh... over by the, uh, fridge. But, uh, as for the first-aid kit...” Glen faltered here. He didn’t really want to give that up. He’d need something to clean the blood of his face and top at least. An idea popped into his head, which would have been less obvious had Glen not faltered in the first place.
“Yeah, uh, I’d love to give it to you, really! But before I came here, I was at that cruise ship place and this dude, called, uh, Kevin Fielding, yeah, he went and took it off of me! So, uh, yeah, if you want it, you’ll have to go and grab it off of him, sorry!”
Perfect! A foolproof lie, and a way of potentially turning two people he currently hated against each other. Maybe this encounter won’t be entirely awful and worthless after all...
On the subject of crashing back to the ground... Moron must be getting cocky, throwing away a weapon like that. If he comes near me, I’m gonna punch his smug little face so hard, he’ll-FUCKING PISTOL SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT.
Glen could tell the pistol-type-weapon-thing in front of him was the real deal immediately, although even if it hadn’t been, Glen would still have probably done what he did: instinctively raise his hands in surrender. Vincent was talking but Glen really didn’t care. He just hoped the guy didn’t decide to just shoot him. He briefly considered getting the actual shotgun from the bag, but he doubted the other guy would just stand still while he did that.
As it turned out, the guy... just wanted the walkie-talkies and first aid kit? I fucking KNEW I should of taken Suzanne’s kit... apart from that... this is... fine! In fact, this is fucking brilliant! I keep the shotgun, my food, and my life!
Unless he pulls a fast one or some bullshit like that...
Glen knew he had to make sure Vincent didn’t want to dispose of him after taking his stuff, so he made sure he was using his friendliest tone when talking to him. “Y-you want the walkie-talkies? Yeah, sure, okay, no problem! Useless to me anyway, take them, they’re all yours, yeah! I think one of them landed, uh... over by the, uh, fridge. But, uh, as for the first-aid kit...” Glen faltered here. He didn’t really want to give that up. He’d need something to clean the blood of his face and top at least. An idea popped into his head, which would have been less obvious had Glen not faltered in the first place.
“Yeah, uh, I’d love to give it to you, really! But before I came here, I was at that cruise ship place and this dude, called, uh, Kevin Fielding, yeah, he went and took it off of me! So, uh, yeah, if you want it, you’ll have to go and grab it off of him, sorry!”
Perfect! A foolproof lie, and a way of potentially turning two people he currently hated against each other. Maybe this encounter won’t be entirely awful and worthless after all...
Pink bandana’s equal incompetence, must remember that. Glen’s lie might have worked better had Vincent not spent the vast majority of his time on the island so far on the cruise ship, he was fairly certain he would have noticed if another two people had been onboard, especially if Glen was making as much noise back then as he was just now.
He supposed that it might have been possible Glen was telling the truth, but the much more likely scenario was that the other boy was just trying to keep himself from being robbed; it was much easier to assume deceit in these cases. That and Vincent didn’t know or particularly give a fuck about Kevin Fielding, much less tracking him down as Glen suggested.
“Don’t bullshit me Glen, I spend all damn day on that fucking cruise ship, you weren’t there. Now I don’t particularly want to waste my bullets on an individual as pathetic and non-threatening as yourself, so how about you just toss over that radio, along with your fucking first aid kit, before I’m forced to do something we’ll both regret? You more than me”
He supposed that it might have been possible Glen was telling the truth, but the much more likely scenario was that the other boy was just trying to keep himself from being robbed; it was much easier to assume deceit in these cases. That and Vincent didn’t know or particularly give a fuck about Kevin Fielding, much less tracking him down as Glen suggested.
“Don’t bullshit me Glen, I spend all damn day on that fucking cruise ship, you weren’t there. Now I don’t particularly want to waste my bullets on an individual as pathetic and non-threatening as yourself, so how about you just toss over that radio, along with your fucking first aid kit, before I’m forced to do something we’ll both regret? You more than me”
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Glen swiftly had the feeling that his flawless plan was slightly less flawless than he’d previously thought. Vincent’s rising voice and his swearing increasing probably tipped him off. He doesn’t want to waste bullets on me? What a fucking moron! If I was him, I’d shoot me as soon as I get his shit!
Despite this cocky little thought, Glen was simultaneously getting angrier and more scared. The stupid fucker had called him, Glen Bole “pathetic and non-threatening”. How fucking dare he? But the fact remained that Vincent had the gun, which meant he had the power, and Glen was sure he was on the verge of firing it.
Glen looked briefly at the walkie-talkie currently in his hand, before throwing it to Vincent, although with a fair bit of power behind it, in the hope that it’d hurt the guy in some way. “There. There’s your fucking walkie-talkie” he said, all traces of friendliness gone. “The other one’s by the fridge, like I said.” As he said this, Glen reopened the bag, searching inside for the first-aid kit. It had an unmistakable feel, unlike the shotgun handle and the walkie-talkie. As he pulled it out of the bag, a brainwave hit him. He opened the kit, his action hidden from view by his bag. Holding it in a way as to make sure it didn’t open prematurely, Glen stood up, and paused for a moment, before throwing the kit over arm, directly at Vincent.
As soon as the released the kit, Glen set off, the pain in his leg impeding him only slightly. Running past Vincent, Glen quickly picked up the discarded branch, before running out the door. Rather than head off elsewhere, however, Glen turned right, and crouched down at the side of the building in the shadows. He hoped Vincent would assume he’d run off, and do the same.
That is, once he picks up any of the shit that fell out of the first-aid kit.
Glen almost burst out laughing, but knew he had to stay quiet. He’d done something with an extremely high risk, but hopefully it would be worth it.
Despite this cocky little thought, Glen was simultaneously getting angrier and more scared. The stupid fucker had called him, Glen Bole “pathetic and non-threatening”. How fucking dare he? But the fact remained that Vincent had the gun, which meant he had the power, and Glen was sure he was on the verge of firing it.
Glen looked briefly at the walkie-talkie currently in his hand, before throwing it to Vincent, although with a fair bit of power behind it, in the hope that it’d hurt the guy in some way. “There. There’s your fucking walkie-talkie” he said, all traces of friendliness gone. “The other one’s by the fridge, like I said.” As he said this, Glen reopened the bag, searching inside for the first-aid kit. It had an unmistakable feel, unlike the shotgun handle and the walkie-talkie. As he pulled it out of the bag, a brainwave hit him. He opened the kit, his action hidden from view by his bag. Holding it in a way as to make sure it didn’t open prematurely, Glen stood up, and paused for a moment, before throwing the kit over arm, directly at Vincent.
As soon as the released the kit, Glen set off, the pain in his leg impeding him only slightly. Running past Vincent, Glen quickly picked up the discarded branch, before running out the door. Rather than head off elsewhere, however, Glen turned right, and crouched down at the side of the building in the shadows. He hoped Vincent would assume he’d run off, and do the same.
That is, once he picks up any of the shit that fell out of the first-aid kit.
Glen almost burst out laughing, but knew he had to stay quiet. He’d done something with an extremely high risk, but hopefully it would be worth it.
[[Tiffany Dexter Continued From: Give a Finger...]]
Dear imaginary diary in my head,
I really need to get some f****** paper.
Love, Tiffany.
*
What a day it had been and she didn't even have a diary to vent with!
She woke up on this completely barbaric show, in the middle of this island somewhere, and immediately had to deal with Odile's crap, that freaky Harold guy, and his whore Marvia.
Sure, Lexi was a decent girl, but completely useless... and Odile, was actually sorta helpful. She gave her that gun, and watched her bag while she dealt with Marvia and Harold. She owed the girl, if you could call it that, her life, in a way. But still: It was Odile Jones.
Then later she was threatened by some dumb girl with a baseball bat. If she wanted to, Tiffany could have taken that girl, easily. Tiffany had a gun, she had a baseball bat, and Tiffany also learned a few things from self defense classes (Necessary, she lived in Detroit after all...) of how to disarm an attacker with a melee object. Like a baseball bat for instance.
But she was tired then, and didn't want to deal with that crap. So she left them all at that area, marked the Hot Spot.
She hated this stupid show. Hated it almost as much as Detroit Central, and felt a tiny bit satisfied, when she told them all to fuck off with her middle finger.
Now she found her place at the resort beach. A bunch of merchandise shops aligning the shores. She heard the announcements on her way there.
The announcements shocked Tiffany a bit. She had never in a million years expected to hear Karen Ruiz kill anybody. Tiffany knew of her. They were from the same school.
People always said: Beware the quiet ones. Well I guess that's true then.
Karen was quiet and non-offensive. She kept to herself, and did her own thing. Which meant Tiffany didn't mind her at all.
Back home that is. In SOTF-TV it was a different story. She was a threat here and Tiffany was sure to watch out for her.
The other thing was, that Tiffany knew her victim, Anthony too. Anthony was a friend of Anna, who in turn was a friend of Tiffany. Fortunately Tiff wasn't particularly close with Anthony, but still, she felt horrible for Anna.
She scoured around the dark merchandise building she was in. Some sort of memorabilia shop perhaps?
"Why hello, my new diary. How are you today?" She said with a smile.
She had a notebook. Filled with several sheets of paper, and luckily for her, there was a pack of pens and pencils nearby as well. She could start writing now, but it was too dark, and besides she was too exhausted to write anyway. So she stuffed them into her pack for later. Like for the morning or something.
Tiffany found a small employee only room, with soft carpeting, and reluctantly rested herself on the floor behind a desk, ignoring the sounds of struggle from a nearby shop. She wasn't leaving her hiding place anyway. Eff that. She was gonna sleep for a bit.
Keeping her Colt Anaconda in hand just to be safe.
Dear imaginary diary in my head,
I really need to get some f****** paper.
Love, Tiffany.
*
What a day it had been and she didn't even have a diary to vent with!
She woke up on this completely barbaric show, in the middle of this island somewhere, and immediately had to deal with Odile's crap, that freaky Harold guy, and his whore Marvia.
Sure, Lexi was a decent girl, but completely useless... and Odile, was actually sorta helpful. She gave her that gun, and watched her bag while she dealt with Marvia and Harold. She owed the girl, if you could call it that, her life, in a way. But still: It was Odile Jones.
Then later she was threatened by some dumb girl with a baseball bat. If she wanted to, Tiffany could have taken that girl, easily. Tiffany had a gun, she had a baseball bat, and Tiffany also learned a few things from self defense classes (Necessary, she lived in Detroit after all...) of how to disarm an attacker with a melee object. Like a baseball bat for instance.
But she was tired then, and didn't want to deal with that crap. So she left them all at that area, marked the Hot Spot.
She hated this stupid show. Hated it almost as much as Detroit Central, and felt a tiny bit satisfied, when she told them all to fuck off with her middle finger.
Now she found her place at the resort beach. A bunch of merchandise shops aligning the shores. She heard the announcements on her way there.
The announcements shocked Tiffany a bit. She had never in a million years expected to hear Karen Ruiz kill anybody. Tiffany knew of her. They were from the same school.
People always said: Beware the quiet ones. Well I guess that's true then.
Karen was quiet and non-offensive. She kept to herself, and did her own thing. Which meant Tiffany didn't mind her at all.
Back home that is. In SOTF-TV it was a different story. She was a threat here and Tiffany was sure to watch out for her.
The other thing was, that Tiffany knew her victim, Anthony too. Anthony was a friend of Anna, who in turn was a friend of Tiffany. Fortunately Tiff wasn't particularly close with Anthony, but still, she felt horrible for Anna.
She scoured around the dark merchandise building she was in. Some sort of memorabilia shop perhaps?
"Why hello, my new diary. How are you today?" She said with a smile.
She had a notebook. Filled with several sheets of paper, and luckily for her, there was a pack of pens and pencils nearby as well. She could start writing now, but it was too dark, and besides she was too exhausted to write anyway. So she stuffed them into her pack for later. Like for the morning or something.
Tiffany found a small employee only room, with soft carpeting, and reluctantly rested herself on the floor behind a desk, ignoring the sounds of struggle from a nearby shop. She wasn't leaving her hiding place anyway. Eff that. She was gonna sleep for a bit.
Keeping her Colt Anaconda in hand just to be safe.
Vincent nearly fumbled the catch for the walkie-talkie but managed to get a hold on the little device without dropping it – though he had to drop the oar in return – only to then be hit by the spilling contents of the first aid kit as it was thrown through the air. Taking a step back Vincent swiped at his face reactively, trying to swat away the bandages and other assorted crap falling through the air. Feeling his annoyance growing Vincent turned towards the door and aiming his pistol at the retreating Glen, just in time to see him disappear through the doorway.
“Piece of shit, what was the point in that”
Glancing down angrily at the medical detritus around his feet, Vincent lifted one booted foot and stomped on the ground, hearing something crack underneath; like hell he was going to pick all that crap up. He pocketed the walkie-talkie in his hand and walked over to the fridge to find the next one, hoping for Glen’s sake that it was there like he said. Luckily for the pink bandana wearing idiot, lying on the floor under the light coming from the appliance was indeed the second walkie-talkie to complete the set, which Vincent promptly picked up.
Pocketing that as well before going and picking up his oar again, Vincent turned and walked out of the shack, remembering that Glen had turned right and so going left as well; last thing he wanted was to run into that asshole again so soon. Walking further down the little ‘street’ on the beach Vincent stopped outside another shack and looked in through the open doorway.
“What the hell, let’s see what’s behind door number two”
Vincent walked into the shop slowly, wooden oar held by the middle in one hand and pistol raised in the other. He was well aware of the loud clomping sound his boots made on the wooden floor but was too tired to try and be quiet. If anybody didn’t like the noise he was making he could come and make a formal complaint to the barrel of his gun.
“Piece of shit, what was the point in that”
Glancing down angrily at the medical detritus around his feet, Vincent lifted one booted foot and stomped on the ground, hearing something crack underneath; like hell he was going to pick all that crap up. He pocketed the walkie-talkie in his hand and walked over to the fridge to find the next one, hoping for Glen’s sake that it was there like he said. Luckily for the pink bandana wearing idiot, lying on the floor under the light coming from the appliance was indeed the second walkie-talkie to complete the set, which Vincent promptly picked up.
Pocketing that as well before going and picking up his oar again, Vincent turned and walked out of the shack, remembering that Glen had turned right and so going left as well; last thing he wanted was to run into that asshole again so soon. Walking further down the little ‘street’ on the beach Vincent stopped outside another shack and looked in through the open doorway.
“What the hell, let’s see what’s behind door number two”
Vincent walked into the shop slowly, wooden oar held by the middle in one hand and pistol raised in the other. He was well aware of the loud clomping sound his boots made on the wooden floor but was too tired to try and be quiet. If anybody didn’t like the noise he was making he could come and make a formal complaint to the barrel of his gun.
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1118
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Waiting. Waiting. Waaaaaiiiitiiiiing. God, this is boring.
...
FOOTSTEPS
DON’T TURN RIGHT, DON’T TURN RIGHT.
Glen realised he’d been holding his breath since he’d ducked round the side of the building, and quickly exhaled. Immediately, he held his breath again, in fear that the sudden noise had alerted Vincent to his presence. After a few seconds, however, no angry pistol wielding boy had turned the corner, so Glen poked his head round it instead, just in time to see Vincent head into another building. Hardly able to believe his luck, Glen used his pace to dash back into the first building before Vincent had a chance to turn around.
Further brightening Glen’s mood, the contents of his first aid kit was strewn all over the floor. Glen had been hoping Vincent had forgotten the walkie-talkies as well, but that was kinda pushing it. Most of what could be broken had been broken as well. True, this meant Glen couldn’t use it, but it was worth it to make Vincent look stupid. And besides, there’s gotta be some shit here I can use...
There were bandages and things that weren’t smashed, but Glen really didn’t want to put things that had been on a dirty floor on open wounds. There was stuff Glen had never heard of, or seen before, which he ignored. In the end, the only thing he could find that could potentially be useful was the small pair of scissors. “Eh, it’ll do.” He mumbled to himself. “Could always jam ‘em in someone’s eye, I guess.”
Now that Vincent was well out of the way, Glen went back to the box he’d been searching before he’d been so rudely interrupted. Of course, after everything that had happened, there was nothing in it. Glen stared at it for a second, before picking it up and walking out of the building, and away from the beach.
((Glen Bole continued in If You Can't Stand The Heat))
...
FOOTSTEPS
DON’T TURN RIGHT, DON’T TURN RIGHT.
Glen realised he’d been holding his breath since he’d ducked round the side of the building, and quickly exhaled. Immediately, he held his breath again, in fear that the sudden noise had alerted Vincent to his presence. After a few seconds, however, no angry pistol wielding boy had turned the corner, so Glen poked his head round it instead, just in time to see Vincent head into another building. Hardly able to believe his luck, Glen used his pace to dash back into the first building before Vincent had a chance to turn around.
Further brightening Glen’s mood, the contents of his first aid kit was strewn all over the floor. Glen had been hoping Vincent had forgotten the walkie-talkies as well, but that was kinda pushing it. Most of what could be broken had been broken as well. True, this meant Glen couldn’t use it, but it was worth it to make Vincent look stupid. And besides, there’s gotta be some shit here I can use...
There were bandages and things that weren’t smashed, but Glen really didn’t want to put things that had been on a dirty floor on open wounds. There was stuff Glen had never heard of, or seen before, which he ignored. In the end, the only thing he could find that could potentially be useful was the small pair of scissors. “Eh, it’ll do.” He mumbled to himself. “Could always jam ‘em in someone’s eye, I guess.”
Now that Vincent was well out of the way, Glen went back to the box he’d been searching before he’d been so rudely interrupted. Of course, after everything that had happened, there was nothing in it. Glen stared at it for a second, before picking it up and walking out of the building, and away from the beach.
((Glen Bole continued in If You Can't Stand The Heat))
"What was that?!" Tiffany whispered quietly to herself.
She had waken up startled, by the sound of loud footsteps, right inside the same building she was in, which was most assuredly not a good thing, especially after hearing what sounded like fighting from another nearby shack, which had now quieted down severely. Quiet after a struggle was typically not a good sign you see. Fortunately for Tiffany, she had also awoken fully alert, with blood pumping through out her veins. She stayed still, on the floor in back of the desk she had just been sleeping next to, in the employee's only room.
Oh gosh, did I lock the door? I don't remember if I locked the door. I don't think I locked the door!
Tiffany Dexter quickly crawled to the space beneath the managers desk, pulling her bag with her, and sat quietly, despite her heaving chest underneath, just hiding. Waiting for whoever this intruder was, to leave. She controlled her breathing, as to not give herself away, and gripped her Colt Anaconda handgun tightly within her hands. Her heart pounded with every second passing.
The plan was to stay hidden and wait, as to not get into a gun fight, but the footsteps didn't stop. Just when it seemed like whoever was in the customers area of the memorabilia shop had left - the footsteps started up again. Whoever it was, was in there for a while, it felt, looking around, and by the sound of it, didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon... maybe having the same idea that Tiffany had, and resting in here as well.
Bastard! Why couldn't you find your own building? This is my building!
Tiffany felt like going out there and telling this person, whoever it was, to beat it and find someplace else to crash... but Tiffany was no fool. She was smarter than that. This wasn't any other time back in Detroit; this was that SOTF show, and doing that might have ended with her looking like a her cardigan. You know; the one with the hole in it?
It was only a matter of time, before her visitor, would be checking in the room as well, and not that the desk wasn't a good hiding spot, but... ok yeah it was. She needed to get out of here!
Tiffany looked over the desk and saw the door she had entered from. Not only was it not locked, Tiffany realized she had been stupid and left it open! At least, that meant she didn't need to be quiet in opening the door. She could just go through it and sneak out of the building, without the person noticing she was even there!
She quietly crept on her skimmers, on the carpeted floor of the employee room and settled sideways against the wall, of the exit, looking out into the main room. There didn't seem to be anybody there. She spotted the building's exit - her destination, and prepared herself, to sneak out of there quickly. She crouched down, within the darkness, with the gun ready and stepped out of the employee only room, and onto the wooden floor. Her skimmers making her footsteps, practically unnoticeable to the ears.
Almost... Almost there. Almost out of here, and then Tiffany could make a run for it. Then she heard the footsteps again, not sure which direction it was coming from, but it was near. Oh gosh, it was near. So, so near!
Tiffany backpedaled.
Her back bumping into someone elses' back. A high pitched female style shriek escaped her.
Tiffany's gun went up, but she didn't fire. Aside from the barrel of the other person's gun (yes, the other person had a gun too, great.) she saw it...
Like she learned on Halloween as a small child; you were supposed to wear bright colors, so people can see you in the dark. Well the person had on him, one of those bright colors you could see better in the dark, and from the moon lighting from the open door outside, it nearly glowed. A sigh of relief.
Orange.
"Wait don't shoot! We're on the same team. See?"
In one swift motion, Tiffany pulled the orange flag that had been sticking half way out of her pocket and waved it in front of her fellow team mate.
She had waken up startled, by the sound of loud footsteps, right inside the same building she was in, which was most assuredly not a good thing, especially after hearing what sounded like fighting from another nearby shack, which had now quieted down severely. Quiet after a struggle was typically not a good sign you see. Fortunately for Tiffany, she had also awoken fully alert, with blood pumping through out her veins. She stayed still, on the floor in back of the desk she had just been sleeping next to, in the employee's only room.
Oh gosh, did I lock the door? I don't remember if I locked the door. I don't think I locked the door!
Tiffany Dexter quickly crawled to the space beneath the managers desk, pulling her bag with her, and sat quietly, despite her heaving chest underneath, just hiding. Waiting for whoever this intruder was, to leave. She controlled her breathing, as to not give herself away, and gripped her Colt Anaconda handgun tightly within her hands. Her heart pounded with every second passing.
The plan was to stay hidden and wait, as to not get into a gun fight, but the footsteps didn't stop. Just when it seemed like whoever was in the customers area of the memorabilia shop had left - the footsteps started up again. Whoever it was, was in there for a while, it felt, looking around, and by the sound of it, didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon... maybe having the same idea that Tiffany had, and resting in here as well.
Bastard! Why couldn't you find your own building? This is my building!
Tiffany felt like going out there and telling this person, whoever it was, to beat it and find someplace else to crash... but Tiffany was no fool. She was smarter than that. This wasn't any other time back in Detroit; this was that SOTF show, and doing that might have ended with her looking like a her cardigan. You know; the one with the hole in it?
It was only a matter of time, before her visitor, would be checking in the room as well, and not that the desk wasn't a good hiding spot, but... ok yeah it was. She needed to get out of here!
Tiffany looked over the desk and saw the door she had entered from. Not only was it not locked, Tiffany realized she had been stupid and left it open! At least, that meant she didn't need to be quiet in opening the door. She could just go through it and sneak out of the building, without the person noticing she was even there!
She quietly crept on her skimmers, on the carpeted floor of the employee room and settled sideways against the wall, of the exit, looking out into the main room. There didn't seem to be anybody there. She spotted the building's exit - her destination, and prepared herself, to sneak out of there quickly. She crouched down, within the darkness, with the gun ready and stepped out of the employee only room, and onto the wooden floor. Her skimmers making her footsteps, practically unnoticeable to the ears.
Almost... Almost there. Almost out of here, and then Tiffany could make a run for it. Then she heard the footsteps again, not sure which direction it was coming from, but it was near. Oh gosh, it was near. So, so near!
Tiffany backpedaled.
Her back bumping into someone elses' back. A high pitched female style shriek escaped her.
Tiffany's gun went up, but she didn't fire. Aside from the barrel of the other person's gun (yes, the other person had a gun too, great.) she saw it...
Like she learned on Halloween as a small child; you were supposed to wear bright colors, so people can see you in the dark. Well the person had on him, one of those bright colors you could see better in the dark, and from the moon lighting from the open door outside, it nearly glowed. A sigh of relief.
Orange.
"Wait don't shoot! We're on the same team. See?"
In one swift motion, Tiffany pulled the orange flag that had been sticking half way out of her pocket and waved it in front of her fellow team mate.
Vincent had underestimated just how dark it really would be inside. First there was the moon outside, then the light from the fridge in the last building, he had just assumed he would be able to see as well in here as well; instead, he was practically blind.
This wasn’t a problem, he could feel his way around well enough and even though he wouldn’t be able to search this place properly until the morning he could still find a back room somewhere and crash for the night, he kind of needed some rest at this point. Then the noises started.
They were subtle, very quiet, quiet enough that he wasn’t sure he even heard them but he could just tell that something was moving; kind of like when you just knew someone was looking at you he guessed. Vincent wasn’t the kind of person to worry easily, at least not about his safety, but he had to admit this spooked him a little.
He thought about raising his gun but he didn’t want to risk wasting bullets or shooting someone he didn’t want to shoot. He was about to draw the oar from his back when someone bumped into him in the dark – he guesses that whole blindness thing went both ways.
Without time to think he just reacted on old instincts; no guns, no oars, just ball up a fist and use it. He raised his left hand and turned to face whoever it was behind him, seeing a figure framed in the light from the doorway that was a few inches shorter than him and kind of slim, probably a girl. Maybe it was the girl from the field, come to get her oar back? Whoever it was he wasn’t going to be kicked in the balls again, that’s for sure.
"Wait don't shoot! We're on the same team. See?"
The girl waved a piece of clothe in his face and it took his brain a second to process the colour; orange. He relaxed his stance and uncurled his hand; time to finally start meeting his teammates.
“About time I found one of you. I thought I was going to have to win this game myself”
This wasn’t a problem, he could feel his way around well enough and even though he wouldn’t be able to search this place properly until the morning he could still find a back room somewhere and crash for the night, he kind of needed some rest at this point. Then the noises started.
They were subtle, very quiet, quiet enough that he wasn’t sure he even heard them but he could just tell that something was moving; kind of like when you just knew someone was looking at you he guessed. Vincent wasn’t the kind of person to worry easily, at least not about his safety, but he had to admit this spooked him a little.
He thought about raising his gun but he didn’t want to risk wasting bullets or shooting someone he didn’t want to shoot. He was about to draw the oar from his back when someone bumped into him in the dark – he guesses that whole blindness thing went both ways.
Without time to think he just reacted on old instincts; no guns, no oars, just ball up a fist and use it. He raised his left hand and turned to face whoever it was behind him, seeing a figure framed in the light from the doorway that was a few inches shorter than him and kind of slim, probably a girl. Maybe it was the girl from the field, come to get her oar back? Whoever it was he wasn’t going to be kicked in the balls again, that’s for sure.
"Wait don't shoot! We're on the same team. See?"
The girl waved a piece of clothe in his face and it took his brain a second to process the colour; orange. He relaxed his stance and uncurled his hand; time to finally start meeting his teammates.
“About time I found one of you. I thought I was going to have to win this game myself”
Win this game, himself?
The boy relaxed his stance after seeing Tiffany's orange cloth, which was a good thing considering what he had just said to her. It was a very simple equation actually. Much easier than those bothersome chemistry equations back at home: SOTF-TV was a reality game show type deal, where a bunch of people were sent to some remote location to kill each other off. To win, you had to outlast everyone else on the show, or eliminating them yourself. Now, here was this boy, in front of her, one of Tiffany's own team mates, and he was playing
To win.
She exhaled, and then took another breath of relief. At least, he wasn't planning on killing any of his team mates. In fact Tiffany was rather happy now, that the producers of this show added this little team twist. She just needed to see who this boy was, and doing so, would require some light, so she dug quickly into her bag for the flashlight she'd seen earlier.
"Yeah, good to meet you too." She said in response to his rather blunt and almost annoyed introduction, while trying to keep her sarcasm in check. "I'm Tiffany."
She put the flashlight under her head and turned, pushing the button, and letting the small light shine over her face.
"And you are?" She trailed off, before turning the flashlight on him. "Don't worry, I'll make sure not to point it directly in your eyes."
It turned out, that she saw him before, that face, which could only mean he went to the same school with her. He too must've came from Detroit, but Tiffany still didn't know his name. The only thing she knew about him, was that he was quite large, appeared very intimidating and he looked like he had already been in a fight or two, maybe more. He looked tired, and agitated as well. Again, Tiffany was thankful for the teams, putting the boy on her side, rather than having him against her. If he was playing to win, then she was safe from his wrath. She had a pass.
What better way to survive, then having your own personal attack dog, as added protection, after all?
Tiffany told herself to behave, making sure to tone down her aggressive personality, for her new partner. She needed to 'tame' him, this lumbering cave man, boy. Get his trust, treat him nice. Then they could work together more efficiently, along with the rest of Orange Team, when she found them.
"Need a rest?" She said motioning toward the employee only room, she had hidden in earlier.
The boy relaxed his stance after seeing Tiffany's orange cloth, which was a good thing considering what he had just said to her. It was a very simple equation actually. Much easier than those bothersome chemistry equations back at home: SOTF-TV was a reality game show type deal, where a bunch of people were sent to some remote location to kill each other off. To win, you had to outlast everyone else on the show, or eliminating them yourself. Now, here was this boy, in front of her, one of Tiffany's own team mates, and he was playing
To win.
She exhaled, and then took another breath of relief. At least, he wasn't planning on killing any of his team mates. In fact Tiffany was rather happy now, that the producers of this show added this little team twist. She just needed to see who this boy was, and doing so, would require some light, so she dug quickly into her bag for the flashlight she'd seen earlier.
"Yeah, good to meet you too." She said in response to his rather blunt and almost annoyed introduction, while trying to keep her sarcasm in check. "I'm Tiffany."
She put the flashlight under her head and turned, pushing the button, and letting the small light shine over her face.
"And you are?" She trailed off, before turning the flashlight on him. "Don't worry, I'll make sure not to point it directly in your eyes."
It turned out, that she saw him before, that face, which could only mean he went to the same school with her. He too must've came from Detroit, but Tiffany still didn't know his name. The only thing she knew about him, was that he was quite large, appeared very intimidating and he looked like he had already been in a fight or two, maybe more. He looked tired, and agitated as well. Again, Tiffany was thankful for the teams, putting the boy on her side, rather than having him against her. If he was playing to win, then she was safe from his wrath. She had a pass.
What better way to survive, then having your own personal attack dog, as added protection, after all?
Tiffany told herself to behave, making sure to tone down her aggressive personality, for her new partner. She needed to 'tame' him, this lumbering cave man, boy. Get his trust, treat him nice. Then they could work together more efficiently, along with the rest of Orange Team, when she found them.
"Need a rest?" She said motioning toward the employee only room, she had hidden in earlier.