[[Leopold Sutherland continued from nowhere in particular...]]
He glared at the water for quite a while. It seemed like the thing to do.
He'd already disposed of his...weapon, if one could really call it that with a straight face. Honestly. He'd dug into his backpack first thing when he'd woken up, looking for his weapon, because he needed a weapon. This was SOTF-TV and he needed a weapon because hey, he had people to kill. Because he was going to play, of course he was going to play. He was Leopold Sutherland, hadn't he said that when the recruiter started spouting names in homeroom that day- hadn't he said, don't you know who I am? I'm Leopold Sutherland! So cliche, but it'd gotten him out of worse trouble than this. Okay, maybe not literally worse trouble, a possession charge probably wouldn't have killed him-
Digression, Leo.
Anyway.
So he was going to play, because he needed to live, because he was who he was. He was Leopold Sutherland, last of the Sutherlands, practically the heir to a throne- not to mention Ryan fucking Blaire's grandson, anyone who knew anything about the world knew that name, and it was his jeans that he was presently getting filled with sand. Of course, the recruiters didn't listen, apparently status meant shit when it came to SOTF-TV, and apparently they were competing against a school of poor, underprivileged kids- pathetic brutes, one and all, he was sure. But then he found out they were on teams now, and he might actually have to work with those wretches...that was a laugh, like that would ever happen, even if the alternative was-
He took a deep breath. Honestly, the whole situation made him so angry he could spit. Leopold spent his whole life buying himself out of trouble, and suddenly his money was worthless.
Kind of a culture shock, really.
So he'd dug through his bag, expecting to find something good. Hoping his father or his grandfather had pulled some strings, gotten him the biggest, baddest gun in the game. He found...food (a decent amount, he figured), a compass, a map that told him shit given that the entire island was lined with beaches and he could be on any of them...a flashlight, a condom (really, is anyone gonna bother with condoms, here? I fuck some girl, she'll be dead in a week anyway...), a first aid kit, his bandanna. He remembered what he'd heard back at the briefing and tied the bandanna around his elbow in a crisscross pattern that satisfied his need for fashionable asymmetry. It was white. He'd remember that.
And hopefully my team isn't completely useless.
What else? Clothes. Mostly things he'd never be caught dead in- Leopold Sutherland in a t-shirt? No. There was one outfit that struck him as a bit better, not at all regulation-looking- a tweed jacket, a bowtie...some funny red hat with a tassel. He kept that in mind for later; whoever chose it had done a rather good job of approximating his style.
Then, his weapon. Which wasn't a weapon at all and went straight into the water, accompanied by an expression of utter disgust on Leopold's face.
Excellent. Now he was unarmed, alone on the beach, lacking in teammates and in anything to do and, possibly most importantly, in weed. Leopold Sutherland had no weed. None. This was unprecedented. Leopold ALWAYS had weed, usually in impressive quantities, and he was always ready with a light and a free room for whoever needed it but now- no. Shit, this was practically an identity crisis he was having- what was he without weed, really? Dealer, that was practically his name. The dealer. That's how everyone knew him, really...
No, okay, not really an identity crisis. He knew who he was.
He was Leopold fucking Sutherland.
And he glared at the water, cause it seemed like the thing to do.
Smoke on the Water
The beginning of the end of Leopold Sutherland. [Open]
-
Hollyquin*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:41 am
Smoke on the Water
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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.
"The Ever-Loved Sixty-Fourth Season of SOTF-TV has come to DVD! Watch in High-Definition Blu-Ray as this season's contestants slash, slice, and dice their way through each other in order to become the last person standing!"[ul]
[li]Special Features
- Behind the scenes interviews with the producers and eventual winner [NAME EXPUNGED]
- A 3D construction of the island for you to explore on your own!
- Sound clips from the "Best of" scenes.
- And more![/li][/ul]"Give me a fucking break."
Anna Hitchins had rocketed through the five stages of grief ages ago, slowly like molasses. She woke up at some volcano, the dickweeds who put her there didn't even have the common decency to put her on level ground, she was sprawled across a fence of some kind. Course, she woke up, screamed, screamed some more. Her claim to fame at this point? She was that screaming girl. You know, the one who screamed at the start from Detroit? Yeah, that was her alright. Anna Hitchins, webstar and now nationally famous screaming damsel in distress. She screamed, she collapsed, and when she saw someone coming, she ran. She wrapped that ugly bandana around her ankle, she clutched the bag to her chest, and she ran, ran, ran her ass out until she was sure there was no way he could catch up to her.
But she had all this time alone now. She spent it rocketing.
First, denial. She wasn't here. Hahanope.
Next: anger? Oh boy, wasn't she angry! She took out her frustration on the sand, she dug her fists into it like nobodies business, probably giving a heap of pre-teen boys material for their little hands. Look at how dirty she was getting, they looooved dirty girls, didn't they? Fuck. No way.
Bargaining. How did she do this? Well, she didn't. Stupid. Prayers were out of the question, like hell she was converting just because she was this close to dying. Pointless, stupid stuff.
Depression. Oh boy, after the fist came flying the tears came streaming down. Fuck life, fuck everything, fuck SOTF, etc, etc. Read a romance novel if you want the rest, it was all just the same.
And finally, Acceptance.
...
No. She wasn't accepting what happened. Not at all. There was no possible way, that any reasonable person would just sit down and accept the fact that their lives were going to end up ten times shorter. No sane, reasonable person.
Because Anna Hitchins, Blue 2, or whatever she was going to be known as now, was a sane reasonable person. Just ask her audience.
So after her Kübler-Ross staged grief shot through, she calmed down a bit. Think, Anna, think. You need to pay attention, follow instructions, etc etc etc etc BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.
So she stuck to conventions, is what Anna did. She unzipped her bag, examined it, went through it, found everything she expected, found a gorilla suit for some god-knows-what reason (oh man, that wasn't her weapon was it?), and a DVD.
Twas last season's SOTF-TV, the one she watched with her eyes glued to the screen. Anna didn't need this, she'd watched the last season on her own. Sure, her memory wasn't perfect, but if she ever really did need this, she could just use her thing-a-ma-jig, her brain, and besides, how was she gonna watch this? Through her amazing powers of laservision? She could...nope, it couldn't even be used as a weapon. CD's happened to suck giant balls at that.
Oh god, why was she thinking like that? Killing?
...was Anthony on her team? Was Amber? Skye? Anyone she knew?
She threw the DVD back into the bag, and noticed someone else doing the same by the shoreline. Wonderful. Someone she didn't know was pissed.
Anna crept backwards, out of sight behind a bush, as she watched what he did next.
[li]Special Features
- Behind the scenes interviews with the producers and eventual winner [NAME EXPUNGED]
- A 3D construction of the island for you to explore on your own!
- Sound clips from the "Best of" scenes.
- And more![/li][/ul]"Give me a fucking break."
Anna Hitchins had rocketed through the five stages of grief ages ago, slowly like molasses. She woke up at some volcano, the dickweeds who put her there didn't even have the common decency to put her on level ground, she was sprawled across a fence of some kind. Course, she woke up, screamed, screamed some more. Her claim to fame at this point? She was that screaming girl. You know, the one who screamed at the start from Detroit? Yeah, that was her alright. Anna Hitchins, webstar and now nationally famous screaming damsel in distress. She screamed, she collapsed, and when she saw someone coming, she ran. She wrapped that ugly bandana around her ankle, she clutched the bag to her chest, and she ran, ran, ran her ass out until she was sure there was no way he could catch up to her.
But she had all this time alone now. She spent it rocketing.
First, denial. She wasn't here. Hahanope.
Next: anger? Oh boy, wasn't she angry! She took out her frustration on the sand, she dug her fists into it like nobodies business, probably giving a heap of pre-teen boys material for their little hands. Look at how dirty she was getting, they looooved dirty girls, didn't they? Fuck. No way.
Bargaining. How did she do this? Well, she didn't. Stupid. Prayers were out of the question, like hell she was converting just because she was this close to dying. Pointless, stupid stuff.
Depression. Oh boy, after the fist came flying the tears came streaming down. Fuck life, fuck everything, fuck SOTF, etc, etc. Read a romance novel if you want the rest, it was all just the same.
And finally, Acceptance.
...
No. She wasn't accepting what happened. Not at all. There was no possible way, that any reasonable person would just sit down and accept the fact that their lives were going to end up ten times shorter. No sane, reasonable person.
Because Anna Hitchins, Blue 2, or whatever she was going to be known as now, was a sane reasonable person. Just ask her audience.
So after her Kübler-Ross staged grief shot through, she calmed down a bit. Think, Anna, think. You need to pay attention, follow instructions, etc etc etc etc BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.
So she stuck to conventions, is what Anna did. She unzipped her bag, examined it, went through it, found everything she expected, found a gorilla suit for some god-knows-what reason (oh man, that wasn't her weapon was it?), and a DVD.
Twas last season's SOTF-TV, the one she watched with her eyes glued to the screen. Anna didn't need this, she'd watched the last season on her own. Sure, her memory wasn't perfect, but if she ever really did need this, she could just use her thing-a-ma-jig, her brain, and besides, how was she gonna watch this? Through her amazing powers of laservision? She could...nope, it couldn't even be used as a weapon. CD's happened to suck giant balls at that.
Oh god, why was she thinking like that? Killing?
...was Anthony on her team? Was Amber? Skye? Anyone she knew?
She threw the DVD back into the bag, and noticed someone else doing the same by the shoreline. Wonderful. Someone she didn't know was pissed.
Anna crept backwards, out of sight behind a bush, as she watched what he did next.
(( BLK5, Panya Bishara: DEBUT ))
“Annnd we’re back!” A flamboyantly dressed man with a sleek golden pompadour announced to shifting audience of black silhouettes, excitedly clapping his hands together and situating his feet atop the polished desk in front of him before returning his gaze to the single camera placed squarely in the middle of the audience.
“I trust you’ve all been watching the 65th season of the wildly popular ‘Survival of the Fittest?”
A toothy grin spread across his face as the audience roared, seemingly making up for the lack of emotion or passion in their delivery with a deafening volume.
“Thaaat’s what I liked to hear,” The host waned, his face still boasting a pleased smile, “In any case, I’m sure you’ll recognize our next guest, a contestant on, dare I say, one of the most popular seasons to date, who is most recognizable as being just a little two-faced and a lot fiery as she blazed her way across an island filled with sixty-five of her closest friends, worst enemies, and even a few… surprise guests,” He winked, almost as if the taunt the home viewers with a secret that only he knew, “Now, please give a warm welcome to Miss PANYA BISHAAARRAA!”
Panya Bishara, known to the world as BLACK 5, strutted on from stage left accompanied by the uniform clapping of the ghostly audience, dressed to the ‘T’ and, as far as her profile exposed, was as pretty as she was the day she was cast, her heels clacked against the hard wood of the small stage before she situated herself the plush red armchair located directly next to the hosts’ desks.
“Panya, It’s pleaaaaaasure!” The host gushed, excitedly clasping Panya’s hand between his two and shaking it wildly, “Ahh, you’re looking better than ever, my dear, have you had any work done since the show?” He questioned, settling deeper into his own armchair with a look that could only be described as ‘cheeky’ settled on his face.
Panya smiled nervously, seemingly in somewhat of a daze as she locked eyes with her interviewer, “Oh gosh, thank you, but I’m all natural! How about yourself, handsome, have you gotten any?” She said coyly, watching delightedly as the man’s ever-present smirk grew wider, “But wow, really, is it hot in here? I feel like I’m melting, jeez,” She said, her voice barely above a whisper as she caught a glimpse of the harsh lighting beating down on them from above the stage.
“Just you, darling, just you,” Her correspondent replied, his smile still brimming with excitement.
–—–
Panya wiped the beads of sweat percolating from her brow as she marched through the sands of the Northern Beach, the high-noon sun ravaging her without any protection from it. She could already tell it was going to be a miserable experience, as if their little… shall we say ‘introduction’ wasn’t enough of a warning. Her emotions were on a roller coaster tearing through her at top speed, part of her wholly delighted that she was given a chance to be on TV, even going so far as to mug for the few cameras she’d already passed on her way down the beach.
There was a big ‘however’, unfortunately. There were the teams, first off. She’d never been much of a team player, she wasn’t a ‘duet’ nor was she a ‘group’. Panya Bishara was a solo artist, she was the ‘Beyonce’ and everyone else were just backup dancers. Well, except Jonas, he could be like… her manager or something—something behind the scenes, as he wasn’t exactly ‘eye candy’. Second off, there was the whole ‘I could die at any moment’ thing that was tugging at her subconscious. Dying wasn’t something that placed high on her list of wants, she was destined for great things.
And that’s not egotistical, that’s just a fact.
And finally, to make matters so much worse, the Big Shots behind the whole she-bang decided to strap her with an extra-outfit, and that’s using ‘outfit’ very sparingly, that, har-de-har, was a full-body recreation of Smokey-the-Bear, complete with a hollow head that had been sitting atop her designated bag staring at her when she’d woken and a voice-patch located above her heart that emitted a somewhat mechanical sounding version of Smokey’s catch-phrase: “Only you can prevent forest fires.”
Fortunately for the big-wigs, Panya knew what they wanted and was more than happy to slip into the furry costume, sans the head which found a grave at sea.
It was all about the ratings and she knew it. Why they decided to give her a freaky bear costume as opposed to a cat-suit or something was beyond her, maybe it was a theme with her designated weapon, a ‘Firestar M43’(which she held limply in her right-hand, as there was no other place to put it), but it didn’t matter.
She’d do anything for camera-time. Who knew, maybe she’d get off and get signed for a record deal or a movie or something. BLACK 5 would be a spectacular name for an album, if you asked her. She’d buy it in an instant.
Ten people wasn’t that many to make due of, it’d be like selling a car. Just do it quick and fast and with as little tears as possible and it’d be over. Done just like that. It wouldn’t even have to be people she knew, either. Those other kids where there with her—kids she’d never met before. It was a little daunting, honestly, just thinking about… offing someone.
But more than anything, it reminded her of a movie. They’d just be background characters, people who don’t contribute anything and don’t even have histories or anything, right?
Cleopatra, Queen of de Nile, had nothing on her.
Panya angrily pushed a few strands of saturated hair that had broken free of hair-band and bandana-ribbon behind her ears as she continued her treck, though it didn’t last long as she caught sight of a boy in the distance.
Her absolute favorite brand of people; boys. They were easy, almost mind-numbingly so. Normally, Panya liked a challenge, she liked doing the hard sell and succeeding in the end, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Almost like clockwork, Panya unzipped the back of her Smokey costume and rolled it down to her hips, as well as rolling up her issued black t-shirt to expose her midrift before proceeding toward him, each step the chime of Smokey’s catchphrase erupted as her knee tapped against the ‘flap’.
If that wasn’t sexy, she didn’t know what was.
Gritting through her inner sarcasm, Panya strutted toward the boy. Maybe it’d be a hard-sell afterall.
A girl can only hope!
{{BLU4 Axel Stadler on arrival}}
"Shit," Axel whispered as he stood up and looked around him. "Shit, shit, shit..." He wasn't saying it in outrage or despair though, like he knew so many others did on arrival. Funny thing that was, to watch what everyone on the program said when they woke up. Lots and lots of overdramatic "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Axel's state of mind was more one of disbelief and...wonder. He'd watched this damned show so many times, analayzed it over and over in his head, imagined himself in the place of the contestants on the TV screen. Fantasy had become reality. What were the odds?
But Survival of the Fittest was no place for standing around daydreaming. That was what got you a bullet in the back. Or the front. Axel placed himself, he was on a beach. No one else in sight. He opened the backpack, tossing everything out quickly. Weapon, weapon, weapon. Gunorabladegunorabladegunorablade, he chanted in his head as he emptied out the bag. Damn it. Pile of food, first aid kit, etc, etc, etc.
Is the flashlight the weapon? He dug through all the stuff again. There wasn't anything else. Apparently either the flashlight was the weapon or they'd just plain forgotten to give him one. Which would be extraordinarily careless of them. I'm sure someone would be reprimanded very harshly, he thought bitterly. He weighed the flashlight in his hand. Not good, not very heavy. He clicked it on and off. Batteries included. How generous. This wasn't going to fly. He rolled up the blue bandana and tied it around his forehead Rambo-style as he sat down and started to think.
He went back through his stuff, opened up the first aid kit, set the can of Coke to that side as well, went through the clothes they gave him. A skirt? Oh. A kilt. That was there along with a matching dress shirt and a pair of knee socks. He put the kilt back into the bag. That might actually be pretty cool. The socks though, no way he would wear those. But he had an idea fo them.
He stood up again, looking all around. Listening hard. Nobody. "There's somebody somewhere," he told himself. "Never forget that." He took a walk away from his bag, away from the waterfront. He was carrying the long socks and his eyes scanned the ground for rocks. That one. He picked up a dirty gray stone, felt it in his hand, and slipped it into the sock. He went around and loaded the sock with a half dozen more.
Axel took a swing with the improvised flail. The weighted sock arced out of control and smacked into his shin. FUCK. "AH!" he gasped. That hurt. That hurt. Just absorb it. Enjoy it. He relaxed his jaw, relaxed the rest of his body. His fingers wanted to drop the sock, his shin wanted him to sit down. He allowed neither to happen. He took slow steps back over to his backpack, trying to show no sign of the ongoing pain. He'd put too many rocks in and made it too heavy to control. He reached down the sock and pulled a few out. This is good though. Shows the principle behind this thing is solid - it hurts like fuck. He was glad he hadn't tried too hard on that first swing. After a few more tests, more careful than the first, he determined four rocks was the optimum number.
Armed and dangerous. To a limited extent. Axel hung on to the loaded one but put the empty sock back into the bag. He turned back to sort out what else could be weaponized. Looking through the first aid kit, he took out the little pair of sicssors, the tape, and the lighter for a start. Axel focused on the blades of the scissors, thinking of how best to use them. Their current configuration was not an effective weapon. He took one of the finger loops in each hand and pulled them up and down, aiming to break the joint holding the scissors together. After a couple of tries, he held up the two separate halves. Idea.
He took the epipen canister out of the kit and held up one of the scissor blades against the plastic casing. That'll work. It was amazing to Axel how something as simple and stupid is taping the blade to the epipen could be such a complex, easily fucked-up task when you actually tried it. It took a few minutes of clumsy attempts and a ton of tape, but he finally had an improvised knife secure enough to survive his attempts to shake the blade off.
Then he heard voices from somewhere else on the beach. He was up on his feet in an instant with his freshly fashioned shiv in hand, his heartbeat spiking with an adrenaline surge. Gotta save the rest for later. He was thinking about flammables as he packed everything back into the bag. He hoped the SOTF people had been kind enough to leave some Vaseline and cotton balls in the first aid kit. Finally, he shouldered his backpack, took up the sockful of rocks in his right hand and the MacGyver knife in his left. He started walking up the beach toward the voices, letting the sock swing gently with his footsteps.
"Shit," Axel whispered as he stood up and looked around him. "Shit, shit, shit..." He wasn't saying it in outrage or despair though, like he knew so many others did on arrival. Funny thing that was, to watch what everyone on the program said when they woke up. Lots and lots of overdramatic "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Axel's state of mind was more one of disbelief and...wonder. He'd watched this damned show so many times, analayzed it over and over in his head, imagined himself in the place of the contestants on the TV screen. Fantasy had become reality. What were the odds?
But Survival of the Fittest was no place for standing around daydreaming. That was what got you a bullet in the back. Or the front. Axel placed himself, he was on a beach. No one else in sight. He opened the backpack, tossing everything out quickly. Weapon, weapon, weapon. Gunorabladegunorabladegunorablade, he chanted in his head as he emptied out the bag. Damn it. Pile of food, first aid kit, etc, etc, etc.
Is the flashlight the weapon? He dug through all the stuff again. There wasn't anything else. Apparently either the flashlight was the weapon or they'd just plain forgotten to give him one. Which would be extraordinarily careless of them. I'm sure someone would be reprimanded very harshly, he thought bitterly. He weighed the flashlight in his hand. Not good, not very heavy. He clicked it on and off. Batteries included. How generous. This wasn't going to fly. He rolled up the blue bandana and tied it around his forehead Rambo-style as he sat down and started to think.
He went back through his stuff, opened up the first aid kit, set the can of Coke to that side as well, went through the clothes they gave him. A skirt? Oh. A kilt. That was there along with a matching dress shirt and a pair of knee socks. He put the kilt back into the bag. That might actually be pretty cool. The socks though, no way he would wear those. But he had an idea fo them.
He stood up again, looking all around. Listening hard. Nobody. "There's somebody somewhere," he told himself. "Never forget that." He took a walk away from his bag, away from the waterfront. He was carrying the long socks and his eyes scanned the ground for rocks. That one. He picked up a dirty gray stone, felt it in his hand, and slipped it into the sock. He went around and loaded the sock with a half dozen more.
Axel took a swing with the improvised flail. The weighted sock arced out of control and smacked into his shin. FUCK. "AH!" he gasped. That hurt. That hurt. Just absorb it. Enjoy it. He relaxed his jaw, relaxed the rest of his body. His fingers wanted to drop the sock, his shin wanted him to sit down. He allowed neither to happen. He took slow steps back over to his backpack, trying to show no sign of the ongoing pain. He'd put too many rocks in and made it too heavy to control. He reached down the sock and pulled a few out. This is good though. Shows the principle behind this thing is solid - it hurts like fuck. He was glad he hadn't tried too hard on that first swing. After a few more tests, more careful than the first, he determined four rocks was the optimum number.
Armed and dangerous. To a limited extent. Axel hung on to the loaded one but put the empty sock back into the bag. He turned back to sort out what else could be weaponized. Looking through the first aid kit, he took out the little pair of sicssors, the tape, and the lighter for a start. Axel focused on the blades of the scissors, thinking of how best to use them. Their current configuration was not an effective weapon. He took one of the finger loops in each hand and pulled them up and down, aiming to break the joint holding the scissors together. After a couple of tries, he held up the two separate halves. Idea.
He took the epipen canister out of the kit and held up one of the scissor blades against the plastic casing. That'll work. It was amazing to Axel how something as simple and stupid is taping the blade to the epipen could be such a complex, easily fucked-up task when you actually tried it. It took a few minutes of clumsy attempts and a ton of tape, but he finally had an improvised knife secure enough to survive his attempts to shake the blade off.
Then he heard voices from somewhere else on the beach. He was up on his feet in an instant with his freshly fashioned shiv in hand, his heartbeat spiking with an adrenaline surge. Gotta save the rest for later. He was thinking about flammables as he packed everything back into the bag. He hoped the SOTF people had been kind enough to leave some Vaseline and cotton balls in the first aid kit. Finally, he shouldered his backpack, took up the sockful of rocks in his right hand and the MacGyver knife in his left. He started walking up the beach toward the voices, letting the sock swing gently with his footsteps.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Flayer. 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.
-
Hollyquin*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:41 am
Then, there were footsteps.
Leopold didn't like footsteps. Nine times out of ten unexpected, unexplained footsteps meant trouble, often in the form of cops, and it wasn't like they weren't easy enough to run off with a wad of cash but who wanted to have to deal, you know? Either it was cops or his father, bursting into his room, that was rare since it wasn't like his father gave two shits about him, but it happened, and it sucked. Hour-long speeches about the dignity, the good name of the Sutherland family were always a pain in the ass. Of course, if these footsteps were cops or his father that would be fucking fantastic. He could probably pay off a cop for a gun. His father would get him off the island, somehow. He was good at that, getting people out of shit.
Issue: on SOTF-TV, footsteps meant 'person that can probably kill you'. Especially when you got a...a fucking...ugh. The fucking thing he just threw in the ocean as a weapon. He legitimately couldn't think of how his luck could be worse. If they wanted good television, they should've given that thing to a girl. I mean, really...Oh, classy, Leo. Honestly.
Well. Leopold was going to ignore the footsteps for as long as humanly possible. This wasn't going to be for very long, but really, what was very long, anymore? He fiddled with his bag, dug through it, retrieved the bowtie. Bowties were good. They took time to tie, and that time could be spent steadfastly ignoring whatever it was that was coming behind him, because honestly. What the fuck was he going to do? Whoever was coming up behind him, they could go and get fucked, really. They were not worth his time. And he was hopefully not worth their bullets.
The bowtie was a reddish-purple and didn't take long at all to tie. It hung loose around his neck, without a collar to secure it. He liked it. It felt deliciously unfashionably fashionable.
And now he should probably be doing that turning-around bit. So, he did, preparing to stare down the barrel of a gun, preparing lists of reasons why he really shouldn't be dying right about now and various properties in the greater Bryan area that his father owned and that he could start promising people who didn't knock bullets into his skull. There were plenty of things he could do to stay alive, really. He had nothing to worry about, really, why had he been worrying? Sure, he didn't have a weapon, at least not the kind that made people bleed. He had other things, though. Like money and status and utterly meaningless promises. A real socialite's best weapons. Not that he'd ever been much good at the socialite thing, but-
Oh.
He didn't recognize her, the girl who'd been making the footsteps, though he still heard footsteps which told him that there was someone else skulking around somewhere. This girl, though, she was the important bit right now. He didn't recognize her and he knew everyone who was anyone back home- not that he talked to most of them, he fucking hated most of them but he knew their names and faces, at least. So either this girl was no one- looking at her that seemed honestly unlikely- or she was from that other school. The enemy school, he wanted to call it, though it was entirely possible he'd been stuck on a team with some of them. Not this girl, though. Her bandanna was black.
Being from that school, though...that's worse than being nobody. Shame, almost. Not that it mattered, not that he cared. Getting laid was quite low on his list of priorities at the moment. He wasn't sure what priority number one was, but it certainly wasn't talking to this girl- hot, sure, but from the enemy school. Beneath him. Entirely.
More importantly, though-
"What the fuck are you wearing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Tactful as ever.
Leopold didn't like footsteps. Nine times out of ten unexpected, unexplained footsteps meant trouble, often in the form of cops, and it wasn't like they weren't easy enough to run off with a wad of cash but who wanted to have to deal, you know? Either it was cops or his father, bursting into his room, that was rare since it wasn't like his father gave two shits about him, but it happened, and it sucked. Hour-long speeches about the dignity, the good name of the Sutherland family were always a pain in the ass. Of course, if these footsteps were cops or his father that would be fucking fantastic. He could probably pay off a cop for a gun. His father would get him off the island, somehow. He was good at that, getting people out of shit.
Issue: on SOTF-TV, footsteps meant 'person that can probably kill you'. Especially when you got a...a fucking...ugh. The fucking thing he just threw in the ocean as a weapon. He legitimately couldn't think of how his luck could be worse. If they wanted good television, they should've given that thing to a girl. I mean, really...Oh, classy, Leo. Honestly.
Well. Leopold was going to ignore the footsteps for as long as humanly possible. This wasn't going to be for very long, but really, what was very long, anymore? He fiddled with his bag, dug through it, retrieved the bowtie. Bowties were good. They took time to tie, and that time could be spent steadfastly ignoring whatever it was that was coming behind him, because honestly. What the fuck was he going to do? Whoever was coming up behind him, they could go and get fucked, really. They were not worth his time. And he was hopefully not worth their bullets.
The bowtie was a reddish-purple and didn't take long at all to tie. It hung loose around his neck, without a collar to secure it. He liked it. It felt deliciously unfashionably fashionable.
And now he should probably be doing that turning-around bit. So, he did, preparing to stare down the barrel of a gun, preparing lists of reasons why he really shouldn't be dying right about now and various properties in the greater Bryan area that his father owned and that he could start promising people who didn't knock bullets into his skull. There were plenty of things he could do to stay alive, really. He had nothing to worry about, really, why had he been worrying? Sure, he didn't have a weapon, at least not the kind that made people bleed. He had other things, though. Like money and status and utterly meaningless promises. A real socialite's best weapons. Not that he'd ever been much good at the socialite thing, but-
Oh.
He didn't recognize her, the girl who'd been making the footsteps, though he still heard footsteps which told him that there was someone else skulking around somewhere. This girl, though, she was the important bit right now. He didn't recognize her and he knew everyone who was anyone back home- not that he talked to most of them, he fucking hated most of them but he knew their names and faces, at least. So either this girl was no one- looking at her that seemed honestly unlikely- or she was from that other school. The enemy school, he wanted to call it, though it was entirely possible he'd been stuck on a team with some of them. Not this girl, though. Her bandanna was black.
Being from that school, though...that's worse than being nobody. Shame, almost. Not that it mattered, not that he cared. Getting laid was quite low on his list of priorities at the moment. He wasn't sure what priority number one was, but it certainly wasn't talking to this girl- hot, sure, but from the enemy school. Beneath him. Entirely.
More importantly, though-
"What the fuck are you wearing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Tactful as ever.
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Oh you have got to be kidding me.
Of all the beaches, in all the islands, in all the worlds, she had to get shoved on the same beach, the same island, the same fucking continent as Panya fucking Bishara, bitch and attention whore to the infinite power.
It wasn't that she was a bad person, no, there was that twitchy whiny white boy that she always hung around with who probably saw something in that hollow husk of a human being filled with screams, but the extent that Panya demanded everyone around her to pay attention to her broke all common sense and wiped all possible sympathy Anna could have for the bitch from the face of her camera.
It was ages ago, back when she started getting the hang of her new handheld. Imagine a girl, with her brand new camera, talking to her new best friend and potential assistant in her show about an idea. Not just any idea, but a grand one, one that would mark her place on the bloodstain of Detroit Central High. The past few weeks were pushed forward with that aspirational little girl filming everyone she could, through the little lens of her little handheld, but now she had a plan. She was going to start her own series on the internet. After a few years on Youtube, she'd buy her own domain name, and her website would get pushed around the internet like a meme of sorts.
Of course, attention seeking bitch overheard. She wasn't sure why she thought she had a right to invade her own accomplishments. This was drama class, and she guessed that since she already mentioned Amber, one of her real life besties, and Anthony himself, she thought that maybe she could get a role!
Her response? "Lolno!" Said out-loud in utter seriousness like she was speaking to someone over the internet. They ignored her from that point in, but Anna could just feel the rage seeping out of Panya Bishari when she was denied a role in something actually worthwhile at that festering smear of a school called Detroit Central High School.
So here she was. Standing on the beach, speaking to a bespectacled, bearded boy that she doubted even went to their school, and probably trying to work her attention-whoring magic on him in some way or another. Dressed as that, she doubted that unless he was one of those really really weird people she spoke to on the internet, furries or scalies or those kinds, he wasn't going to be so gullibly swindled.
Hmm.
What to do, what to do, what to do...
So, three people on this bea-no wait, make that four people on this beach, someone else was walking along. This probably changed something somewhere along the line, but now...hmm.
Oh, there was one thing she could do.
Anna didn't like Panya. She could probably just take her out now, save her the trouble of doing her harm in the future. What? Don't look at Anna like that, she didn't know what she was about to do was bad. Don't you dare think she knew better.
So, she wasn't that far away from the shore. She could probably...no, that might require running, and these slabs of meat she called thighs weren't gonna cut it for something like that. No way, Jose. And...she didn't have a gun, and it wasn't like her DVD was secretly a throwing star of sorts. So...what else?
Anna looked to the side from her crouching position, and spotted a well-shaped rock in the sand. Hmm. Gears were clanking together now, making a plan...
...not a good plan, but a plan...
Okay, let's jam.
Anna wrenched the rock out of the ground, and, still trying to stay hidden behind the peculiar shrub, lobbed the rock as high and as far as she could make it. Her arm ached, it felt like she pulled something or other (she mentally cursed her sediment lifestyle with all the slurs in the Oxford dictionary), but now she just had to watch the rock land, from underneath her cute little hiding place.
This could actually work, right?
...
Right?
Of all the beaches, in all the islands, in all the worlds, she had to get shoved on the same beach, the same island, the same fucking continent as Panya fucking Bishara, bitch and attention whore to the infinite power.
It wasn't that she was a bad person, no, there was that twitchy whiny white boy that she always hung around with who probably saw something in that hollow husk of a human being filled with screams, but the extent that Panya demanded everyone around her to pay attention to her broke all common sense and wiped all possible sympathy Anna could have for the bitch from the face of her camera.
It was ages ago, back when she started getting the hang of her new handheld. Imagine a girl, with her brand new camera, talking to her new best friend and potential assistant in her show about an idea. Not just any idea, but a grand one, one that would mark her place on the bloodstain of Detroit Central High. The past few weeks were pushed forward with that aspirational little girl filming everyone she could, through the little lens of her little handheld, but now she had a plan. She was going to start her own series on the internet. After a few years on Youtube, she'd buy her own domain name, and her website would get pushed around the internet like a meme of sorts.
Of course, attention seeking bitch overheard. She wasn't sure why she thought she had a right to invade her own accomplishments. This was drama class, and she guessed that since she already mentioned Amber, one of her real life besties, and Anthony himself, she thought that maybe she could get a role!
Her response? "Lolno!" Said out-loud in utter seriousness like she was speaking to someone over the internet. They ignored her from that point in, but Anna could just feel the rage seeping out of Panya Bishari when she was denied a role in something actually worthwhile at that festering smear of a school called Detroit Central High School.
So here she was. Standing on the beach, speaking to a bespectacled, bearded boy that she doubted even went to their school, and probably trying to work her attention-whoring magic on him in some way or another. Dressed as that, she doubted that unless he was one of those really really weird people she spoke to on the internet, furries or scalies or those kinds, he wasn't going to be so gullibly swindled.
Hmm.
What to do, what to do, what to do...
So, three people on this bea-no wait, make that four people on this beach, someone else was walking along. This probably changed something somewhere along the line, but now...hmm.
Oh, there was one thing she could do.
Anna didn't like Panya. She could probably just take her out now, save her the trouble of doing her harm in the future. What? Don't look at Anna like that, she didn't know what she was about to do was bad. Don't you dare think she knew better.
So, she wasn't that far away from the shore. She could probably...no, that might require running, and these slabs of meat she called thighs weren't gonna cut it for something like that. No way, Jose. And...she didn't have a gun, and it wasn't like her DVD was secretly a throwing star of sorts. So...what else?
Anna looked to the side from her crouching position, and spotted a well-shaped rock in the sand. Hmm. Gears were clanking together now, making a plan...
...not a good plan, but a plan...
Okay, let's jam.
Anna wrenched the rock out of the ground, and, still trying to stay hidden behind the peculiar shrub, lobbed the rock as high and as far as she could make it. Her arm ached, it felt like she pulled something or other (she mentally cursed her sediment lifestyle with all the slurs in the Oxford dictionary), but now she just had to watch the rock land, from underneath her cute little hiding place.
This could actually work, right?
...
Right?
It wasn't too long before Axel could see the people whose voices he'd been hearing, as little figures a couple hundred yards along the beach. One male, one female. What were they saying to each other.
Probably "Are you playing?" Hearing that asinine question was one of Axel's handful of pet peeves regarding the show (although he would never refer to it as such, being that the phrase "pet peeve" was another one). To not play is bullshit and failure on many, many levels:
Axel kept on walking towards them, letting the sockful of rocks swing in an arc up to head level. He felt like he was getting the hang of it now, but to be honest he'd felt pretty sure right before he'd bashed his shin with it, too. He kept looking at the other two, wondering if they might have a gun. Dramatic irony was one of the things he'd always appreciated as a viewer of SOTF-TV, knowing something that the people in the show did not: that they were about to step on a landmine, that they were strolling into a sniper's killzone, that they were about to open the wrong door.
Axel was a bit taken aback to realize he was walking towards a stripper in half a bear suit. Never underestimate the potential of people's weirdness in a crisis. The guy just looked like a pompous prick and an unarmed one at that. He was getting close enough he could wave and say hi if he wanted to. It was also close enough to see they weren't on the blue team. Time for a break in the monotony.
Now who the fuck is throwing rocks?
...At least they must not have a gun.
Probably "Are you playing?" Hearing that asinine question was one of Axel's handful of pet peeves regarding the show (although he would never refer to it as such, being that the phrase "pet peeve" was another one). To not play is bullshit and failure on many, many levels:
Axel kept on walking towards them, letting the sockful of rocks swing in an arc up to head level. He felt like he was getting the hang of it now, but to be honest he'd felt pretty sure right before he'd bashed his shin with it, too. He kept looking at the other two, wondering if they might have a gun. Dramatic irony was one of the things he'd always appreciated as a viewer of SOTF-TV, knowing something that the people in the show did not: that they were about to step on a landmine, that they were strolling into a sniper's killzone, that they were about to open the wrong door.
Axel was a bit taken aback to realize he was walking towards a stripper in half a bear suit. Never underestimate the potential of people's weirdness in a crisis. The guy just looked like a pompous prick and an unarmed one at that. He was getting close enough he could wave and say hi if he wanted to. It was also close enough to see they weren't on the blue team. Time for a break in the monotony.
Now who the fuck is throwing rocks?
...At least they must not have a gun.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Flayer. 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.
-
CorruptDropbear*
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 4:03 am
[[Daniel Renard continued from Hotel California]]
Long way to walk to the beach. How huge was this island? Seriously. It was bigger than what the map said, that's for sure. His backpack was unusually heavy for what he'd thought it would be as well; a fake Daft Punk robot helmet was in there as well as the jacket, not to mention all the food and supplies. Could dump a lot of it, but he'd personally be pissed off if he threw away something important. Eh, he'd do a better search through later.
Checking the GPS again, he marked off his trail again. Now entering Northern Beach territory. There seemed to be a few people to the east... or west... somewhere further away. Biting his lip, he looked around. Trying the strategy of spying and checking was tempting again. Not much else he could do. Sure, he could team up with people, but that was already done for him for one, and his trust in any of his classmates not to shoot him on sight was slightly lower than expected. They wern't all bad people down at Detroit, but it had a lot of backstabbing and lies flinging around sometimes. Then again, the hate wasn't directed at him. Yet.
Fuck it. Treading softly towards the group, Daniel could faintly hear their footsteps. Not much talking. More people in a Mexican stand-off. Looking around, he squatted low and moved into the bushes and trees before the beach. The amount of hiding spots in this place was one. Couldn't be any worse for someone wanting to hide.
Like the person in front of him. Ah, fuck. Anna was blue. Well, that sucked. She seemed preoccupied on the couple somewhere else...
Just don't step on the branch. Don't step on that branch, Daniel Renar-
Snap.
YOU STEPPED ON THE BRANCH DANIEL YOU FUCKING IDIOT
Long way to walk to the beach. How huge was this island? Seriously. It was bigger than what the map said, that's for sure. His backpack was unusually heavy for what he'd thought it would be as well; a fake Daft Punk robot helmet was in there as well as the jacket, not to mention all the food and supplies. Could dump a lot of it, but he'd personally be pissed off if he threw away something important. Eh, he'd do a better search through later.
Checking the GPS again, he marked off his trail again. Now entering Northern Beach territory. There seemed to be a few people to the east... or west... somewhere further away. Biting his lip, he looked around. Trying the strategy of spying and checking was tempting again. Not much else he could do. Sure, he could team up with people, but that was already done for him for one, and his trust in any of his classmates not to shoot him on sight was slightly lower than expected. They wern't all bad people down at Detroit, but it had a lot of backstabbing and lies flinging around sometimes. Then again, the hate wasn't directed at him. Yet.
Fuck it. Treading softly towards the group, Daniel could faintly hear their footsteps. Not much talking. More people in a Mexican stand-off. Looking around, he squatted low and moved into the bushes and trees before the beach. The amount of hiding spots in this place was one. Couldn't be any worse for someone wanting to hide.
Like the person in front of him. Ah, fuck. Anna was blue. Well, that sucked. She seemed preoccupied on the couple somewhere else...
Just don't step on the branch. Don't step on that branch, Daniel Renar-
Snap.
YOU STEPPED ON THE BRANCH DANIEL YOU FUCKING IDIOT
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler CorruptDropbear. 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.
”Only yo—u c-c-an prevent forest fireees,” The mechanical voice crooned once more as Panya came to halt near the boy, almost to close considering the situation they were in, not to mention the fact that they were complete strangers. If there was one flaw Panya would admit she possessed, it’d be the distinct lack of acknowledgment toward someone’s personal space, she wouldn’t try to hide that, but it was disarming and some people might consider that a strength. What’s more intoxicating than meeting someone who doesn’t believe in awkwardness?
Maybe booze, but not much else.
Panya simply smiled following the boy’s inquiry, inwardly patting herself on the back for being so ratings-conscious—something this guy obviously had no grasp of. A normal person would feel self-conscious in a second, but Panya was far from normal and the subtle whirring of the camera rotaries angling to get a better shot of the ‘scene’ informed her that she was, in fact, doing something right. And if she followed her train of thought, she knew viewers loved nothing more than a budding romance, especially in such a hopeless place. Poetic irony, a modern day Romeo and Juliet in the making. Two star-crossed lovers from combating schools who find love among the loss, she could see it now. Maybe, oh be still her heart, someone would be so inspired by her they’d base a movie on her and it’d resurrect the entertainment industry! Panya Bishara, the Jesus of Hollywood. She knew she was meant for big things and it only made everything better that she’d find her break in such a hellhole. Tabloids would love it.
This was just the beginning.
“I’m not sure, really,” She said softly, taking a gander at her fuzzy britches, “Maybe they just think I’m cuddly? I can give you a hug if you’d like and let you be the judge?”
She smiled once more before biting her lower lip shyly and extending her free hand, making sure to keep piercing eye contact with her lead man,
“Kidding, though—I’ll save that for at least the second date. I’m Panya. From Detr—“
Panya let out a sharp gasp, the look of serenity she’d tried so hard to maintain was blown to smithereens and replaced with a pained grimace, her once extended hand had rocketed to the back of her skull and vigorously examined for any wetness or wound as she whipped around and surveyed the area for the culprit.
First she saw a boy a few yards away, then the surprisingly large rock in the sand beneath her, then the boy , then the twirling sack of what she assumed was full of the same rocks he’d pelted at her head. Rage boiled in the pit of Panya’s stomach, her hand still kneaded the area of contact and her eyes appeared as nothing more than slits as she eyed the boy down. Above all else, however, even more than the fury building up inside her was the disbelief that somebody had attacked her. Whether it was her admittedly bad priorities or just sheer denial, Panya hadn’t expected things to become real so fast.
And to add insult to injury, her assailant was a fellow Detroit student and one she knew—though it was rare to find a student Panya didn’t know. She knew who he was, or more-so, who he wasn’t. Axel Stadler was a nobody, just some weird squirrely kid who was of no value to her or her goals. She hadn’t ever really held a long conversation with him, to be honest, just a couple hi’s and hello’s and maybe a little mindless flirting on her part. Nothing special though, she flirted with just about everyone. It was nice having people on her side. And yet here he was, pelting crap at her head.
Cocky prick. Panya didn’t play the aggressive game, no sir. She was a manipulator through and through and she’d make Axel Stadler would regret the day he attacked her head.
“Oh God…” She whispered, just audible enough that her ‘boyfriend’ could hear her. She backed up slowly toward Leopold, once again foregoing any personal space as she made sure to brush her breasts against his forearm and continued until she was behind him with barely any space between them. Leaning in, his scent filled her nostrils. If she had any doubts before about there being a separate school, they’d have been squashed at that point. His cologne was strong and very rich smelling, with just a little hint of musty-herbiness that she knew all too well from her years at Detroit..
“I know that kid,” She whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke, “He’s bad news…”
Let’s go, lover boy. Give the audience a show. They love a little drama.
Maybe booze, but not much else.
Panya simply smiled following the boy’s inquiry, inwardly patting herself on the back for being so ratings-conscious—something this guy obviously had no grasp of. A normal person would feel self-conscious in a second, but Panya was far from normal and the subtle whirring of the camera rotaries angling to get a better shot of the ‘scene’ informed her that she was, in fact, doing something right. And if she followed her train of thought, she knew viewers loved nothing more than a budding romance, especially in such a hopeless place. Poetic irony, a modern day Romeo and Juliet in the making. Two star-crossed lovers from combating schools who find love among the loss, she could see it now. Maybe, oh be still her heart, someone would be so inspired by her they’d base a movie on her and it’d resurrect the entertainment industry! Panya Bishara, the Jesus of Hollywood. She knew she was meant for big things and it only made everything better that she’d find her break in such a hellhole. Tabloids would love it.
This was just the beginning.
“I’m not sure, really,” She said softly, taking a gander at her fuzzy britches, “Maybe they just think I’m cuddly? I can give you a hug if you’d like and let you be the judge?”
She smiled once more before biting her lower lip shyly and extending her free hand, making sure to keep piercing eye contact with her lead man,
“Kidding, though—I’ll save that for at least the second date. I’m Panya. From Detr—“
Panya let out a sharp gasp, the look of serenity she’d tried so hard to maintain was blown to smithereens and replaced with a pained grimace, her once extended hand had rocketed to the back of her skull and vigorously examined for any wetness or wound as she whipped around and surveyed the area for the culprit.
First she saw a boy a few yards away, then the surprisingly large rock in the sand beneath her, then the boy , then the twirling sack of what she assumed was full of the same rocks he’d pelted at her head. Rage boiled in the pit of Panya’s stomach, her hand still kneaded the area of contact and her eyes appeared as nothing more than slits as she eyed the boy down. Above all else, however, even more than the fury building up inside her was the disbelief that somebody had attacked her. Whether it was her admittedly bad priorities or just sheer denial, Panya hadn’t expected things to become real so fast.
And to add insult to injury, her assailant was a fellow Detroit student and one she knew—though it was rare to find a student Panya didn’t know. She knew who he was, or more-so, who he wasn’t. Axel Stadler was a nobody, just some weird squirrely kid who was of no value to her or her goals. She hadn’t ever really held a long conversation with him, to be honest, just a couple hi’s and hello’s and maybe a little mindless flirting on her part. Nothing special though, she flirted with just about everyone. It was nice having people on her side. And yet here he was, pelting crap at her head.
Cocky prick. Panya didn’t play the aggressive game, no sir. She was a manipulator through and through and she’d make Axel Stadler would regret the day he attacked her head.
“Oh God…” She whispered, just audible enough that her ‘boyfriend’ could hear her. She backed up slowly toward Leopold, once again foregoing any personal space as she made sure to brush her breasts against his forearm and continued until she was behind him with barely any space between them. Leaning in, his scent filled her nostrils. If she had any doubts before about there being a separate school, they’d have been squashed at that point. His cologne was strong and very rich smelling, with just a little hint of musty-herbiness that she knew all too well from her years at Detroit..
“I know that kid,” She whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke, “He’s bad news…”
Let’s go, lover boy. Give the audience a show. They love a little drama.
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Hollyquin*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:41 am
"Bloody hell."
Okay, to recap- this girl, this enemy school girl, Panya apparently what kind of name is that, honestly. His first impression was whore. In fact, his second and third impressions were probably also whore, which was kind of natural, given how she did wander up to him with her shirt half up, doing that walk girls do when they think they're being sexy. Leopold knew that walk fairly well and he hated it. It was such an obvious sign of inferior breeding. No girl of any class would do that- not that girls of class really paid attention to him; they had some weird prejudice against his chosen profession. And not that he didn't fuck the classless ones anyway. And not that he expected class from the enemy school. Where were they from, again? Detroit? How very sad.
So, yes, anyway, Panya, enemy school girl slash skank, she was doing this other thing Leopold knew well, too, this thing where a girl thinks she has power over you. This worked on most boys, but Leopold, bless his heart, was pretty much immune. Probably due to the marijuana-induced apathetic haze he lived in, or maybe because he got enough girls without really trying to get overexcited about the ones who tried too hard. Either way, this Panya was as obvious as they came, and the only thing preventing him from rolling his eyes at her was his fondness for not dying- the girl had something in her hand. It looked suspiciously like something that could kill him, and he'd really rather not prove himself right.
Instead, he managed to keep himself looking faintly interested in her heavy-handed flirting until someone read his mind and hit her over the head with a rock.
For about half a second he was quite happy with that development. After all, if someone knocked this girl out, that meant he wouldn't have to deal with her fawning over him (and who knows what her motives for that are? It's not like I have a weapon, I can't exactly protect her...) and he could go forth and do more important things, not that he had anything in mind. On the other hand, if someone was capable of knocking her out, they were more than capable of knocking him out...of course, all those thoughts left his mind pretty quickly, once he realized she was totally conscious, and the weapon that had hit her was in fact a rock, and that the boy in front of them was holding...a sock. Full of rocks.
Well then. Points for creativity, I suppose.
He didn't recognize the boy- another one from the enemy school, he supposed, and given Panya's reaction he had to be right. She was standing way too fucking close, and he kind of wanted to do something incredibly dickish, as he was wont to do. However, there was that shiny bit of dangerous metal in her hand again, and so he turned on the charm. He could absolutely ooze charm. He was a goddamn prince, after all. Heir to the crown of Sutherland. A southern gentleman, or rather, he could fake it.
“I know that kid. He’s bad news…”
The rock thing gave me an idea of that. Fuck you want me to do about it, sweetheart?
"Listen, darlin'," he started- his accent had really never stood out more. "Given that you're the one with the weapon here, cowering behind me isn't going to do much for either of us."
He raised an eyebrow at the new boy. The bad news. He really needed to get himself one of these improvised weapons. A sock full of rocks would be brilliant right now.
Okay, to recap- this girl, this enemy school girl, Panya apparently what kind of name is that, honestly. His first impression was whore. In fact, his second and third impressions were probably also whore, which was kind of natural, given how she did wander up to him with her shirt half up, doing that walk girls do when they think they're being sexy. Leopold knew that walk fairly well and he hated it. It was such an obvious sign of inferior breeding. No girl of any class would do that- not that girls of class really paid attention to him; they had some weird prejudice against his chosen profession. And not that he didn't fuck the classless ones anyway. And not that he expected class from the enemy school. Where were they from, again? Detroit? How very sad.
So, yes, anyway, Panya, enemy school girl slash skank, she was doing this other thing Leopold knew well, too, this thing where a girl thinks she has power over you. This worked on most boys, but Leopold, bless his heart, was pretty much immune. Probably due to the marijuana-induced apathetic haze he lived in, or maybe because he got enough girls without really trying to get overexcited about the ones who tried too hard. Either way, this Panya was as obvious as they came, and the only thing preventing him from rolling his eyes at her was his fondness for not dying- the girl had something in her hand. It looked suspiciously like something that could kill him, and he'd really rather not prove himself right.
Instead, he managed to keep himself looking faintly interested in her heavy-handed flirting until someone read his mind and hit her over the head with a rock.
For about half a second he was quite happy with that development. After all, if someone knocked this girl out, that meant he wouldn't have to deal with her fawning over him (and who knows what her motives for that are? It's not like I have a weapon, I can't exactly protect her...) and he could go forth and do more important things, not that he had anything in mind. On the other hand, if someone was capable of knocking her out, they were more than capable of knocking him out...of course, all those thoughts left his mind pretty quickly, once he realized she was totally conscious, and the weapon that had hit her was in fact a rock, and that the boy in front of them was holding...a sock. Full of rocks.
Well then. Points for creativity, I suppose.
He didn't recognize the boy- another one from the enemy school, he supposed, and given Panya's reaction he had to be right. She was standing way too fucking close, and he kind of wanted to do something incredibly dickish, as he was wont to do. However, there was that shiny bit of dangerous metal in her hand again, and so he turned on the charm. He could absolutely ooze charm. He was a goddamn prince, after all. Heir to the crown of Sutherland. A southern gentleman, or rather, he could fake it.
“I know that kid. He’s bad news…”
The rock thing gave me an idea of that. Fuck you want me to do about it, sweetheart?
"Listen, darlin'," he started- his accent had really never stood out more. "Given that you're the one with the weapon here, cowering behind me isn't going to do much for either of us."
He raised an eyebrow at the new boy. The bad news. He really needed to get himself one of these improvised weapons. A sock full of rocks would be brilliant right now.
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It..kinda worked, probably. The bitch did get clocked in the head with that rock, but all she did was get jolted a bit. No death. Nothing even remotely subtle, or even over the top, or even just bloody. Simply a whack over the head, and now she was dealing with her own stupid business. That was a gyp, pure and simple.
Try again? Nah, no point now. As Anna sat there, glaring at that damn bitch who didn't die when she wanted to from behind the bushes, she couldn't see the worth in taking on a girl with a gun with only a rock. Or even a wheelbarrow of rocks. That would be a stupid weapon. A wheelbarrow full of fist sized rocks. There might have been something like that back in 2016, or one of the past seasons she never watched. Still just a stupid stupid weapon.
But it wasn't as if that stopped Anna from grabbing another rock close by and wrapping her fingers around it protectively. Protectively. Funny word, funny context. Protectively. Like she wanted to put down her life for it, but it was a rock, so there was no point in putting down her life for something that had no life. No, not her scene. Wasn't like it was a companion of sorts.
Either way, now was the perfect time to get out of here. Why was she here anyway? She just appeared, looked at her weapon, then just randomly decided to throw a rock at a girl in a bear suit. With a gun. While she had her rock. Which she was being protective of.
So the question remained: why was she still here?
...huh. No reason. Just chilling here, on the beach. With her rock. Behind her bush.
And once someone decided to disturb this deep and thoughtful though process, she engaged in what she liked to call
EPIC REACTIONARY TWIG SNAPPING MANOEUVRE 3.0
i.e. spin around, yelp, then chuck your rock at whoever was there because they were intruding on Anna's private time.
Which was followed by some running. Oh yes, running as well, she did that. She wasn't just going to be known as that screaming bitch, she was gonna be known as the running bitch as well. Run run, as fast as you can little screaming bitch, you can't get caught, but everyone else can!
Get out, get out, get out of there, now.
It wasn't a very thought out plan, come to think of it. She didn't even choose the right direction. Instead of going inland, she just waltzed straight into plain view. Anna'd only made it a few feet when she realised how much fricking noise she was making.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"Oh, uh...hi!"
How wonderful! Now she had to speak to Panya, the bitch she just threw that rock at. In the middle of a really tense situation, no less.
Brilliant! Just
fucking
brilliant.
Try again? Nah, no point now. As Anna sat there, glaring at that damn bitch who didn't die when she wanted to from behind the bushes, she couldn't see the worth in taking on a girl with a gun with only a rock. Or even a wheelbarrow of rocks. That would be a stupid weapon. A wheelbarrow full of fist sized rocks. There might have been something like that back in 2016, or one of the past seasons she never watched. Still just a stupid stupid weapon.
But it wasn't as if that stopped Anna from grabbing another rock close by and wrapping her fingers around it protectively. Protectively. Funny word, funny context. Protectively. Like she wanted to put down her life for it, but it was a rock, so there was no point in putting down her life for something that had no life. No, not her scene. Wasn't like it was a companion of sorts.
Either way, now was the perfect time to get out of here. Why was she here anyway? She just appeared, looked at her weapon, then just randomly decided to throw a rock at a girl in a bear suit. With a gun. While she had her rock. Which she was being protective of.
So the question remained: why was she still here?
...huh. No reason. Just chilling here, on the beach. With her rock. Behind her bush.
And once someone decided to disturb this deep and thoughtful though process, she engaged in what she liked to call
EPIC REACTIONARY TWIG SNAPPING MANOEUVRE 3.0
i.e. spin around, yelp, then chuck your rock at whoever was there because they were intruding on Anna's private time.
Which was followed by some running. Oh yes, running as well, she did that. She wasn't just going to be known as that screaming bitch, she was gonna be known as the running bitch as well. Run run, as fast as you can little screaming bitch, you can't get caught, but everyone else can!
Get out, get out, get out of there, now.
It wasn't a very thought out plan, come to think of it. She didn't even choose the right direction. Instead of going inland, she just waltzed straight into plain view. Anna'd only made it a few feet when she realised how much fricking noise she was making.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"Oh, uh...hi!"
How wonderful! Now she had to speak to Panya, the bitch she just threw that rock at. In the middle of a really tense situation, no less.
Brilliant! Just
fucking
brilliant.
What we've got here is...failure to communicate. Too much was happening that did not fit the picture Axel had had in his mind just a couple seconds ago. The rock throwing, Panya taking it in the head, new guy stepping on twig, new girl screaming and jumping out of hiding. The picture Axel had been going on was a simple one. Hit the rich kid in the face with the rocks to knock him down. Tackle the bitch and stab her throat till she couldn't survive any longer. Return to guy and finish him off the same way. The Schlieffen Plan of murders. Too bad it had been fucked up by external factors like the real Schlieffen Plan.
Now what to do? It was one of those awkward instants that seemed like it would last forever. O hai everyone.. Axel was wired; he ached to do something, but he was paralyzed while he was trying to analyze the new situation.
They think I threw the rock. I wish.
Screaming girl - blue team. My team.
Panya using rich kid for human shield.
Then he caught a glimpse of the gun in Panya's hand and decided to forget planning and just go with impulse. He tossed the sock up, caught it by the rock end, and threw it like a baseball, hoping he'd nail one of the two in the face, break their nose or knock loose some teeth. No time for one liners, no time to see the consequences; he just took off sprinting. He went for the blue girl, reaching out to grab her arm. Take her as he made an escape. He didn't bother with saying "run" - if she had any common sense, she could guess that for herself.
Now what to do? It was one of those awkward instants that seemed like it would last forever. O hai everyone.. Axel was wired; he ached to do something, but he was paralyzed while he was trying to analyze the new situation.
They think I threw the rock. I wish.
Screaming girl - blue team. My team.
Panya using rich kid for human shield.
Then he caught a glimpse of the gun in Panya's hand and decided to forget planning and just go with impulse. He tossed the sock up, caught it by the rock end, and threw it like a baseball, hoping he'd nail one of the two in the face, break their nose or knock loose some teeth. No time for one liners, no time to see the consequences; he just took off sprinting. He went for the blue girl, reaching out to grab her arm. Take her as he made an escape. He didn't bother with saying "run" - if she had any common sense, she could guess that for herself.
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CorruptDropbear*
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 4:03 am
ROCK
Daniel ducked like a badass motherfucker out of hell matrix-style.
OK, no. He ducked like a person that had a rock thrown at their head would duck. So more of a hand-on-head, fall to the floor in a ball kind of style. He also resisted the urge to yell out in surprise, which probably saved him a lot of stuff, such as not being spotted by the other two people and having her probably take the blame for the twig snap.
One lucky son of a gun he was. Time to look at the other people's bandanna and go away. That would be good. Really good. Except for the fact that he heard Panya, a person who he would probably not even bother to help even if she was on his team. Not that she was a bitch, but... ok, she was a drama queen bitch. Only use for her was her hilarious over-the-top acting skills. So anyway, Daniel looked at the bandanna in the refuge in the foliage. Not red, not red, not- and someone took Anna in a mad dash for survival. Why, Daniel didn't really know, and didn't care. Time to get out of here.
Carefully, making sure not to step on twigs, Mr. Renard went back into the forest, hiding in the shadows and walking away. He was lucky. Too lucky. Couldn't rely on someone to take the fall for him again.
[[Daniel Renard continued in Fifth Wheel]]
Daniel ducked like a badass motherfucker out of hell matrix-style.
OK, no. He ducked like a person that had a rock thrown at their head would duck. So more of a hand-on-head, fall to the floor in a ball kind of style. He also resisted the urge to yell out in surprise, which probably saved him a lot of stuff, such as not being spotted by the other two people and having her probably take the blame for the twig snap.
One lucky son of a gun he was. Time to look at the other people's bandanna and go away. That would be good. Really good. Except for the fact that he heard Panya, a person who he would probably not even bother to help even if she was on his team. Not that she was a bitch, but... ok, she was a drama queen bitch. Only use for her was her hilarious over-the-top acting skills. So anyway, Daniel looked at the bandanna in the refuge in the foliage. Not red, not red, not- and someone took Anna in a mad dash for survival. Why, Daniel didn't really know, and didn't care. Time to get out of here.
Carefully, making sure not to step on twigs, Mr. Renard went back into the forest, hiding in the shadows and walking away. He was lucky. Too lucky. Couldn't rely on someone to take the fall for him again.
[[Daniel Renard continued in Fifth Wheel]]
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Hollyquin*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:41 am
And then there was that pain thing. The thing that happens when you're beaned in the shoulder with a sock full of rocks. Not that Leopold had ever had that experience before, but he would've assumed it was painful, and now he could tell you from first-hand experience: it was not fun. Not a bit.
The blow pushed him backwards, away from Panya- luckily it wasn't enough to knock him down, he would never live down the humiliation if it had, but he managed to shrug off the blow and ignore the throbbing pain on his right side. Pain. Leopold really, really wasn't used to it. Not much pain involved when your world mostly involved lying in bed. Listening to music. He didn't get into fights- that was so incredibly below him- and he didn't do sports, so this was kind of a new world of injury to him, but okay, no, Leopold Sutherland did not show his feelings. His father would have a fit when he got home.
No ifs allowed in that statement.
There was a bit of a kerfuffle going on in the woods, between crazy-sock-throwing boy and some girl he hadn't seen before. Neither looked familiar- clearly he'd been dropped on the ghetto part of the island, as there was no way any of these heathens could've gone to Silver Dragon. Something else to complain to his father about. He watched with disinterest, parts of him telling him to run, but those parts were undignified. The rock throwing boy had, well, thrown his weapon; the girl didn't seem to have anything. Sure he wouldn't be able to fight them, it would be so degrading to even try, but there was no use running if they weren't attacking him.
...Anymore, anyway.
"Woah, THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU SICK FREAK? DON'T TOUCH ME, NOBODY TOUCHES ME!"
Jesus christ, this girl was insane. And loud. And incredibly classless, though Leopold could see now that she was backing away from the crazy boy. Good move, he thought. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as the girl turned to speak to him, as though she'd heard him.
"You don't wanna trust this bitch."
Seems like everyone here knows each other but me.
He listened vaguely to the girl's bitchy speech to this girl he'd been standing with, this Panya. What she said didn't affect him in the least. He'd already made his decision, after all. Clearly this girl was a drama magnet and he didn't need that, not at home and certainly not on Survival of the Fittest. Attracting trouble is a particularly big issue when trouble can easily kill you.
"I think I'll be going," Leopold said calmly, looking at Panya. "Take care of yourself, Smokey."
Snark time over. Time to go.
God. Leopold hated everyone on this bloody island.
[[Leopold Sutherland continued in Don't Fear the Reaper]]
The blow pushed him backwards, away from Panya- luckily it wasn't enough to knock him down, he would never live down the humiliation if it had, but he managed to shrug off the blow and ignore the throbbing pain on his right side. Pain. Leopold really, really wasn't used to it. Not much pain involved when your world mostly involved lying in bed. Listening to music. He didn't get into fights- that was so incredibly below him- and he didn't do sports, so this was kind of a new world of injury to him, but okay, no, Leopold Sutherland did not show his feelings. His father would have a fit when he got home.
No ifs allowed in that statement.
There was a bit of a kerfuffle going on in the woods, between crazy-sock-throwing boy and some girl he hadn't seen before. Neither looked familiar- clearly he'd been dropped on the ghetto part of the island, as there was no way any of these heathens could've gone to Silver Dragon. Something else to complain to his father about. He watched with disinterest, parts of him telling him to run, but those parts were undignified. The rock throwing boy had, well, thrown his weapon; the girl didn't seem to have anything. Sure he wouldn't be able to fight them, it would be so degrading to even try, but there was no use running if they weren't attacking him.
...Anymore, anyway.
"Woah, THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU SICK FREAK? DON'T TOUCH ME, NOBODY TOUCHES ME!"
Jesus christ, this girl was insane. And loud. And incredibly classless, though Leopold could see now that she was backing away from the crazy boy. Good move, he thought. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as the girl turned to speak to him, as though she'd heard him.
"You don't wanna trust this bitch."
Seems like everyone here knows each other but me.
He listened vaguely to the girl's bitchy speech to this girl he'd been standing with, this Panya. What she said didn't affect him in the least. He'd already made his decision, after all. Clearly this girl was a drama magnet and he didn't need that, not at home and certainly not on Survival of the Fittest. Attracting trouble is a particularly big issue when trouble can easily kill you.
"I think I'll be going," Leopold said calmly, looking at Panya. "Take care of yourself, Smokey."
Snark time over. Time to go.
God. Leopold hated everyone on this bloody island.
[[Leopold Sutherland continued in Don't Fear the Reaper]]
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((Shortabsentwithdrawlfromthethreadpost go))
You know what else was fucking brilliant? Some punk-ass nobody deciding that he was going to try and fight her battles for her. What the hell, was he trying to get his butt shot up? Who the fuck just plain throws a rock at someone? You hide, idiot, you hide before you do that.
Oh, and now he was trying to take her with him. Err, no.
No thank you.
"Woah, THE FUCK?" Anna screamed as the guy tried to grab her and run. Instead, she took the ultimate initiative to step back and avoid his grasp.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU SICK FREAK? DON'T TOUCH ME, NOBODY TOUCHES ME!" Anna was clearly infuriated at this ridiculous situation she'd gotten herself into. She was stuck between a disgusting nobody, who she'd never met before; Panya the attention whore, and some girly guy with blonde hair and glasses. What's that? He's got facial hair? Sure, a little bit less girly. Not much. He didn't come close to Anthony.
So now, what to do? Run? Team up with someone? She sure as hell was NOT going near any of these people. So no. No team-up for her.
Instead, she went off in the direction the guy came from. Backing off, slowly. But instead of running, she was directing her speech at the guy in glasses.
"You don't wanna trust this bitch," Anna laughed at him, an almost insane glint in her eyes. She did that a lot.
"What's it feel like to be on the camera now, Panya? You never got on mine, so I guess a snuff film is a few steps down."
Anna smiled, and before turning and running, she let off one more remark.
"Enjoy getting diddled before you die, Panya. It's more than you ever got back in Detroit. It'll probably mean more to you too."
((Anna Hitchins continues Just a Quick Swim))
You know what else was fucking brilliant? Some punk-ass nobody deciding that he was going to try and fight her battles for her. What the hell, was he trying to get his butt shot up? Who the fuck just plain throws a rock at someone? You hide, idiot, you hide before you do that.
Oh, and now he was trying to take her with him. Err, no.
No thank you.
"Woah, THE FUCK?" Anna screamed as the guy tried to grab her and run. Instead, she took the ultimate initiative to step back and avoid his grasp.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU SICK FREAK? DON'T TOUCH ME, NOBODY TOUCHES ME!" Anna was clearly infuriated at this ridiculous situation she'd gotten herself into. She was stuck between a disgusting nobody, who she'd never met before; Panya the attention whore, and some girly guy with blonde hair and glasses. What's that? He's got facial hair? Sure, a little bit less girly. Not much. He didn't come close to Anthony.
So now, what to do? Run? Team up with someone? She sure as hell was NOT going near any of these people. So no. No team-up for her.
Instead, she went off in the direction the guy came from. Backing off, slowly. But instead of running, she was directing her speech at the guy in glasses.
"You don't wanna trust this bitch," Anna laughed at him, an almost insane glint in her eyes. She did that a lot.
"What's it feel like to be on the camera now, Panya? You never got on mine, so I guess a snuff film is a few steps down."
Anna smiled, and before turning and running, she let off one more remark.
"Enjoy getting diddled before you die, Panya. It's more than you ever got back in Detroit. It'll probably mean more to you too."
((Anna Hitchins continues Just a Quick Swim))