[[Daniel Renard continued from Smoke on the Water]]
Need to find Red.
Being lost wasn't part of the plan. Well, if there was a plan. The crappiest plan.
Need to find Red.
Daniel kept glancing at his bicep every few minutes, admiring the bandanna, the drop of blood. This team thing was harder than he thought it would be. Of course it would be; nothing was ever easy in SOTF-TV. That would be making viewers miss out on the lovely melodrama. Maybe it was finally settling in that he had a very likely chance of dying. There was always stages that they talked about, wasn’t there? First denial, then rage, then acceptance or something, he couldn’t remember. SOTF was something to watch with people at the grand finale party that one of your friends threw. Playing it was something completely different.
Plans didn’t work here. All good plans have one problem: they’re an idea. Ideas die with the person. Any plan was going to do him jack shit if the opponent had a handgun and their eyes set on the prize. But… killing other people wasn’t right. Of course it wasn’t. You hear all that shit in church, how you’re going to hell if you take someone’s life, all the news reporters going on about the latest murder today. The social standard is to make sure everyone stays alive, otherwise you lose heaps of people to the fact that someone had an opposing idea.
But this wasn’t the real world. This wasn’t a social area. This was Survival. King of the hill, last man standing. He had to kill, or be killed, etc. All the stuff that you were told to do. You are told to do the opposite of everyone else: don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself and your team. The only thing wrong was that he felt useless. GPS, big whoop. If he didn’t pick up something soon he was going to be shot in the face by someone from the other school. Congratulations Renard, you are the fifth wheel of the team.
It was pitch black when Daniel finally stopped walking through the trees, only able to see himself and a few trees left and right. What was the time? 4am? 5? The announcements had been and gone, only one thing to worry about there was the first kill of the game. He probably should have gone to sleep, but the thought of sleeping alone with fifty others out to get him was the equivalent of caffeine for him. He could sleep when he was dead. Which was pretty soon. It was rare for games to go past a week. Stifling a yawn, he sat down on the damp dirt and got out one of the Clif bars. Rest for a bit. Maybe a few hours of sleep wouldn’t do him so bad until sunrise.
Fifth Wheel
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CorruptDropbear*
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Fifth Wheel
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Casey The Undead*
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((Jaszmine Johnson, continued from Integrity))
Jaszmine was angry. No. Wait. She was upset. Sad, maybe. Annoyed, yes. Tired, most assuredly. Angry, probably.
At what?
At fucking Anthony, that's at what.
That dumbass had to be the first person to get themselves killed, and now Jaszmine felt an angry and awkward hole in her heart where he used to be. It felt like complete and utter shit, like a whole part of her was just fucking missing, never to come back, and it was making her very, very angry.
She clenched her fists tighter, gritting her teeth slightly. She'd said nothing to Tristan about the announcements, had only stopped to rest periodically. She was growing jumpy, and angry, and restless.
She wanted to kill something. She wanted to kill something very badly.
She wasn't entirely sure when they had crossed into the forest, but it was in the morning, she thought. The announcement had been at night, and the sun hadn't quite risen yet. She was past the point of caring about time.
What she did care about was the person. She knew this kid, real vaguely. He was Detroit, she was pretty sure. Couldn't really see his face, but none of that mattered.
He was someone to kill. Dead meat, another obstacle out of the way.
She could do it. Jaszmine could really do it, she could kill this kid, and then she could kill Tristan, and then she could go and find Karen Ruiz and kill that bitch too.
But she didn't. Instead she pussied out, because Jaszy still wasn't quite sure she had what it took to be a player.
It's just too early, is all. You gotta make 'em trust you. Then you kill their asses. That's the fucking key right there.
Of course, just cause she wasn't gonna kill him didn't mean she couldn't scare the hell out of him first. Had to show him who was boss.
"Hey! You! Kid! You gonna start talking, or am I gonna start shooting? Cause this shit, this shit can get real ugly, real fast if you want it too."
Jaszmine was angry. No. Wait. She was upset. Sad, maybe. Annoyed, yes. Tired, most assuredly. Angry, probably.
At what?
At fucking Anthony, that's at what.
That dumbass had to be the first person to get themselves killed, and now Jaszmine felt an angry and awkward hole in her heart where he used to be. It felt like complete and utter shit, like a whole part of her was just fucking missing, never to come back, and it was making her very, very angry.
She clenched her fists tighter, gritting her teeth slightly. She'd said nothing to Tristan about the announcements, had only stopped to rest periodically. She was growing jumpy, and angry, and restless.
She wanted to kill something. She wanted to kill something very badly.
She wasn't entirely sure when they had crossed into the forest, but it was in the morning, she thought. The announcement had been at night, and the sun hadn't quite risen yet. She was past the point of caring about time.
What she did care about was the person. She knew this kid, real vaguely. He was Detroit, she was pretty sure. Couldn't really see his face, but none of that mattered.
He was someone to kill. Dead meat, another obstacle out of the way.
She could do it. Jaszmine could really do it, she could kill this kid, and then she could kill Tristan, and then she could go and find Karen Ruiz and kill that bitch too.
But she didn't. Instead she pussied out, because Jaszy still wasn't quite sure she had what it took to be a player.
It's just too early, is all. You gotta make 'em trust you. Then you kill their asses. That's the fucking key right there.
Of course, just cause she wasn't gonna kill him didn't mean she couldn't scare the hell out of him first. Had to show him who was boss.
"Hey! You! Kid! You gonna start talking, or am I gonna start shooting? Cause this shit, this shit can get real ugly, real fast if you want it too."
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CorruptDropbear*
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Well, fuck. If it wasn't the Jaz. And she hit the jackpot, from the sound of it. Why wasn’t he surprised that someone would be able to find him? Because he was just thinking of sleep, probably. This would make him an insomniac for the next year, if he lasted that long. Stretching and casually putting his hands on his head, Daniel slowly got up. Well, Jaszmine was probably going to be really poor with a gun in pitch black, which meant that she had a pretty good chance of missing the first shot. Enough time to get his bag on and run into the darkness. And hey, she was kinda cute.
...that has nothing to do with anything with surviving or running away or guns. Dude!
Sighing and shaking his head, Daniel raised an eyebrow. “My name is Daniel Renard, you’re Jaszmine Johnson, we worked on that project ages ago last year. I guess you’re not on my side right now, huh?”
How was he supposed to treat this? Play it cool? Cool? What? For god’s sake, why was he trying to play her, he saw her every day at the back of the grounds, occasionally in that really boring art class drawing or designing that dress or something like that, how did he know what she was up to? It was something girly and fashion-related. Well, not all fashion was girl-related, but that’s besides the goddamn point. You’re going off track with the girl with the pistol about to shoot you.
“Well, I can honestly say that I have no weapons of any kind, so there’s no need to shoot. You’ll get nothing but a can of coke from me. Should drink that- wait, now I’m rambling out loud.”
Fuck.
“Look, we can talk about this. Or not, that’s cool, but I’d prefer to talk.”
Daniel peered into the darkness, trying to see her, wondering if he should have been scared and ran away in the first place.
...that has nothing to do with anything with surviving or running away or guns. Dude!
Sighing and shaking his head, Daniel raised an eyebrow. “My name is Daniel Renard, you’re Jaszmine Johnson, we worked on that project ages ago last year. I guess you’re not on my side right now, huh?”
How was he supposed to treat this? Play it cool? Cool? What? For god’s sake, why was he trying to play her, he saw her every day at the back of the grounds, occasionally in that really boring art class drawing or designing that dress or something like that, how did he know what she was up to? It was something girly and fashion-related. Well, not all fashion was girl-related, but that’s besides the goddamn point. You’re going off track with the girl with the pistol about to shoot you.
“Well, I can honestly say that I have no weapons of any kind, so there’s no need to shoot. You’ll get nothing but a can of coke from me. Should drink that- wait, now I’m rambling out loud.”
Fuck.
“Look, we can talk about this. Or not, that’s cool, but I’d prefer to talk.”
Daniel peered into the darkness, trying to see her, wondering if he should have been scared and ran away in the first place.
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((Tristan continued from Integrity))
Of course, no deaths prior to the first announcement had almost been too much to hope for, not that it would have made much of a difference, most likely. Seasons like 19 were a rarity, and it hadn't mattered in the end. The TV executives didn't care how long it took for the kills to start coming, just that they started flowing. They would wait the kids out, if necessary, and sooner or later, somebody would crack. That somebody was KAren Ruiz, apparently. Quiet kid. Not his first guess for a killer by a longshot, but then, was it ever?
Tristan wondered for a split second if Anthony had been on his team - or Karen for that matter, then shut the thought down hard. He shouldn't care. It was wrong to care. His team carrying through to the end might have been the only way that Tristan was getting out of here alive, but that didn't mean he wanted his four 'buddies' to kill his way out of here. Might as well commit the murders himself if he was going to do that. Tristan tried not to think about it. If he died, then he was going to die. No two ways about it.
Unfit as he was, Tristan didn't have a lot of trouble keeping up with Jasz, even though she was apparently in no mood for any kind of conversation. The announcement had touched a nerve, he could tell. Anthony was a good guy - just another example of why this fucked up show shouldn't happen. People like Anthony had more in front of them than a cheap death for the purposes of 'entertainment'. Should have had more in front of him, anyway. In any case, Tristan slacked off on his pace a little, allowing Jasz to draw ahead.
He wasn't one hundred percent sure about Jasz yet. She'd told him that she was only looking to stay alive, sure. But she was definitely jumpy and with that gun of hers... well, anything could happen in SOTF-TV. Tristan was definitely going to keep his eye on her. He had a growing suspicion that Jasz was psyching herself up to play the game, much to his distress. Tristan wanted to chalk it up to paranoia, he truly did, but... he didn't know her well enough to completely trust her. And the signals her was getting weren't encouraging.
Signals like, say, catching up with her to hear her spouting threats at somebody? Tristan was frowning as he walked alongside Jasz, looking past her to see that it was someone they knew that she was brandishing her weapon at.
"What the heck, Jasz?" Tristan hissed, trying to be subtle and not doing well behind his mounting anger. He was never great at controlling his temper. "It's Renard, man. He's not even got a weapon - that really necessary?" at that last, he was looking pointedly at Jasz's gun.
Dammit... did I pick a partner that's going to crack inside of the first day?
Of course, no deaths prior to the first announcement had almost been too much to hope for, not that it would have made much of a difference, most likely. Seasons like 19 were a rarity, and it hadn't mattered in the end. The TV executives didn't care how long it took for the kills to start coming, just that they started flowing. They would wait the kids out, if necessary, and sooner or later, somebody would crack. That somebody was KAren Ruiz, apparently. Quiet kid. Not his first guess for a killer by a longshot, but then, was it ever?
Tristan wondered for a split second if Anthony had been on his team - or Karen for that matter, then shut the thought down hard. He shouldn't care. It was wrong to care. His team carrying through to the end might have been the only way that Tristan was getting out of here alive, but that didn't mean he wanted his four 'buddies' to kill his way out of here. Might as well commit the murders himself if he was going to do that. Tristan tried not to think about it. If he died, then he was going to die. No two ways about it.
Unfit as he was, Tristan didn't have a lot of trouble keeping up with Jasz, even though she was apparently in no mood for any kind of conversation. The announcement had touched a nerve, he could tell. Anthony was a good guy - just another example of why this fucked up show shouldn't happen. People like Anthony had more in front of them than a cheap death for the purposes of 'entertainment'. Should have had more in front of him, anyway. In any case, Tristan slacked off on his pace a little, allowing Jasz to draw ahead.
He wasn't one hundred percent sure about Jasz yet. She'd told him that she was only looking to stay alive, sure. But she was definitely jumpy and with that gun of hers... well, anything could happen in SOTF-TV. Tristan was definitely going to keep his eye on her. He had a growing suspicion that Jasz was psyching herself up to play the game, much to his distress. Tristan wanted to chalk it up to paranoia, he truly did, but... he didn't know her well enough to completely trust her. And the signals her was getting weren't encouraging.
Signals like, say, catching up with her to hear her spouting threats at somebody? Tristan was frowning as he walked alongside Jasz, looking past her to see that it was someone they knew that she was brandishing her weapon at.
"What the heck, Jasz?" Tristan hissed, trying to be subtle and not doing well behind his mounting anger. He was never great at controlling his temper. "It's Renard, man. He's not even got a weapon - that really necessary?" at that last, he was looking pointedly at Jasz's gun.
Dammit... did I pick a partner that's going to crack inside of the first day?
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
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Jaszmine sighed, shaking her head. What the fuck was she doing? Walking around blindly in the dark waving her gun around like a fucking dumbass was what she was doing, and it wasn't going to make her any friends, that was for sure. Tristan didn't seemed to pleased at her threats, and she didn't know that it was Renard in the darkness. Not that that would have changed anything, maybe. She was still gonna kill people.
Of course she was.
Just not these people.
Oh what? Anthony would be pissed! Jaszmine needed to save her bullets for Karen Ruiz's stupid fucking ass.
"Fuck. Damnit Renard, I'm sorry. Guess I'm just..." She looked at Tristan for a minute, shrugging. "I dunno, antsy or some shit." It was a lame excuse, but it was the best she could come up with. Especially since her only other truthful option was "considering of killing both of your nigga asses", which would have ended badly on all sorts of counts.
She clicked the safety back on and tucked the gun into her belt loop. Fuck is this? Carrying around a gun like one of those damn Western stars in all of Anthony's shitty movies.
She smiled slightly at the thought. Movies with Anthony, Devonte, and Marcus were the fucking best. It wouldn't ever happen again now, she figured, but it didn't matter. Memory was still sweet, and fuck it if she was letting it get sour that quickly.
For a moment, Jaszy wondered where Marcus and Devonte were, before deciding to shrug it away. There wasn't any time for friends now. She had to focus on her ass, not theirs.
She walked toward where Renard's voice had come from, still not really able to see him. "Fuck, sorry about the gun and shit. You got anyone else with you man?"
As an afterthought, she added "I'm not shooting anyone. I ain't wasting my bullets on your pathetic asses anyway."
Of course she was.
Just not these people.
Oh what? Anthony would be pissed! Jaszmine needed to save her bullets for Karen Ruiz's stupid fucking ass.
"Fuck. Damnit Renard, I'm sorry. Guess I'm just..." She looked at Tristan for a minute, shrugging. "I dunno, antsy or some shit." It was a lame excuse, but it was the best she could come up with. Especially since her only other truthful option was "considering of killing both of your nigga asses", which would have ended badly on all sorts of counts.
She clicked the safety back on and tucked the gun into her belt loop. Fuck is this? Carrying around a gun like one of those damn Western stars in all of Anthony's shitty movies.
She smiled slightly at the thought. Movies with Anthony, Devonte, and Marcus were the fucking best. It wouldn't ever happen again now, she figured, but it didn't matter. Memory was still sweet, and fuck it if she was letting it get sour that quickly.
For a moment, Jaszy wondered where Marcus and Devonte were, before deciding to shrug it away. There wasn't any time for friends now. She had to focus on her ass, not theirs.
She walked toward where Renard's voice had come from, still not really able to see him. "Fuck, sorry about the gun and shit. You got anyone else with you man?"
As an afterthought, she added "I'm not shooting anyone. I ain't wasting my bullets on your pathetic asses anyway."
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CorruptDropbear*
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Tristan, now that’s a voice for sore ears. Exhaling, Daniel realised how lucky he was, considering the 50-50 chance of meeting Detroit people. Going good in that department, now all he had to do was talk to a politician and a girl with a loaded pistol. Yeah. Totally going to end well. Squinting in the darkness, he could make out their shapes, but no bandanna colours. Bah, teams. Stop worrying about the game and talk to humans that you actually know.
Shaking his head, Renard lowered his hands. “I’m working alone for now, can’t find anyone that I know or… anyone on my team.” Revealing that was a slight weakness, but fuck it. He doubted that anything bad would happen. And besides, Tristan was probably the most trustworthy person he was going to meet on this island.
“Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be happy to be called pathetic.” Rolling around his head, he kneeled down and felt around his bag. “I’m gonna turn on the lights. OK?” Taking out his torch, he clicked it on, the beam of light pointing at the ground beneath the feet of Jazsmine. Moving it around a bit, he gave a small nod. Yep, that’s Jaz alright. Blue team. Fuck. Switching it to Tristan, he snickered. “Grey and blue? I’m guessing that the rest of my team is completely made up of the other school by this luck.”
Wait, good luck or bad luck?
Shaking his head, he pointed the light onto the ground, illuminating the area. "So, what are you peeps doing? Found anything interesting?"
Shaking his head, Renard lowered his hands. “I’m working alone for now, can’t find anyone that I know or… anyone on my team.” Revealing that was a slight weakness, but fuck it. He doubted that anything bad would happen. And besides, Tristan was probably the most trustworthy person he was going to meet on this island.
“Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be happy to be called pathetic.” Rolling around his head, he kneeled down and felt around his bag. “I’m gonna turn on the lights. OK?” Taking out his torch, he clicked it on, the beam of light pointing at the ground beneath the feet of Jazsmine. Moving it around a bit, he gave a small nod. Yep, that’s Jaz alright. Blue team. Fuck. Switching it to Tristan, he snickered. “Grey and blue? I’m guessing that the rest of my team is completely made up of the other school by this luck.”
Wait, good luck or bad luck?
Shaking his head, he pointed the light onto the ground, illuminating the area. "So, what are you peeps doing? Found anything interesting?"
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...
It wasn't going to work.
Wandering around with Jasz... trying to find the rest of his 'team', even. Tristan couldn't do that. Couldn't bring himself to do it. Jasz's violent reaction to Daniel had made that pretty damn clear. She didn't have much more than a couple of days in her. Then... she'd snap. Were it not for the gun, Jasz might've lasted longer, maybe not even thought about playing at all.
Draws did a lot to people. Tristan had seen it way too many times to kid himself that it wasn't going to happen just this one time. That was common too. People trying to convince themselves that just because it was them, their group, that it would be different. Never worked that way.
So what was he to do? Just wait for Jasz to go wild and start shooting? Hope like heck that his teammates did his dirty work? Bury his head in the sand? Wait for the end like some kind of docile lamb?
He couldn't play. Tristan had made that choice with the gun.
He couldn't react defensively. That just sped the game along.
He couldn't run and hide. That was as good as killing others himself. Inaction excused nobody.
Which left... what, exactly?
Take a gamble.
Tristan was no technical wizard, no engineer. He was hardly going to be able to dissect a collar. He was hopeful for a repeat of Season 53, but Tristan wouldn't be dismantling explosives with a scalpel anytime soon.
For a few seconds, Tristan forced himself into the mindset of a producer of SOTF-TV. Casting aside his initial, cynical thoughts, Tristan considered how he would 'spice up' a given game. Those guys were sadists, had to be - they got their kicks out of emotionally tormenting teenagers. The collars were flawed - anybody who'd watched more than a couple of seasons of SOTF-TV knew that - how did they decide the flaws?
It came to him. What could be more hilarious to somebody like that than for the correct solution to be the easiest one? The way to get the collars off to be so obvious that nobody even thought about it - never even considered trying it? That way, the execs could stand there cackling the whole while as people desperately tried to come up with means of escape... Never realising that it was under their noses the entire time.
"Jasz, Daniel..." Tristan said, slowly. "I'm about to do something incredibly dumb," he slipped his bag from his shoulder, dumped it on the ground. Then, he quite openly removed his bandana from around his neck, letting it flutter to the floor. With that, he turned and started walking away, into the woods, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes. If I'm not... don't come looking for me."
He took a deep breath, then forged on. His collar beeped.
Once he had made it what he deemed to be a good distance away, Tristan stopped, the beeping coming more quickly now. Hesitating for a moment, Tristan turned looked into the nearest camera.
"This isn't suicide. I'm not killing myself to make a point. I'm doing this because... there's a chance. Maybe only a tiny chance, that my hunch is right. If I'm wrong... well, I'm sure everyone will spend the rest of the day making fun of me. But remember this..."
"At least I had the balls to try something."
Tristan wrenched his collar off.
It detonated in his hand.
GRY5: TRISTAN HART: DECEASED
It wasn't going to work.
Wandering around with Jasz... trying to find the rest of his 'team', even. Tristan couldn't do that. Couldn't bring himself to do it. Jasz's violent reaction to Daniel had made that pretty damn clear. She didn't have much more than a couple of days in her. Then... she'd snap. Were it not for the gun, Jasz might've lasted longer, maybe not even thought about playing at all.
Draws did a lot to people. Tristan had seen it way too many times to kid himself that it wasn't going to happen just this one time. That was common too. People trying to convince themselves that just because it was them, their group, that it would be different. Never worked that way.
So what was he to do? Just wait for Jasz to go wild and start shooting? Hope like heck that his teammates did his dirty work? Bury his head in the sand? Wait for the end like some kind of docile lamb?
He couldn't play. Tristan had made that choice with the gun.
He couldn't react defensively. That just sped the game along.
He couldn't run and hide. That was as good as killing others himself. Inaction excused nobody.
Which left... what, exactly?
Take a gamble.
Tristan was no technical wizard, no engineer. He was hardly going to be able to dissect a collar. He was hopeful for a repeat of Season 53, but Tristan wouldn't be dismantling explosives with a scalpel anytime soon.
For a few seconds, Tristan forced himself into the mindset of a producer of SOTF-TV. Casting aside his initial, cynical thoughts, Tristan considered how he would 'spice up' a given game. Those guys were sadists, had to be - they got their kicks out of emotionally tormenting teenagers. The collars were flawed - anybody who'd watched more than a couple of seasons of SOTF-TV knew that - how did they decide the flaws?
It came to him. What could be more hilarious to somebody like that than for the correct solution to be the easiest one? The way to get the collars off to be so obvious that nobody even thought about it - never even considered trying it? That way, the execs could stand there cackling the whole while as people desperately tried to come up with means of escape... Never realising that it was under their noses the entire time.
"Jasz, Daniel..." Tristan said, slowly. "I'm about to do something incredibly dumb," he slipped his bag from his shoulder, dumped it on the ground. Then, he quite openly removed his bandana from around his neck, letting it flutter to the floor. With that, he turned and started walking away, into the woods, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes. If I'm not... don't come looking for me."
He took a deep breath, then forged on. His collar beeped.
Once he had made it what he deemed to be a good distance away, Tristan stopped, the beeping coming more quickly now. Hesitating for a moment, Tristan turned looked into the nearest camera.
"This isn't suicide. I'm not killing myself to make a point. I'm doing this because... there's a chance. Maybe only a tiny chance, that my hunch is right. If I'm wrong... well, I'm sure everyone will spend the rest of the day making fun of me. But remember this..."
"At least I had the balls to try something."
Tristan wrenched his collar off.
It detonated in his hand.
GRY5: TRISTAN HART: DECEASED
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3431
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
A voice echoes very quietly from Jaszmine's collar...
"My dear, there is no such thing as a wasted bullet in this game. If you are going to play, then play for keeps, but please do not spend time trying to be some sort of 'badass'. This will be much more amusing for me if my team is not eliminated so soon."
"My dear, there is no such thing as a wasted bullet in this game. If you are going to play, then play for keeps, but please do not spend time trying to be some sort of 'badass'. This will be much more amusing for me if my team is not eliminated so soon."
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Jaszmine didn't try to stop Tristan. There wasn't a point. If he wanted to do something stupid, then he had every fucking right too. She heard the explosion, faintly in the distance. It wasn't a surprise. Jaszy didn't even flinch.
Her eyes were focused on Tristan's abandoned bandanna. What the fuck was he trying to prove? It was pointless shit, that's the truth. Killing himself didn't make him any better than anyone else. He could have gone through this whole fucking game kill free and still won, thanks to this teammate shit. He killed himself for nothing.
"Fucking coward."
Jaszmine bent down and grabbed his bandanna anyway, stuffing it in her bag. She wasn't sure why. Something stealthy and cunning, probably. Of course. Nothing about sentimentality. No, fuck that shit. This was strategy.
Shit, I ain't even good at lying to myself.
The voice from her collar did take Jaszy by surprise, however. She stared down, trying to see her own neck before realizing the physical impossibilities of it. There was a magical voice coming from a deadly collar around her neck telling her to kill people on national television so she could go home.
Whoever came up with this show had to smoking some serious shit.
Jaszy looked at Renard, eyes narrowed. She wasn't gonna kill him. But the magical collar voice was right. It was time to do shit.
"I'm outta here. Tristan's dead, and you and me are enemies. Consider your ass lucky I didn't shoot you. Next time, it won't be that way, you hear?"
She didn't even look at her map, instead deciding to turn around and head the way she came from.
"Good luck, Renard. I hope I don't have to see you again, if you know what I'm sayin."
Jaszmine had made a decision.
It was time to fuck shit up.
((Jaszmine Johnson continued in Lost in the Woods))
Her eyes were focused on Tristan's abandoned bandanna. What the fuck was he trying to prove? It was pointless shit, that's the truth. Killing himself didn't make him any better than anyone else. He could have gone through this whole fucking game kill free and still won, thanks to this teammate shit. He killed himself for nothing.
"Fucking coward."
Jaszmine bent down and grabbed his bandanna anyway, stuffing it in her bag. She wasn't sure why. Something stealthy and cunning, probably. Of course. Nothing about sentimentality. No, fuck that shit. This was strategy.
Shit, I ain't even good at lying to myself.
The voice from her collar did take Jaszy by surprise, however. She stared down, trying to see her own neck before realizing the physical impossibilities of it. There was a magical voice coming from a deadly collar around her neck telling her to kill people on national television so she could go home.
Whoever came up with this show had to smoking some serious shit.
Jaszy looked at Renard, eyes narrowed. She wasn't gonna kill him. But the magical collar voice was right. It was time to do shit.
"I'm outta here. Tristan's dead, and you and me are enemies. Consider your ass lucky I didn't shoot you. Next time, it won't be that way, you hear?"
She didn't even look at her map, instead deciding to turn around and head the way she came from.
"Good luck, Renard. I hope I don't have to see you again, if you know what I'm sayin."
Jaszmine had made a decision.
It was time to fuck shit up.
((Jaszmine Johnson continued in Lost in the Woods))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
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CorruptDropbear*
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 4:03 am
Renard was feeling as if he suddenly missed something. Like a joke flying over his head. It was almost like he just watched someone jump in front of a speeding bus. He thought there would be someone he knew, even faintly about, that he could at least talk to for a few minutes. Just one last chance of being normal again. And now he was going off track again, frowning deeply, wondering what the fuck was going on. What was happening? Why? And why was Jazsmine taking the bandanna?
Oh right. They were enemies. Oh, and Tristian's dead. Yeah. Wait.
"Hey, hold-"
Too late. Good luck. Next time I see you, there's going to be blood. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Jazsmine had just walked off. Perfect. He just lost another chance of a scrap of normality. Wait. He wanted to be friends with her? Man, he was getting slightly desperate, wasn't he. Blinking slowly, he stared at the bag on the ground, trying to sort out what went on.
It took him a few minutes to realise what that soft bang was, far off in the woods.
"Oh fuck."
He took a step back. Tristan. What the hell.
"Oh, fuck me."
Grabbing Tristians bag and his own, he ran into the thicket of the woods in what he thought was the direction of that sound. Of all the people- no. He would have some sort of plan, wouldn't he? He was that kind of guy. Well, he seemed like it. He wouldn't have done something so stupid without planning or something like that.
Yeah. Just a few more steps. He'll be right around here, waving and talking about something or other. Right?
Renard walked and stopped.
Red.
Daniel closed his eyes, taking three big steps back. Mind numb, he turned around, slowly walking in the opposite direction.
[[Daniel Renard continued in Just Pay Separate Processing And Handling]]
Oh right. They were enemies. Oh, and Tristian's dead. Yeah. Wait.
"Hey, hold-"
Too late. Good luck. Next time I see you, there's going to be blood. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Jazsmine had just walked off. Perfect. He just lost another chance of a scrap of normality. Wait. He wanted to be friends with her? Man, he was getting slightly desperate, wasn't he. Blinking slowly, he stared at the bag on the ground, trying to sort out what went on.
It took him a few minutes to realise what that soft bang was, far off in the woods.
"Oh fuck."
He took a step back. Tristan. What the hell.
"Oh, fuck me."
Grabbing Tristians bag and his own, he ran into the thicket of the woods in what he thought was the direction of that sound. Of all the people- no. He would have some sort of plan, wouldn't he? He was that kind of guy. Well, he seemed like it. He wouldn't have done something so stupid without planning or something like that.
Yeah. Just a few more steps. He'll be right around here, waving and talking about something or other. Right?
Renard walked and stopped.
Red.
Daniel closed his eyes, taking three big steps back. Mind numb, he turned around, slowly walking in the opposite direction.
[[Daniel Renard continued in Just Pay Separate Processing And Handling]]
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.