SS07: DIANA MCINTYRE — START
Diana wanted a drink.
‘A’ drink was putting it lightly. A whole bottle of red wine would be perfect right now. She wasn’t too fussy. Never had been, really. You couldn’t be fussy when it came to alcohol if you were relying on your fellow burger flippers and boys in your year that could pass for twenty-one year olds to provide you with it. But a glass of red, maybe a cheeseboard too? Ooh, and some 90s artist that was still kinda popular, say… Alanis Morissette? Playing softly in the background? That’d be the dream right now. The perfect thing to decompress and vibe with.
However, Diana didn’t have any of those three things. Instead, she had these:
A kinda cute electric blue bandanna tied loosely around her neck. She thought it made her look a bit like an air hostess, but she’d won best dressed at a costume party dressed as a stewardess once so clearly it was a look she could pull off.
A gun. Which put her at a crossroads, with two different paths she was staring down. If you have a weapon like that then you were either a) too weak to use it or b) a strong enough person to use it. Diana didn’t know which of those two people she was. And she didn’t know which one she wanted to be. So that was nestled away at her hip, to be thought about when she could stomach addressing it.
And lastly, a semi-inflatable bowling pin outfit. Shiny, crinkly cream plastic with a low-cut bust and matching hat. Now that had a lot more exciting, less terrifying potential than an oversized pistol.
None of those three were on the level of a glass of rosé or wedge of camembert, but given the current circumstances, they were a lot more useful than either of those things. Still didn’t mean she wouldn’t turn down a solid drink should someone, anyone wander on by with one in hand.
She could’ve moved off on her accord in search of alcohol. Or company. Or excitement. But she’d never been good at reading maps or following directions, so it seemed just as fruitful to just stay here, and let whatever came her way.
Still, to sit here in these cramped, uninspiring living quarters in silence, with only the sound of creaking wood, the occasional rocky wave, and that permanent, distinctive hum of the cameras was no fun.
So she locked eyes with the nearest glassy lens she could find, sat up straight, and coughed lightly.
“To everyone wondering at home, I am not a Renée Carlson fan girl. I just thought the t-shirt was cute, damn.”
It Matters if We All Live
Open!
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SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: Hanging Onto A Buoy For Dear Life
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
- Contact:
To Jodi, growing up meant accepting that sometimes death just sorta happened.³³
One day you could be bending over to shovel your driveway,³⁴ say, after a long year spent indoors watching re-runs of Seinfeld³⁵ and Twin Peaks³⁶. You, sir, middle-aged you, could find yourself on the receiving end of a heart attack and not even know it was going to happen until it was too late. Another day, another person could find themselves under the wheels of a bus, or drowning in a pool, all with identities and things that made them unique, alive, and all of them gone in an instant.³⁷ Grown-ups accepted death, and lived anyway.³⁸ That's how Jodi always reckoned with it. They accepted it so much that they made a television show out of it happening, to kids who hadn't grown up yet, who hadn't realized with the full thrust of their being what it meant to die, and they died over, and over, and over.³⁹
Jodi was going to be one of those teenagers, and she wasn't ready to grow up about it yet.
But she was ready to try.⁴⁰
[SORRY BASTARD NUMBER ONE: JODI HUNTER - GAME START!!!]
With her pink bandana tied around her neck and her mustard yellow hat hung low on her head, Jodi rummaged through the drawers of the control cabin, pulling them out to their full and empty length before shoving them back into place.⁴¹ It wasn't food she was looking for—she was already struggling with all the supply weight she had to move around⁴², and adding any more to that total would leave her absolutely, positively encumbered. What she was looking for was a pencil, a pen, something she could write with. She was surprised at how empty she was coming up so far. Didn't fishermen need to navigate? How did they write on their charts? Where were their charts?⁴³
Jodi pulled on another drawer and yelped when her arm caught halfway through. Something flat, solid and brown ran the width of the drawer, and something else was keeping it from pulling all the way. Jodi pulled, heaved, yanked it back—she placed both of her hands on it and pulled, then dug her feet in at the bottom of the wall under the desk—until she found herself toppling back to the ground and the drawer sailing over her head, which now throbbed with a new⁴⁴ kind of pain from how she hit the floor.
She removed her hat⁴⁵ and rubbed at her messy hair as she scanned the room to look for the drawer. She found it when she looked outside; it sat upside down on the edge of the open cabin threshold⁴⁶, its edges overlapping the flat corner of a clipboard. Whatever kept the box from opening likely remained hidden underneath.
"Okay," she said shakily to the camera on her throat⁴⁷, "that could be progress."
With a grunt, Jodi picked herself up and started to walk with some trepidation towards the cabin door. She put a hand on the lip of the door and peeked out—her head turned left, right, and left again—to check for intruders, then stooped low and picked up the drawer.
A small box of pencil erasers⁴⁸ sat on top of the clipboard and greeted her with an empty-faced smile. Without a thought, Jodi turned and booted the box across the floor and down the open stairs that lead beneath, into the living quarters.
One day you could be bending over to shovel your driveway,³⁴ say, after a long year spent indoors watching re-runs of Seinfeld³⁵ and Twin Peaks³⁶. You, sir, middle-aged you, could find yourself on the receiving end of a heart attack and not even know it was going to happen until it was too late. Another day, another person could find themselves under the wheels of a bus, or drowning in a pool, all with identities and things that made them unique, alive, and all of them gone in an instant.³⁷ Grown-ups accepted death, and lived anyway.³⁸ That's how Jodi always reckoned with it. They accepted it so much that they made a television show out of it happening, to kids who hadn't grown up yet, who hadn't realized with the full thrust of their being what it meant to die, and they died over, and over, and over.³⁹
Jodi was going to be one of those teenagers, and she wasn't ready to grow up about it yet.
But she was ready to try.⁴⁰
[SORRY BASTARD NUMBER ONE: JODI HUNTER - GAME START!!!]
With her pink bandana tied around her neck and her mustard yellow hat hung low on her head, Jodi rummaged through the drawers of the control cabin, pulling them out to their full and empty length before shoving them back into place.⁴¹ It wasn't food she was looking for—she was already struggling with all the supply weight she had to move around⁴², and adding any more to that total would leave her absolutely, positively encumbered. What she was looking for was a pencil, a pen, something she could write with. She was surprised at how empty she was coming up so far. Didn't fishermen need to navigate? How did they write on their charts? Where were their charts?⁴³
Jodi pulled on another drawer and yelped when her arm caught halfway through. Something flat, solid and brown ran the width of the drawer, and something else was keeping it from pulling all the way. Jodi pulled, heaved, yanked it back—she placed both of her hands on it and pulled, then dug her feet in at the bottom of the wall under the desk—until she found herself toppling back to the ground and the drawer sailing over her head, which now throbbed with a new⁴⁴ kind of pain from how she hit the floor.
She removed her hat⁴⁵ and rubbed at her messy hair as she scanned the room to look for the drawer. She found it when she looked outside; it sat upside down on the edge of the open cabin threshold⁴⁶, its edges overlapping the flat corner of a clipboard. Whatever kept the box from opening likely remained hidden underneath.
"Okay," she said shakily to the camera on her throat⁴⁷, "that could be progress."
With a grunt, Jodi picked herself up and started to walk with some trepidation towards the cabin door. She put a hand on the lip of the door and peeked out—her head turned left, right, and left again—to check for intruders, then stooped low and picked up the drawer.
A small box of pencil erasers⁴⁸ sat on top of the clipboard and greeted her with an empty-faced smile. Without a thought, Jodi turned and booted the box across the floor and down the open stairs that lead beneath, into the living quarters.
- 
- SS11: BRITNEE JOYNER - START
"This is disgusting, y'all."
The camera turned to focus on Britnee, sitting on a wooden box on an open deck, belongings laid out in front of her. There was a look of utter grief on her face. Her attention was fixed on particular at a span of green fabric, the centerpiece of the rest of her life.
This green thing was her fan costume.
Like, what the fuck?
If there was one thing she'd been looking forward to once she realized she was cast here, it was the costume. She'd been hoping for the flight stewardess costume Britney Spears, the Superior Britney, wore in the Toxic music video. Iconic. Or, like, at least a little something that would show off some skin, you know, give the boys of Mangrove something to look at, maybe get a headstart on the SOTF angst-ridden passionate romance she'd been waiting for her entire life. You know, #justgirlthings, simple little requests.
But no, they gave her this fucking thing of fabric. Like some knockoff of some bootleg trashy-ass Power Rangers costume with all the design stripped off. She could just hear Cassidy, that bitch, cackling back home. Just, like, no skin showing up, just wrap the entire girl in fabric, hide her away, lock her in a box, why don't you?
She had nothing to look forward to now.
Her expression settled into something resembling resignation. She'd taken stock of all her supplies now. The food (she didn't even like fish, couldn't they have thrown in a chicken sandwich or something?), map, first-aid kit, team clothes, bikini, et cetera. Bandanna wrapped around her forehand (it honestly paired with her clothes pretty well, God bless the producers for this one (1) thing TBH).
Her weapon. A white plastic bottle, blank, its only accompaniment a sticky note.
She knew what hydrogen sulfate was. She'd paid attention in chemistry class.
She remembered the pictures they'd shown on the projector, as a PSA.
The burnt, ruined, fucked flesh.
God she wanted to vomit.
She made sure for the hundredth time that the bottle was fully, completely closed, and stowed it away at the very bottom of her bag. It felt like carrying a ticking bomb. The rest of her belongings came after. She zipped the bag closed.
She closed her eyes for ten seconds, took in deep breaths. Something she'd seen on a Headspace app. She'd take all the peace she could get.
And then she was off. Somewhere. Anywhere, anyone that would take her. You had to start with someone.
And then there was a clatter downstairs.
She considered, briefly, taking out the bottle, and then she didn't. There wasn't anyone behind her, as far as she could tell. She could always just retreat, if need be.
She made her way towards the noise, near the control cabin. Saw a girl standing outside a door, debris scattered around her.
Put on a smile. Trademark Dee's Discount Deals smile.
"You need help with something?"
Make a good first impression, yeah?
"This is disgusting, y'all."
The camera turned to focus on Britnee, sitting on a wooden box on an open deck, belongings laid out in front of her. There was a look of utter grief on her face. Her attention was fixed on particular at a span of green fabric, the centerpiece of the rest of her life.
This green thing was her fan costume.
Like, what the fuck?
If there was one thing she'd been looking forward to once she realized she was cast here, it was the costume. She'd been hoping for the flight stewardess costume Britney Spears, the Superior Britney, wore in the Toxic music video. Iconic. Or, like, at least a little something that would show off some skin, you know, give the boys of Mangrove something to look at, maybe get a headstart on the SOTF angst-ridden passionate romance she'd been waiting for her entire life. You know, #justgirlthings, simple little requests.
But no, they gave her this fucking thing of fabric. Like some knockoff of some bootleg trashy-ass Power Rangers costume with all the design stripped off. She could just hear Cassidy, that bitch, cackling back home. Just, like, no skin showing up, just wrap the entire girl in fabric, hide her away, lock her in a box, why don't you?
She had nothing to look forward to now.
Her expression settled into something resembling resignation. She'd taken stock of all her supplies now. The food (she didn't even like fish, couldn't they have thrown in a chicken sandwich or something?), map, first-aid kit, team clothes, bikini, et cetera. Bandanna wrapped around her forehand (it honestly paired with her clothes pretty well, God bless the producers for this one (1) thing TBH).
Her weapon. A white plastic bottle, blank, its only accompaniment a sticky note.
She knew what hydrogen sulfate was. She'd paid attention in chemistry class.
She remembered the pictures they'd shown on the projector, as a PSA.
The burnt, ruined, fucked flesh.
God she wanted to vomit.
She made sure for the hundredth time that the bottle was fully, completely closed, and stowed it away at the very bottom of her bag. It felt like carrying a ticking bomb. The rest of her belongings came after. She zipped the bag closed.
She closed her eyes for ten seconds, took in deep breaths. Something she'd seen on a Headspace app. She'd take all the peace she could get.
And then she was off. Somewhere. Anywhere, anyone that would take her. You had to start with someone.
And then there was a clatter downstairs.
She considered, briefly, taking out the bottle, and then she didn't. There wasn't anyone behind her, as far as she could tell. She could always just retreat, if need be.
She made her way towards the noise, near the control cabin. Saw a girl standing outside a door, debris scattered around her.
Put on a smile. Trademark Dee's Discount Deals smile.
"You need help with something?"
Make a good first impression, yeah?
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Maybe her parents were right.
Maybe she shouldn't have been so easily distracted during class.
Maybe she shouldn't have gone to the washroom.
Maybe she should've resisted when she felt a force behind her.
Maybe being a SOTF-TV fan was a mistake.
Maybe she should wake up.
MM10: HANNAH CHOI - 스타트
It's been a few minutes since she regained her conscience. The lights in the living quarter she was in flickered dimly, as she examined through the backpack located near here. Her mind was still somewhat confused about the situation, but as far as she remembered before she blacked out, she was casted for SOTF-TV right? So, in which case, there's probably a crap ton of people watching her right now, even people she had discussed the show with on the forums. So, basically, IF she somehow managed to escape this hellhole alive, she would probably be treated like some sort of celebrity back in the forums, maybe even in real life.
The emphasis is on the word 'if', of course, given how little chance she had to outlast the other poor students stuck here.
She carefully opened the bag, hoping that the Gods of RNG would bless her by giving something useful, like a katana. No, wait, definitely a katana. Slowly, she took out her inventory one by one and placed them on a nearby desk. Don't wanna break anything on Day 1, right?
Okay, first off, a bandana with a shade of northwest green. Probably resembled her team, judging from her memories of previous seasons. Cool. She thought as she tied the bandana on her left arm.
Next, flashlight, a map of the venue, a sextant, a completely packed first aid kit. Nice, those might be useful.
Onto the rations, Hannah kept a somewhat calm face while examining the packages of rations. Alright, with some careful planning, this could probably last me for a few days. Though she was hesitant if she wanted to keep the rum... Ahh fuck it, why not? Might wanna keep the mint Life Savers in her pocket though, those were her favorites.
A condom. Alright, she could not imagine a scenario where she would need that, but just for emergency's sake, she would keep it. Just in case.
Some clothes, including two t-shirts, a pair of track pants, a bikini, a towel, and...what is this? A kimono? Okay, that was actually pretty funny, TV producers, gotta give you on that one.
And what else? Ahh yea, this weird, crab staff thingy she found beside her when she woke up, which she first thought was one of the props. Is this some sort of souvenir? Looks like a scepter, does that make her the Queen of Crabs now? Okay, okay, on a much serious note though, a scepter is pretty much the best-case scenario for Hannah. Hey, think about it, Hannah, there's some poor lad in the previous seasons who got a dildo as a weapon. A scepter is nothing compared to that.
She then kept everything back into the bag, excluding the T-shirt which matched the color of her bandana. There is nearly zero air ventilation in the below deck, and the thick fabric of her sweatshirt did not help much in cooling the temperature around her. As she was about to undress herself starting from the top, she noticed the lens which was located quite close to her.
Oh yea, she's onset. Gotta keep this family-friendly, right?
She grabbed all her belongings and left the quarter. Now, where is the washroom?
Maybe she shouldn't have been so easily distracted during class.
Maybe she shouldn't have gone to the washroom.
Maybe she should've resisted when she felt a force behind her.
Maybe being a SOTF-TV fan was a mistake.
Maybe she should wake up.
MM10: HANNAH CHOI - 스타트
It's been a few minutes since she regained her conscience. The lights in the living quarter she was in flickered dimly, as she examined through the backpack located near here. Her mind was still somewhat confused about the situation, but as far as she remembered before she blacked out, she was casted for SOTF-TV right? So, in which case, there's probably a crap ton of people watching her right now, even people she had discussed the show with on the forums. So, basically, IF she somehow managed to escape this hellhole alive, she would probably be treated like some sort of celebrity back in the forums, maybe even in real life.
The emphasis is on the word 'if', of course, given how little chance she had to outlast the other poor students stuck here.
She carefully opened the bag, hoping that the Gods of RNG would bless her by giving something useful, like a katana. No, wait, definitely a katana. Slowly, she took out her inventory one by one and placed them on a nearby desk. Don't wanna break anything on Day 1, right?
Okay, first off, a bandana with a shade of northwest green. Probably resembled her team, judging from her memories of previous seasons. Cool. She thought as she tied the bandana on her left arm.
Next, flashlight, a map of the venue, a sextant, a completely packed first aid kit. Nice, those might be useful.
Onto the rations, Hannah kept a somewhat calm face while examining the packages of rations. Alright, with some careful planning, this could probably last me for a few days. Though she was hesitant if she wanted to keep the rum... Ahh fuck it, why not? Might wanna keep the mint Life Savers in her pocket though, those were her favorites.
A condom. Alright, she could not imagine a scenario where she would need that, but just for emergency's sake, she would keep it. Just in case.
Some clothes, including two t-shirts, a pair of track pants, a bikini, a towel, and...what is this? A kimono? Okay, that was actually pretty funny, TV producers, gotta give you on that one.
And what else? Ahh yea, this weird, crab staff thingy she found beside her when she woke up, which she first thought was one of the props. Is this some sort of souvenir? Looks like a scepter, does that make her the Queen of Crabs now? Okay, okay, on a much serious note though, a scepter is pretty much the best-case scenario for Hannah. Hey, think about it, Hannah, there's some poor lad in the previous seasons who got a dildo as a weapon. A scepter is nothing compared to that.
She then kept everything back into the bag, excluding the T-shirt which matched the color of her bandana. There is nearly zero air ventilation in the below deck, and the thick fabric of her sweatshirt did not help much in cooling the temperature around her. As she was about to undress herself starting from the top, she noticed the lens which was located quite close to her.
Oh yea, she's onset. Gotta keep this family-friendly, right?
She grabbed all her belongings and left the quarter. Now, where is the washroom?
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Lord_Shadow
- Posts: 536
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:43 am
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
To say this was shaping up to be the worst day of her life would be an understatement, but one Genevieve would make nonetheless. She was not the biggest fan of SOTF, especially it's more violent content. She only kept up because everyone she knew did, love it or hate it.
And now she was going to be a part of the entertainment.
Wonderful. Truly. Wonderfuckingful.
She looked over the gun in her hand, and wished it had been real. Then maybe she could have shot herself in the head and been done with it all right away.
No such luck, terror and dread awaited her from now on.
ES08: Genevieve Erickson - GAME START
She never drank before, didn't do drugs, didn't do shit really. However, in this situation and in these circumstances she eyed the alcohol that had been so generously provided.
She decided against it for now. For now, she had to figure what to do and how not to get killed. And for that, she needed advice because she sure as hell had no idea what to do.
She approached the deck cautiously. No need to make a scene or anything. She gripped her team bandana that was wrapped around her wrist. Goddamn she was so nervous she was shaking. Stop shaking you moron, don't look so scared right off the bat.
"Hey Emmy" she whispered, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I need some help here. What do I do?"
She could see people around the cabin. Someone had made some kinda loud noise and gotten someone else's attention. Thank God no one was looking in her direction as she crouched down and took cover behind a crate.
She took hold of the gun with both hands. Should she come out with it or stow it away? The possibilities on both options were endless and most outcomes did not seem good.
"Why me? Why me? I'm no one, I'm nothing." She whispered to herself.
She decided to stow the gun after all. She slowly got up from her hiding spot and stepped onto the deck.
"Hey-um hi!"
That came out too loud, too excited.
"Sorry, um, I'm Genevieve. So um, you know what was that noise. Heh heh."
Weak smile, weak posture, weak everything because she was weak.
Maybe one of them had a gun.
Maybe she could ask for a quick and painless execution.
Or, Christ, maybe she could stop with the morbid thoughts of suicide and death.
That all depended on how the others responded.
And on if she hadn't just made the biggest mistake of her life or not.
And now she was going to be a part of the entertainment.
Wonderful. Truly. Wonderfuckingful.
She looked over the gun in her hand, and wished it had been real. Then maybe she could have shot herself in the head and been done with it all right away.
No such luck, terror and dread awaited her from now on.
ES08: Genevieve Erickson - GAME START
She never drank before, didn't do drugs, didn't do shit really. However, in this situation and in these circumstances she eyed the alcohol that had been so generously provided.
She decided against it for now. For now, she had to figure what to do and how not to get killed. And for that, she needed advice because she sure as hell had no idea what to do.
She approached the deck cautiously. No need to make a scene or anything. She gripped her team bandana that was wrapped around her wrist. Goddamn she was so nervous she was shaking. Stop shaking you moron, don't look so scared right off the bat.
"Hey Emmy" she whispered, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I need some help here. What do I do?"
She could see people around the cabin. Someone had made some kinda loud noise and gotten someone else's attention. Thank God no one was looking in her direction as she crouched down and took cover behind a crate.
She took hold of the gun with both hands. Should she come out with it or stow it away? The possibilities on both options were endless and most outcomes did not seem good.
"Why me? Why me? I'm no one, I'm nothing." She whispered to herself.
She decided to stow the gun after all. She slowly got up from her hiding spot and stepped onto the deck.
"Hey-um hi!"
That came out too loud, too excited.
"Sorry, um, I'm Genevieve. So um, you know what was that noise. Heh heh."
Weak smile, weak posture, weak everything because she was weak.
Maybe one of them had a gun.
Maybe she could ask for a quick and painless execution.
Or, Christ, maybe she could stop with the morbid thoughts of suicide and death.
That all depended on how the others responded.
And on if she hadn't just made the biggest mistake of her life or not.
There was once a dumb psuedo-news line here. Now there's this pretentious nonsense. YOU1 DID THIS, YOU1 KNOW WHO YOU1 ARE!
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
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Irina Ivanov
- Posts: 222
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:47 am
- Location: The Land Down Under
Girl BC06 regained consciousness a corner of the fishing trawler's living quarters. She had already noticed next to her were lockers, and at front, was a wall. She sat up to face her assigned backpack.
[BC06: Rebecca Roberts - START?]
She opened the daypack, and removed the contents from it. There was, of importance:
-Rations. What they were specifically did not matter.
-Medkit. No exterior reaction.
-A map of the area. It was designed to be usable by all demographics.
-Clothes. As she was wearing clean clothes, they were currently irrelevant.
-Sextant. A navigational tool used by sailors.
-A bandanna. Upon a sound from the collar, she had promptly attached it tightly around the wrist area.
A gift box, upon inspection, there was a magazine with a scantily clad woman. There was a box. Of alcohol. Cigarettes. Wooden basket. The contestant blinked at the unpacked collection in rapid succession, as she inhaled deeply for five counts. There was a wet substance on her body. She had quickly determined it to be sweat. The girl attempted to remove the runoff from her hands, but that could not be done due to involuntary tremors.
What was she to do?
The familiar static and sound had always invaded the mind regularly, of screams and noise. But it had always been shielded from that other world with a single pane of glass, and a kill-switch to the windowed world always laid to the side. In any simulated ran from an organic computer, a weapon had always been provided, and there was never the smell of sweat, nor the sea. In a baker's dozens of simulations, not once was there a box of wine or cigars in non-existentially shaking hands. The hands had always ,nearly swan-like, taken up the weapon in perfect but practically possible choreography.
The side. A loud noise. It didn't matter what. Something was nearby.
It was dark. The locker enveloped everything behind it in shadow. The shadow gasped suddenly, a loud call-and-response to the other loud noise. Even though it saw little more then its own blackness, coming and going in black dots like waves. The shadow seemed frozen in time, even as its surroundings rocked. The sound of the sea also rocked to-and-fro, dizzily so.
She contained the contents she had taken out before. Her breath did not quicken as she stood up. She walked collectedly to the nearest locker, with a straight posture.
There must be control. There existed no possibility for a deviation, no margin of error.
Girl BC06 searched through the lockers calmly, staying quiet as she did so.
"There must be something, there must be SOMETHING I can use....there must be...something..."
The lockers clattered and rang out as the muttering contestant haphazardly threw one tackle box after another, without concern or acknowledgement of the other contestants.
[BC06: Rebecca Roberts - START?]
She opened the daypack, and removed the contents from it. There was, of importance:
-Rations. What they were specifically did not matter.
-Medkit. No exterior reaction.
-A map of the area. It was designed to be usable by all demographics.
-Clothes. As she was wearing clean clothes, they were currently irrelevant.
-Sextant. A navigational tool used by sailors.
-A bandanna. Upon a sound from the collar, she had promptly attached it tightly around the wrist area.
A gift box, upon inspection, there was a magazine with a scantily clad woman. There was a box. Of alcohol. Cigarettes. Wooden basket. The contestant blinked at the unpacked collection in rapid succession, as she inhaled deeply for five counts. There was a wet substance on her body. She had quickly determined it to be sweat. The girl attempted to remove the runoff from her hands, but that could not be done due to involuntary tremors.
What was she to do?
The familiar static and sound had always invaded the mind regularly, of screams and noise. But it had always been shielded from that other world with a single pane of glass, and a kill-switch to the windowed world always laid to the side. In any simulated ran from an organic computer, a weapon had always been provided, and there was never the smell of sweat, nor the sea. In a baker's dozens of simulations, not once was there a box of wine or cigars in non-existentially shaking hands. The hands had always ,nearly swan-like, taken up the weapon in perfect but practically possible choreography.
The side. A loud noise. It didn't matter what. Something was nearby.
It was dark. The locker enveloped everything behind it in shadow. The shadow gasped suddenly, a loud call-and-response to the other loud noise. Even though it saw little more then its own blackness, coming and going in black dots like waves. The shadow seemed frozen in time, even as its surroundings rocked. The sound of the sea also rocked to-and-fro, dizzily so.
She contained the contents she had taken out before. Her breath did not quicken as she stood up. She walked collectedly to the nearest locker, with a straight posture.
There must be control. There existed no possibility for a deviation, no margin of error.
Girl BC06 searched through the lockers calmly, staying quiet as she did so.
"There must be something, there must be SOMETHING I can use....there must be...something..."
The lockers clattered and rang out as the muttering contestant haphazardly threw one tackle box after another, without concern or acknowledgement of the other contestants.
-
SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
Diana reclined back, gazing up at the ceiling as she contemplated her next move. The little nest she’d crafted for herself from her belongings was getting cozy, familiar. Almost too much so. Part of her didn’t want to leave, to depart from the familiarity of this room and into the uncertainty the rest of the trawler held. But she had to do it eventually. And the longer she stayed put, the harder it would be to leave.
Plus, in all honesty, she was getting a little bored.
If she was watching herself at home right now, nestled up in bed with her laptop or at a party with friends, she would’ve already switched streams. Who would want to watch the grunge girl stare vacantly into space when there was somebody delivering a tear-stained monologue, somebody in a pointless scuffle, somebody pandering their obscure talent.
Somebody already face down with a bullet in their brain—
Diana hesitated as she reached the stairs leading out of the living quarters, just in time for a packet of pencils to clatter nosily down the stairwell, landing mere inches away from her boots.
She lifted a hand to her brow as she glanced skywards, up at the murkily visible figures above.
“While we’re kicking things down the stairs, do you think you could chuck a bottle of wine my way?”
Before any response could be made, the almost eerie calm of the quarters was disrupted by the sound of boxes being tossed to the side, and panicked words muttered echoing around the room.
Diana’s hand instinctively reached for the gun still nestled at her side as she turned and saw another figure, lost in their own world as they desperately tore their little hideaway apart.
“Oh. Hi Rebecca.”
Plus, in all honesty, she was getting a little bored.
If she was watching herself at home right now, nestled up in bed with her laptop or at a party with friends, she would’ve already switched streams. Who would want to watch the grunge girl stare vacantly into space when there was somebody delivering a tear-stained monologue, somebody in a pointless scuffle, somebody pandering their obscure talent.
Somebody already face down with a bullet in their brain—
Diana hesitated as she reached the stairs leading out of the living quarters, just in time for a packet of pencils to clatter nosily down the stairwell, landing mere inches away from her boots.
She lifted a hand to her brow as she glanced skywards, up at the murkily visible figures above.
“While we’re kicking things down the stairs, do you think you could chuck a bottle of wine my way?”
Before any response could be made, the almost eerie calm of the quarters was disrupted by the sound of boxes being tossed to the side, and panicked words muttered echoing around the room.
Diana’s hand instinctively reached for the gun still nestled at her side as she turned and saw another figure, lost in their own world as they desperately tore their little hideaway apart.
“Oh. Hi Rebecca.”
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: Hanging Onto A Buoy For Dear Life
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
- Contact:
She kicked the box, and all of a sudden there were people everywhere.⁴⁹
On the top deck, Britnee⁵⁰ approached, apparently un-armed, with a smile bordering on Stepford. Genevieve⁵¹ came on board as well, taking the sound of people as a queue to reveal herself from her hiding place, for some reason⁵². And then there were the voices from downstairs, at sound at which Jodi felt her stomach curdle⁵³.
None of them wanted to kill her yet. Or they weren't in range to do it. And there were so many of them! Jodi looked from one, to the other, to the stairs, to the boats bobbing in the water, and back around again, again, until her stomach wasn't just curdling, but churning—
Jodi covered her mouth with her hand⁵⁴ and let out a sputtering cough.
"Hehhhh," Jodi wheezed, "hhehhhhheyy—"
She turned away and coughed some more. A bead of phlegm worked its way between her teeth. Jodi hacked it back into her throat and spit it over board, watching as it sailed into the sea. With both hands she put her hat back onto her head, fixed it snugly in place, and tugged the thin black fitting string up underneath.
"Let me try that again," Jodi muttered to her neck, "and don't cause me any more problems. Please."
Jodi turned her head back toward Britnee, and Genevieve, and the stairway with its hidden below-people, and got ready to say something to them.
Something.
Anything.
...
Jodi stood, facing them and moving her mouth. Not a single sound came out.⁵⁵
On the top deck, Britnee⁵⁰ approached, apparently un-armed, with a smile bordering on Stepford. Genevieve⁵¹ came on board as well, taking the sound of people as a queue to reveal herself from her hiding place, for some reason⁵². And then there were the voices from downstairs, at sound at which Jodi felt her stomach curdle⁵³.
None of them wanted to kill her yet. Or they weren't in range to do it. And there were so many of them! Jodi looked from one, to the other, to the stairs, to the boats bobbing in the water, and back around again, again, until her stomach wasn't just curdling, but churning—
Jodi covered her mouth with her hand⁵⁴ and let out a sputtering cough.
"Hehhhh," Jodi wheezed, "hhehhhhheyy—"
She turned away and coughed some more. A bead of phlegm worked its way between her teeth. Jodi hacked it back into her throat and spit it over board, watching as it sailed into the sea. With both hands she put her hat back onto her head, fixed it snugly in place, and tugged the thin black fitting string up underneath.
"Let me try that again," Jodi muttered to her neck, "and don't cause me any more problems. Please."
Jodi turned her head back toward Britnee, and Genevieve, and the stairway with its hidden below-people, and got ready to say something to them.
Something.
Anything.
...
Jodi stood, facing them and moving her mouth. Not a single sound came out.⁵⁵
A whisper from Genevieve's collar, only loud enough for her to hear.
"Be careful. Be calm. Concentrate. There are a lot of people here. Don't panic, but be aware of what's around you.
...And you are someone."
"Be careful. Be calm. Concentrate. There are a lot of people here. Don't panic, but be aware of what's around you.
...And you are someone."
OK so. First impressions might have been important for Britnee, given that she, like, actually mattered in school and people were actually paying attention to her and stuff, but they clearly weren't important for the girl she eventually recognized as Jodi, one of those book girls in her class she'd never had any reason to talk to until today.
Like, okay, there were a ton of sweater girls on SOTF that didn't say much, limited the volume of any noises they made to under 20 decibels, basically spent their time in the limelight having continuous breakdowns, and mood, understandable, relatable given they were all about to fucking die, but also, girl just hacked a loogie on live national TV right after waking up. People would be tuning into her stream and shit, and that would be the first image to greet them. Like, that blob of saliva and phlegm seemed to just soar across the air in slow-mo, and Britnee watched the whole spectacle with scrunched eyebrows, a covered mouth. She was simultaneously impressed and disgusted. She didn't know those emotions could mix together like that.
Some other stranger who identified herself as Genevieve, probably some senior who had also never been relevant enough for Britnee, also came on deck, also did her best impression at a nervous breakdown. Britnee kept her smile glued on to look all friendly and welcoming and understanding and shit, one of the skills that came with being a cashier at Miami's premier discount fashion store, but she gave Genevieve a quick once-over, a look up and down.
Not that Genevieve's clothes were really remarkable in any sense of the word, like, come on, a gray hoodie and cargo pants??? Seriously???? You're going onto the world's biggest show wearing that?????? Her clothes were honestly almost more embarrassing than the green thing the producers had given her. Almost.
Anyways, her clothes weren't the point.
The bandanna was. The one around Genevieve's wrist. The one that wasn't electric blue.
That was also the only thing about Jodi that mattered to Britnee. The non-blue bandanna around her neck.
There were some other voices that came from below deck, she wasn't sure if they'd come before or after Jodi's lack of a response, it honestly kinda felt like half the island was on this boat, feeling lowkey Claustrophobic™ in this Chili's tonight, it was all a bit Much, but one of the voices had come to her louder than the others. Britnee took some time to process that voice and.
Her smile stayed on, but there was some give in her eyes.
Jodi still hadn't answered Britnee, still hadn't told her whether she needed help or not, but she didn't matter.
Britnee gently nudged her aside, stepped over the rainbow mess of erasers on the floor.
Made her way down the stairs.
Found herself face-to-face with her best friend.
"Diana?"
She asked, but she knew.
She was here.
They were at the mercy of this island, this show, together.
It was both the best and worst thing in the world to see her here.
Like, okay, there were a ton of sweater girls on SOTF that didn't say much, limited the volume of any noises they made to under 20 decibels, basically spent their time in the limelight having continuous breakdowns, and mood, understandable, relatable given they were all about to fucking die, but also, girl just hacked a loogie on live national TV right after waking up. People would be tuning into her stream and shit, and that would be the first image to greet them. Like, that blob of saliva and phlegm seemed to just soar across the air in slow-mo, and Britnee watched the whole spectacle with scrunched eyebrows, a covered mouth. She was simultaneously impressed and disgusted. She didn't know those emotions could mix together like that.
Some other stranger who identified herself as Genevieve, probably some senior who had also never been relevant enough for Britnee, also came on deck, also did her best impression at a nervous breakdown. Britnee kept her smile glued on to look all friendly and welcoming and understanding and shit, one of the skills that came with being a cashier at Miami's premier discount fashion store, but she gave Genevieve a quick once-over, a look up and down.
Not that Genevieve's clothes were really remarkable in any sense of the word, like, come on, a gray hoodie and cargo pants??? Seriously???? You're going onto the world's biggest show wearing that?????? Her clothes were honestly almost more embarrassing than the green thing the producers had given her. Almost.
Anyways, her clothes weren't the point.
The bandanna was. The one around Genevieve's wrist. The one that wasn't electric blue.
That was also the only thing about Jodi that mattered to Britnee. The non-blue bandanna around her neck.
There were some other voices that came from below deck, she wasn't sure if they'd come before or after Jodi's lack of a response, it honestly kinda felt like half the island was on this boat, feeling lowkey Claustrophobic™ in this Chili's tonight, it was all a bit Much, but one of the voices had come to her louder than the others. Britnee took some time to process that voice and.
Her smile stayed on, but there was some give in her eyes.
Jodi still hadn't answered Britnee, still hadn't told her whether she needed help or not, but she didn't matter.
Britnee gently nudged her aside, stepped over the rainbow mess of erasers on the floor.
Made her way down the stairs.
Found herself face-to-face with her best friend.
"Diana?"
She asked, but she knew.
She was here.
They were at the mercy of this island, this show, together.
It was both the best and worst thing in the world to see her here.
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Phew, much better
Hannah casually stepped out of the girls' washroom, feeling much relieved as her grey sweatshirt now being switched to a dark green T-shirt. To be honest, in contrast with what she had heard in the forums, the T-shirt was surprisingly comfortable to wear. Though it could probably because of the lighter fabric compared to the sweatshirt, making her felt much cooler in a lukewarm area such as the living quarters.
Just as she opened the washroom door, she spotted at least 3 people in the bottom deck with her, some of which she could recognize.
The one near the stairs smiling was Britnee. A huge celebrity in school, though they never knew each other or had anything in common. She seemed like she was unarmed, maybe she's harmless? Diana was standing near the lockers, her hand reaching out towards her pistol. Another popular girl, she knew her through her friends but never talked face to face. And the random girl in the locker, although Hannah was sure she saw her face somewhere, she never managed to get her name.
At this sudden moment, Hannah felt a lump in her throat.
Wait, what the...When did they get here?!
For Hannah, her strategy was to just get back into her quarter and stay there for the rest of the day. Sure, this was probably the most cowardly move, and she might get bombarded to smithereens in the SOTF forums for pulling out one of the blandest moves in SOTF history, but she had her reasons. Rather than getting brutally murdered on the first day, she would much rather keep herself secure in a cramp, sweltering cabin.
The main point of her strategy is to prevent any form of human interaction, but here she was, right in the situation which she desired the least.
Slowly, she took a deep breath. She wanted to slam the washroom door shut and wait for them to just leave. Hell, one of them had a pistol! She could easily kill all of us by just pulling the trigger.
However, she did not sense any tension between the three girls. She felt as if they were more confused and terrified of the current situation rather than wanting to end each other.
Maybe if she just acted friendly, they'll let her go?
She gave them a small, yet awkward smile. A soft voice could barely escape her throat as she greeted the sudden guests.
"Uhh... H - Hello...?"
Hannah casually stepped out of the girls' washroom, feeling much relieved as her grey sweatshirt now being switched to a dark green T-shirt. To be honest, in contrast with what she had heard in the forums, the T-shirt was surprisingly comfortable to wear. Though it could probably because of the lighter fabric compared to the sweatshirt, making her felt much cooler in a lukewarm area such as the living quarters.
Just as she opened the washroom door, she spotted at least 3 people in the bottom deck with her, some of which she could recognize.
The one near the stairs smiling was Britnee. A huge celebrity in school, though they never knew each other or had anything in common. She seemed like she was unarmed, maybe she's harmless? Diana was standing near the lockers, her hand reaching out towards her pistol. Another popular girl, she knew her through her friends but never talked face to face. And the random girl in the locker, although Hannah was sure she saw her face somewhere, she never managed to get her name.
At this sudden moment, Hannah felt a lump in her throat.
Wait, what the...When did they get here?!
For Hannah, her strategy was to just get back into her quarter and stay there for the rest of the day. Sure, this was probably the most cowardly move, and she might get bombarded to smithereens in the SOTF forums for pulling out one of the blandest moves in SOTF history, but she had her reasons. Rather than getting brutally murdered on the first day, she would much rather keep herself secure in a cramp, sweltering cabin.
The main point of her strategy is to prevent any form of human interaction, but here she was, right in the situation which she desired the least.
Slowly, she took a deep breath. She wanted to slam the washroom door shut and wait for them to just leave. Hell, one of them had a pistol! She could easily kill all of us by just pulling the trigger.
However, she did not sense any tension between the three girls. She felt as if they were more confused and terrified of the current situation rather than wanting to end each other.
Maybe if she just acted friendly, they'll let her go?
She gave them a small, yet awkward smile. A soft voice could barely escape her throat as she greeted the sudden guests.
"Uhh... H - Hello...?"
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Lord_Shadow
- Posts: 536
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:43 am
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
It didn't surprise her to be ignored and forgotten. She was used to being just sort of in the background. Honestly it was nice that something so familiar still occurred.
What she didn't like was the look that she got from the girl who went downstairs. She knew what that look meant. She knew from watching the show. It was not a good look, and to be honest she realized her mistake as soon as she saw it.
Of course teams were the big thing. She was on a team. She just heard from her classmate mentor. She had put on her team's colors pretty much first thing after waking up.
She wanted to apply the nearest wall to her forehead.
She didn't though, because that would be even more stupid.
Maybe the other girl would be a little more open to not focusing on the whole team and death game stuff.
"Sooo, you looking for supplies or something? Anything I could help with?"
Nervous smile, not sure what else to do. She was gonna get shot somehow, she knew. Only a matter of time.
"I'm like, here to help I guess."
What she didn't like was the look that she got from the girl who went downstairs. She knew what that look meant. She knew from watching the show. It was not a good look, and to be honest she realized her mistake as soon as she saw it.
Of course teams were the big thing. She was on a team. She just heard from her classmate mentor. She had put on her team's colors pretty much first thing after waking up.
She wanted to apply the nearest wall to her forehead.
She didn't though, because that would be even more stupid.
Maybe the other girl would be a little more open to not focusing on the whole team and death game stuff.
"Sooo, you looking for supplies or something? Anything I could help with?"
Nervous smile, not sure what else to do. She was gonna get shot somehow, she knew. Only a matter of time.
"I'm like, here to help I guess."
There was once a dumb psuedo-news line here. Now there's this pretentious nonsense. YOU1 DID THIS, YOU1 KNOW WHO YOU1 ARE!
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
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Irina Ivanov
- Posts: 222
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:47 am
- Location: The Land Down Under
The contestant expressed less agitation as she searched, an unexpected reaction to both the cameras and to the contestant herself. She strongly closed the locker shut, and took a deep breath (only) once.
What was Rebecca getting by searching fruitlessly through the lockers? It was useless. Useless as, if Rebecca tried to slam her head against the cameras in an attempt to wake up and break through the screen back into the other side. Not only were the cameras too small, but the little watchers mindlessly doing their jobs were like messengers in a war. And there will be no shooting of them.
Rebecca stared at the metallic lockers, before looking away at anything else. Diana. The light from above the living quarters. The confetti-like pencils strewn around a box. She wasn't sure exactly. Anything else was better, because the lockers were pointless, and there was no point looking at pointlessly pointless things.
The senior had been nearly, morbidly, waiting for this moment, when she would be on the other side of her canvas. When she would be another artist’s Melpomene in black gore. She had a strategy, and these lockers containing only junk and void were not included. In her or anyone's posts in those Tactical Disccussion Forums that she had killed time in.
Rebecca moved slightly away from the comforting dark, into the glare-filled stage, still maintaining eye contact with the armed Diana, perhaps the only source of communication she will ever get from her.
In the unfortunate turning of the cards that you are noticed or are forced to notice others, refer to Situation 2.5.
"H-. Hi."
There was the fact that a solitary wallflower would ever only meet anyone remotely more recognized in the most sappiest of romantic novels. No matter how similar the flowers are. (And she knew they had at least a few matching petals, one with the color of televised teenage blood) It didn't help matters that in the inebriated, glare-y, noisy environment of a party; The colors, the faces, all blurred together for Rebecca.
So perhaps the ranger in front was a pacifist, perhaps a player, perhaps a proctor. All she knew was that she, Diana or something or the sort, had a gun. There was another person, who Rebecca did not know well, (She would say less so, but it wasn't like Rebecca knew much about either girls), but the two students in front of her seemed to be friendly with each other. In the circumstance that both contestants played...
Refer to situation 2.5.6. Stay aware. Hold those cards close to your chest.
"Stay clear of the pencils. I am not sure who kicked the box down here, but,"
The contestant took a deep breath once again. And felt the bundle of nerves unravel, unravel just enough for Rebecca to move out of being stiff and stilted. Just for a few moments, before they tighten again further. Smile and laugh, if only for an instant, even if you don't feel it.
"I mean, if you die from hitting your head while tripping on them, on the first day, that uh. Might not be good."
Her eyes still locked onto the other...students, (Rebecca wasn't too sure if Diana was in her own year or the other class that got taken.) she began to open another locker, one whose nook and crannies were still untouched. Still, even so, she could foresee the contents. Hooks. Tackle boxes. Bait. Open space for her to put her worries into and lock.
What was Rebecca getting by searching fruitlessly through the lockers? It was useless. Useless as, if Rebecca tried to slam her head against the cameras in an attempt to wake up and break through the screen back into the other side. Not only were the cameras too small, but the little watchers mindlessly doing their jobs were like messengers in a war. And there will be no shooting of them.
Rebecca stared at the metallic lockers, before looking away at anything else. Diana. The light from above the living quarters. The confetti-like pencils strewn around a box. She wasn't sure exactly. Anything else was better, because the lockers were pointless, and there was no point looking at pointlessly pointless things.
The senior had been nearly, morbidly, waiting for this moment, when she would be on the other side of her canvas. When she would be another artist’s Melpomene in black gore. She had a strategy, and these lockers containing only junk and void were not included. In her or anyone's posts in those Tactical Disccussion Forums that she had killed time in.
Rebecca moved slightly away from the comforting dark, into the glare-filled stage, still maintaining eye contact with the armed Diana, perhaps the only source of communication she will ever get from her.
In the unfortunate turning of the cards that you are noticed or are forced to notice others, refer to Situation 2.5.
"H-. Hi."
There was the fact that a solitary wallflower would ever only meet anyone remotely more recognized in the most sappiest of romantic novels. No matter how similar the flowers are. (And she knew they had at least a few matching petals, one with the color of televised teenage blood) It didn't help matters that in the inebriated, glare-y, noisy environment of a party; The colors, the faces, all blurred together for Rebecca.
So perhaps the ranger in front was a pacifist, perhaps a player, perhaps a proctor. All she knew was that she, Diana or something or the sort, had a gun. There was another person, who Rebecca did not know well, (She would say less so, but it wasn't like Rebecca knew much about either girls), but the two students in front of her seemed to be friendly with each other. In the circumstance that both contestants played...
Refer to situation 2.5.6. Stay aware. Hold those cards close to your chest.
"Stay clear of the pencils. I am not sure who kicked the box down here, but,"
The contestant took a deep breath once again. And felt the bundle of nerves unravel, unravel just enough for Rebecca to move out of being stiff and stilted. Just for a few moments, before they tighten again further. Smile and laugh, if only for an instant, even if you don't feel it.
"I mean, if you die from hitting your head while tripping on them, on the first day, that uh. Might not be good."
Her eyes still locked onto the other...students, (Rebecca wasn't too sure if Diana was in her own year or the other class that got taken.) she began to open another locker, one whose nook and crannies were still untouched. Still, even so, she could foresee the contents. Hooks. Tackle boxes. Bait. Open space for her to put her worries into and lock.
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SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
Two became three became four as someone thundered down the stairwell in unison with another exiting the quarters’ adjacent washroom and Diana’s little den of solitude quickly became a hub buzzing with activity.
This was where Diana felt she thrived, in amongst the hustle and bustle of others.
Rebecca still seemed not totally all there yet, and Diana could cut her more than a bit of slack in that regard, given the circumstances. But paranoia over a box of pencils? With a bit more of a closer look than the cursory glance she’d initially afforded she saw that they weren’t even pencils, and merely dozens of stubby erasers instead. Still, if Diana met her maker less than a few hours into this thing at the behest of a mound of mint green and sorbet yellow stationary for millions of viewers to see, she would have some very strong words to give God for playing her like that.
“I’m sure we’d be much more in danger of whiteout, Rebecca. Or maybe an automatic stapler?”
Diana hoped Rebecca appreciated her making light of her comment; it seemed the most sensible option between that, totally ignoring it, or actually taking it seriously.
“Oh, and hey, Hannah. How’s the facilities? Suitably nautical?”
But aside from Rebecca’s misplaced concerns and Hannah’s barely-there, post-bathroom greeting, there was one person who sucked all of Diana’s attention from the second they arrived in the lower deck.
Britnee. That wasn’t fair.
Diana knew she could make a go of this, get a decent run in if she wasn’t totally screwed over by an unforeseen twist. If not through actual skill then by sheer force of will. But Britnee? She was a girl destined for great things, the girl who would be beloved and change the world if not for this massive blockade that had just slammed itself down in her path. Britnee was an effervescent ball of fun who wore her heart on her sleeve and proudly never claimed otherwise. She was going to be a fan favourite, and fan favourites rarely made it to the finish line.
It was the best thing in the world to see a friendly, totally familiar face, and the worst thing for it to be Britnee’s.
She pulled Britnee in close, gently resting her chin upon her friend’s head, and let out a barely perceptible whisper.
“I’m going to protect you, okay?”
This was where Diana felt she thrived, in amongst the hustle and bustle of others.
Rebecca still seemed not totally all there yet, and Diana could cut her more than a bit of slack in that regard, given the circumstances. But paranoia over a box of pencils? With a bit more of a closer look than the cursory glance she’d initially afforded she saw that they weren’t even pencils, and merely dozens of stubby erasers instead. Still, if Diana met her maker less than a few hours into this thing at the behest of a mound of mint green and sorbet yellow stationary for millions of viewers to see, she would have some very strong words to give God for playing her like that.
“I’m sure we’d be much more in danger of whiteout, Rebecca. Or maybe an automatic stapler?”
Diana hoped Rebecca appreciated her making light of her comment; it seemed the most sensible option between that, totally ignoring it, or actually taking it seriously.
“Oh, and hey, Hannah. How’s the facilities? Suitably nautical?”
But aside from Rebecca’s misplaced concerns and Hannah’s barely-there, post-bathroom greeting, there was one person who sucked all of Diana’s attention from the second they arrived in the lower deck.
Britnee. That wasn’t fair.
Diana knew she could make a go of this, get a decent run in if she wasn’t totally screwed over by an unforeseen twist. If not through actual skill then by sheer force of will. But Britnee? She was a girl destined for great things, the girl who would be beloved and change the world if not for this massive blockade that had just slammed itself down in her path. Britnee was an effervescent ball of fun who wore her heart on her sleeve and proudly never claimed otherwise. She was going to be a fan favourite, and fan favourites rarely made it to the finish line.
It was the best thing in the world to see a friendly, totally familiar face, and the worst thing for it to be Britnee’s.
She pulled Britnee in close, gently resting her chin upon her friend’s head, and let out a barely perceptible whisper.
“I’m going to protect you, okay?”
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: Hanging Onto A Buoy For Dear Life
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
- Contact:
Time moved, and an answer presented itself. Britnee brushed Jodi by, giving her a light push out of the way that Jodi's feet complied with before her head had anything to say about it. Then came more voices⁵⁶ from downstairs, but before Jodi had a chance to try and recognize any of them Genevieve had crossed the deck and was already standing in front of her, making herself known, dispelling Jodi's haze of choices⁵⁷ and replacing it with one clear and pressing option; talk to the damn girl⁵⁸!
"Listen," Jodi said, her hushed tone urgent with barely concealed fear, "me and you need to get off this boat before things go crazy, okay? There's like, four people downstairs, and if I know anything about this, uh, show⁵⁹, it's that when you get lots of people in a really small room things tend to get violent, if that makes sense?
"I need to run into the cabin and pick up my stuff and we can leave and scavenge somewhere else, because I don't—I just—I need space to think, okay?"
Jodi reached over, grabbed Genevieve's wrist, and gave it a small, warm squeeze before letting go.
"Just, um...
"don't freak out about when you see what they gave me, please?"
She turned around⁶⁰ and went inside, finding her bag and gun on the ground exactly as she had left them. Jodi moved the blunderbuss off of the bag and squatted down beside it, bending her back⁶¹ to reach down and heft up the duffel. Something at the base of her hips tightened painfully as the bag was lifted from the floor; Jodi squeaked, partly with pain and partly with effort, and swung the straps of the bag around her shoulders.
That was the easy part.
The gun wasn't much heavier unloaded than it would be with pellets in it, but Jodi felt like this was a bad time to start with that. Just getting it into her hands was enough for now. She reached down, bending over the same way once more⁶² and pulling the gun up with both—
"AAAIIIIEEEEEE!!"
It snapped, whatever was in her lower back, and Jodi stumbled backwards into the shelves on the opposite wall crying out a yelp of pain. She slid against the shelves down to the floor and landed with a small thump, which made things worse. The duffel sack cushioned the impact inasmuch as the wood of the shelves pushed the contents of the bag forward and made them dig into her back, exacerbating her aching, stabbing side.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow OW!"
The blunderbuss remained on the floor as Jodi reached around and rubbed her back with one hand, lifted the other, and slapped herself in the face with it for maybe possibly potentially throwing her back out lifting what couldn't be more than ten pounds in front of millions of people on live television.
"Listen," Jodi said, her hushed tone urgent with barely concealed fear, "me and you need to get off this boat before things go crazy, okay? There's like, four people downstairs, and if I know anything about this, uh, show⁵⁹, it's that when you get lots of people in a really small room things tend to get violent, if that makes sense?
"I need to run into the cabin and pick up my stuff and we can leave and scavenge somewhere else, because I don't—I just—I need space to think, okay?"
Jodi reached over, grabbed Genevieve's wrist, and gave it a small, warm squeeze before letting go.
"Just, um...
"don't freak out about when you see what they gave me, please?"
She turned around⁶⁰ and went inside, finding her bag and gun on the ground exactly as she had left them. Jodi moved the blunderbuss off of the bag and squatted down beside it, bending her back⁶¹ to reach down and heft up the duffel. Something at the base of her hips tightened painfully as the bag was lifted from the floor; Jodi squeaked, partly with pain and partly with effort, and swung the straps of the bag around her shoulders.
That was the easy part.
The gun wasn't much heavier unloaded than it would be with pellets in it, but Jodi felt like this was a bad time to start with that. Just getting it into her hands was enough for now. She reached down, bending over the same way once more⁶² and pulling the gun up with both—
"AAAIIIIEEEEEE!!"
It snapped, whatever was in her lower back, and Jodi stumbled backwards into the shelves on the opposite wall crying out a yelp of pain. She slid against the shelves down to the floor and landed with a small thump, which made things worse. The duffel sack cushioned the impact inasmuch as the wood of the shelves pushed the contents of the bag forward and made them dig into her back, exacerbating her aching, stabbing side.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow OW!"
The blunderbuss remained on the floor as Jodi reached around and rubbed her back with one hand, lifted the other, and slapped herself in the face with it for maybe possibly potentially throwing her back out lifting what couldn't be more than ten pounds in front of millions of people on live television.