Yeah, it was exactly like she'd told Sofia. Akeno. Seo. Akeno and Seo. Killers within the first twelve hours.
((Lucille Mendoza continued from I Carry Only The Finest))
Y'know, Lucille had never really noticed how fast the sun set. Until now, she guessed, when it was actually important to keep in mind any form of schedule besides 'try to be in school by this particular combination of numbers on the upper corner of your phone screen or teachers will give you shit'. Seemed like a pretty simple concept, didn't it? The bright disc in the sky that oppressively made long-sleeves impossible outside of spots with central AC swum through the sky a certain amount of hours a day. Somewhere between like... uh, six pee-am minus eight ay-am... wait, shit. Probably not negative two. If you added the two numbers and then subtracted the remainder of-
... Eight, it was probably eight. Somewhere around there. Eight hours a day was a pretty long time, wasn't it? Lucille could easily fit in a whole gym sesh, go out to the mall, come back to catch the latest episode of Ryan!Has!A!Podcast. And have time to spare, right? The way she calculated it in her head it shouldn't have taken this long to walk halfway across the map. Even over pier-things as kinda rickety and sus as they were, because, Lucille of course did her stability ball exercises as religiously as her wrist ones. She was prepared for this show, mind and body. All that preparation lead her to some nondescript spot called Here, draped over one side of the boat by her torso, idly wondering why the sun moved faster than she thought it was supposed to. She'd have called herself a slow start, if she'd seen herself. Maybe she'd change the feed to someone else.
(SB05 was by herself, far as she could tell. Not much space on the boat, but every single person on it was keeping to themselves. Enough space between all of them for Jesus to maintain their vows of chastity. Same for the space between SB05 and her gun, the inertly heavy implement left innocuously atop the bench on her side of the repurposed tour boat, more than an arm's reach away)
Lucille had to wonder, like... what were the others thinking? Had Bethan already managed to bounce back from whatever initial panic she'd suffered? She was pretty good at doing that, and might remain so on account of not yet being dead... like, as far as Lucille knew, anyhow. What about, like, Akeno? Seo? Both her heaux had been in pretty intense melee brawls, by the sounds of it. Like, Lucille could remember the first announcements pretty starkly. They hadn't been read off that long ago, first off, and also Ritzy's voice was kind of annoying and didn't fit the mood most of the time to the extent that Lucille had pretty much skipped the announcements back when sixty-six had been airing... a few months back, when Lucille had still been trying to get out of Miami for a few weeks to somewhere with actual snow, Teton or somewhere like that.
'Choked the girl to death'. 'Victim of his own weapon'. 'Congratulations on the kills', is what Lucille would have said if she could see either of 'em now. What was it like? How much damage had they taken in the process? Ten kill exit was a risk, right? Total novelty gimmick, according to some. Did the first kill change either of their minds on going for more? Or make them more determined? That's what both those bitches were: smart, determined... kinda try-hard, really, but like in this context was trying hard a bad thing?
Honestly, Lucille was still pretty sure she was theoretically the most prepared out of all of them. She'd done her homework. For once.
(Rigid, cloying. The goosebumps on SB05's arms were dewy with the condensation of cooler ocean air swabbing over her as she dangled. Ever closer to falling into the water, inch by scant inch)
When they'd come to take her, she'd put both her hands up and smiled. Like, she'd probably planned for this moment, once upon a time, she must have planned to say 'its about time', or like, something like that but even cooler. She'd ended up just chatting with the TV goons as they'd hauled her off. They'd been willing to give her that much when she hadn't been as difficult as some of the other Mangrove kids. She wondered if they expected that? She didn't know...
Sway of the boat was soothing. Reminded her of a simpler time.
(She pulled her arms together in a shiver, trying perhaps to ward off the cold)
It'd been a while since she'd thought of his face.
But my favorites are the ones who find the way to be themselves in their art.
Evening of Day One. Private, PM for no reason
But my favorites are the ones who find the way to be themselves in their art.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
((Sylvain Kessler continued from I Carry Only The Finest))
Sylvain never really got glass-bottom boat tours, you know?
Like okay, if you were in, say, Hawaii or the Great Barrier Reef, they made a little bit of sense. The ocean around Florida was about as exciting as a bathtub, and Sylvain had never been in the Everglades, but they were like... swamp. You probably wouldn't even be able to see anything through the glass, right? The whole premise centered around the fish and whatnot having to cooperate with the boat, and nothing good happened to fish that took their sweet time moseying out of the area when boats came around, as extensively shown in the timeless documentary Finding Nemo.
The glass floor would probably make some fuckin' sweet noise if Sylvain actually had his tap shoes, but he didn't, and he was kind of worn out from lugging 30-something pounds of car battery all across the tricky footing of the arena. His arms were heavy-feeling and a little shaky, and his posture would be all off if he got up to try to dance now.
It was a shame, because honestly? This shit was boring.
What little conversation there was between himself and Lucille had dried up quickly, and even Sofia catching up to them hadn't really helped. So now they were here. In this pointless boat. Nary a goldfish to be seen below. The glass looked annoyingly sturdy and thick too, otherwise he'd have at least been able to entertain the thought of dropping the car battery through it to see what would happen.
It'd be kind of sick to sink a boat. He could find something sharp to carve his signature into the furniture or the siding with, title it something like "Survival Of The Fittest Season 67's Predicted Ratings, by NARCISSUS," because he was extremely witty and funny and a hit with the kids, and just send the whole fucking thing to the bottom of the ocean. Imagine.
Instead, the only sinking ship Sylvain was tethered to was the metaphorical kind so far. They hadn't run into anyone else or talked much about the game or strategy after the initial interaction. Lucille and Sofia hadn't even ganged up on him yet, even though he was the obvious odd man out. Even the cat ears were getting kind of played out at this point (yes, he still had them on). None of them had had a breakdown or anything when the announcement happened, either in shock or grief or anything else. It was sort of... anti-climatic. One of those things where the editing crew really came through for the broadcast. None of it had been very surprising, and though it sounded like everyone had been taken from their school, about half the names were people that Sylvain was quite sure weren't in his grade. It didn't give him that much to work with.
So Sylvain was just laying on the floor again, on his back with his legs up on one of the benches and his arms folded on his stomach as he gazed at the boat's ceiling. Sofia was off in a corner taking a nap or something, and you know, maybe she had the right idea there.
He looked at Lucille, sitting on a bench opposite him, upside-down in his vision once more.
She'd set the gun down. Kind of far away from her, at that.
Huh.
"You staying awake?" He asked her, like they were having a slumber party or something. He guessed that they kind of were.
Sylvain never really got glass-bottom boat tours, you know?
Like okay, if you were in, say, Hawaii or the Great Barrier Reef, they made a little bit of sense. The ocean around Florida was about as exciting as a bathtub, and Sylvain had never been in the Everglades, but they were like... swamp. You probably wouldn't even be able to see anything through the glass, right? The whole premise centered around the fish and whatnot having to cooperate with the boat, and nothing good happened to fish that took their sweet time moseying out of the area when boats came around, as extensively shown in the timeless documentary Finding Nemo.
The glass floor would probably make some fuckin' sweet noise if Sylvain actually had his tap shoes, but he didn't, and he was kind of worn out from lugging 30-something pounds of car battery all across the tricky footing of the arena. His arms were heavy-feeling and a little shaky, and his posture would be all off if he got up to try to dance now.
It was a shame, because honestly? This shit was boring.
What little conversation there was between himself and Lucille had dried up quickly, and even Sofia catching up to them hadn't really helped. So now they were here. In this pointless boat. Nary a goldfish to be seen below. The glass looked annoyingly sturdy and thick too, otherwise he'd have at least been able to entertain the thought of dropping the car battery through it to see what would happen.
It'd be kind of sick to sink a boat. He could find something sharp to carve his signature into the furniture or the siding with, title it something like "Survival Of The Fittest Season 67's Predicted Ratings, by NARCISSUS," because he was extremely witty and funny and a hit with the kids, and just send the whole fucking thing to the bottom of the ocean. Imagine.
Instead, the only sinking ship Sylvain was tethered to was the metaphorical kind so far. They hadn't run into anyone else or talked much about the game or strategy after the initial interaction. Lucille and Sofia hadn't even ganged up on him yet, even though he was the obvious odd man out. Even the cat ears were getting kind of played out at this point (yes, he still had them on). None of them had had a breakdown or anything when the announcement happened, either in shock or grief or anything else. It was sort of... anti-climatic. One of those things where the editing crew really came through for the broadcast. None of it had been very surprising, and though it sounded like everyone had been taken from their school, about half the names were people that Sylvain was quite sure weren't in his grade. It didn't give him that much to work with.
So Sylvain was just laying on the floor again, on his back with his legs up on one of the benches and his arms folded on his stomach as he gazed at the boat's ceiling. Sofia was off in a corner taking a nap or something, and you know, maybe she had the right idea there.
He looked at Lucille, sitting on a bench opposite him, upside-down in his vision once more.
She'd set the gun down. Kind of far away from her, at that.
Huh.
"You staying awake?" He asked her, like they were having a slumber party or something. He guessed that they kind of were.
-
SansaSaver
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((Sofia Kowalski continued from I Carry Only the Finest))
It hadn’t taken Sofia long to catch up with Lucille and Sylvain.
She thought perhaps that stemmed from her being driven to find them, whereas they’d been meandering with only a vague direction of where to go, despite their assertion they had big, swinging actions to take and plans to enact.
She felt a little like a third wheel, which was unexpected when she had a team tie to Lucille and a history -- however checkered it might’ve been -- with Sylvain. She remembered awkward kisses in her bedroom and uncomfortable pawing at each other’s clothes. Perhaps it was because the two of them knew this game so well. They knew when to pull out the rousing dialogue and when to have quieter moments. It was presumably pretty obvious from even the most base of interactions that Sofia didn’t, despite the confident and assertive air she tried to conjure around herself.
But at the end of the day, she told herself that didn’t matter. She was a quick learner, and better to be aware of one’s deficiencies than overconfident in one’s abilities.
Her bag was weighed down with the extra items she’d hauled from the restaurant’s kitchen and the speed with which she’d pursued the others meant that by the time they’d come to a stop, she was more than a little tuckered out. She was grateful for the respite, for a chance to catch her breath, gather her thoughts, and make a dent in her rations. She hadn’t eaten much, only that handful of processed shrimp plus a small breakfast that morning. Was it still the same day? She couldn’t be sure. It was as though time didn’t exist here, with only the dimming of the sun any signifier that their first day in this place was coming to a close.
The salted caramel cookies she’d grabbed were a little stale, but that was good. The extra time it took to chew and ground them down was a good way to stay grounded as she tried to make sense of the steadily increasing haze that was her mind.
The names that peppered the announcements didn’t really stand out to her, and Sofia wasn’t sure whether to feel comforted or fearful by that. She hadn’t lost anyone, but if any of the newly named killers descented on their little trio it would take a moment for her to realise it. She cringed a little at the announcer’s pep and sing-song voice as he rattled off all the gory details and gave an update on the teams’ standings, which made her sit up a little.
Their team had lost a member, and hadn’t yet taken anyone out. Something of a neutral zone. She imagined Lucille would now be chomping at the bit to be the first one of them to score a kill, and for a brief moment she was surprised the other girl hadn’t already splattered Sylvain’s brains across the glass floor of their current habitat.
The boat was eerily quiet for the most part, the silence cut only through as Sylvain made small talk with Lucille on the other side of the room. Sofia considered contributing, to shift in their direction or just project from her own little corner, but thought better of it.
Her fingers reached out and clutched her bugle, for the familiarity and comfort if nothing else.
If bullets started flying, Sofia wanted to be as far away as possible.
It hadn’t taken Sofia long to catch up with Lucille and Sylvain.
She thought perhaps that stemmed from her being driven to find them, whereas they’d been meandering with only a vague direction of where to go, despite their assertion they had big, swinging actions to take and plans to enact.
She felt a little like a third wheel, which was unexpected when she had a team tie to Lucille and a history -- however checkered it might’ve been -- with Sylvain. She remembered awkward kisses in her bedroom and uncomfortable pawing at each other’s clothes. Perhaps it was because the two of them knew this game so well. They knew when to pull out the rousing dialogue and when to have quieter moments. It was presumably pretty obvious from even the most base of interactions that Sofia didn’t, despite the confident and assertive air she tried to conjure around herself.
But at the end of the day, she told herself that didn’t matter. She was a quick learner, and better to be aware of one’s deficiencies than overconfident in one’s abilities.
Her bag was weighed down with the extra items she’d hauled from the restaurant’s kitchen and the speed with which she’d pursued the others meant that by the time they’d come to a stop, she was more than a little tuckered out. She was grateful for the respite, for a chance to catch her breath, gather her thoughts, and make a dent in her rations. She hadn’t eaten much, only that handful of processed shrimp plus a small breakfast that morning. Was it still the same day? She couldn’t be sure. It was as though time didn’t exist here, with only the dimming of the sun any signifier that their first day in this place was coming to a close.
The salted caramel cookies she’d grabbed were a little stale, but that was good. The extra time it took to chew and ground them down was a good way to stay grounded as she tried to make sense of the steadily increasing haze that was her mind.
The names that peppered the announcements didn’t really stand out to her, and Sofia wasn’t sure whether to feel comforted or fearful by that. She hadn’t lost anyone, but if any of the newly named killers descented on their little trio it would take a moment for her to realise it. She cringed a little at the announcer’s pep and sing-song voice as he rattled off all the gory details and gave an update on the teams’ standings, which made her sit up a little.
Their team had lost a member, and hadn’t yet taken anyone out. Something of a neutral zone. She imagined Lucille would now be chomping at the bit to be the first one of them to score a kill, and for a brief moment she was surprised the other girl hadn’t already splattered Sylvain’s brains across the glass floor of their current habitat.
The boat was eerily quiet for the most part, the silence cut only through as Sylvain made small talk with Lucille on the other side of the room. Sofia considered contributing, to shift in their direction or just project from her own little corner, but thought better of it.
Her fingers reached out and clutched her bugle, for the familiarity and comfort if nothing else.
If bullets started flying, Sofia wanted to be as far away as possible.
The sound of silence dripped overboard.
(SB05's breath whetted her lips)
She'd never, like, shied away from the sorts of thoughts that were loud enough to sound real, like someone who sounded like herself was whispering them from right around the corner. Facts and logic: it was easier to listen to yourself than to teachers, most of the time.
Was someone supposed to be dead already? Among the three of them.
("Yeah, I guess...")
(She paused, with plenty of breath left in her lungs to spare. Quietly choking down her next breath)
Because the thing was
("It's harder to sleep than it looks, isn't it? One of those, like. You think it's easy until you're living it type moments.")
Yeah, Lucille didn't know for sure. Like, how she'd have evaluated the scene herself, as an outsider looking in. See... How long had she been watching Survival of the Fittest now? Almost a decade, almost felt like longer. Since Demarcus had first shown her, like, way back on that busted up couch they'd had in the Whitley living room with one of the arms only kept on by duct tape and a prayer. But she supposed she'd developed so much as a viewer, since those first few seasons she'd watched. Imagine, she'd once unironically thought the Season 10 opening had been cool. Guns and explosions and people falling over onto the floor, all of Demarcus' brothers cheering, Lucille wide-eyed and shocked in... the best way, she guessed. Exhilaration. Chill setting on over her spine. Nowadays everyone knew that many people dying without proper setup was just cheap gorn. Lucille included, because it had been a long time since she'd been that easily impressed little girl.
It being too quiet wasn't really supposed to be any better. Demarcus- the boy she, the long since grown up girl, could remember- would've complained that something needed to happen. Someone needed to do something.
(SB05 straightened up, having slumped in place for so long her shoulder blades creaked like the stiff hull of the boat beneath.)
That was the expectation. Lucille knew that. She knew it, Sylvain knew it, Sofia... well, she wasn't an idiot, was she? Even if she didn't respect the dynamics, she could probably feel them like the ocean chill busily drying out all their pores.
(She glanced longways, at the bulky shadow that represented a gun)
Alliances were only temporary. The script never deviated.
(She looked away, out into the ocean)
(Where nobody was watching, not 09, not 11, not the audience)
She didn't know.
("I wonder if you can hear other people fighting?")
"Like, over the water. The boats aren't that far apart. I thought gunshots, you know. Carried."
(SB05's breath whetted her lips)
She'd never, like, shied away from the sorts of thoughts that were loud enough to sound real, like someone who sounded like herself was whispering them from right around the corner. Facts and logic: it was easier to listen to yourself than to teachers, most of the time.
Was someone supposed to be dead already? Among the three of them.
("Yeah, I guess...")
(She paused, with plenty of breath left in her lungs to spare. Quietly choking down her next breath)
Because the thing was
("It's harder to sleep than it looks, isn't it? One of those, like. You think it's easy until you're living it type moments.")
Yeah, Lucille didn't know for sure. Like, how she'd have evaluated the scene herself, as an outsider looking in. See... How long had she been watching Survival of the Fittest now? Almost a decade, almost felt like longer. Since Demarcus had first shown her, like, way back on that busted up couch they'd had in the Whitley living room with one of the arms only kept on by duct tape and a prayer. But she supposed she'd developed so much as a viewer, since those first few seasons she'd watched. Imagine, she'd once unironically thought the Season 10 opening had been cool. Guns and explosions and people falling over onto the floor, all of Demarcus' brothers cheering, Lucille wide-eyed and shocked in... the best way, she guessed. Exhilaration. Chill setting on over her spine. Nowadays everyone knew that many people dying without proper setup was just cheap gorn. Lucille included, because it had been a long time since she'd been that easily impressed little girl.
It being too quiet wasn't really supposed to be any better. Demarcus- the boy she, the long since grown up girl, could remember- would've complained that something needed to happen. Someone needed to do something.
(SB05 straightened up, having slumped in place for so long her shoulder blades creaked like the stiff hull of the boat beneath.)
That was the expectation. Lucille knew that. She knew it, Sylvain knew it, Sofia... well, she wasn't an idiot, was she? Even if she didn't respect the dynamics, she could probably feel them like the ocean chill busily drying out all their pores.
(She glanced longways, at the bulky shadow that represented a gun)
Alliances were only temporary. The script never deviated.
(She looked away, out into the ocean)
(Where nobody was watching, not 09, not 11, not the audience)
She didn't know.
("I wonder if you can hear other people fighting?")
"Like, over the water. The boats aren't that far apart. I thought gunshots, you know. Carried."
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
"Maybe nobody's been shot yet, is all," Sylvain said, gaze idly returning to the ceiling. It lingered there for just a moment before drifting back down - up? - to Lucille. He didn't remember, exactly, if the announcement had specifically said that anyone was shot or not. The details weren't that important if he wasn't going to get to see them, and so they flowed out of his mind like sand in an hourglass, settling on the bottom of his consciousness until he needed to flip the hourglass over and dredge them up again.
Lucille seemed tense. Sylvain hadn't noticed it before, or maybe it had just crept up on her. Maybe reality was sinking in.
(Haha, get it? Sinking? Ships? No, that wasn't funny and didn't even make sense in this context.)
"I'm not really tired," he mused, scratching at his temple beneath the band of the cat ears. He'd taken his sunglasses off, hooking them onto the front of his t-shirt collar, but the cat ears stayed. They'd probably overstayed their welcome with the audience now. Sylvain didn't think that he himself would have, not just yet. He hadn't done anything, and slow starters usually were forgiven once they actually got moving.
So, where was he going?
"The floor might be more comfortable than the benches," he suggested. It was probably true. The real question was-
Lucille seemed tense. Sylvain hadn't noticed it before, or maybe it had just crept up on her. Maybe reality was sinking in.
(Haha, get it? Sinking? Ships? No, that wasn't funny and didn't even make sense in this context.)
"I'm not really tired," he mused, scratching at his temple beneath the band of the cat ears. He'd taken his sunglasses off, hooking them onto the front of his t-shirt collar, but the cat ears stayed. They'd probably overstayed their welcome with the audience now. Sylvain didn't think that he himself would have, not just yet. He hadn't done anything, and slow starters usually were forgiven once they actually got moving.
So, where was he going?
"The floor might be more comfortable than the benches," he suggested. It was probably true. The real question was-
"Does that even make a difference?"
Slip of an inert tongue.
(The wind jostled with the cling of hairspray for dominance over her 'do. Slowly, as the day wore on, it was starting to win, threshing her carefully pasted hairline into a looser set of bangs. SB05 blinked insistently)
Like, gut check, she thought it was pretty unlikely that nobody- colon, absolutely not a soul, colon- had fired their guns yet. Wasn't it common knowledge that a crime of passion with a loaded firearm was easier, statistically more likely than committing in the opening hours to a beating or a violent manscaping by way of sharp blade? Per the announcements some nobody- Xander, she remembered the name because it was kinda unique she guessed- had been shot by some other nobody. Maybe the gun hadn't been a particularly big one. But TV highlights clips always emphasized, like, how much the sound of gunpowder post-trigger lingered. How it deafened the contestants on-screen to such an extent that it would the viewers at home as well.
Might have been that the shooting had happened inside a ship then. Thick hull absorbing all the echo of the sound before it skipped over open water like a stone. Another thing Lucille had never put too much thought into, those mechanics that had looked so straightforward surrounded by couch and snacks and friends.
("If you're not really tired maybe we should get a move on? Guys?")
She was pretty sure what she was saying made sense, though she couldn't quite keep up with the gallop of her own thoughts.
("Like if people are hunkering down for the night there might be more space for us to stealthily get through the bigger areas. Like, scrounge for things the producers forgot to remove. Or left on purpose, et cetera.")
Season in and season out, they always did that for sure.
Slip of an inert tongue.
(The wind jostled with the cling of hairspray for dominance over her 'do. Slowly, as the day wore on, it was starting to win, threshing her carefully pasted hairline into a looser set of bangs. SB05 blinked insistently)
Like, gut check, she thought it was pretty unlikely that nobody- colon, absolutely not a soul, colon- had fired their guns yet. Wasn't it common knowledge that a crime of passion with a loaded firearm was easier, statistically more likely than committing in the opening hours to a beating or a violent manscaping by way of sharp blade? Per the announcements some nobody- Xander, she remembered the name because it was kinda unique she guessed- had been shot by some other nobody. Maybe the gun hadn't been a particularly big one. But TV highlights clips always emphasized, like, how much the sound of gunpowder post-trigger lingered. How it deafened the contestants on-screen to such an extent that it would the viewers at home as well.
Might have been that the shooting had happened inside a ship then. Thick hull absorbing all the echo of the sound before it skipped over open water like a stone. Another thing Lucille had never put too much thought into, those mechanics that had looked so straightforward surrounded by couch and snacks and friends.
("If you're not really tired maybe we should get a move on? Guys?")
She was pretty sure what she was saying made sense, though she couldn't quite keep up with the gallop of her own thoughts.
("Like if people are hunkering down for the night there might be more space for us to stealthily get through the bigger areas. Like, scrounge for things the producers forgot to remove. Or left on purpose, et cetera.")
Season in and season out, they always did that for sure.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
-whether Lucille would take the gun with her, if and when she moved. She didn't move off the bench and take his invitation to lay on the floor, predictably. She didn't reach for the gun either. Must not have been tired of Sylvain's shit yet.
He scratched his other temple underneath the headband. "Like what? There's not exactly a lot of wilderness to scavenge." There was almost always something to be found, and people had jury-rigged plenty of things together over the years, but the options were generally "pick up heavy thing to hit someone with" in different flavors. Lucille had a gun, and if she had some kind of ideas about trying to disable their collars and do some of that nonsense, she was playing it real close to the vest. Sylvain wasn't sure what else she could want, at this point. It was boats as far as the eye could see out there, and picking up random junk from an abandoned boat just wasn't as impressive as real scavenging in a more natural environment.
That aside, Sylvain kinda... didn't hate the idea? Like, quick rundown of the pros and cons: Sylvain had seen a million hours of SOTF or something, and so had Lucille, and they both knew that the more you moved around, the more likely you were to run into people. Ambushes on people who had made camp were rarer than people bumping into each other in the dark and panicking and whoops, now someone's dead. It was objectively safer to stay put.
But on the other hand, Sylvain was bored.
He finally turned, sliding his feet off the bench, then pushing himself up onto his hands and knees with a grunt and sitting back. Lucille and the rest of the boat tilted and righted themselves in his view. He adjusted the cat ears with one hand to make sure they were staying on straight.
"Real talk, I'm kind of down for whatever, but carrying this thing-" He flopped his arm more than pointed at the car battery. "-is a drag, you feel me?" He glanced over at Sofia, who hadn't moved and gave no indication she heard them at all. "Also I think Sofia is asleep."
He scratched his other temple underneath the headband. "Like what? There's not exactly a lot of wilderness to scavenge." There was almost always something to be found, and people had jury-rigged plenty of things together over the years, but the options were generally "pick up heavy thing to hit someone with" in different flavors. Lucille had a gun, and if she had some kind of ideas about trying to disable their collars and do some of that nonsense, she was playing it real close to the vest. Sylvain wasn't sure what else she could want, at this point. It was boats as far as the eye could see out there, and picking up random junk from an abandoned boat just wasn't as impressive as real scavenging in a more natural environment.
That aside, Sylvain kinda... didn't hate the idea? Like, quick rundown of the pros and cons: Sylvain had seen a million hours of SOTF or something, and so had Lucille, and they both knew that the more you moved around, the more likely you were to run into people. Ambushes on people who had made camp were rarer than people bumping into each other in the dark and panicking and whoops, now someone's dead. It was objectively safer to stay put.
But on the other hand, Sylvain was bored.
He finally turned, sliding his feet off the bench, then pushing himself up onto his hands and knees with a grunt and sitting back. Lucille and the rest of the boat tilted and righted themselves in his view. He adjusted the cat ears with one hand to make sure they were staying on straight.
"Real talk, I'm kind of down for whatever, but carrying this thing-" He flopped his arm more than pointed at the car battery. "-is a drag, you feel me?" He glanced over at Sofia, who hadn't moved and gave no indication she heard them at all. "Also I think Sofia is asleep."
In hindsight, yeah, she wasn't quite sure what she'd been intending to find out there in the midnight-colored unknown. Sylvain's voice was still competing for space in the hollow of her ears with her own fresh echo, but she'd been thinking about it the moment she'd stopped talking and... uh. She was used to talking faster than the speed of electricity in her own brain. What had she been going for? Cool boat stuff? Lucille was no sailor but off the top of her head she couldn't visualize there being anything too meaningful in and among the bowels of ships past their service dates. Food and consumables and stuff, there was always potential to find those with a deep enough dig, but it wasn't like they were hurting for supplies yet? Sofia and Lucille weren't exactly big eaters- jury was out on Sylvain.
Actually, something did occur to her, like a needle drifting across a full canvas of vinyl.
("Lay of the land. That cruise ship is huge and there could be like, all kinds of tactical spots and shit, y'know? Places to hide, or like...")
Places to ambush.
To kill, to make bodies, to hide those bodies. Places to clean the blood. Lucille could picture the sequence of events, as a pure abstraction of gore, like all those super obviously fake bright-red candy things they'd used in those hilarious TikTok's from last season that had been meming on that one kid who'd had his fingers chopped off into a popcorn machine. Something dead. Something still, sitting in a lonely corner of a vaguely cavernous vaguely room that might have represented what she thought the intestines of a ship were supposed to look like.
(SB05 shivered, and at once drew up with a burst of energy violent as it was sudden, neck almost snapping off as her wide eyes drunk in the sea before her)
("I dunno.")
(She turned around, heavily settling by the ass onto the bench, this time facing both her teammates, at least in the most general sense. Framed against the sparse light of the moon SB05's face wallowed in shadow. She glanced SB11's way, her gaze lingering)
Okay wait, no, kinda creepy if she was asleep.
"But honestly, if you're fine with staying put I am too." Lucille prematurely settled, body language sinking like a stone or something more alive hitting the face of the water.
("Give your arms a break, or whatever.")
Actually, something did occur to her, like a needle drifting across a full canvas of vinyl.
("Lay of the land. That cruise ship is huge and there could be like, all kinds of tactical spots and shit, y'know? Places to hide, or like...")
Places to ambush.
To kill, to make bodies, to hide those bodies. Places to clean the blood. Lucille could picture the sequence of events, as a pure abstraction of gore, like all those super obviously fake bright-red candy things they'd used in those hilarious TikTok's from last season that had been meming on that one kid who'd had his fingers chopped off into a popcorn machine. Something dead. Something still, sitting in a lonely corner of a vaguely cavernous vaguely room that might have represented what she thought the intestines of a ship were supposed to look like.
(SB05 shivered, and at once drew up with a burst of energy violent as it was sudden, neck almost snapping off as her wide eyes drunk in the sea before her)
("I dunno.")
(She turned around, heavily settling by the ass onto the bench, this time facing both her teammates, at least in the most general sense. Framed against the sparse light of the moon SB05's face wallowed in shadow. She glanced SB11's way, her gaze lingering)
Okay wait, no, kinda creepy if she was asleep.
"But honestly, if you're fine with staying put I am too." Lucille prematurely settled, body language sinking like a stone or something more alive hitting the face of the water.
("Give your arms a break, or whatever.")
Upcoming:
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Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
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Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
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Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
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He saw Lucille shiver.
"I mean, it sounds cool. Wandering around the boats in the dark." She was right about the tactical part too, he supposed. That just meant it was possible for someone to have had the same idea, to be lurking around every corner. Playing smart was good in theory, but everyone thought they were smart and that they were playing the right way until somebody else proved otherwise.
So. What was their play? Still frustratingly up in the air.
Sylvain leaned his head back against the bench where his feet had previously been, artificially white eyes still following Lucille as she seemed to crumple in on herself somewhat. "You look kinda tired. Sure you don't want to lay down?"
"I mean, it sounds cool. Wandering around the boats in the dark." She was right about the tactical part too, he supposed. That just meant it was possible for someone to have had the same idea, to be lurking around every corner. Playing smart was good in theory, but everyone thought they were smart and that they were playing the right way until somebody else proved otherwise.
So. What was their play? Still frustratingly up in the air.
Sylvain leaned his head back against the bench where his feet had previously been, artificially white eyes still following Lucille as she seemed to crumple in on herself somewhat. "You look kinda tired. Sure you don't want to lay down?"
(SB05 wasn't looking at ES09, all the while that he was talking to her. Her eyes listlessly tracked the drape of night sky above)
Sylvain saying it, for some reason, changed the film reel chugging like molasses through the fore of her mind. Stealthy shadows tactically perusing the dark became the beams of flashlights shining over her face, turning to red splatter. With the sepia melting transition effect and all, the same sort she'd tried once or twice back in the days she'd tried to make podcasts like any edgy tween into SOTF tried, all on Windows Movie Maker. Huh. What if WMM no longer existed?
("Yeah." A long pause)
("Yeah it does.")
(Her eyes fluttered open and shut, slowly, weakly. She could have been mistaken for falling to the danger of unguarded slumber, despite the race of her heartbeat dancing on her ribs)
("Guess I'm probably too tuckered out to keep going much longer," SB05 offered noncommittally)
"I'd be okay with just stopping for a while. Taking some time to... think."
As if such a thing were ever near the top of her wishlist, barring extraordinary circumstances.
Sylvain saying it, for some reason, changed the film reel chugging like molasses through the fore of her mind. Stealthy shadows tactically perusing the dark became the beams of flashlights shining over her face, turning to red splatter. With the sepia melting transition effect and all, the same sort she'd tried once or twice back in the days she'd tried to make podcasts like any edgy tween into SOTF tried, all on Windows Movie Maker. Huh. What if WMM no longer existed?
("Yeah." A long pause)
("Yeah it does.")
(Her eyes fluttered open and shut, slowly, weakly. She could have been mistaken for falling to the danger of unguarded slumber, despite the race of her heartbeat dancing on her ribs)
("Guess I'm probably too tuckered out to keep going much longer," SB05 offered noncommittally)
"I'd be okay with just stopping for a while. Taking some time to... think."
As if such a thing were ever near the top of her wishlist, barring extraordinary circumstances.
Upcoming:
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Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
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Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
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Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
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Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
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Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
"Don't fall," Sylvain told her, the lilt of his voice just a little too high, crossing into teasing rather than concern. He'd pegged Lucille, at first, to be the leader here. She had the gun, she had the composure, and he'd thought she had the plans. Or ideas, at least. Sofia was support, and Sylvain was pretty much the court jester.
He vaguely recalled reading something somewhere about how the jester's actual role was to keep royalty in line and humbled, more than just entertaining. It was hard to take someone down a peg though when they already seemed worn out. He hoped Lucille wasn't going to be one of those people who just sputtered out at the starting line.
He did hope that, didn't he?
It was just, she still wasn't listening to him. Noncommittal agreement when he said things that didn't matter. He hadn't been able to budge her at all, really. He supposed she'd been like that back in school, too, but. But, but, but. You couldn't just throw a bunch of randos in front of a camera and make them magically become interesting if they just weren't, but. He'd expected more out of her than this.
Sylvain reached back to brace against the bench and lever himself up to his feet. He moved, casually closing the distance between them, until he was standing just out of Lucille's reach.
"You sure you're okay?"
He vaguely recalled reading something somewhere about how the jester's actual role was to keep royalty in line and humbled, more than just entertaining. It was hard to take someone down a peg though when they already seemed worn out. He hoped Lucille wasn't going to be one of those people who just sputtered out at the starting line.
He did hope that, didn't he?
It was just, she still wasn't listening to him. Noncommittal agreement when he said things that didn't matter. He hadn't been able to budge her at all, really. He supposed she'd been like that back in school, too, but. But, but, but. You couldn't just throw a bunch of randos in front of a camera and make them magically become interesting if they just weren't, but. He'd expected more out of her than this.
Sylvain reached back to brace against the bench and lever himself up to his feet. He moved, casually closing the distance between them, until he was standing just out of Lucille's reach.
"You sure you're okay?"
'Don't fall' her ass. Next he'd be asking if he could borrow the gun for a second. As a friend, or some form of awkward phrasing that the Lucille of another yesterday- literally, yesterday- would have dismissed as poorly shoehorned-in banter that didn't come off organically in the context of TV's general adherence to gritty realism.
Like, what did that even mean?
(SB05 drifted to one side, still without adjusting her precarious positioning right beside the boat's edge)
Lucille was sure that, herself accounted for, this moment wasn't supposed to be going like this. She was sure of that in a vague way, like she was watching herself through the perspective of a third, through the lens of a camera that refused to ever turn off or leave her alone. She'd not realized until now that it was there, that it was annoying and intrusive. Or like. She'd always known it was going to be there but she'd never really thought it was a big deal. Not until now.
She bet Sylvain was kinda pissed. She would have been too.
Should have been, rather.
("This the part where you attack me?")
(She was looking at him. This close, her lips couldn't be distinguished from anything else belonging to that shape hiding in the ambient dark)
(A cheeky tone, as only a girl born in the zoomer era was capable of. She sounded like she was grinning. Daring him)
At least if he did something, Lucille wouldn't have to make sense of what it meant. Unlike her own actions. Or lack thereof.
Like, what did that even mean?
(SB05 drifted to one side, still without adjusting her precarious positioning right beside the boat's edge)
Lucille was sure that, herself accounted for, this moment wasn't supposed to be going like this. She was sure of that in a vague way, like she was watching herself through the perspective of a third, through the lens of a camera that refused to ever turn off or leave her alone. She'd not realized until now that it was there, that it was annoying and intrusive. Or like. She'd always known it was going to be there but she'd never really thought it was a big deal. Not until now.
She bet Sylvain was kinda pissed. She would have been too.
Should have been, rather.
("This the part where you attack me?")
(She was looking at him. This close, her lips couldn't be distinguished from anything else belonging to that shape hiding in the ambient dark)
(A cheeky tone, as only a girl born in the zoomer era was capable of. She sounded like she was grinning. Daring him)
At least if he did something, Lucille wouldn't have to make sense of what it meant. Unlike her own actions. Or lack thereof.
Upcoming:
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Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
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Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
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-
SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
Masticating got a little dull after awhile.
Sofia figured three or four cookies ought to be enough; a substantial boost of energy and morale without bogging her down too much from overeating. She was glad she didn’t really have much of a sweet tooth, so there was no temptation to demolish the entire packet. That little sense of restraint, of self-control, no matter how entrenched it was within her already, made her feel just a little bit better and stronger.
She found herself dreaming of what she would eat if she had the choice, a fully stocked kitchen bursting with supplies before her. What she would’ve prepared for Stokely and Chris had she remained in their company instead. Perhaps cherry tomatoes and feta roasted with garlic and tossed with fettuccine and basil and olive oil. Or potatoes swimming in a sea of caramalised onions and cream.
(Her ‘welcome back’ feast for herself would be unlike any meal she’d ever prepared before.)
If -- no, when -- always when, not if -- she made it back home, she didn’t know what would await her. But there would always be some sort of kitchen, some stack of ingredients. Even when it was just her and her mother, the meals they’d make together and alone, improvised out of a borderline barren pantry, would be mouthwatering and belly-warming. The things she could do, how far she could take herself with so little.
Sofia knew just how much she could do with a poor deck of cards.
And what did she have now?
Two allies -- a looser term had never before been prescribed to Sylvain and Lucille -- whispering in covert voices at the other side of the room. Even if she couldn’t quite make out everything they said from her little corner of the room, she knew something was about to go down. The tension in the air was so palpable it was almost thick as she took in a low and deep breath, felt tightness in her throat and lungs.
She slipped her loafers off as gently as she could. The two-and-half-inch, stiff leather heels were far from being the most cumbersome shoes in her closet, but built for running and stealth they most definitely were not. At least she didn’t have to peel off tights as well, and at least the glass floor seemed stable enough to handle bare feet.
She didn’t have a gun, or a plan, or knowledge of this game.
A pretty poor deck, all things considered.
But at least she still had one last card up her sleeve;
Surprise.
Sofia figured three or four cookies ought to be enough; a substantial boost of energy and morale without bogging her down too much from overeating. She was glad she didn’t really have much of a sweet tooth, so there was no temptation to demolish the entire packet. That little sense of restraint, of self-control, no matter how entrenched it was within her already, made her feel just a little bit better and stronger.
She found herself dreaming of what she would eat if she had the choice, a fully stocked kitchen bursting with supplies before her. What she would’ve prepared for Stokely and Chris had she remained in their company instead. Perhaps cherry tomatoes and feta roasted with garlic and tossed with fettuccine and basil and olive oil. Or potatoes swimming in a sea of caramalised onions and cream.
(Her ‘welcome back’ feast for herself would be unlike any meal she’d ever prepared before.)
If -- no, when -- always when, not if -- she made it back home, she didn’t know what would await her. But there would always be some sort of kitchen, some stack of ingredients. Even when it was just her and her mother, the meals they’d make together and alone, improvised out of a borderline barren pantry, would be mouthwatering and belly-warming. The things she could do, how far she could take herself with so little.
Sofia knew just how much she could do with a poor deck of cards.
And what did she have now?
Two allies -- a looser term had never before been prescribed to Sylvain and Lucille -- whispering in covert voices at the other side of the room. Even if she couldn’t quite make out everything they said from her little corner of the room, she knew something was about to go down. The tension in the air was so palpable it was almost thick as she took in a low and deep breath, felt tightness in her throat and lungs.
She slipped her loafers off as gently as she could. The two-and-half-inch, stiff leather heels were far from being the most cumbersome shoes in her closet, but built for running and stealth they most definitely were not. At least she didn’t have to peel off tights as well, and at least the glass floor seemed stable enough to handle bare feet.
She didn’t have a gun, or a plan, or knowledge of this game.
A pretty poor deck, all things considered.
But at least she still had one last card up her sleeve;
Surprise.
There it was. There. It. Was.
The invitation. The dare.
Lucille knew Sylvain just enough, probably, to know that he would never turn it down regardless of which one it was. He was just fucking tired of thinking of all of the past day as a part of his life that people would fast-forward through.
She sounded like she was teasing, almost. Smiling at him in the dimness.
Sylvain smiled back, and then he lunged for the gun.
The invitation. The dare.
Lucille knew Sylvain just enough, probably, to know that he would never turn it down regardless of which one it was. He was just fucking tired of thinking of all of the past day as a part of his life that people would fast-forward through.
She sounded like she was teasing, almost. Smiling at him in the dimness.
Sylvain smiled back, and then he lunged for the gun.
(You could see the faces so much clearer, on the live feeds. This, right here, this was Lucille literally living in the live feed. And she couldn't see shit. Something shaped like a human loomed over her. Sylvain the contestant would've been realer if she'd just stayed at home.)
SB05, an 18-year old Puerto Rican female contestant, who had been considered controversial in aggregate by a number of analysts coming into the season given the sharp contrasts in her advantages and disadvantages as stated by show material and as implied by further material emergent from various fansites, finally kept into action. Her face was cold, neutral, lips heavy and expressionless as she clumsily scrambled up. Accelerating out of her seat.
"SOFIA!"
("Run?")
("Help?")
(No time)
(Thought too slow)
She hit the floor of the boat with her leading ankle skewing the wrong way. Momentum left her body as early as it came.
(Fuck)
(Pain)
(She's falling)
The stumble turned into a dive, and SB05 threw herself at ES09 as he reached the gun. She led with the sharpest part of her right elbow, swinging it down like a hammer aimed right for the spine.
(You could see the faces so much clearer, on the live feeds. This, right here, this was Lucille literally living in the live feed. And she couldn't see shit. Something shaped like a human loomed over her. Sylvain the contestant would've been realer if she'd just stayed at home.)
SB05, an 18-year old Puerto Rican female contestant, who had been considered controversial in aggregate by a number of analysts coming into the season given the sharp contrasts in her advantages and disadvantages as stated by show material and as implied by further material emergent from various fansites, finally kept into action. Her face was cold, neutral, lips heavy and expressionless as she clumsily scrambled up. Accelerating out of her seat.
"SOFIA!"
("Run?")
("Help?")
(No time)
(Thought too slow)
She hit the floor of the boat with her leading ankle skewing the wrong way. Momentum left her body as early as it came.
(Fuck)
(Pain)
(She's falling)
The stumble turned into a dive, and SB05 threw herself at ES09 as he reached the gun. She led with the sharpest part of her right elbow, swinging it down like a hammer aimed right for the spine.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
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Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
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Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1