What the fuck was she doing? Instead of panicking and trying to wrestle the crossbow back from him like he figured she would, she was just... smirking at him. There was that momentary flicker of fear in her face, one that Anthony took as a good sign. He hoped that she would have just given it up without a fight, but instead she was acting unbothered. Somehow, this pissed him off more. Who the fuck did she think she was? That was hi- Leah's crossbow. Not hers.
Beau seemed to be held back by that other girl, Lucia. Were these two working together? They weren't wearing the same bandanas, which didn't mean they were teasmmates, but maybe they were friends. This was a spur of the moment thing, after all. Who's to say she didn't see her friend acting and moved to hold Beau back?
At Olivia's words, Anthony's cheeks flushed red. Of course, he had absolutely no fucking intention of doing that kind of shit with her, not now or ever. Besides, they were on a fucking live TV show, and it'd just end up on somewhere. Why wasn't she struggling more? A sudden pang of fear shot through him, and he craned his head back. Was he gonna be ambu-
Pain. Sudden, intense, agonising pain. He staggered back a step before crumpling onto his back. He should have fucking bit her fingers. He should have just stood aside. He should have done a billion things differently, but none of that mattered now and it wouldn't ever, ever matter again because she was going to kill him. That was the obvious outcome here. She had the deadly weapon, and he was wide open.
Closing his eyes and cupping his groin, he let out a growl of pain, rolling onto his side, away from Olivia. In his head, he prayed that it was quick.
Rise, Rapture, Rise
A rude awakening. Private.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
The boy crumpled to the ground in agony, his manhood ruined for at least a solid month. She'd done it. The crossbow—and with it a shot at life—was hers for the taking. I'm gonna survive! I'm gonna win! she thought, giddy with relief. Her breathing was heavy from all the adrenaline pumping through her.
Olivia's excitement didn't last long.
The tension from before still hung, oppressive, inside the yacht. Glancing around the bullet-riddled room, she realized with growing horror that she still had no idea what Beau and Hailey were capable of. For all she knew, they'd been given something far more vicious than a mere crossbow—a Gatling gun, perhaps, or a flamethrower. The exact weapon wasn't important, only the killing power, and if they thought she'd shoot...
Shit. She'd done it, all right. If, by "it", she meant "painting a gigantic target on herself".
Her grin of triumph gave way to a wide-eyed, frightened grimace. Her hand, still clutching Little Joe, fell to her side. One thought bubbled out of that impulsive brain of hers: run. Her head swivelled around the room, and then, for a moment, her eyes locked on the door.
But Olivia didn't flee the scene of the theft. Not immediately.
Instead, she raced past Anthony's prone body and grabbed Lucia by her free arm. She pulled with all her might. Beau was set free from his hold, only to catch a momentary glimpse of his captor in one.
In that moment, Olivia didn't care whether the tall, bulky girl tried to hack off her limbs with her cleaver. Lucia's was a close-range weapon, and hers could reliably kill anyone who stepped within 90 feet of her. But she couldn't do that alone, no matter how confident she was on the field. She needed a bodyguard, and Lucia — the so-called mother of Mangrove Garden's gay community — would do the job perfectly.
She dragged her out of the yacht without a word, across the closest jetty, until the pier ended and a graveyard of marooned junk began.
(Olivia del Rio continued in Revolution No. 9)
Olivia's excitement didn't last long.
The tension from before still hung, oppressive, inside the yacht. Glancing around the bullet-riddled room, she realized with growing horror that she still had no idea what Beau and Hailey were capable of. For all she knew, they'd been given something far more vicious than a mere crossbow—a Gatling gun, perhaps, or a flamethrower. The exact weapon wasn't important, only the killing power, and if they thought she'd shoot...
Shit. She'd done it, all right. If, by "it", she meant "painting a gigantic target on herself".
Her grin of triumph gave way to a wide-eyed, frightened grimace. Her hand, still clutching Little Joe, fell to her side. One thought bubbled out of that impulsive brain of hers: run. Her head swivelled around the room, and then, for a moment, her eyes locked on the door.
But Olivia didn't flee the scene of the theft. Not immediately.
Instead, she raced past Anthony's prone body and grabbed Lucia by her free arm. She pulled with all her might. Beau was set free from his hold, only to catch a momentary glimpse of his captor in one.
In that moment, Olivia didn't care whether the tall, bulky girl tried to hack off her limbs with her cleaver. Lucia's was a close-range weapon, and hers could reliably kill anyone who stepped within 90 feet of her. But she couldn't do that alone, no matter how confident she was on the field. She needed a bodyguard, and Lucia — the so-called mother of Mangrove Garden's gay community — would do the job perfectly.
She dragged her out of the yacht without a word, across the closest jetty, until the pier ended and a graveyard of marooned junk began.
(Olivia del Rio continued in Revolution No. 9)
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ciphermitarai
- Posts: 97
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2020 12:06 am
- Location: lost in junpei's forehead
- Team Affiliation: Claudia's Krakens
- Contact:
Well, Lucia wasn’t about to argue with the jock with the bow.
Instinctively, she raised the cleaver, but in her realization—no, Olivia wouldn’t get so close if she wanted to fight you—she followed, giving into her mounting urge to flee the scene. Her regret and the loss of feeling in her legs, well, that was mitigated the slightest bit with the knowledge that the worst weapons were out of the running. Maybe she couldn’t protect them any more, but they weren’t getting too hurt! Right?
God, she felt like a coward.
But it’s fine, that other voice hummed, static in the air, boring down on her mind. You survived and that’s all that matters. You know you can’t protect them to the end. Why try?
The fleeting moment she spent looking back was cut short and she was tugged off towards whatever stomach-roiling uncertainty would befall them.
(Lucia Cuevas Valdez continued in Revolution No. 9.)
Instinctively, she raised the cleaver, but in her realization—no, Olivia wouldn’t get so close if she wanted to fight you—she followed, giving into her mounting urge to flee the scene. Her regret and the loss of feeling in her legs, well, that was mitigated the slightest bit with the knowledge that the worst weapons were out of the running. Maybe she couldn’t protect them any more, but they weren’t getting too hurt! Right?
God, she felt like a coward.
But it’s fine, that other voice hummed, static in the air, boring down on her mind. You survived and that’s all that matters. You know you can’t protect them to the end. Why try?
The fleeting moment she spent looking back was cut short and she was tugged off towards whatever stomach-roiling uncertainty would befall them.
(Lucia Cuevas Valdez continued in Revolution No. 9.)
Anthony laid crumpled on the ground in front of her. Poor, poor Anthony. Poor, poor, Olivia did that to him. As the two girls made their leave, Leah stepped up to him, hands trembling. Empty hands. She could have talked to anyone still there- wished them good luck, perhaps, but that would have been useless. Actions meant more than words. Objects were worth more than words. The book left on the ground in their little tussle was worth more than the words inscribed within their pages, so she gingerly picked it up and tucked it safe and secure between her arm and her torso. A fair trade, maybe.
“I- well, you tried.”
She stepped over him, wincing sympathetically. She still felt like there were eyes on here. Cameras. An audience.
“Um, sorry.”
Her hands, no longer empty, gripped her heavy bag and hoisted it up to her shoulders. Her breaths were sharp, out of sync with the gentle rocking of their boat on the ocean. Anthony was vulnerable. Weak. Hurt. His bag was there, and if she was a lesser woman, she would have robbed him. But she didn’t.
“Goodbye.”
She looked at Beau, and their matching bandannas, and all the rules of this game were foggy, vague, impossible to form into concrete concepts in this mess of chemical reactions in her brain.
“I- don’t follow me. Please.”
((She thought her plea didn't fall on deaf ears.)
“I- well, you tried.”
She stepped over him, wincing sympathetically. She still felt like there were eyes on here. Cameras. An audience.
“Um, sorry.”
Her hands, no longer empty, gripped her heavy bag and hoisted it up to her shoulders. Her breaths were sharp, out of sync with the gentle rocking of their boat on the ocean. Anthony was vulnerable. Weak. Hurt. His bag was there, and if she was a lesser woman, she would have robbed him. But she didn’t.
“Goodbye.”
She looked at Beau, and their matching bandannas, and all the rules of this game were foggy, vague, impossible to form into concrete concepts in this mess of chemical reactions in her brain.
“I- don’t follow me. Please.”
((She thought her plea didn't fall on deaf ears.)
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
Oh fuck. Oh Christ. She didn't shoot him. Anthony would have said a prayer, but right now he was too focused on that pain in his crotch. Jesus fucking Christ, this hurt. Sure, he had been nut-shot before - it was practically a ritual to be lightly punched by your friend in the crotch at some point back in primary school - but he had never beeen full-force kicked. Jesus Christ. Fuck. He briefly considered ripping open his bag and scavenging for the first aid kit like a fucking... he couldn't even think of an idiom or some stupid saying to use, that's how much it fucking hurt. Christ. Fucking shit. It wouldn't really do anything, anyway. Fucking hell, this hurt. Throwing his head back to rest against the hard carpet floor, he let out a groan of agony, rolling over onto his other side.
They had gone, and now Leah was gone too, with barely a word said. Fuck. The pain was starting to subside ever so slightly, Anthony taking the opportunity to greedily gulp in air. Fuck, he was going to be a meme. That was totally going to be made into a fucking meme and his one defining moment would be that time he got kicked in the fucking balls. Fucking SOTF fans. People were in pain right now, being forced to brutally murder one another by a sadistic bunch of fucking producers and all they could think, watching displays of violence and brutality that'd make the gladiators at the Colloseum blush was 'let's make a funny meme of it!'. Fuck.
Gradually, slowly, the pain faded away like the memory of a dream and he slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, one hand against the nearest wall for balance. He felt sick. He felt worried. He felt angry. Who the fuck did that girl think she was, trying to flirt with him before kicking him in the balls? And her fucking accomplice. Holding back Beau, the only guy actually trying to help him here - honestly, his opinion of Beau had actually gone up a little at that. They had a crossbow and a fucking meat cleaver, and he had a shitty little fake mask that was for little kids, not the high seas. Fucking producers.
"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" He was about to go on another tangent about how he was going to murder the producers, his face flushing red, but the sudden realisation came: all his friends were watching this. His church, his activist groups, in Miami and London, Clarissa- oh god, Clarissa. She must be taking this poorly right now. God. He didn't want to make himself seem like some kind of fucking lunatic, ranting and raving about how he was going to kill someone. So, closing his eyes, he tried to take a few deep breaths. Calm. Think happy thoughts, which is exceedingly difficult to do when you're in the murder game. It was very hard.
He needed off this goddamn ship. So, taking a glance back at Hailey and Beau, giving Beau a nod, he left, climbing the small set of stairs in the hallway that led to the deck of this ship. It was a nice, mild day. Perfect for dying in. Observing the flotilla as he stepped out onto the deck, raising a hand to cover his eyes from the sun, he could only think one thing at the sight of the ramshackle fleet of small boats mixed with the larger crafts.
It was a sea shanty town, but it's not the kind you'd hear sailors singing about.
((Anthony Golden continued in Funtime in the Sunshine))
They had gone, and now Leah was gone too, with barely a word said. Fuck. The pain was starting to subside ever so slightly, Anthony taking the opportunity to greedily gulp in air. Fuck, he was going to be a meme. That was totally going to be made into a fucking meme and his one defining moment would be that time he got kicked in the fucking balls. Fucking SOTF fans. People were in pain right now, being forced to brutally murder one another by a sadistic bunch of fucking producers and all they could think, watching displays of violence and brutality that'd make the gladiators at the Colloseum blush was 'let's make a funny meme of it!'. Fuck.
Gradually, slowly, the pain faded away like the memory of a dream and he slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, one hand against the nearest wall for balance. He felt sick. He felt worried. He felt angry. Who the fuck did that girl think she was, trying to flirt with him before kicking him in the balls? And her fucking accomplice. Holding back Beau, the only guy actually trying to help him here - honestly, his opinion of Beau had actually gone up a little at that. They had a crossbow and a fucking meat cleaver, and he had a shitty little fake mask that was for little kids, not the high seas. Fucking producers.
"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" He was about to go on another tangent about how he was going to murder the producers, his face flushing red, but the sudden realisation came: all his friends were watching this. His church, his activist groups, in Miami and London, Clarissa- oh god, Clarissa. She must be taking this poorly right now. God. He didn't want to make himself seem like some kind of fucking lunatic, ranting and raving about how he was going to kill someone. So, closing his eyes, he tried to take a few deep breaths. Calm. Think happy thoughts, which is exceedingly difficult to do when you're in the murder game. It was very hard.
He needed off this goddamn ship. So, taking a glance back at Hailey and Beau, giving Beau a nod, he left, climbing the small set of stairs in the hallway that led to the deck of this ship. It was a nice, mild day. Perfect for dying in. Observing the flotilla as he stepped out onto the deck, raising a hand to cover his eyes from the sun, he could only think one thing at the sight of the ramshackle fleet of small boats mixed with the larger crafts.
It was a sea shanty town, but it's not the kind you'd hear sailors singing about.
((Anthony Golden continued in Funtime in the Sunshine))
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Primrosette
- Posts: 900
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Beau was silent for a while and he scratched the top of his blue, flowy, soft hair, forgetting that Hailey was still there.
"WHAT IN THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!" He was half-talking, half-yelling those words in confusion over what had happened and he was starting to pace back and forth on his flighty feet. "HOLY SHITBALLS! THAT WAS FREAKING BANANAS!"
That had not gone the way he had hoped. One of his friends was now a thief (NOT COOL, OLIVIA!), his teammate didn't even want to group up with him (Leah wants to do her own thing), a guy who didn't like him who was now acknowledging him without a mean-ass word (Anthony is one confusing, cursed dude!) and well, he didn't have a clear view on Lucia or Hailey.
"Oh man, oh man, oh man!" He clicked his tongue and he knew that he would have to go outside sooner or later.
He took in a few breathes. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, breath in, brea-
Oh, right. He was getting distracted.
Time for him to go and hopefully find some people that were not going to fight each other or butcher him like a sliver of fresh meat.
He stopped by the doorway and he turned to look back at Hailey, grinning and waving at her without a care in the world.
"Make sure to stay safe, Hailey. See ya later, alligator!"
And he was off on his own little adventure.
((Beau Lively continued in And They Called It a Disaster))
"WHAT IN THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!" He was half-talking, half-yelling those words in confusion over what had happened and he was starting to pace back and forth on his flighty feet. "HOLY SHITBALLS! THAT WAS FREAKING BANANAS!"
That had not gone the way he had hoped. One of his friends was now a thief (NOT COOL, OLIVIA!), his teammate didn't even want to group up with him (Leah wants to do her own thing), a guy who didn't like him who was now acknowledging him without a mean-ass word (Anthony is one confusing, cursed dude!) and well, he didn't have a clear view on Lucia or Hailey.
"Oh man, oh man, oh man!" He clicked his tongue and he knew that he would have to go outside sooner or later.
He took in a few breathes. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, breath in, brea-
Oh, right. He was getting distracted.
Time for him to go and hopefully find some people that were not going to fight each other or butcher him like a sliver of fresh meat.
He stopped by the doorway and he turned to look back at Hailey, grinning and waving at her without a care in the world.
"Make sure to stay safe, Hailey. See ya later, alligator!"
And he was off on his own little adventure.
((Beau Lively continued in And They Called It a Disaster))
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Somersault
- Posts: 236
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:21 am
Now, Hailey wasn't angry. Well, no. She really was, because everyone here was acting like an absolute idiot, and of course they all thought they had to be some kind of TV villain or whatever.
Of course, people acting like Beau didn't help either, but she simply sighed, dusted herself off, and got out, backpack securely strapped.
((Hailey Thompson, continued elsewhere))
Of course, people acting like Beau didn't help either, but she simply sighed, dusted herself off, and got out, backpack securely strapped.
((Hailey Thompson, continued elsewhere))