"And Hall catches the pass. The Patriots have won the Super Bowl." Isaiah sighed and threw his weapon into the air, letting it flip over before catching it, he could dream.
SP2: Isaiah Hall - Start
Now however he was on SOTF-TV, so he was still going to end up famous in a way. Just not in the way he wanted to. He had been read off a list in class and some guys with guns had taken him and some of his classmates out of the school. Then boom, he was awake at the opening ceremony. He knew who Patrick Buckley was, and he stared him down for the duration of his speech. He doubted it had bothered him; the guy was a pro and had been doing the opening for as long as Isaiah could remember. It had made Isaiah feel better though.
He had tied his bandanna backwards around his head and the knot was starting to make his forehead itchy, Isaiah scratched at it using his weapon. He was on the red panther’s team or something; it hadn't been hard to figure out. He hadn't yet figured out what his weapon was however. The piece of paper had said Mere Patu but Isaiah didn't even know what language that was, let alone what it meant. He knew it was made from some green stone though and could probably be used to beat someone to death. His costume lay in a heap near the center of the room, someone had seen fit to give him some lingerie, not that Isaiah had a problem with lingerie; he just preferred it on girls.
Apart from that, he had no idea. He wasn't as in the dark as to where he'd woken up though. He had been on a beanbag, in what he guessed was a nursery or something. He was just guessing from the brightly colored everything and all the kids toys scattered around the place but he felt safe in the guess.
As everything stood Isaiah was happy to kick back in his little play area and wait to see what came to him. To that end, he picked up a couple of the many foam blocks that were in the room and moved them into a corner, by the door. Building them into some kind of seat Isaiah took his bag over as well and then sat himself down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His weapon still held in his hand. Now he just had to wait and see who was going to stumble in first.
OT
Ever since he saw those people roaming around Whittree that morning, Tucker had experienced a wide range of emotions.
Part of him, the SOTF fan in him, was excited to see that they had come to their school. Some of his classmates (or at least people from his school) would be competing in the coming season, and it would make the entire show more interesting to him. However, the rational, normal part of him was scared; deep down he knew that these people would die, and there was a slight chance that he could be chosen himself. Whittree wasn't exactly a large town, and there was only so much students at the school. But the more dominant part of him (the SOTF fan) quickly wrote it off in a state of excited optimism.
The excited optimism, though, came crashing down as they read off his name during first period.
Soon enough, he and many other Whittree seniors were whisked away to the participate in Season 66 of Survival of the Fittest, along with students from another school somewhere in the Southwestern United States. Sure, he was scared, but also excited. Tucker didn't resist as they brought him to the van and was promptly gassed without any problems.
He awoke during the opening, and unlike several others, Tucker sat patiently and attentively throughout the entire thing. For a moment during it, though, he forgot that he was participating; a bad habit of routinely watching these openings with an entertaining mindset. Hell, he had to stifle a cheer when they showed one of last season's winners.
Eventually it came to an end. They were gassed, and next thing Tucker knew he was waking up in the game
BB1: Tucker Hopkins: START
Again, the whirlwind of emotions itself made it hard to orient himself at first. As soon as he woke up, excitement surged up in him and Tucker couldn't help but look forward to the game. Simultaneously, a sinking feeling of despair came over him as he realized that more people he knew were in the game than he imagined. During the opening ceremony he had seen Reggie, Ashley, Vahka, Pia and Marcus among those familiar faces in the crowd. Knowing that eventually he'd either have to fight them or have them die on him absolutely frightened him.
But out of all of this, he knew that he was on Survival of the Fittest: a death game in it's essentiality. Tucker had watched kids on these shows before, and he knew that the smart ones prepared. So as soon as he had woken up face-up next to that ball pit in a snowy playground, he rolled over and immediately began sorting through his bag.
The first thing he found was his bandanna; dull brown in color, with a tan streak and a silhouette of a bear. Remembering their importance, Tucker immediately wrapped it snugly around his neck over the collar. Next thing he pulled out was a loaf of bread (thrown back in), a map (laid out next to his bag) and finally he came upon his weapon. It was called a smatchet, though to Tucker it looked more like a comically oversized knife more than anything. That he kept in his lap while he took inventory.
Next in line was a dull brown shirt, and curiously a sheriff's badge. Soon enough he found a cowskin vest, yellow flannel, a cowboy hat...
Yeehaw.
It was the middle of winter, for one, so Tucker gratefully slipped into the yellow flannel, leaving it unbuttoned as he pulled out the cowboy hat and fixed it on his head. A building wasn't too far off, so he decided to go there. Picking up his 'smatchet' and map while hoisting the daypack on his back, he strolled towards the entrance.
Part of him, the SOTF fan in him, was excited to see that they had come to their school. Some of his classmates (or at least people from his school) would be competing in the coming season, and it would make the entire show more interesting to him. However, the rational, normal part of him was scared; deep down he knew that these people would die, and there was a slight chance that he could be chosen himself. Whittree wasn't exactly a large town, and there was only so much students at the school. But the more dominant part of him (the SOTF fan) quickly wrote it off in a state of excited optimism.
The excited optimism, though, came crashing down as they read off his name during first period.
Soon enough, he and many other Whittree seniors were whisked away to the participate in Season 66 of Survival of the Fittest, along with students from another school somewhere in the Southwestern United States. Sure, he was scared, but also excited. Tucker didn't resist as they brought him to the van and was promptly gassed without any problems.
He awoke during the opening, and unlike several others, Tucker sat patiently and attentively throughout the entire thing. For a moment during it, though, he forgot that he was participating; a bad habit of routinely watching these openings with an entertaining mindset. Hell, he had to stifle a cheer when they showed one of last season's winners.
Eventually it came to an end. They were gassed, and next thing Tucker knew he was waking up in the game
BB1: Tucker Hopkins: START
Again, the whirlwind of emotions itself made it hard to orient himself at first. As soon as he woke up, excitement surged up in him and Tucker couldn't help but look forward to the game. Simultaneously, a sinking feeling of despair came over him as he realized that more people he knew were in the game than he imagined. During the opening ceremony he had seen Reggie, Ashley, Vahka, Pia and Marcus among those familiar faces in the crowd. Knowing that eventually he'd either have to fight them or have them die on him absolutely frightened him.
But out of all of this, he knew that he was on Survival of the Fittest: a death game in it's essentiality. Tucker had watched kids on these shows before, and he knew that the smart ones prepared. So as soon as he had woken up face-up next to that ball pit in a snowy playground, he rolled over and immediately began sorting through his bag.
The first thing he found was his bandanna; dull brown in color, with a tan streak and a silhouette of a bear. Remembering their importance, Tucker immediately wrapped it snugly around his neck over the collar. Next thing he pulled out was a loaf of bread (thrown back in), a map (laid out next to his bag) and finally he came upon his weapon. It was called a smatchet, though to Tucker it looked more like a comically oversized knife more than anything. That he kept in his lap while he took inventory.
Next in line was a dull brown shirt, and curiously a sheriff's badge. Soon enough he found a cowskin vest, yellow flannel, a cowboy hat...
Yeehaw.
It was the middle of winter, for one, so Tucker gratefully slipped into the yellow flannel, leaving it unbuttoned as he pulled out the cowboy hat and fixed it on his head. A building wasn't too far off, so he decided to go there. Picking up his 'smatchet' and map while hoisting the daypack on his back, he strolled towards the entrance.
Isaiah sat there in his corner, watching and waiting. He was on edge; it reminded him of the snap before a play. He knew something was going to happen eventually he couldn't stay in the nursery by himself forever. Sooner rather than later someone was going to walk in. He just had to wait.
His mind started wandering; he wondered what Matt was doing right now. Isaiah grinned; he was probably just chilling out somewhere. Matt was smart enough not to either avoid trouble or just not get into it. He'd be fine. He was first on Isaiah's list of people to find too. Nothing was going to stop him from doing that. Isaiah nodded his head, almost confirming it for himself.
He stayed elbows on his knees, listening, looking and waiting. Eventually someone would come through that door. Isaiah knew it, hell even if someone didn't he'd have wasted his time being safe. Now Isaiah wasn't always great at tactics but he thought that sounded like a win/win situation to him.
He scratched his forehead with his weapon again and went back to waiting.
His mind started wandering; he wondered what Matt was doing right now. Isaiah grinned; he was probably just chilling out somewhere. Matt was smart enough not to either avoid trouble or just not get into it. He'd be fine. He was first on Isaiah's list of people to find too. Nothing was going to stop him from doing that. Isaiah nodded his head, almost confirming it for himself.
He stayed elbows on his knees, listening, looking and waiting. Eventually someone would come through that door. Isaiah knew it, hell even if someone didn't he'd have wasted his time being safe. Now Isaiah wasn't always great at tactics but he thought that sounded like a win/win situation to him.
He scratched his forehead with his weapon again and went back to waiting.
Tucker peered through the empty doorway to see if anyone was inside or not. At the moment it seemed pretty empty, though another quick scan of the room verified that the area was empty. A blessing and a disappointment, Tucker thought to himself solemnly. While he was generally safe and nobody was around to attack, there wasn't any potential allies either.
Then again, the former was probably a better perk than the latter, considering the very nature of this game.
The building itself was easily recognizable; the matted floors, foam blocks and cheery decor were all features of a typical daycare. Tucker had been inside one once or twice, though he hadn't stepped foot in one in years. It was poetic in a strange sense, spending your last days in a building usually frequented by children. He smiled and shook his head slightly.
Other than being a good shelter for the cold, in a practical sense the area was devoid of anything useful. Unless there was a way to kill someone with a foam block, the daycare was pretty much lacking. Tucker frowned a bit and furrowed his brow. There had to be something of use in here.
Suddenly, he noticed a heap of clothing in the corner of the room. Tucker walked over to inspect, crouching down and gingerly picking up the fabric. Probably someone's costume, he assumed. It was a corset, some long fingerless gloves, fishnet stockings...
Is this lingerie?
Then again, the former was probably a better perk than the latter, considering the very nature of this game.
The building itself was easily recognizable; the matted floors, foam blocks and cheery decor were all features of a typical daycare. Tucker had been inside one once or twice, though he hadn't stepped foot in one in years. It was poetic in a strange sense, spending your last days in a building usually frequented by children. He smiled and shook his head slightly.
Other than being a good shelter for the cold, in a practical sense the area was devoid of anything useful. Unless there was a way to kill someone with a foam block, the daycare was pretty much lacking. Tucker frowned a bit and furrowed his brow. There had to be something of use in here.
Suddenly, he noticed a heap of clothing in the corner of the room. Tucker walked over to inspect, crouching down and gingerly picking up the fabric. Probably someone's costume, he assumed. It was a corset, some long fingerless gloves, fishnet stockings...
Is this lingerie?
There it was.
Someone had stumbled into the nursery. The game was on. Isaiah's breathing slowed down as he watched the person walk across the room. He'd gotten lucky, they had gotten distracted by the lingerie. He smirked, it had come in useful after all. As soon as the person bent down to check Isaiah was up and moving. It was as if he'd heard the call for the snap. Year's of training and practice being used for a few seconds, the most important seconds of his life.
He had his weapon in his hand. Now or never. He had to make the play. His mark had heard him though because he was turning Isaiah swung as soon as he could. He was surprised by how well the thin smoothed stone actually traveled through the air. It was pretty effortless really. It impacted on his marks shoulder instead of the back of the head like he had planned.
It was too late to switch tactics though. So Isaiah just carried on as if it had worked. He grabbed the other persons bag and pulled. They were still holding on. Isaiah pulled again and this time the bag flipped and opened up. He saw and heard things fall out of it. He growled in frustration.
Then he saw it. The glint of steel. He juked to one side and felt it cut across his thigh. It was nothing. He brought his weapon down on the hand still gripping the bag. That did it. He kicked the poor motherfucker away and span off, sprinting for the exit. He bent down to pick his own bag up and tossed it over his shoulder.
Isaiah crashed through the doors and swore he saw someone else. He didn't stop though. He had what he wanted. It was to time to go. Fuck the extra point.
((SP2: Isaiah Hall continued in Rosebud))
Someone had stumbled into the nursery. The game was on. Isaiah's breathing slowed down as he watched the person walk across the room. He'd gotten lucky, they had gotten distracted by the lingerie. He smirked, it had come in useful after all. As soon as the person bent down to check Isaiah was up and moving. It was as if he'd heard the call for the snap. Year's of training and practice being used for a few seconds, the most important seconds of his life.
He had his weapon in his hand. Now or never. He had to make the play. His mark had heard him though because he was turning Isaiah swung as soon as he could. He was surprised by how well the thin smoothed stone actually traveled through the air. It was pretty effortless really. It impacted on his marks shoulder instead of the back of the head like he had planned.
It was too late to switch tactics though. So Isaiah just carried on as if it had worked. He grabbed the other persons bag and pulled. They were still holding on. Isaiah pulled again and this time the bag flipped and opened up. He saw and heard things fall out of it. He growled in frustration.
Then he saw it. The glint of steel. He juked to one side and felt it cut across his thigh. It was nothing. He brought his weapon down on the hand still gripping the bag. That did it. He kicked the poor motherfucker away and span off, sprinting for the exit. He bent down to pick his own bag up and tossed it over his shoulder.
Isaiah crashed through the doors and swore he saw someone else. He didn't stop though. He had what he wanted. It was to time to go. Fuck the extra point.
((SP2: Isaiah Hall continued in Rosebud))
As he was standing back up, Tucker felt someone's presence in the room. If he listened closely, he could hear footsteps and someone running towards him.
Oh crap.
Tucker panicked. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else in the room. Were they just hiding somewhere out of his sight? Did they follow him in here? Either way Tucker was cursing his own carelessness. Carelessness got people killed, and he wasn't going to die just yet.
His assailant struck him in the shoulder, and Tucker yelped in pain. It wasn't a hard enough hit to bruise, though it certainly threw him off balance. Tucker stumbled as he felt someone tug hardly on his bag. He angrily pulled back in response, and tried to keep his grip on the bag. Was he getting robbed?
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap...
Suddenly his bag opened, and he heard the thump of things hitting the matted floors. His bag had opened when the other kid tugged back, and his assailant growled. In the heat of the moment, fueled with anger and panic, Tucker snarled at the boy and whipped out the knife.
"Hey, you ass! Keep your hands to yourself!"
The knife made contact with the other boy, and Tucker managed to slash him in the leg. The attacker seemed unfazed, though, as he brought down his weapon (some strange, green object) on his hand. Tucker grimaced in pain and dropped his weapon and bag, muttering to himself quietly. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, craaaap..."
Before he could retaliate, though, the other boy had grabbed his bag and left. Tucker groaned in frustration. Some ass had stolen his bag, and now he was practically defenseless. Dropping to the floor, he quickly began to gather everything that had fallen out of the bag. He still had some supplies left: three water bottles, an orange poweade, the subway footlong, a flashlight and a dull brown shirt. He'd have to conserve the footlong, though, and the shirt would have to act as a knapsack if he wasn't going to carry all this stuff around in his arms. Besides, the kid hadn't taken his map or the smatchet, so he was still fairly prepared.
Still, though, it was a bad way to start off. Tucker threw his arms up in frustration. If he had been watching back home he'd be snickering at the poor sucker who got robbed right off the bat. But now that it was him, it wasn't so funny. One thing's for sure, though; he'd have to find his teammates sooner than he had planned.
"Oh crap, man..."
Oh crap.
Tucker panicked. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else in the room. Were they just hiding somewhere out of his sight? Did they follow him in here? Either way Tucker was cursing his own carelessness. Carelessness got people killed, and he wasn't going to die just yet.
His assailant struck him in the shoulder, and Tucker yelped in pain. It wasn't a hard enough hit to bruise, though it certainly threw him off balance. Tucker stumbled as he felt someone tug hardly on his bag. He angrily pulled back in response, and tried to keep his grip on the bag. Was he getting robbed?
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap...
Suddenly his bag opened, and he heard the thump of things hitting the matted floors. His bag had opened when the other kid tugged back, and his assailant growled. In the heat of the moment, fueled with anger and panic, Tucker snarled at the boy and whipped out the knife.
"Hey, you ass! Keep your hands to yourself!"
The knife made contact with the other boy, and Tucker managed to slash him in the leg. The attacker seemed unfazed, though, as he brought down his weapon (some strange, green object) on his hand. Tucker grimaced in pain and dropped his weapon and bag, muttering to himself quietly. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, craaaap..."
Before he could retaliate, though, the other boy had grabbed his bag and left. Tucker groaned in frustration. Some ass had stolen his bag, and now he was practically defenseless. Dropping to the floor, he quickly began to gather everything that had fallen out of the bag. He still had some supplies left: three water bottles, an orange poweade, the subway footlong, a flashlight and a dull brown shirt. He'd have to conserve the footlong, though, and the shirt would have to act as a knapsack if he wasn't going to carry all this stuff around in his arms. Besides, the kid hadn't taken his map or the smatchet, so he was still fairly prepared.
Still, though, it was a bad way to start off. Tucker threw his arms up in frustration. If he had been watching back home he'd be snickering at the poor sucker who got robbed right off the bat. But now that it was him, it wasn't so funny. One thing's for sure, though; he'd have to find his teammates sooner than he had planned.
"Oh crap, man..."
[CJ04: Regina "Reggie" Aston – Game Start]
For a while the world had only been movement and sound. At first footsteps, but then the inevitable beginnings of a game that she had almost considered herself an expert in understanding. Were they friends once – classmates – or had two people from opposing sides already met barely ten feet away from where she sat on the floor, staring at a closed changing mat?It was not the changing mat that had held Regina’s focus for so long of course, but the camera above it that had become fascinated with her existence. It had not moved since she had woken up and settled herself against the wall, listening and recording her every breath and expression. It caught her lips mouthing the words, ‘Hey dad? Bets on me,’ and her slight smile as the thoughts knitted together, forming a tapestry of statistics and theory that would change and shift as she progressed through the game, every step, every action furthering those internal desires – needs, even. The words were not spoken though – giving them voice would be risking exposure of everything that she had to lock down within if she was going to win. All those hopes, fears, and unfulfilled desires – they would just get her killed. They had murdered countless contestants, and would kill innumerable ones after her. But not me. Not me.
Silence took charge in the aftermath beyond the little room that had become her sanctuary; a place where she could still breathe steadily and think rationally. Here, in the beginning, Regina had discarded with relative ease the things that would hold her back from surviving, acknowledged her weaknesses and identified what she needed to survive. Who, to be precise.
Now Regina considered the backpack beside her, rifling through it carefully – quietly. Various brands of sponsors to eat and drink. Most notable was the two blue Powerades to match the cobalt bandanna that she had wrapped around her left hand like a makeshift glove, the knot just behind her thumb with the jellyfish boldly displayed across the back of that same hand. Rules were rules, after all. The First Aid kit was impressively stocked, and it was nice to have it even if she did not know how to use most of it efficiently, if at all.
The condom Regina contemplated tossing into the sink as she stood, bag zipped up securely once more, then she tucked it up the sleeve of her cardigan. The weight of the Nulla Nulla was ever-present in her right hand, slightly too big to fit into the backpack and too different to be mistaken for anything but her designated weapon. More use than the costume she had been given – a Big Bird costume, minus a head. It was at least six foot tall, and too cumbersome to try and carry even to use as a makeshift sleeping bag. Maybe later she would come back for it with allies – maybe they would make the daycare centre their centre to return to after a day’s exploration.
“Too many maybes,” Regina whispered to herself as she pushed up the handle to the changing room, and shoved the door aside roughly so that it crashed against the wall. It ruined the element of surprise, but she had no intention of injuring or killing the first person she saw. Especially not him.
Regina tried very hard to ignore the disturbingly anti-SotF decor of the room they had been dumped in to start playing, instead watching Tucker pick up what was left of his possessions. He cursed, and she did not bother fighting the derisive smile. “That’s a mild assessment of the situation Tucker.” Every motion, every word had purpose and reason; she kept the wooden stick deliberately low, not hostile, despite the need to stay on guard constantly present, pressuring. “Though it looks like you’ve had a worst start than me.”
They had talked at length about Survival of the Fittest, teams and all, just over a week ago at the party. A night that Regina could not afford to remember, but everything about their talks came flooding back. Team wins were now a reality – something they had both been fond of being implemented. Immediately Regina looked for – and found – the brown bandanna tied securely around Tucker’s neck.
If only it had been blue. Regina took a breath, frowning. Tucker needed someone that could be invested in his survival, and unfortunately, he had not made her list and they were enemies as far as the teams went. Yet she knew that leaving him like this was impractical and stupid. That callousness would – not could – come back to haunt her, whereas kindness could change everything in her favour later on in the game. For now, it was practical to not travel alone, and Tucker was someone she knew, even if she could not say that she trusted him. But it was better than nothing at all. Then there was his extensive knowledge of Survival of the Fittest, the fact that he did not even have a weapon to hurt her with, and finally, he would be grateful that she had not just walked away - put herself first and acted like a bitch. This solution benefited them both, now and in the long-term.
“You can put your things in my backpack if you want. It’ll make them easier to ferry about whilst we look for your teammates, and I promise that you’ll get every single thing back when we part ways.” Regina nodded towards the door suggestively as she shrugged off her backpack – she honestly did not expect him to refuse. “I’ll help you that far, but you’ve got the best chance with them, not me. A temporary alliance is the best shot we’ve got – safety in numbers, and good company’s never a bad thing.”
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Tucker was too engrossed in collecting his things to instantly react to Regina’s voice. After a few seconds of collecting he finally looked up, and noticed two things about Regina Aston.
The first thing was that the girl was Regina Aston. Tucker couldn’t help but smile at the familiar face; even now he had fondly remembered their talks at the party only a week or so ago. She was technically the first person he spoke to directly in the game, not counting whatever piece of crap had jumped him only moments ago. There certainly were worse first encounters.
The second thing he noticed was the indigo bandanna wrapped around her hand. While it was extremely unlikely that Regina was on his team anyway, Tucker still felt disappointment and wary of his friend as a result. Alliances in past seasons were always risky; there was always the notion that only one of them could survive, and that in itself managed to drive apart groups as the game took its course.
But this season was a whole new ball game: there were teams, set allies who could win the game with you. This gave a legitimate and beneficial way of allying oneself to another, given that they were on the same team. No matter what happened, if they were the last ones standing, they could both (or all) go home. Regina, sadly, wasn’t on his team.
That’s a shame.
“That’s a mild assessment of the situation Tucker. Though it looks like you’ve had a worse start than me.” She said teasingly. Tucker felt his cheeks flush, though this was not a time to be embarrassed. It didn’t take long for him to notice the large stick she was holding (Her assigned weapon? For all Tucker knew she had scavenged for it.), though she seemed very nonchalant. It looked like Regina had noticed their team difference too, and the terse atmosphere could have suffocated him.
Before he could say anything, Regina took all of the words out of his mouth. A temporary alliance, where she’d help him search for his fellow teammates. At least she acknowledged that a long-term alliance wasn’t going to help either of them. While Tucker was hesitant to trust her, he was also hesitant to refuse her offer. This was a once-in-a-lifetime (quite literally) chance, and it might not happen next time they meet.
“Heh,” Tucker smirked in reply, making up his mind. Why not? he thought. “Thanks, Regina.” Taking an extra precaution, he grouped up all of his things (sans his smatchet and map) onto the t-shirt, bundled it up and handed the brown sack to her.
“So, shall we go now?”
The first thing was that the girl was Regina Aston. Tucker couldn’t help but smile at the familiar face; even now he had fondly remembered their talks at the party only a week or so ago. She was technically the first person he spoke to directly in the game, not counting whatever piece of crap had jumped him only moments ago. There certainly were worse first encounters.
The second thing he noticed was the indigo bandanna wrapped around her hand. While it was extremely unlikely that Regina was on his team anyway, Tucker still felt disappointment and wary of his friend as a result. Alliances in past seasons were always risky; there was always the notion that only one of them could survive, and that in itself managed to drive apart groups as the game took its course.
But this season was a whole new ball game: there were teams, set allies who could win the game with you. This gave a legitimate and beneficial way of allying oneself to another, given that they were on the same team. No matter what happened, if they were the last ones standing, they could both (or all) go home. Regina, sadly, wasn’t on his team.
That’s a shame.
“That’s a mild assessment of the situation Tucker. Though it looks like you’ve had a worse start than me.” She said teasingly. Tucker felt his cheeks flush, though this was not a time to be embarrassed. It didn’t take long for him to notice the large stick she was holding (Her assigned weapon? For all Tucker knew she had scavenged for it.), though she seemed very nonchalant. It looked like Regina had noticed their team difference too, and the terse atmosphere could have suffocated him.
Before he could say anything, Regina took all of the words out of his mouth. A temporary alliance, where she’d help him search for his fellow teammates. At least she acknowledged that a long-term alliance wasn’t going to help either of them. While Tucker was hesitant to trust her, he was also hesitant to refuse her offer. This was a once-in-a-lifetime (quite literally) chance, and it might not happen next time they meet.
“Heh,” Tucker smirked in reply, making up his mind. Why not? he thought. “Thanks, Regina.” Taking an extra precaution, he grouped up all of his things (sans his smatchet and map) onto the t-shirt, bundled it up and handed the brown sack to her.
“So, shall we go now?”
Tucker had, with the shortest of considerations, chosen to accept her offer and work together for the time being. That trust, however fleeting or limited, should have been the reason that Regina felt calmer, more secure as the small bundle of belongings crossed hands; as she drew out a bottle of her own water and cracked the seal. But it was not the way he did not bristle at her comments, or the fact that they were, at least for now, agreed not to screw the other over.
It was the fact that he held that knife still in one hand, almost as a reassurance. It meant that she was doing the right thing not trusting him; he was aware and not willing to give up his weapon to her. Trust could, had been, abused in this game more times that she could count – definitely more times than there were seasons of treachery and violence.
Still, even if eventually she was going to start killing classmates and friends to achieve her goal, that she was not allowed to be a little sentimental and give Tucker and his team a fair chance. She would find her team too, and hopefully this kindness might extend outwards and prevent him from being actively hostile to people in future. Do unto others, and all that.
Regina took a drink, grip tightening ever so slightly on the stick as she passed the bottle to Tucker and nodded. This might have been pleasant, but going out there any less than ready would mean they would get not only themselves, but each other, killed. She had direction, purpose and the tools to keep herself and whomever she needed to alive for as long as she needed. Cocky she was not, but one could definitely call her prepared – willing to do what she had to before it became necessary. Thinking logically and making decisions before things became desperate. She would be alright – she just hoped that she could get to those she wanted to save before they became otherwise.
“No better time than now,” Regina answered, easily managing a smile for him before heading to make her way out of the doors nearest to the sunlit windows alongside Tucker.
It was the fact that he held that knife still in one hand, almost as a reassurance. It meant that she was doing the right thing not trusting him; he was aware and not willing to give up his weapon to her. Trust could, had been, abused in this game more times that she could count – definitely more times than there were seasons of treachery and violence.
Still, even if eventually she was going to start killing classmates and friends to achieve her goal, that she was not allowed to be a little sentimental and give Tucker and his team a fair chance. She would find her team too, and hopefully this kindness might extend outwards and prevent him from being actively hostile to people in future. Do unto others, and all that.
Regina took a drink, grip tightening ever so slightly on the stick as she passed the bottle to Tucker and nodded. This might have been pleasant, but going out there any less than ready would mean they would get not only themselves, but each other, killed. She had direction, purpose and the tools to keep herself and whomever she needed to alive for as long as she needed. Cocky she was not, but one could definitely call her prepared – willing to do what she had to before it became necessary. Thinking logically and making decisions before things became desperate. She would be alright – she just hoped that she could get to those she wanted to save before they became otherwise.
“No better time than now,” Regina answered, easily managing a smile for him before heading to make her way out of the doors nearest to the sunlit windows alongside Tucker.
[CJ04: Regina "Reggie" Aston and BB1: Tucker Hopkins continued in I'm Not Here to Make Friends]
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