Dale kept behind Anthony, far enough behind that the interloper wouldn't be able to see him. Dale continued to adjust the bandanna chain in his hands, unsure if he had enough slack or if the chain was long enough to where it could be properly used if needed.
He could hear Anthony engaging with the other guy, whoever it was. Anthony made his intimidating comment, only for that guy to respond with mockery of Anthony's accent.
Dale rolled his eyes.
"Dammit, he needs extra convincing," he muttered to himself.
Dale stepped a bit out to where Anthony and new guy could se him.
"Look, we've claimed the yacht, so please fuck off," Dale said.
I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner
Open, late Day 1
G014: Mayumi Tendou
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Applesintime
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Oh, for fuck's sake. Was it so hard to just what, take off into the night and be happy with that? It's not like he was mugging this guy and telling him to drop his bag and run before he hunted him down like some deranged mass murderer and beat him to death. Why were Americans like this? If Anthony was told to take off by a couple of guys, you bet he'd turn his fucking ass right around and run straight away. Something smart, unlike this guy, who was seemingly happy to sass someone who could potentially fly into a rage and beat him or something. Not like he would do that, of course.
But then there was the mocking of his bloody accent. It's like this guy was just trying to goad them into attacking him, which made Anthony not want to attack him because yeah, he still might have a gun or something! Closing his eyes for a brief second, Anthony sighed.
Why was this so bloody hard? Why did everything seem to fail when he tried to do it.
"Alright, mate. I'm not going to... fucking ask you again. Do what he said and fuck off. I don't want to hurt you, I'm not in this whole thing for that. But understandably, me and my friend want to be left alone, so yeah. Go away." This was like some shitty bad cop, good cop thing from a movie, except that in the movies there wasn't the chance that someone might actually die. He sighed again.
But then there was the mocking of his bloody accent. It's like this guy was just trying to goad them into attacking him, which made Anthony not want to attack him because yeah, he still might have a gun or something! Closing his eyes for a brief second, Anthony sighed.
Why was this so bloody hard? Why did everything seem to fail when he tried to do it.
"Alright, mate. I'm not going to... fucking ask you again. Do what he said and fuck off. I don't want to hurt you, I'm not in this whole thing for that. But understandably, me and my friend want to be left alone, so yeah. Go away." This was like some shitty bad cop, good cop thing from a movie, except that in the movies there wasn't the chance that someone might actually die. He sighed again.
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Courtography
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He really should have anticipated this. Most people did not like being sassed, particularly in high stress situations. On the other hand, Anthony was a huge dick to him first, so Caleb felt pretty justified. It still wasn't smart though. He usually had such good self-control around strangers and then he went and acted like this. He'd worry about that later. He hoped they didn't see the slight smile on his face. Caleb couldn't help but be amused by their repeated emphasis on the word fuck, along with their inability to understand that he had been minding his own business until they had come out and threatened him.
Either they were dumb as rocks or they didn't care about the truth.
Probably both.
"Kay, toodles," he responded in a deadpan tone.
He could feel himself breathing faster. Had they gotten to him deep down?
He walked away the way he had come onto the yacht. His eyes felt a little teary. That was happening at random more often. It was really annoying, and those jerks weren't worth getting teary-eyed over anyway. They were just stupid boys who were probably going to die in the next few days. Caleb felt guilt in the pit of his gut for thinking that way. It shouldn't justify how he felt about them, but it did.
Now he'd have to find somewhere else to hide, hopefully somewhere he could be alone.
(Caleb Bloch continued in The Taste of Salt)
Either they were dumb as rocks or they didn't care about the truth.
Probably both.
"Kay, toodles," he responded in a deadpan tone.
He could feel himself breathing faster. Had they gotten to him deep down?
He walked away the way he had come onto the yacht. His eyes felt a little teary. That was happening at random more often. It was really annoying, and those jerks weren't worth getting teary-eyed over anyway. They were just stupid boys who were probably going to die in the next few days. Caleb felt guilt in the pit of his gut for thinking that way. It shouldn't justify how he felt about them, but it did.
Now he'd have to find somewhere else to hide, hopefully somewhere he could be alone.
(Caleb Bloch continued in The Taste of Salt)
And the situation resolved itself as quickly as it began. Dale almost felt a bit embarrassed at how easily the other dude agreed to just go away after Anthony reiterated the point.
"Well, okay then," Dale said as the boy walked off the yacht.
Dale unwrapped the bandannas from his hands and let out a long exhale.
"Cool. That was easy."
Dale began to walk back into the yacht.
"I'm gonna take a nap. Take it easy," he said to Anthony.
Dale had no idea if he'd be able to nap, but at least he could barricade himself in the bedroom and relax for a bit. Maybe he'd find some good tunes in the CD deck.
"Well, okay then," Dale said as the boy walked off the yacht.
Dale unwrapped the bandannas from his hands and let out a long exhale.
"Cool. That was easy."
Dale began to walk back into the yacht.
"I'm gonna take a nap. Take it easy," he said to Anthony.
Dale had no idea if he'd be able to nap, but at least he could barricade himself in the bedroom and relax for a bit. Maybe he'd find some good tunes in the CD deck.
G014: Mayumi Tendou
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Applesintime
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"Alright. Alright..." Anthony nodded, giving Dale a quick nod. Now that there wasn't anything posing a direct threat to them, he could feel himself start to calm; his hands were still gently trembling, but that wasn't of much concern to him right now. Was that guy really a threat to them? He hadn't pulled a gun on them or tried to attack them or anything, he had just left as soon as they pushed the point. If that had been him, being threatened by a bunch of guys, would he have been able to see it from their perspective, or would he have been pissed too? Probably the latter. But he was gone now, for better or for worse.
He wasn't willing to go back in just yet, though. It was a little cooler now that the day was changing into night, the waves rocking the ship just a little bit more than they had been this morning. If he was gonna be holed up in that ship until morning, then he may as well appreciate the outdoors while he can. Walking over to the side of the yacht facing away from the rest of the floatilla, he gripped the railing, staring out at the endless expanse of the ocean.
"Fuck. This is... fucking madness." Anthony cursed, angling himself to look down, towards the bottom of the sea. How many of his friends were dead? How many would be floating in the water by the time this was all over? Would he be one of them, murdered with a knife or shot by a gun or whatever, rendered to nothing more than a 'character' that people would shitpost about online. Not a person, not someone who was living and breathing before they were ripped from their bloody homes, their school, wherever.
Just a character.
"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!" With that last shout, he roughly pushed himself off the railing, stepping back, feeling the glass of that broken bottle crunch underfoot. Maybe he was drunk, maybe he just didn't give a fuck. As he began to rant, he started pacing around the deck.
"You fucking... abduct us, you make us kill each other, and then you wonder why everyone sees this fucking country as a shithole?! No other fohking country makes teenagers murder each other just so I don't fucking know, you can make more corporate profits or something while the adoring public oohs and ahhs at real people dying on the telly for their own fohking amusement?! Fuck you! If you're listening to this, go fuck yourself! If you think this is cool, if you think that oh, you'd love to go on SOTF one day so you can win with your sick skills you got from fohking around with a bloody Nerf gun and 360 noscope everyone and get a cool victory or whatever, well let me fohking tell you - It's not exactly fun and games, worrying that at any fucking second someone might kill you! Get some other... Get a better hobby than watching kids die!" With his impromptu rant/speech finished, Anthony took a deep breath, his fists rhythmatically clenching and unclenching with his breathing.
He started to move back towards the deck, but something caught his eye, glitning in the faint light. Bending down to examine it, he discovered it was the top half of the bottle, now rendered into a jagged shape where it had broken, with the top of the bottle remaining relatively intact. After a moment of hesitation, he picked it up, opening a pocket in his cargo shorts and placing it in there, jagged edge up so it didn't stab into his leg. What's one more weapon that could save his life?
Walking down into the yacht again, he entered his room, shoved the bathtub in front of the door again, and sat on the couch.
The sound of someone cheerily speaking through the loudspeakers woke him with a startled gasp, pushing himself up from where he had slumped over. Did he fall asleep? He didn't feel any less tired. What time was it? Good morning? It certainly didn't bloody look like morning. Only then had it dawned on him that this was the little report thing they gave, detailing who had been brutally murdered and by whom. That made him sit up.
Timothy Torales. Oliver Sheffield. Xander Miles was the first name he recognised; he had been on the football team, but Anthony had never actually got to speak with him much. He was gone now, killed by his own teammate; although by the way Ritzy casually described it, it wasn't an intentional kill. He couldn't fault someone for manslaughter. Maxine Schwimmer, and Abel Kuntz. He didn't know any of them in person, but that didn't matter when five people were dead. Seo-yun had murdered one of them. If he saw her, if he fucking saw her. He had trusted her, and the had murdered someone. Betrayal after betrayal. Akeno, Carol, and Verity. He didn't really know any of them well, but he made a mental note to avoid them.
His fingers reached up to touch his cross. What would Mum think of all this? He had never known her, but she wouldn't have agreed with any of this. What would God think of this, watching his creations be forced - no, not forced. Nobody forced Seo-yun to kill Abel with his own weapon. She made that choice herself. They all did, and that made him hate them all the more.
Wait. Ivan wasn't on there. Ivan wasn't dead like he had thought. Was Giselle lying, trying to get him to join with promises and lies only with the intention of backstabbing him later? It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He had to watch his back. For all he knew, Dale could decide to commit murder with his weird bandana rope thing.
In his head, he said a quiet prayer for those who were dead, and closed his eyes. Hopefully they would find peace, wherever they were.
He wasn't willing to go back in just yet, though. It was a little cooler now that the day was changing into night, the waves rocking the ship just a little bit more than they had been this morning. If he was gonna be holed up in that ship until morning, then he may as well appreciate the outdoors while he can. Walking over to the side of the yacht facing away from the rest of the floatilla, he gripped the railing, staring out at the endless expanse of the ocean.
"Fuck. This is... fucking madness." Anthony cursed, angling himself to look down, towards the bottom of the sea. How many of his friends were dead? How many would be floating in the water by the time this was all over? Would he be one of them, murdered with a knife or shot by a gun or whatever, rendered to nothing more than a 'character' that people would shitpost about online. Not a person, not someone who was living and breathing before they were ripped from their bloody homes, their school, wherever.
Just a character.
"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!" With that last shout, he roughly pushed himself off the railing, stepping back, feeling the glass of that broken bottle crunch underfoot. Maybe he was drunk, maybe he just didn't give a fuck. As he began to rant, he started pacing around the deck.
"You fucking... abduct us, you make us kill each other, and then you wonder why everyone sees this fucking country as a shithole?! No other fohking country makes teenagers murder each other just so I don't fucking know, you can make more corporate profits or something while the adoring public oohs and ahhs at real people dying on the telly for their own fohking amusement?! Fuck you! If you're listening to this, go fuck yourself! If you think this is cool, if you think that oh, you'd love to go on SOTF one day so you can win with your sick skills you got from fohking around with a bloody Nerf gun and 360 noscope everyone and get a cool victory or whatever, well let me fohking tell you - It's not exactly fun and games, worrying that at any fucking second someone might kill you! Get some other... Get a better hobby than watching kids die!" With his impromptu rant/speech finished, Anthony took a deep breath, his fists rhythmatically clenching and unclenching with his breathing.
He started to move back towards the deck, but something caught his eye, glitning in the faint light. Bending down to examine it, he discovered it was the top half of the bottle, now rendered into a jagged shape where it had broken, with the top of the bottle remaining relatively intact. After a moment of hesitation, he picked it up, opening a pocket in his cargo shorts and placing it in there, jagged edge up so it didn't stab into his leg. What's one more weapon that could save his life?
Walking down into the yacht again, he entered his room, shoved the bathtub in front of the door again, and sat on the couch.
The sound of someone cheerily speaking through the loudspeakers woke him with a startled gasp, pushing himself up from where he had slumped over. Did he fall asleep? He didn't feel any less tired. What time was it? Good morning? It certainly didn't bloody look like morning. Only then had it dawned on him that this was the little report thing they gave, detailing who had been brutally murdered and by whom. That made him sit up.
Timothy Torales. Oliver Sheffield. Xander Miles was the first name he recognised; he had been on the football team, but Anthony had never actually got to speak with him much. He was gone now, killed by his own teammate; although by the way Ritzy casually described it, it wasn't an intentional kill. He couldn't fault someone for manslaughter. Maxine Schwimmer, and Abel Kuntz. He didn't know any of them in person, but that didn't matter when five people were dead. Seo-yun had murdered one of them. If he saw her, if he fucking saw her. He had trusted her, and the had murdered someone. Betrayal after betrayal. Akeno, Carol, and Verity. He didn't really know any of them well, but he made a mental note to avoid them.
His fingers reached up to touch his cross. What would Mum think of all this? He had never known her, but she wouldn't have agreed with any of this. What would God think of this, watching his creations be forced - no, not forced. Nobody forced Seo-yun to kill Abel with his own weapon. She made that choice herself. They all did, and that made him hate them all the more.
Wait. Ivan wasn't on there. Ivan wasn't dead like he had thought. Was Giselle lying, trying to get him to join with promises and lies only with the intention of backstabbing him later? It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He had to watch his back. For all he knew, Dale could decide to commit murder with his weird bandana rope thing.
In his head, he said a quiet prayer for those who were dead, and closed his eyes. Hopefully they would find peace, wherever they were.
A few hours after Dale had once again sealed himself in the bedroom, he soon found some serendipity. It wasn't something he thought he could find from listening to random CDs in a yacht on a nationally televised death match, but it was a bit amusing.
After all, he was being informed by Ritzy Daggers that five people he went to school with were dead, right as R.E.M. guy as singing about losing his religion.
Dale had to scramble out of bed and quickly turn the music down to hear the announcement. Timothy, Oliver, Xander, Maxine, and Abel were dead. Dale could sorta recognize the names. The killers were more important. Verity and Carol pushed people to their deaths, Rhonda accidentally killed Xander, while Akeno and Seo-yun willingly killed their people.
Dale groaned a bit. He really was being tested here. He was being challenged as a man, as a television figure, as an actor, and as a student of his school. He had managed to get through the first day with no skin off his teeth other than manageable inconveniences. Still, there was a lot to think about going forward. The game had started, people had died, people were going to die. He couldn't be one of them.
"Alright, enough moping."
Dale grabbed his bag and pulled out the map and began to look over it. He could chill for the night, but he should figure out where to go tomorrow morning so he could get some supplies. He definitely needed a better weapon, as the bandanna chain wasn't going to matter much in the long run.
After all, he was being informed by Ritzy Daggers that five people he went to school with were dead, right as R.E.M. guy as singing about losing his religion.
Dale had to scramble out of bed and quickly turn the music down to hear the announcement. Timothy, Oliver, Xander, Maxine, and Abel were dead. Dale could sorta recognize the names. The killers were more important. Verity and Carol pushed people to their deaths, Rhonda accidentally killed Xander, while Akeno and Seo-yun willingly killed their people.
Dale groaned a bit. He really was being tested here. He was being challenged as a man, as a television figure, as an actor, and as a student of his school. He had managed to get through the first day with no skin off his teeth other than manageable inconveniences. Still, there was a lot to think about going forward. The game had started, people had died, people were going to die. He couldn't be one of them.
"Alright, enough moping."
Dale grabbed his bag and pulled out the map and began to look over it. He could chill for the night, but he should figure out where to go tomorrow morning so he could get some supplies. He definitely needed a better weapon, as the bandanna chain wasn't going to matter much in the long run.
G014: Mayumi Tendou
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Applesintime
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Anthony let out a sigh. Who was gonna be next on the radio woman's list of names? Seth? Nadine? Leah? No. No, he didn't want to think about that, but the thought wormed its way into his mind and wouldn't go away. Worse, he had a headache. Maybe his first aid kit would have some aspirin or paracetamol or whatever kind of painkiller they had deigned to pack into their bags. Unzipping his bag, he pulled the first aid kit. White box, red cross. He doubted that the Red Cross had given permisson for the SOTF team to use their symbol in their death game, so that was another crime to slap on the ever-expanding list.
Cracking it open, he took stock of the inventory. It was... surprisingly well equipped. The face shield was tossed to the side, as was the pocket mask; when the fuck was he going to have to put someone on oxygen? It wans't like the main cause of death here was heart attacks. No, it was more people getting stabbed or shot to death, and giving them oxygen wasn't gonna fucking help when they were bleeding out. Most of this stuff was actually pretty useful, but some of it was basically useless. Like, for example, oral rehydration salts. If he was dehydrated, he'd probably have more pressing concerns like getting clean water to drink.
Some things, like the lighter, found its way into his pocket. Buried down at the bottom, underneath all the bandages and the emergency blanket thing, were a couple tabs of aspirin. Popping out two, Anthony downed them with a swig of his Gatorade. It was dark out, and while he had nothing to do here, being bored was infinitely preferable to being in fear for his life. He had a few more ideas on how he might get that collar off, but it could wait until morning.
Draping that emergency blanket over himself and settling on the couch, he started to think. How many goddamn schools were there in America? There must have been well, thousands at the least, and out of all of them, they picked Mangrove Garden. Him and what, seventy or eighty odd others? It was bloody ridiculous how they had started killing already. He wouldn't have expected Seo-Yun to kill anyone, but then again she was always kind of an attention whore. This was fucking ridiculous. He was still legally a British citizen, and if the government weren't gonna do anything about one of their citizens, what the fuck could they do?
This wasn't productive thinking. He sighed again.
Cracking it open, he took stock of the inventory. It was... surprisingly well equipped. The face shield was tossed to the side, as was the pocket mask; when the fuck was he going to have to put someone on oxygen? It wans't like the main cause of death here was heart attacks. No, it was more people getting stabbed or shot to death, and giving them oxygen wasn't gonna fucking help when they were bleeding out. Most of this stuff was actually pretty useful, but some of it was basically useless. Like, for example, oral rehydration salts. If he was dehydrated, he'd probably have more pressing concerns like getting clean water to drink.
Some things, like the lighter, found its way into his pocket. Buried down at the bottom, underneath all the bandages and the emergency blanket thing, were a couple tabs of aspirin. Popping out two, Anthony downed them with a swig of his Gatorade. It was dark out, and while he had nothing to do here, being bored was infinitely preferable to being in fear for his life. He had a few more ideas on how he might get that collar off, but it could wait until morning.
Draping that emergency blanket over himself and settling on the couch, he started to think. How many goddamn schools were there in America? There must have been well, thousands at the least, and out of all of them, they picked Mangrove Garden. Him and what, seventy or eighty odd others? It was bloody ridiculous how they had started killing already. He wouldn't have expected Seo-Yun to kill anyone, but then again she was always kind of an attention whore. This was fucking ridiculous. He was still legally a British citizen, and if the government weren't gonna do anything about one of their citizens, what the fuck could they do?
This wasn't productive thinking. He sighed again.
Despite all the alarm bells in his mind, Dale decided to go to the cruise ship the next day. It was the largest ship in the area, there were rooms he could lock himself in, and there were enough things he could use as weapons. Hell, all he needed was to go ham on a chair or end table and he had enough sticks to club people with.
If that didn't work, he could at least check the restaurant boat or the shop boat. But the cruise ship looked like the best option for now. Dale folded the map up and put it back into his bag. He sealed it up and dropped it next to his bed, laying the bandanna chain on top of it.
He stood up and walked to the middle of the room.
"Okay," he said aloud. "I think I'm done for the day."
He saluted the nearest camera.
"See you tomorrow."
Dale turned the lights in the bedroom off, then walked back to the bed, climbing under the sheets. It felt awkward to try and sleep with his pants and shoes on, but he may have to jump out and run at any given moment, so one discomforting night of sleep was better than dying like a comfortable fool.
If that didn't work, he could at least check the restaurant boat or the shop boat. But the cruise ship looked like the best option for now. Dale folded the map up and put it back into his bag. He sealed it up and dropped it next to his bed, laying the bandanna chain on top of it.
He stood up and walked to the middle of the room.
"Okay," he said aloud. "I think I'm done for the day."
He saluted the nearest camera.
"See you tomorrow."
Dale turned the lights in the bedroom off, then walked back to the bed, climbing under the sheets. It felt awkward to try and sleep with his pants and shoes on, but he may have to jump out and run at any given moment, so one discomforting night of sleep was better than dying like a comfortable fool.
G014: Mayumi Tendou
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Applesintime
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He was tired, both physically and mentally. Because you know, being put in the murder game was incredibly taxing on your mind and body? Being constantly in fear that the next guy you meet might kill you? Very tiring. He wished he had a bed to sleep in rather than a sofa that he could only lie in, but it worked. And you know what? It could be worse. He could be lying dead on the flotilla somewhere and-
Productive thoughts, Anthony. Productive thoughts.
"Hey, uh..." He started to speak, only to grow quiet again. What did he want to say? Who did he want to speak to? Mum, dad, Clarissa? The people watching? The producers themselves? No, not them. He didn't want to speak to them, acknowledge them, give them a second of thought. He sighed. This was just so infuriating. Everything. Being abducted, his friends being forced to kill or be killed and the fact that people were doing it willingly. No incentives given. They were just that fucking bloodthirsty.
"Mum, Dad, uh, Clarissa..." He knew what he wanted to talk about. "I'm sorry that... that this whole thing happened. I know you guys are probably beating yourself - yourselves - up over this whole thing, and I don't want you to. Nothing could have prevented this. Those... those... they had me on their list, and that was that. Try and fight, you'd probably just get tased, or shot, or whatever the fuck they do to people who resist." He had wanted to use stronger language. Call them cunts. Arseholes, fuckwits, the lot. But it was bloody useless, wasn't it? Calling them cunts wouldn't really do anything now. He just had to confront this.
"I love you guys. Mum, dad, Clarissa. I... I wish I could tell you that right now. In person. But I don't think I'm gonna be able to do that again. I don't... I don't particularly have a game plan going here. All I wanna do is get out, and I'm not going to murder anyone to do it." Of course, if someone attacked him, he wasn't exactly going to just lie down and die. He wasn't going to murder anyone, go hunting for people like some of the other players inevitably would be doing right now. LIke wolves in a pack, tearing whoever they see to pieces and feasting on the carcass.
Considering what AnArchy did, it probably wasn't a bad assumption that she'd have probably actually ate people given the chance. And it was that show that let her do that. It was this show that let people do whatever the fuck they wanted without care for repercussions or law and order. Torture someone to death, lick up blood, and of course all the fucking murder, all broadcast straight to American living rooms for the entertainment of the family. Let little Bobby squeal with glee as his favourite character kills someone brutally! And they were characters, because that's all this fucking show saw them as. Saw everyone as. He was just a character, perhaps one of a somewhat amusing stereotype, but he wasn't a person to the viewers of this show. To them, he had no family, no life, no nothing. He was just plopped onto this anarchic hell of boats and jetties and water and told kill or be killed.
God, he hated them.
"I guess I may as well try and escape. I don't know how I'm gonna get this collar off, but where there's a will, there's a bloody way. This whole thing's a bloody dog's dinner. I don't know what I'm gonna do, but... I'm going to live. I'm not going to die. That's bloody certain. I don't know if I have anything else to say, but... night guys. See you in the morning." He gave the camera a smile, one that was both weary and frightened at the same time, and lay down on the sofa, adjusting the pillows a little and closing his eyes.
Hopefully tomorrow would be better.
((Anthony Golden continued in For Every Choice, There Is An Echo))
Productive thoughts, Anthony. Productive thoughts.
"Hey, uh..." He started to speak, only to grow quiet again. What did he want to say? Who did he want to speak to? Mum, dad, Clarissa? The people watching? The producers themselves? No, not them. He didn't want to speak to them, acknowledge them, give them a second of thought. He sighed. This was just so infuriating. Everything. Being abducted, his friends being forced to kill or be killed and the fact that people were doing it willingly. No incentives given. They were just that fucking bloodthirsty.
"Mum, Dad, uh, Clarissa..." He knew what he wanted to talk about. "I'm sorry that... that this whole thing happened. I know you guys are probably beating yourself - yourselves - up over this whole thing, and I don't want you to. Nothing could have prevented this. Those... those... they had me on their list, and that was that. Try and fight, you'd probably just get tased, or shot, or whatever the fuck they do to people who resist." He had wanted to use stronger language. Call them cunts. Arseholes, fuckwits, the lot. But it was bloody useless, wasn't it? Calling them cunts wouldn't really do anything now. He just had to confront this.
"I love you guys. Mum, dad, Clarissa. I... I wish I could tell you that right now. In person. But I don't think I'm gonna be able to do that again. I don't... I don't particularly have a game plan going here. All I wanna do is get out, and I'm not going to murder anyone to do it." Of course, if someone attacked him, he wasn't exactly going to just lie down and die. He wasn't going to murder anyone, go hunting for people like some of the other players inevitably would be doing right now. LIke wolves in a pack, tearing whoever they see to pieces and feasting on the carcass.
Considering what AnArchy did, it probably wasn't a bad assumption that she'd have probably actually ate people given the chance. And it was that show that let her do that. It was this show that let people do whatever the fuck they wanted without care for repercussions or law and order. Torture someone to death, lick up blood, and of course all the fucking murder, all broadcast straight to American living rooms for the entertainment of the family. Let little Bobby squeal with glee as his favourite character kills someone brutally! And they were characters, because that's all this fucking show saw them as. Saw everyone as. He was just a character, perhaps one of a somewhat amusing stereotype, but he wasn't a person to the viewers of this show. To them, he had no family, no life, no nothing. He was just plopped onto this anarchic hell of boats and jetties and water and told kill or be killed.
God, he hated them.
"I guess I may as well try and escape. I don't know how I'm gonna get this collar off, but where there's a will, there's a bloody way. This whole thing's a bloody dog's dinner. I don't know what I'm gonna do, but... I'm going to live. I'm not going to die. That's bloody certain. I don't know if I have anything else to say, but... night guys. See you in the morning." He gave the camera a smile, one that was both weary and frightened at the same time, and lay down on the sofa, adjusting the pillows a little and closing his eyes.
Hopefully tomorrow would be better.
((Anthony Golden continued in For Every Choice, There Is An Echo))
Dale's eyes quickly snapped open when the announcement came on. He quickly moved out of his bed as Ritzy Daggers began to read off the names of the dead. Seth Dunn was killed by two people, two different Evans girls were dead, someone was given assisted suicide, that ogre Junji somehow killed someone, and then that crazy girl Giselle died too. Didn't sound like anyone he saw yesterday was dead, and more importantly, the restaurant and shop boats were not danger zones.
Dale stretched his back.
"Okay, we're ready to get going," he muttered to himself. "But, a few things first."
Dale spent the next hour or so doing some quick stretches. He had done yoga with his mom for a hot minute, and while it wasn't a big hobby, it was good for flexibility and stress, so he simply tried to do whatever he remembered. He was still sealed in the bedroom, so he could do so in peace. Besides, with all the walking he was probably going to do today, he'd want to be ready for all the exercise he'd be getting.
After a quick breakfast of day-old Subway, Dale removed the dresser and stepped out of the bedroom. He looked around. There was no sign of Anthony around. He must have gotten up and left some time ago. Dale shrugged.
"Alright. One less thing to worry about."
Dale had his bag and the bandanna chain around his neck, and he made his way out of the yacht. He needed better supplies and better options going forward, and if he could reclaim the yacht afterwards, that would be fantastic. He had proven he could survive one day, and now he needed to survive another.
((Dale Hawthorne continued in Gene Hackman had it easier in The Poseidon Adventure))
Dale stretched his back.
"Okay, we're ready to get going," he muttered to himself. "But, a few things first."
Dale spent the next hour or so doing some quick stretches. He had done yoga with his mom for a hot minute, and while it wasn't a big hobby, it was good for flexibility and stress, so he simply tried to do whatever he remembered. He was still sealed in the bedroom, so he could do so in peace. Besides, with all the walking he was probably going to do today, he'd want to be ready for all the exercise he'd be getting.
After a quick breakfast of day-old Subway, Dale removed the dresser and stepped out of the bedroom. He looked around. There was no sign of Anthony around. He must have gotten up and left some time ago. Dale shrugged.
"Alright. One less thing to worry about."
Dale had his bag and the bandanna chain around his neck, and he made his way out of the yacht. He needed better supplies and better options going forward, and if he could reclaim the yacht afterwards, that would be fantastic. He had proven he could survive one day, and now he needed to survive another.
((Dale Hawthorne continued in Gene Hackman had it easier in The Poseidon Adventure))
G014: Mayumi Tendou