((Samantha Reynolds continued from Better Make Up Your Mind))
Standing across the water from the shack, looking at it, Samantha didn't know what she felt. Part of it was disappointment, that was for sure. The shack was not in great condition. Parts of the siding were clearly falling off. It looked like it hadn't been maintained since, well, ever. On the other hand, it almost looked nice, in a way. It was inviting in a manner quite unlike the radio tower and the cable car station. They had been slightly ominous, technological reminders of the island's vanished inhabitants, ghosts continuing purposelessly to carry out functions which had not been necessary in ages. The shack looked right for an abandoned island. Its owner could have just gotten up and left one day. It happened all the time. Samantha wouldn't even have been surprised to find animals nesting inside, or maybe a bird's nest.
Better yet, she was going to have to cross the water to reach it. She was a swimmer, and loved the water. It was always there for her, like her music and her jogs, and even though being on the team was stressful sometimes, even though she had to pour so much of herself into just staying on it, because she wasn't a natural, she liked it. She liked it a lot.
So when she kicked off her shoes and tugged off her socks, she was almost gleeful. She stowed them in her bag, and the only thing holding her back from unrestrained enthusiasm was the knowledge that, no matter how much she washed her feet, she would still get a little sand in her socks and it would stay there until she changed them.
...Which, she realized, could be never. She might spend the rest of her life with sandy socks. Fuck.
Couldn't worry about that now, though. She'd have a much better chance of making it out alive if she got into cover, instead of dithering around waiting for somebody on the ball to come shoot her. She hadn't seen anyone at all except Pippi, and she was actually starting to feel a little anxious about that. She almost wanted there to be someone in that shack, not so she could talk or anything, just so that she could be assured that there really were other people in this mess, that she wasn't just wandering around on her own, insane and hallucinating.
She watched the hut, but there was no movement. She'd had a good line of sight on it the whole time as she'd approached, and it was fairly clearly empty. Still, no reason to be dumb. She slipped the pistol and knife from her skirt again. She had taken a moment to cut two parallel slits in her skirt, creating an improvised holder for the knife. It had been a damn shame to wreck one of her nice skirts, but she was not going to let concern for appearances cost her her life, or any advantage in holding onto it. Besides, the skirt still looked pretty good.
She started towards the shack, enjoying the feel of the wet sand squishing between her toes, but not letting it distract her completely. She was alert for danger, ready to react the second something happened. At least, that was what she told herself.
Sanctuary (of the temporary variety)
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
((Continued from Lay Your Weary Head To Rest))
The Miami sun cut cleanly through the blinds in Otis' bedroom, casting the lumpy figure beneath the sheets in a warm, striped glow as he slept soundly through his alarm.
Every minute that my heart pump blood
Fuck what you heard momma raised a fuckin thug
"Otis!"
Money on my mind imagine what's up in the trunk
And it get me to the life of funk driver store's thug
"Otis!"
On the other ridges feelin like a billionaire
A got a couple mill a couple more an I'm really there
"Otis, get the fuck up!"
Haters talk around me fuck em like I really care
When we handle our business sorry they were never there
"Fuck, Dad, what? What? I'm up, I'm up!"
"Damn right you're up, it's a beautiful day."
Otis groaned and pulled the covers back over his head as his father, Kym, drew open the blinds with a great grin on his face.
"Come on, get up boy! We gotta big night tonight and I need you lookin' sharp."
"Unhh, I know, I know, the big night, I hear you."
Shaking his head and laughing, he sat down on the foot of his son's bed, looking around at the state of his room.
"I'm really lookin' forward to hearin' your stuff tonight, you know that?"
Frowning at his silent response, he continued.
"We got a lot ridin' on tonight, a lot of potential clients, a lot of big names, a lot of people interested in the label."
He paused, patting his son's leg through the sheets.
"You do well tonight, could mean big things, you know?"
Assuming he'd gotten through to the boy, he got up and left the room, leaving the door wide open to encourage him into getting up. Pulling back the sheets, Otis looked out of the doorway after his father with nervous eyes.
Big things, huh?
---
The sun was setting by the time he reached the cove, and the scratches on his face and wrist were now covered in a sloppy mess of plasters and gauze which he'd applied sometime after leaving Connor back at the settlement. He could feel himself getting tired as he made his way sluggishly along the shore, his daypack weighing him down as he gradually grew more and more exhausted. After all, he'd been walking around the island non-stop ever since he woke up, not to mention the physical and metal labour he'd gone through after having been in two separate confrontations in the first few hours alone.
The walking had done him a small amount of good though, as it had given him time to think for the first time today about his actual situation, about where he was, why he was even there to begin with, and most of all, how he was going to escape. He didn't have a plan as such, but he had an idea of what he'd have to do next if he wanted to survive. In all honesty, he wasn't looking forward to meeting another person here any time soon, that was certain, but he knew he'd have to eventually, given the number of people here.
As he approached the sandbanks, he noticed the tell-tale signs of a struggle all around him, snapping him out of his thoughts. There were footprints everywhere, and he could see what appeared to be a dried-up puddle of brownish-red just to his left. He wondered for a moment if someone had met their maker already, and how many times today he'd already met his own. Shit, that's a point. He'd almost died today. For the first time in his life he'd been in real, true danger, and that realization struck him harder than any bullet or knife could ever manage to.
Not only had he almost died, but he'd fought back, too. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but he'd actually fought back, and that was something he'd never had to do before. Not once had he been completely alone like this, without any of his friends around to help him, or at the very least, fling insults at the people who'd tried to take him on. What had he been thinking, taking on a guy with a gun like that? What was he thinking when he lowered his gun in front of that fucker, Cristo? What was he doing?
Feeling the lapping of the sea against his legs, he caught on to the fact that he was now wading across to the small shack across the way without any regard for the state his shoes would be in once he stepped onto dry land again. Well, it's not like that was his biggest worry anymore, right? At least in the shack he'd have a chance to lie down, to rest, to eat and maybe there'd be some food in there, that'd be nice. Something other than those nasty tins of peaches, at any rate.
The Miami sun cut cleanly through the blinds in Otis' bedroom, casting the lumpy figure beneath the sheets in a warm, striped glow as he slept soundly through his alarm.
Every minute that my heart pump blood
Fuck what you heard momma raised a fuckin thug
"Otis!"
Money on my mind imagine what's up in the trunk
And it get me to the life of funk driver store's thug
"Otis!"
On the other ridges feelin like a billionaire
A got a couple mill a couple more an I'm really there
"Otis, get the fuck up!"
Haters talk around me fuck em like I really care
When we handle our business sorry they were never there
"Fuck, Dad, what? What? I'm up, I'm up!"
"Damn right you're up, it's a beautiful day."
Otis groaned and pulled the covers back over his head as his father, Kym, drew open the blinds with a great grin on his face.
"Come on, get up boy! We gotta big night tonight and I need you lookin' sharp."
"Unhh, I know, I know, the big night, I hear you."
Shaking his head and laughing, he sat down on the foot of his son's bed, looking around at the state of his room.
"I'm really lookin' forward to hearin' your stuff tonight, you know that?"
Frowning at his silent response, he continued.
"We got a lot ridin' on tonight, a lot of potential clients, a lot of big names, a lot of people interested in the label."
He paused, patting his son's leg through the sheets.
"You do well tonight, could mean big things, you know?"
Assuming he'd gotten through to the boy, he got up and left the room, leaving the door wide open to encourage him into getting up. Pulling back the sheets, Otis looked out of the doorway after his father with nervous eyes.
Big things, huh?
---
The sun was setting by the time he reached the cove, and the scratches on his face and wrist were now covered in a sloppy mess of plasters and gauze which he'd applied sometime after leaving Connor back at the settlement. He could feel himself getting tired as he made his way sluggishly along the shore, his daypack weighing him down as he gradually grew more and more exhausted. After all, he'd been walking around the island non-stop ever since he woke up, not to mention the physical and metal labour he'd gone through after having been in two separate confrontations in the first few hours alone.
The walking had done him a small amount of good though, as it had given him time to think for the first time today about his actual situation, about where he was, why he was even there to begin with, and most of all, how he was going to escape. He didn't have a plan as such, but he had an idea of what he'd have to do next if he wanted to survive. In all honesty, he wasn't looking forward to meeting another person here any time soon, that was certain, but he knew he'd have to eventually, given the number of people here.
As he approached the sandbanks, he noticed the tell-tale signs of a struggle all around him, snapping him out of his thoughts. There were footprints everywhere, and he could see what appeared to be a dried-up puddle of brownish-red just to his left. He wondered for a moment if someone had met their maker already, and how many times today he'd already met his own. Shit, that's a point. He'd almost died today. For the first time in his life he'd been in real, true danger, and that realization struck him harder than any bullet or knife could ever manage to.
Not only had he almost died, but he'd fought back, too. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but he'd actually fought back, and that was something he'd never had to do before. Not once had he been completely alone like this, without any of his friends around to help him, or at the very least, fling insults at the people who'd tried to take him on. What had he been thinking, taking on a guy with a gun like that? What was he thinking when he lowered his gun in front of that fucker, Cristo? What was he doing?
Feeling the lapping of the sea against his legs, he caught on to the fact that he was now wading across to the small shack across the way without any regard for the state his shoes would be in once he stepped onto dry land again. Well, it's not like that was his biggest worry anymore, right? At least in the shack he'd have a chance to lie down, to rest, to eat and maybe there'd be some food in there, that'd be nice. Something other than those nasty tins of peaches, at any rate.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
As she made her way towards the shack, Samantha found herself frowning. The water was deeper than it had looked. She was maybe a third of the way there, and it was already to her waist. She sighed. Of course something had to ruin her good time with the water. Of fucking course. She knew it would be no problem to swim there. Even with the bag, even in her clothes, it just wasn't far enough to be an issue. The issue came from something entirely different. Her clothes would be completely soaked. Not only that, she was wearing a white blouse. The last thing she wanted was to be the star of a fucking impromptu wet t-shirt contest, and that was the way things were looking.
She paused, unsure of how to handle this. There was no way she was going to be caught with a transparent top. Absolutely no way. She'd lost enough control of her life; she wasn't going to surrender her dignity. The box the first aide kit came in was too small to fit her blouse, even if she scrunched it up. The bag didn't look waterproof, either. Fortunately, it hadn't gotten wet yet.
Samantha opened it up, and inspected the contents. How the fuck was she going to get it all over to the shack without it getting wet? She looked again, judging the distance. It would be tough, but possible, to throw it. Yes, that was what she would have to do. Throw the stuff. Start with the least important thing, to get some practice, and hope she didn't screw up with anything vital, like the gun. Unfortunately, the least important thing was her shirt. With a heavy sigh, Samantha unbuttoned it, tugged it off, and wrapped it around her shoe, giving the whole package some weight. Then, standing in her bra in the cool water, she shivered, and nearly dropped it all. A moment or terror—and the resultant adrenaline—perked her up, as her hands reflexively clenched, holding tight to the clothing.
Damn. This sucked. It was almost enough to make her turn back, but no. No, all these difficulties made the shack a perfect place to wait, a perfect place to hide out for a while. She knew about tides, knew that access would become easier later. She lived in a coastal city, after all. For the moment, though, the shack would be a fortress, surrounded by a natural moat. This would all be worth it.
She took a deep breath to compose herself, then threw the shoe and top with all her might. The unevenly weighted bundle sailed in an arc, then dropped neatly onto the wet sand at the edge of the water. Great. It might end up a little damp, but nothing worse. She wished she had thought of the idea before letting her skirt get completely soaked, but whatever. Served her right for being impulsive. It would dry in time, and it wouldn't show through, just cling, and that wasn't so bad.
Next up, the first aide kit. She folded the map and tucked it into the box, too, then stuffed it in her other shoe. This time, though, things didn't go so well. It splashed down in the shallows about three feet shy of her clothes. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That was not good. She'd have to hurry, now, and hope it hadn't been damaged. The last item, the gun, was just barely above the water line. She'd tucked it back into her skirt without thinking, and had nearly let it get doused. Stupid. So stupid. She closed her eyes, steeling herself, then pulled it out, reengaged the safety, and tossed it. It landed fine. Thank goodness. That all done, Samantha swam out to the piece of land containing the shack. It took her half a minute. As she got out, she checked the first aide kit. The map was water stained, but all the components had been wrapped in plastic to preserve sterility. Good. The map was even still readable.
She immediately retrieved her gun and her clothes, and was just about to put her shirt back on when she realized that doing so would just make it wet. Great. Instead, she carried everything into the shack. The building smelled odd, moldy or something, but that was to be expected given its state of disrepair. There were holes in the walls, and no door. No windows either, which meant no window curtains to use as towels. Ah well. Couldn't win 'em all. She dumped everything inside, not even taking the time to give the room a careful walkthrough. There was clearly nobody inside. There was one corner she couldn't quite make out, with a lumpy bed or something, but it was absolutely still. It could wait. She ducked outside again, and walked around the entire little area. It was all clear. The sun was setting in the west, the world was quiet, and everything, for a time, was peaceful. She could almost imagine she wasn't here, could almost pretend she was on some island getaway or something, wearing a bikini on the beach, spending time with friends. Well, okay, she didn't really have friends, not good ones, but whatever.
The mostly-still water gave her another idea. She went over to it, on the side of the area facing away from the island proper, and looked into the water. Sure enough, her nose was smaller. She looked like she'd aways wanted to. Well, that was nice. At least her power, stupid and agonizing though it was, sort of worked. At least it wasn't like Pippi's tip-everyone-I'm-dealing-with-off-to-my-plans "ability".
Well, she'd tried her power. Sure wasn't going to again, but it was comforting to know it worked. She went and retrieved her wet belongings from the inside of the shack, and laid them out to dry on the sand, again hidden from view of the shore. It wouldn't do to have people notice her. Doing this, she discovered that her socks were waterlogged, as was the loaf of bread. Goddammit. Well, wahtever. People could go over a week without food, right? And she still had the peaches, and had eaten a good dinner yesterday, right?
A little bit reassured, she just stood for a bit. It was getting much cooler, especially since she was still wet. Well, from the waist down. Her torso and bra had dried off by now. After a few minutes, she went back into the shack—still smells, otherwise this place would be nice—and retrieved her blouse. She tugged it on, and was about to button it when she heard a splash.
Oh no. Oh fuck no. She did not need somebody showing up right now. She'd wanted it earlier, sure, but not now. No way. Still, she grabbed her gun and stepped outside, looking towards the shore. She couldn't deny reality for comfort's sake. There was...
There was a good-looking, African American boy. Samantha didn't really like racial stereotyping, but that by no means made her immune to it, and he could almost have been one of the hip hop artists she loved so much. There was just something about him that seemed trustworthy. He could be a rugged hero or something, a bit dangerous, but definitely not a bad guy. Just misunderstood. The sort of person she could see making it out of this place. That wasn't entirely a good thing. She planned to make it out too, and she didn't want to have to fight him. But still... any worries of that sort were a long way off.
"Hello," she called out to him. She didn't raise her gun. He clearly wasn't carrying his. She realized, a little belatedly, that her blouse was still hanging open, and flushed bright red. Fuck. This was not the time or the place to explore her repressed side. She'd have to make sure this guy knew that, but she couldn't button up without putting down her gun. She decided to act as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and continued. "I'm Samantha. I just found this place. You can come over if you want."
She paused, unsure of how to handle this. There was no way she was going to be caught with a transparent top. Absolutely no way. She'd lost enough control of her life; she wasn't going to surrender her dignity. The box the first aide kit came in was too small to fit her blouse, even if she scrunched it up. The bag didn't look waterproof, either. Fortunately, it hadn't gotten wet yet.
Samantha opened it up, and inspected the contents. How the fuck was she going to get it all over to the shack without it getting wet? She looked again, judging the distance. It would be tough, but possible, to throw it. Yes, that was what she would have to do. Throw the stuff. Start with the least important thing, to get some practice, and hope she didn't screw up with anything vital, like the gun. Unfortunately, the least important thing was her shirt. With a heavy sigh, Samantha unbuttoned it, tugged it off, and wrapped it around her shoe, giving the whole package some weight. Then, standing in her bra in the cool water, she shivered, and nearly dropped it all. A moment or terror—and the resultant adrenaline—perked her up, as her hands reflexively clenched, holding tight to the clothing.
Damn. This sucked. It was almost enough to make her turn back, but no. No, all these difficulties made the shack a perfect place to wait, a perfect place to hide out for a while. She knew about tides, knew that access would become easier later. She lived in a coastal city, after all. For the moment, though, the shack would be a fortress, surrounded by a natural moat. This would all be worth it.
She took a deep breath to compose herself, then threw the shoe and top with all her might. The unevenly weighted bundle sailed in an arc, then dropped neatly onto the wet sand at the edge of the water. Great. It might end up a little damp, but nothing worse. She wished she had thought of the idea before letting her skirt get completely soaked, but whatever. Served her right for being impulsive. It would dry in time, and it wouldn't show through, just cling, and that wasn't so bad.
Next up, the first aide kit. She folded the map and tucked it into the box, too, then stuffed it in her other shoe. This time, though, things didn't go so well. It splashed down in the shallows about three feet shy of her clothes. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That was not good. She'd have to hurry, now, and hope it hadn't been damaged. The last item, the gun, was just barely above the water line. She'd tucked it back into her skirt without thinking, and had nearly let it get doused. Stupid. So stupid. She closed her eyes, steeling herself, then pulled it out, reengaged the safety, and tossed it. It landed fine. Thank goodness. That all done, Samantha swam out to the piece of land containing the shack. It took her half a minute. As she got out, she checked the first aide kit. The map was water stained, but all the components had been wrapped in plastic to preserve sterility. Good. The map was even still readable.
She immediately retrieved her gun and her clothes, and was just about to put her shirt back on when she realized that doing so would just make it wet. Great. Instead, she carried everything into the shack. The building smelled odd, moldy or something, but that was to be expected given its state of disrepair. There were holes in the walls, and no door. No windows either, which meant no window curtains to use as towels. Ah well. Couldn't win 'em all. She dumped everything inside, not even taking the time to give the room a careful walkthrough. There was clearly nobody inside. There was one corner she couldn't quite make out, with a lumpy bed or something, but it was absolutely still. It could wait. She ducked outside again, and walked around the entire little area. It was all clear. The sun was setting in the west, the world was quiet, and everything, for a time, was peaceful. She could almost imagine she wasn't here, could almost pretend she was on some island getaway or something, wearing a bikini on the beach, spending time with friends. Well, okay, she didn't really have friends, not good ones, but whatever.
The mostly-still water gave her another idea. She went over to it, on the side of the area facing away from the island proper, and looked into the water. Sure enough, her nose was smaller. She looked like she'd aways wanted to. Well, that was nice. At least her power, stupid and agonizing though it was, sort of worked. At least it wasn't like Pippi's tip-everyone-I'm-dealing-with-off-to-my-plans "ability".
Well, she'd tried her power. Sure wasn't going to again, but it was comforting to know it worked. She went and retrieved her wet belongings from the inside of the shack, and laid them out to dry on the sand, again hidden from view of the shore. It wouldn't do to have people notice her. Doing this, she discovered that her socks were waterlogged, as was the loaf of bread. Goddammit. Well, wahtever. People could go over a week without food, right? And she still had the peaches, and had eaten a good dinner yesterday, right?
A little bit reassured, she just stood for a bit. It was getting much cooler, especially since she was still wet. Well, from the waist down. Her torso and bra had dried off by now. After a few minutes, she went back into the shack—still smells, otherwise this place would be nice—and retrieved her blouse. She tugged it on, and was about to button it when she heard a splash.
Oh no. Oh fuck no. She did not need somebody showing up right now. She'd wanted it earlier, sure, but not now. No way. Still, she grabbed her gun and stepped outside, looking towards the shore. She couldn't deny reality for comfort's sake. There was...
There was a good-looking, African American boy. Samantha didn't really like racial stereotyping, but that by no means made her immune to it, and he could almost have been one of the hip hop artists she loved so much. There was just something about him that seemed trustworthy. He could be a rugged hero or something, a bit dangerous, but definitely not a bad guy. Just misunderstood. The sort of person she could see making it out of this place. That wasn't entirely a good thing. She planned to make it out too, and she didn't want to have to fight him. But still... any worries of that sort were a long way off.
"Hello," she called out to him. She didn't raise her gun. He clearly wasn't carrying his. She realized, a little belatedly, that her blouse was still hanging open, and flushed bright red. Fuck. This was not the time or the place to explore her repressed side. She'd have to make sure this guy knew that, but she couldn't button up without putting down her gun. She decided to act as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and continued. "I'm Samantha. I just found this place. You can come over if you want."
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
Otis grinned. What was a pretty little thing like her doing all the way out here on her lonesome? Was she waiting for someone in particular, or was she just looking for something to keep herself distracted from the things happening around the island? Either way, he knew that he couldn't let a chance like this pass him by, especially if it meant somewhere to stay. "Don't mind if I do!" He called out, picking up his weight now that he had something to look forward to for the first time. Of course, he didn't make his motives a secret, staring intently at her open shirt while he made his way across the sandbanks.
Once there, he immediately threw his bag into the shack, watching it flop wetly onto one of the chairs before turning his attention back to the girl. He hadn't even noticed the gun yet, for all the time he spent looking at her cleavage, and now he stood in the doorway, leaning against it like a badass while he worked his charm on the girl. "Name's Otis. Otis Adelaide. I'm bettin' you've got a prettier name though, right? Somethin' real classy, like Elizabeth, or Katelyn." He extended his hand out to introduce himself, shaking hers before she really knew what was happening.
And that's when he noticed the gun. She was trying to hide it behind her leg, but now he'd seen it there was no point in keeping it a secret. "Oh... girl, you gonna try to shoot me too?" There was a lick of disappointment in his voice as he looked down at the firearm, glinting in the fleeting light like it was reminding him that she wasn't just another floozy. No, this girl could be just as deadly as the others, or maybe even worse, for all he knew. Sighing a little, he let go of her hand, tensing up a bit as he leaned away from her.
Once there, he immediately threw his bag into the shack, watching it flop wetly onto one of the chairs before turning his attention back to the girl. He hadn't even noticed the gun yet, for all the time he spent looking at her cleavage, and now he stood in the doorway, leaning against it like a badass while he worked his charm on the girl. "Name's Otis. Otis Adelaide. I'm bettin' you've got a prettier name though, right? Somethin' real classy, like Elizabeth, or Katelyn." He extended his hand out to introduce himself, shaking hers before she really knew what was happening.
And that's when he noticed the gun. She was trying to hide it behind her leg, but now he'd seen it there was no point in keeping it a secret. "Oh... girl, you gonna try to shoot me too?" There was a lick of disappointment in his voice as he looked down at the firearm, glinting in the fleeting light like it was reminding him that she wasn't just another floozy. No, this girl could be just as deadly as the others, or maybe even worse, for all he knew. Sighing a little, he let go of her hand, tensing up a bit as he leaned away from her.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
The boy, who had introduced himself as Otis, was clearly sizing Samantha up. It made her uncomfortable, in much the same way she had been when she thought Pippi was reading her thoughts (though to a lesser extent). Damn, was he even going to pretend he wasn't staring at her chest? Apparently not. Still, no cause to shove him away yet. Wasn't that part of the image, part of the charm? That whole intense sexuality? As long as he wasn't actually expecting anything, was it so bad to be looked at, really?
Yes. Yes it was, not because she feared his actions, but because she feared her own. Samantha introduced herself again (had he really been too distracted to hear her the first time? Probably.), saying, "I'm Samantha. Samantha Reynolds. From Seattle." She had slipped, once more, into curt, simple language. Couldn't let him get too close. Even though all the worries of her past life were null and void, even though staying focused on school was no longer the slightest of concerns, she could not let herself get drawn into anything. Even if part of her wanted to hug Otis, to throw her arms around him and maybe, just maybe, kiss him, not because she knew him or cared about him or had any idea who he was, but just because he was there and seemed friendly and seemed strong and cool and just like everything she'd secretly admired, she couldn't. That was, after all, what Rachel had done. Rachel had gone off to college and fucked around in all senses of the word, and come back in a state that got her barred from the home she had known and the family that had loved her. Samantha would not, could not let herself be like her sister. She would keep this Otis at arm's length.
He noticed her gun, and she smiled. It felt weird, smiling because this boy, this boy she had never met before, this boy she actually liked, was clearly a little afraid of her. It felt weird, but it also felt good. It meant she had the power to keep him from getting too close. It meant she had a safeguard against her own desires. If Otis got overly friendly, well, she had the tools in her hands to back him up a little. Perhaps, just perhaps, they could be partners in this, watch each others' backs, keep each other safe until the end, but there was no way in hell Samantha would let it become anything more, and she would have to make that clear right away.
"No," she said. "I'm not planning to shoot you too." But she didn't drop the gun, and something clicked in her head. He'd asked if she was going to shoot him too. That meant one of two things. Either he thought she'd shot somebody else, or somebody else had shot at him. Which it was didn't matter. It meant she had to be on guard. He would be unpredictable. That was half the charm, though, wasn't it? That was part of what made him seem so damn trustworthy. That hint of danger, coupled with that face that just screamed out that he was, deep down, a good guy. Damn. She had to keep him at a distance. Had to.
Left handed, she began to fumble with the buttons on her blouse, letting her bag fall to the ground, but keeping the gun in a firm grip. She kept a smile on her face. It wasn't even forced. Even with everything, she still found herself liking Otis. He wasn't the sort to mince words. He wasn't the sort to hide his intentions. If he'd wanted to kill her, there would have been no doubt in either of their minds. He was not the type for duplicity or treachery.
She'd gotten the top half of her shirt fixed when she realized how awkward it was to just be standing there, and said, "Come sit down. There's a bed." She then moved towards it herself. It was a fucking terrible idea, going to sit on the bed after inviting Otis. What happened to keeping him at arm's length? Samantha was about ready to stop moving, but that would have been worse, so she just plopped down onto the oddly lumpy bed without really checking it.
She immediately sprang back up. There was something, no, probably somebody in the bed. What she had sat on was clearly more than just an old and crumbly mattress. Was she going to be ambushed, now, stabbed to death without a chance to defend herself?
"Otis!" she called, hating herself for immediately looking to the boy for support. "There's someone here!"
Yes. Yes it was, not because she feared his actions, but because she feared her own. Samantha introduced herself again (had he really been too distracted to hear her the first time? Probably.), saying, "I'm Samantha. Samantha Reynolds. From Seattle." She had slipped, once more, into curt, simple language. Couldn't let him get too close. Even though all the worries of her past life were null and void, even though staying focused on school was no longer the slightest of concerns, she could not let herself get drawn into anything. Even if part of her wanted to hug Otis, to throw her arms around him and maybe, just maybe, kiss him, not because she knew him or cared about him or had any idea who he was, but just because he was there and seemed friendly and seemed strong and cool and just like everything she'd secretly admired, she couldn't. That was, after all, what Rachel had done. Rachel had gone off to college and fucked around in all senses of the word, and come back in a state that got her barred from the home she had known and the family that had loved her. Samantha would not, could not let herself be like her sister. She would keep this Otis at arm's length.
He noticed her gun, and she smiled. It felt weird, smiling because this boy, this boy she had never met before, this boy she actually liked, was clearly a little afraid of her. It felt weird, but it also felt good. It meant she had the power to keep him from getting too close. It meant she had a safeguard against her own desires. If Otis got overly friendly, well, she had the tools in her hands to back him up a little. Perhaps, just perhaps, they could be partners in this, watch each others' backs, keep each other safe until the end, but there was no way in hell Samantha would let it become anything more, and she would have to make that clear right away.
"No," she said. "I'm not planning to shoot you too." But she didn't drop the gun, and something clicked in her head. He'd asked if she was going to shoot him too. That meant one of two things. Either he thought she'd shot somebody else, or somebody else had shot at him. Which it was didn't matter. It meant she had to be on guard. He would be unpredictable. That was half the charm, though, wasn't it? That was part of what made him seem so damn trustworthy. That hint of danger, coupled with that face that just screamed out that he was, deep down, a good guy. Damn. She had to keep him at a distance. Had to.
Left handed, she began to fumble with the buttons on her blouse, letting her bag fall to the ground, but keeping the gun in a firm grip. She kept a smile on her face. It wasn't even forced. Even with everything, she still found herself liking Otis. He wasn't the sort to mince words. He wasn't the sort to hide his intentions. If he'd wanted to kill her, there would have been no doubt in either of their minds. He was not the type for duplicity or treachery.
She'd gotten the top half of her shirt fixed when she realized how awkward it was to just be standing there, and said, "Come sit down. There's a bed." She then moved towards it herself. It was a fucking terrible idea, going to sit on the bed after inviting Otis. What happened to keeping him at arm's length? Samantha was about ready to stop moving, but that would have been worse, so she just plopped down onto the oddly lumpy bed without really checking it.
She immediately sprang back up. There was something, no, probably somebody in the bed. What she had sat on was clearly more than just an old and crumbly mattress. Was she going to be ambushed, now, stabbed to death without a chance to defend herself?
"Otis!" she called, hating herself for immediately looking to the boy for support. "There's someone here!"
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
Making sure his bandages were still wrapped safely around the wounds on his hand and wrist (having used up all of his ammo back in the cells had given him some nasty burns), he stepped into the shack, following after Samantha's offer to "sit down" on the bed. Sitting down, standing up, on her back, on his back, it didn't matter to Otis which way they did it, but after the day he'd been having he certainly felt like he deserved something to make him feel better.
Just as he was about to join her on what looked to be the most uncomfortable bed in the world, she suddenly rose with a start, crying out his name in distress. Somebody was here? Shit, that meant he'd have to act quick otherwise they'd both end up riddled with bullets in no time at all. Leaping into action, he pulled her out of the way before jumping onto the figure beneath the grimy sheet. "Son of a bitch, you think you can sneak up on us?!" He yelled furiously as he pummelled the body, making sure to hit twice as hard because he knew the girl was watching him. Maybe this would score him extra favours later on? Who knew? At any rate, this was the easiest fight he'd ever had in his life - the guy wasn't even struggling under there, it was like he was out cold.
Finally, he stopped beating the mysterious man long enough to catch his breath, realizing how much more exhausted he felt after that. Heavily panting, he leaned away from the "attacker" and raised his hand to pull back the cover, doing it slowly in case the guy had a surprise waiting for them. "Okay, let's see who this bastard really is." Warily, he pulled it down, first revealing the dirty blonde hair, and then...
They froze.
His eyes. What the fuck was wrong with his eyes. The pair took a quick glance at each other, studying their reactions before turning back to the guy underneath Otis. Oh god, he was sitting right on top of him - no, shit, he'd been punching this guy the entire time! Did he kill him? No, he'd been long dead, judging by the foul stench that had erupted as soon as he'd pulled back the cover. "S-shit, what do we - I mean, shit." Then he realized what he'd done. He'd just been punching a dead body. A dead body. He'd never seen one up close before, and with his eyes - oh god, those eyes - having fallen out of his head, he couldn't help but selfishly wonder if he'd end up like this too. He felt sick, that was for sure, and one look at Samantha told him that she was feeling exactly the same.
"Hey man, we gotta leave here - right now. I... I can't stay, fuck no." Shivering as he clambered off the bed, he pulled the cover back over the body before rushing over to grab their things, all the while holding his stomach as though it was about to run out of his mouth. Slinging his pack over his shoulder and handing Samantha her own, he walked over to the doorway and turned back to give the poor guy one last look. "Shit... shit man, just... damn." And shaking his head apologetically, he made his way over to the water's edge, waiting for Samantha to finish up whatever she was doing inside the shack.
Just as he was about to join her on what looked to be the most uncomfortable bed in the world, she suddenly rose with a start, crying out his name in distress. Somebody was here? Shit, that meant he'd have to act quick otherwise they'd both end up riddled with bullets in no time at all. Leaping into action, he pulled her out of the way before jumping onto the figure beneath the grimy sheet. "Son of a bitch, you think you can sneak up on us?!" He yelled furiously as he pummelled the body, making sure to hit twice as hard because he knew the girl was watching him. Maybe this would score him extra favours later on? Who knew? At any rate, this was the easiest fight he'd ever had in his life - the guy wasn't even struggling under there, it was like he was out cold.
Finally, he stopped beating the mysterious man long enough to catch his breath, realizing how much more exhausted he felt after that. Heavily panting, he leaned away from the "attacker" and raised his hand to pull back the cover, doing it slowly in case the guy had a surprise waiting for them. "Okay, let's see who this bastard really is." Warily, he pulled it down, first revealing the dirty blonde hair, and then...
They froze.
His eyes. What the fuck was wrong with his eyes. The pair took a quick glance at each other, studying their reactions before turning back to the guy underneath Otis. Oh god, he was sitting right on top of him - no, shit, he'd been punching this guy the entire time! Did he kill him? No, he'd been long dead, judging by the foul stench that had erupted as soon as he'd pulled back the cover. "S-shit, what do we - I mean, shit." Then he realized what he'd done. He'd just been punching a dead body. A dead body. He'd never seen one up close before, and with his eyes - oh god, those eyes - having fallen out of his head, he couldn't help but selfishly wonder if he'd end up like this too. He felt sick, that was for sure, and one look at Samantha told him that she was feeling exactly the same.
"Hey man, we gotta leave here - right now. I... I can't stay, fuck no." Shivering as he clambered off the bed, he pulled the cover back over the body before rushing over to grab their things, all the while holding his stomach as though it was about to run out of his mouth. Slinging his pack over his shoulder and handing Samantha her own, he walked over to the doorway and turned back to give the poor guy one last look. "Shit... shit man, just... damn." And shaking his head apologetically, he made his way over to the water's edge, waiting for Samantha to finish up whatever she was doing inside the shack.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
((GMing approved))
Otis jumped on the attacker, pummeling him. He was clearly quite strong, and he seemed to know what he was doing with his attack. It made Samantha feel both reassured and somewhat scared. The good thing was, he'd be able to protect them. He'd be able to keep her safe for awhile, maybe even carry them through until the end. The bad thing was, she wasn't sure what would happen then. Would they have to kill each other? If so, she stood no fucking chance whatsoever. No, Otis would be able to kill her if he wanted, at any time. The fact that he hadn't already done so, however, helped her trust him just a bit more. Her initial feeling had been correct. He was a little rough, but really a good guy.
Then he pulled back the covers, and what was there was not what she was expecting. It was a boy with a melted face. His eyes were gone. He stunk, the same stench that had been in the background this whole time. Samantha's eyes widened. She'd smelled it this whole time. That meant that she'd been breathing little particles of him, of this boy, no, corpse. Samantha had always had a strong stomach. In a detached way, she was proud that she managed not to vomit on the spot, though it was close. Otis asked what to do. What could they do? The boy was dead. He was dead and there was nothing that could possibly change that, so she didn't say anything.
Otis started talking again, saying he wanted to go. Well, no shit; she did too. He was cursing, and sounded really rattled. Well, so was she. She couldn't even move, couldn't even think. Finally, Otis started moving, and the spell was broken. Samantha shook herself out of her stupor. She couldn't be crippled, couldn't be immobilized. She could not let stress get the better of her. She was sure to have to deal with worse than this, if she wanted to live. But...
It was setting in again. It was so hard to tear herself away. If there was just something she could focus on, she was sure she'd be fine. The idea was horrible, but it came to her in a flash. It was a little thing, just a little tweak. Focus. Lengthen her nose a millimeter, then shrink it again. Nothing anyone watching would notice. The pain, though, immediately sharpened her up. Well, sharpened her up and made her let out an agonized gasp. Damn. It really did hurt as much as she'd thought, and this had been the most minor of adjustments. Fuck. Fuck, stupid idea, fuck. It had worked, her mind was off the body, but...
"I'm alright," she said, just in case Otis had heard. He probably hadn't. Then she gathered her stuff, and walked back out of the shack, out of their temporary resting place. It hadn't served her too well in the end. It was a place of horror. The body was behind her, but she could almost feel those empty sockets following her from under the sheet.
No time to worry about that. She couldn't stress out, couldn't panic. She had to stay in control.
Otis was waiting at the edge of the water, holding his bag. Samantha paused for a second, then said, "Hang on. We need to sort of relay this. I'll pass you the stuff when you're in a shallower part, so it doesn't get soaked."
Otis agreed, thankfully. Having a partner made the whole thing so much easier. It meant she could be calmer, could actually trust someone. Even though she'd met Otis an hour ago at most, she just felt safe with him. Even if they might have to kill each other at some point.
A little whisper of thought in the back of her head told her to shoot him. Shoot him now, when he's unprepared. Save the potential pain. The gun was still in her hand. It would be easy. He'd never expect it. Then she wouldn't have to worry about him getting too close. She wouldn't have to worry about any feelings. It would be so simple.
As soon as he was in position, she tossed Otis the gun. If she couldn't trust him, she might as well give up on surviving right now, and there was no way she could trust him without being trustworthy herself. Shooting a new friend in the back was horrible. It wasn't smart, it wasn't human, it wasn't anything but wrong. And she knew that Otis would give the gun back as soon as she was on the other side.
A few minutes later, everything had again been transferred. Samantha had crossed. In the end, she'd given up on keeping her blouse modest, choosing to wade through the water and let it get soaked and transparent rather than remove it in front of Otis. It was simply a matter of choosing the least indignity, and the air wasn't too damp. She figured it wouldn't take more than an hour to dry. On the beach, she retrieved her belongings, broke open and ate a tin of peaches, figuring that if she'd be staying up all fucking night she might as well at least be nourished, and drank half her water bottle. She could refill it later.
Right now, she had to concentrate on surviving.
((Samantha and Otis continued in An Ode to Adelaide))
Otis jumped on the attacker, pummeling him. He was clearly quite strong, and he seemed to know what he was doing with his attack. It made Samantha feel both reassured and somewhat scared. The good thing was, he'd be able to protect them. He'd be able to keep her safe for awhile, maybe even carry them through until the end. The bad thing was, she wasn't sure what would happen then. Would they have to kill each other? If so, she stood no fucking chance whatsoever. No, Otis would be able to kill her if he wanted, at any time. The fact that he hadn't already done so, however, helped her trust him just a bit more. Her initial feeling had been correct. He was a little rough, but really a good guy.
Then he pulled back the covers, and what was there was not what she was expecting. It was a boy with a melted face. His eyes were gone. He stunk, the same stench that had been in the background this whole time. Samantha's eyes widened. She'd smelled it this whole time. That meant that she'd been breathing little particles of him, of this boy, no, corpse. Samantha had always had a strong stomach. In a detached way, she was proud that she managed not to vomit on the spot, though it was close. Otis asked what to do. What could they do? The boy was dead. He was dead and there was nothing that could possibly change that, so she didn't say anything.
Otis started talking again, saying he wanted to go. Well, no shit; she did too. He was cursing, and sounded really rattled. Well, so was she. She couldn't even move, couldn't even think. Finally, Otis started moving, and the spell was broken. Samantha shook herself out of her stupor. She couldn't be crippled, couldn't be immobilized. She could not let stress get the better of her. She was sure to have to deal with worse than this, if she wanted to live. But...
It was setting in again. It was so hard to tear herself away. If there was just something she could focus on, she was sure she'd be fine. The idea was horrible, but it came to her in a flash. It was a little thing, just a little tweak. Focus. Lengthen her nose a millimeter, then shrink it again. Nothing anyone watching would notice. The pain, though, immediately sharpened her up. Well, sharpened her up and made her let out an agonized gasp. Damn. It really did hurt as much as she'd thought, and this had been the most minor of adjustments. Fuck. Fuck, stupid idea, fuck. It had worked, her mind was off the body, but...
"I'm alright," she said, just in case Otis had heard. He probably hadn't. Then she gathered her stuff, and walked back out of the shack, out of their temporary resting place. It hadn't served her too well in the end. It was a place of horror. The body was behind her, but she could almost feel those empty sockets following her from under the sheet.
No time to worry about that. She couldn't stress out, couldn't panic. She had to stay in control.
Otis was waiting at the edge of the water, holding his bag. Samantha paused for a second, then said, "Hang on. We need to sort of relay this. I'll pass you the stuff when you're in a shallower part, so it doesn't get soaked."
Otis agreed, thankfully. Having a partner made the whole thing so much easier. It meant she could be calmer, could actually trust someone. Even though she'd met Otis an hour ago at most, she just felt safe with him. Even if they might have to kill each other at some point.
A little whisper of thought in the back of her head told her to shoot him. Shoot him now, when he's unprepared. Save the potential pain. The gun was still in her hand. It would be easy. He'd never expect it. Then she wouldn't have to worry about him getting too close. She wouldn't have to worry about any feelings. It would be so simple.
As soon as he was in position, she tossed Otis the gun. If she couldn't trust him, she might as well give up on surviving right now, and there was no way she could trust him without being trustworthy herself. Shooting a new friend in the back was horrible. It wasn't smart, it wasn't human, it wasn't anything but wrong. And she knew that Otis would give the gun back as soon as she was on the other side.
A few minutes later, everything had again been transferred. Samantha had crossed. In the end, she'd given up on keeping her blouse modest, choosing to wade through the water and let it get soaked and transparent rather than remove it in front of Otis. It was simply a matter of choosing the least indignity, and the air wasn't too damp. She figured it wouldn't take more than an hour to dry. On the beach, she retrieved her belongings, broke open and ate a tin of peaches, figuring that if she'd be staying up all fucking night she might as well at least be nourished, and drank half her water bottle. She could refill it later.
Right now, she had to concentrate on surviving.
((Samantha and Otis continued in An Ode to Adelaide))