((RBP4 Sebastien Bellamy, start))
"Wow."
Sebastien could not for the life of him think of anything else to say.
He was pacing up and down one of the aisles in the theater he'd woken up in, arms crossed tightly, partly out of irritation and confusion and anxiety and whatever else he was supposed to be feeling at the moment, but mostly to try and fend off the shakes. He'd been in the driveway. His own driveway, before he even left for school. Mom was working the night shift and wasn't going to be home until nine, Dad was laid up with the stomach flu, Erik's vacation was over and he was back at the base.
Nobody had been around to see.
"Wow." He was mostly just talking aloud to distract himself, probably. Same for the pacing. The lumpy gray backpack he'd woken up next to was tossed haphazardly in one of the seats; he'd been avoiding looking at it.
More muttering, more pacing. Sebastien couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order. I want, I need, if only.
He probably would have kept pacing for hours if his foot hadn't caught on the carpet, causing him to stumble. He caught himself on one of the seats, jarring his wrist, and the pain shocked him back into something resembling awareness. That awareness helpfully let him realize that he was really hungry, which was probably contributing to the shaking.
"Dammit."
He couldn't stare at the carpet forever. Sebastien Bellamy wasn't some kind of idiot, not like...
Like everyone he knew. Everyone who could possibly be here, wherever "here" was.
"Damn it." He heaved himself up to look at the backpack, yanking the zipper open and rooting around for anything that resembled food.
He had no idea what he needed to do, what he even could do. But he sure as hell wasn't going to sit here and starve while he figured it out.
Killer Munchies
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Lord_Shadow
- Posts: 536
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:43 am
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
((AE2: Anastasia 'AnArchy' Arcadia TV2 Game Debut Go!))
Anastasia awoke in what looked like a movie theater lobby. Shelter. A good start. She groggily reached for her pack and fished out her bandanna. Tying it around her neck, over the collar, she shook her head a bit to try and fight off the lingering weariness.
She thought back to when they took her. She was going off to school, when two men asked her to come with them. She knew from their attire what was going on. Amelia-Marie was at the door, saw them come for her. Little sis was going to run out and jump them to stop them.
Ana had turned around to speak to her. "Don't. It's okay. I'm gonna go willingly."
Her sister stopped in her tracks. "Why?" Her expression was her usual emotionless, but Ana knew her sister was crying inside.
"Because I have to create my utopia. Tell Mom and Dad I love them, okay?"
And she left with them. Woke up in that room. Got gassed again. Woke up here.
She rummaged in her pack again for her weapon. She froze when she took it out. A gun. She had hoped it wouldn't be a gun when she felt it before while looking for her bandanna.
She smiled grimly. "Just my luck. Diplomacy's gonna be difficult now."
She noted the costume inside the pack. Maybe later. She closed it up, slung it around her back, slung the gun around her back too, and started.
She placed a hand over her chest. It covered the 'OT3' on her red shirt. Her heartbeat was a little fast. She breathed deeply a few times to try and calm herself. She adjusted her blue jeans to be a bit more comfortable.
Preparations done, she began moving.
"Hello?" She called out. "Is anyone in here?"
Anastasia awoke in what looked like a movie theater lobby. Shelter. A good start. She groggily reached for her pack and fished out her bandanna. Tying it around her neck, over the collar, she shook her head a bit to try and fight off the lingering weariness.
She thought back to when they took her. She was going off to school, when two men asked her to come with them. She knew from their attire what was going on. Amelia-Marie was at the door, saw them come for her. Little sis was going to run out and jump them to stop them.
Ana had turned around to speak to her. "Don't. It's okay. I'm gonna go willingly."
Her sister stopped in her tracks. "Why?" Her expression was her usual emotionless, but Ana knew her sister was crying inside.
"Because I have to create my utopia. Tell Mom and Dad I love them, okay?"
And she left with them. Woke up in that room. Got gassed again. Woke up here.
She rummaged in her pack again for her weapon. She froze when she took it out. A gun. She had hoped it wouldn't be a gun when she felt it before while looking for her bandanna.
She smiled grimly. "Just my luck. Diplomacy's gonna be difficult now."
She noted the costume inside the pack. Maybe later. She closed it up, slung it around her back, slung the gun around her back too, and started.
She placed a hand over her chest. It covered the 'OT3' on her red shirt. Her heartbeat was a little fast. She breathed deeply a few times to try and calm herself. She adjusted her blue jeans to be a bit more comfortable.
Preparations done, she began moving.
"Hello?" She called out. "Is anyone in here?"
There was once a dumb psuedo-news line here. Now there's this pretentious nonsense. YOU1 DID THIS, YOU1 KNOW WHO YOU1 ARE!
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
(GH5: Jackson King Start)
Jackson found accepting the fact that he was going to die an unattractive prospect, but in an inevitable one. And once he got used to the idea, he started moving.
He supposed it wasn't a hard leap to make. The decision was made when they nabbed him from the parking lot of Davison High that morning. Compound that with the fact they'd given him a joy buzzer in his bag, which he immediately discarded. Seeing that, he knew right then and there somebody just wanted him dead. Coming to terms with the fact made things a little easier.
When he got down to it, he figured he'd just deal with everything how it came. That's why the costume he had been given was on him now. The wide brim of the provided hat was cocked on his head at a jaunty angle. His team bandanna was strapped carefully along one bicep. The sequins and shiny fringe on the jacket and pants flashed in whatever light caught them, marking him as an easy target for anyone with a gun and a bad attitude. But then, he didn't really care. He was a fucking mariachi, and he was the life of the goddamn siesta right now.
It was the shoes that did it, really. There were some really nice shoes to go with the whole outfit that set it off. And so Jackson had changed with very little hesitation after accepting his imminent demise. His only regret was that he didn't have a guitar. He was sure he really could have brought the whole outfit together with a few bars of what appropriate music he did know. What made the whole thing really funny was how wrong it all was. His aunt had told him once that he was "About as Mexican as a crunchwrap supreme", which he had taken with...well, about the same amount of complacency as he was showing now.
So he was moving and glinting gaily in the sunlight, the fringe of his new clothes swaying with his movements. He had started near some kind of theater, and that seemed like as good a place as any to start the camino del mariachi. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Maybe somewhere good to just sing to himself while he waited.
Of course, though he thought he was over everything, he was what most every kid that ends up on SOTF-TV. Terrified.
Jackson nudged one of the front doors of the theater open, slowly, pushing the hat off his head so it dangled from his neck on the chinstrap, right when someone announced their presence. Not sure if he was ready for other people yet, as much as he ached to not be alone, he kept his silence. From where he peeked from the door, he couldn't quite see anyone.
Jackson found accepting the fact that he was going to die an unattractive prospect, but in an inevitable one. And once he got used to the idea, he started moving.
He supposed it wasn't a hard leap to make. The decision was made when they nabbed him from the parking lot of Davison High that morning. Compound that with the fact they'd given him a joy buzzer in his bag, which he immediately discarded. Seeing that, he knew right then and there somebody just wanted him dead. Coming to terms with the fact made things a little easier.
When he got down to it, he figured he'd just deal with everything how it came. That's why the costume he had been given was on him now. The wide brim of the provided hat was cocked on his head at a jaunty angle. His team bandanna was strapped carefully along one bicep. The sequins and shiny fringe on the jacket and pants flashed in whatever light caught them, marking him as an easy target for anyone with a gun and a bad attitude. But then, he didn't really care. He was a fucking mariachi, and he was the life of the goddamn siesta right now.
It was the shoes that did it, really. There were some really nice shoes to go with the whole outfit that set it off. And so Jackson had changed with very little hesitation after accepting his imminent demise. His only regret was that he didn't have a guitar. He was sure he really could have brought the whole outfit together with a few bars of what appropriate music he did know. What made the whole thing really funny was how wrong it all was. His aunt had told him once that he was "About as Mexican as a crunchwrap supreme", which he had taken with...well, about the same amount of complacency as he was showing now.
So he was moving and glinting gaily in the sunlight, the fringe of his new clothes swaying with his movements. He had started near some kind of theater, and that seemed like as good a place as any to start the camino del mariachi. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Maybe somewhere good to just sing to himself while he waited.
Of course, though he thought he was over everything, he was what most every kid that ends up on SOTF-TV. Terrified.
Jackson nudged one of the front doors of the theater open, slowly, pushing the hat off his head so it dangled from his neck on the chinstrap, right when someone announced their presence. Not sure if he was ready for other people yet, as much as he ached to not be alone, he kept his silence. From where he peeked from the door, he couldn't quite see anyone.
So Sebastien treated himself to a hearty breakfast of water and a Slim Jim, because apparently something reasonable like trail mix or dried fruit was too much to ask for. He'd found his "weapon" while digging for food and immediately tossed it away, and it quickly became obvious that the only thing useful in that backpack was the food and the first aid kit. It almost might have been funny if it didn't irritate him like hell. Oh yeah, and it spelled almost certain death. That too.
While he ate, he tried to get his thoughts in order by reviewing the facts of his situation. The world's worst cram study session.
So, fact one: I, and probably a lot of people I know, am on a televised death game.
Fact two: All my friends are idiots and will probably fall down a hole if someone doesn't keep an eye on them.
Yep, that more or less summed things up. He sighed and let his head fall back against the seat, staring at the theater ceiling. So here he was: lost, alone, with hardly any useful supplies, and forever the designated driver.
Someone called out close by, and Sebastien quickly sat up straight again, holding the half-eaten stick of beef jerky like it was something he could defend himself with. Whoever it was didn't repeat themselves, no gunfire or any other sounds of weaponry.
Sebastien took a deep breath, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "Hello?"
While he ate, he tried to get his thoughts in order by reviewing the facts of his situation. The world's worst cram study session.
So, fact one: I, and probably a lot of people I know, am on a televised death game.
Fact two: All my friends are idiots and will probably fall down a hole if someone doesn't keep an eye on them.
Yep, that more or less summed things up. He sighed and let his head fall back against the seat, staring at the theater ceiling. So here he was: lost, alone, with hardly any useful supplies, and forever the designated driver.
Someone called out close by, and Sebastien quickly sat up straight again, holding the half-eaten stick of beef jerky like it was something he could defend himself with. Whoever it was didn't repeat themselves, no gunfire or any other sounds of weaponry.
Sebastien took a deep breath, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "Hello?"
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Lord_Shadow
- Posts: 536
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:43 am
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
She was sure she heard someone moving. Or was she only thinking she heard that? So hard to tell. But when Anastasia heard a voice reply to her query, somewhat, that confirmed she was not alone.
She spoke again. "This is Anastasia Arcadia," she began before remembering that some other school had had students taken too. Best to be thorough in that case. "I'm from Davison Secondary. I mean you no harm."
She started to scan the room. A couple accessible doors leading to the showing rooms no doubt. But the corner rooms were a little obscured, especially with all the games in the lobby.
"Uhh... so, whoever's here... anything good playing?"
She spoke again. "This is Anastasia Arcadia," she began before remembering that some other school had had students taken too. Best to be thorough in that case. "I'm from Davison Secondary. I mean you no harm."
She started to scan the room. A couple accessible doors leading to the showing rooms no doubt. But the corner rooms were a little obscured, especially with all the games in the lobby.
"Uhh... so, whoever's here... anything good playing?"
There was once a dumb psuedo-news line here. Now there's this pretentious nonsense. YOU1 DID THIS, YOU1 KNOW WHO YOU1 ARE!
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
((AE3 - Shawn Thornton: Right here, but not all there))
Was it possible to be allergic to sleeping gas? Because if so then it might explain the headache and lingering grogginess that Shawn was feeling. He’d been lying there for maybe twenty, twenty five minutes on the floor of what his limited view of the ceiling from his position was telling him, was an old fashioned movie theatre and he had yet to muster the will, the desire or the energy to even sit up.
Maybe those bastards gave him an extra dose? He supposed that was what he got for trying to run, because, yes, he had run. When an unmarked black van pulls up alongside you when you are walking to school and a couple of thugs jump out, running is what you do. He’d gotten pretty far too before a beefy arm had grabbed him and an equally beefy hand had clamped something over his mouth and nose until everything went dark.
“Wow.”
The only thing he remembered since then was this; lying on the floor with a pounding headache and a body that still felt numb even now. He didn’t even remember the introduction in the studio; there was always one of those, right? Either they had skipped it this year or Shawn had slept right through it.
“Wow.”
He turned his head sideways in his first real action of the game. He saw the non-descript pack next to him. There was something lying on top of it; two thing actually, something colourful on top of something small and dark. Must be his bandana and maybe his weapon?
Why hadn’t his collar started beeping yet, telling him to put his bandana on? Maybe the producers didn’t realise he was awake yet?
“Dammit.”
Add ‘who the hell is shouting out’ to the list of questions as well. The idea that someone else was in the building with him didn’t concern him as much as it should right now. He’d be damn happy once this gas wore off; or more likely he’d be scared because he’d finally be able to think straight. But he’d be happy to be thinking straight enough to be scared… or something like that.
"Hello? Is anyone in here?"
Oh, new voice. Girl voice. Familiar girl voice.
"This is Anastasia Arcadi… I'm from Davison Secondary. I mean you no harm."
That was a reason to sit up, which he did so, slowly and carefully with much effort put into bracing himself with his arms so he didn’t fall back down. He felt his head clearing as he did so as well, but unfortunately the pain didn’t follow it.
“Fffffff-“ The curse slowly made its way past his lips, finally breaking free as he made it to a sitting position. “-uck this shit.”
He turned his head again to look at his pack, seeing more clearly this time the brownish bandana with a black silhouette of a bird on it. That was his team he guessed. Aware of the time constraint against him he picked it up and wrapped it around his wrist so that it was visible and tucked the end under the rest of the fabric to hold it in place. He’d tie it better later.
Under where the bandana had been was the small, dark object he saw earlier. Picking it up gingerly he could see that it was a knife in its sheathe. This wasn’t no kitchen knife either, this was an army knife, it was quite long, could be clipped to his belt and, if he dared pull it out, he assumed deadly sharp.
Seeing something like that really brings the whole situation into focus. Grogginess, fading, fear, imminent.
"Uhh... so, whoever's here... anything good playing?"
Things began to snap into focus with startling rapidity. Anastasia was here, which was good if it didn’t also mean she was here. But she wasn’t the only one; someone else was here as well, if that voice he heard earlier wasn’t his own, which he couldn’t be sure of.
Grabbing the nearest solid object Shawn pulled himself up and soon found out exactly where he was. He was on a balcony overlooking a large movie theatre, rows and rows of plush red velvet seats and a large, currently blank, screen on the far side. He also saw something else, a person, standing in the aisle almost directly in front of him. He was fairly sure it wasn’t his girlfriend either.
Great, barely awake five seconds and already he had to deal with his first threat, and just to make it extra exciting his girlfriend might be in danger as well.
He hurriedly clipped the knife’s sheathe to his belt, reached down to grab the pack by its straps and scrambled up the low and long set of steps towards the exit of the balcony, almost stumbling over with the sudden weight of the pack and his own lingering sluggishness and headache. Each footstep sent a stab of pain through his temples but he kept going for those stairs.
“Fuck, shit, piss. That gas sucks.”
Was it possible to be allergic to sleeping gas? Because if so then it might explain the headache and lingering grogginess that Shawn was feeling. He’d been lying there for maybe twenty, twenty five minutes on the floor of what his limited view of the ceiling from his position was telling him, was an old fashioned movie theatre and he had yet to muster the will, the desire or the energy to even sit up.
Maybe those bastards gave him an extra dose? He supposed that was what he got for trying to run, because, yes, he had run. When an unmarked black van pulls up alongside you when you are walking to school and a couple of thugs jump out, running is what you do. He’d gotten pretty far too before a beefy arm had grabbed him and an equally beefy hand had clamped something over his mouth and nose until everything went dark.
“Wow.”
The only thing he remembered since then was this; lying on the floor with a pounding headache and a body that still felt numb even now. He didn’t even remember the introduction in the studio; there was always one of those, right? Either they had skipped it this year or Shawn had slept right through it.
“Wow.”
He turned his head sideways in his first real action of the game. He saw the non-descript pack next to him. There was something lying on top of it; two thing actually, something colourful on top of something small and dark. Must be his bandana and maybe his weapon?
Why hadn’t his collar started beeping yet, telling him to put his bandana on? Maybe the producers didn’t realise he was awake yet?
“Dammit.”
Add ‘who the hell is shouting out’ to the list of questions as well. The idea that someone else was in the building with him didn’t concern him as much as it should right now. He’d be damn happy once this gas wore off; or more likely he’d be scared because he’d finally be able to think straight. But he’d be happy to be thinking straight enough to be scared… or something like that.
"Hello? Is anyone in here?"
Oh, new voice. Girl voice. Familiar girl voice.
"This is Anastasia Arcadi… I'm from Davison Secondary. I mean you no harm."
That was a reason to sit up, which he did so, slowly and carefully with much effort put into bracing himself with his arms so he didn’t fall back down. He felt his head clearing as he did so as well, but unfortunately the pain didn’t follow it.
“Fffffff-“ The curse slowly made its way past his lips, finally breaking free as he made it to a sitting position. “-uck this shit.”
He turned his head again to look at his pack, seeing more clearly this time the brownish bandana with a black silhouette of a bird on it. That was his team he guessed. Aware of the time constraint against him he picked it up and wrapped it around his wrist so that it was visible and tucked the end under the rest of the fabric to hold it in place. He’d tie it better later.
Under where the bandana had been was the small, dark object he saw earlier. Picking it up gingerly he could see that it was a knife in its sheathe. This wasn’t no kitchen knife either, this was an army knife, it was quite long, could be clipped to his belt and, if he dared pull it out, he assumed deadly sharp.
Seeing something like that really brings the whole situation into focus. Grogginess, fading, fear, imminent.
"Uhh... so, whoever's here... anything good playing?"
Things began to snap into focus with startling rapidity. Anastasia was here, which was good if it didn’t also mean she was here. But she wasn’t the only one; someone else was here as well, if that voice he heard earlier wasn’t his own, which he couldn’t be sure of.
Grabbing the nearest solid object Shawn pulled himself up and soon found out exactly where he was. He was on a balcony overlooking a large movie theatre, rows and rows of plush red velvet seats and a large, currently blank, screen on the far side. He also saw something else, a person, standing in the aisle almost directly in front of him. He was fairly sure it wasn’t his girlfriend either.
Great, barely awake five seconds and already he had to deal with his first threat, and just to make it extra exciting his girlfriend might be in danger as well.
He hurriedly clipped the knife’s sheathe to his belt, reached down to grab the pack by its straps and scrambled up the low and long set of steps towards the exit of the balcony, almost stumbling over with the sudden weight of the pack and his own lingering sluggishness and headache. Each footstep sent a stab of pain through his temples but he kept going for those stairs.
“Fuck, shit, piss. That gas sucks.”
Jackson froze. Half in the doorway, he heard a girl call out her name. Anastasia Arcadia. Girl went to his school, at least. This was one of the moments Jackson wished he had spent a little more time getting to know his fellow high schoolers. When a name like that doesn't ring any bells, one's contact with his peers can definitely be construed as "lacking".
Jackson slowly pushed the door the rest of the way and slipped inside, keeping as much silence as he could. So far the proceedings seemed friendly, but even with his supposed acceptance of impending death, Jackson was down with the idea of delaying it as much as possible. Which is why, of of course, the toe of his polished leather shoe bumped an usher's flashlight that had been strewn in front of the door, announcing his presence.
He stiffened, almost slapping himself in the forehead for failing at the whole stealth thing.
Jackson slowly pushed the door the rest of the way and slipped inside, keeping as much silence as he could. So far the proceedings seemed friendly, but even with his supposed acceptance of impending death, Jackson was down with the idea of delaying it as much as possible. Which is why, of of course, the toe of his polished leather shoe bumped an usher's flashlight that had been strewn in front of the door, announcing his presence.
He stiffened, almost slapping himself in the forehead for failing at the whole stealth thing.
Ana didn't finish identifying herself, but she didn't need to; Sebastien was on his feet and heading up the aisle in a second.
"Ana?" He called out. "Ana, it's me, it's Sebastien."
Okay, one lemming accounted for. That was easy.
He was moving to push the door open and greet her more properly when footsteps sounded from above and there was another noise somewhere nearby, and dammit couldn't anything ever be easy?
Sebastien cracked the door open, looking out into the lobby. "Are you okay, Ana? Is, uh... is someone with you?"
"Ana?" He called out. "Ana, it's me, it's Sebastien."
Okay, one lemming accounted for. That was easy.
He was moving to push the door open and greet her more properly when footsteps sounded from above and there was another noise somewhere nearby, and dammit couldn't anything ever be easy?
Sebastien cracked the door open, looking out into the lobby. "Are you okay, Ana? Is, uh... is someone with you?"
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Lord_Shadow
- Posts: 536
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:43 am
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Perfect luck! Of all people to reply, it was Sebastien.
"Oh Seb! I'm so glad you're here. I can't do this whole nervous calling for shit." She chuckled. A real smile came to her face.
"I think it's just us. I mean, that was you moving right?"
She looked around a little nervously again.
"Right?"
"Oh Seb! I'm so glad you're here. I can't do this whole nervous calling for shit." She chuckled. A real smile came to her face.
"I think it's just us. I mean, that was you moving right?"
She looked around a little nervously again.
"Right?"
There was once a dumb psuedo-news line here. Now there's this pretentious nonsense. YOU1 DID THIS, YOU1 KNOW WHO YOU1 ARE!
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
He might not have actually been seen. That would have been something. But Jackson had committed himself already to fucking up. Besides, he was wearing enough reflective fringe to flag down an airplane at this point.
So El Mariachi finished stepping through the door. The girl didn't seem like she was looking to murder anybody yet anyway.
"Wrong, I uh...I guess." He said in answer to her question to whoever it was she'd been talking to. Out completely in the open now, he felt naked.
Except for the whole Spanish guitarist thing.
So El Mariachi finished stepping through the door. The girl didn't seem like she was looking to murder anybody yet anyway.
"Wrong, I uh...I guess." He said in answer to her question to whoever it was she'd been talking to. Out completely in the open now, he felt naked.
Except for the whole Spanish guitarist thing.
"Ana? Ana, it's me, it's Sebastien."
Shawn was halfway down the stairs when he heard this and it stopped him dead in his tracks for a second. Sebastien? His mind was a little foggy right now; names didn’t really mean as much to him. Wasn’t he the guy from the party? The guy who had a sort of thing with Anastasia that he had never quite been able to work out what it was?
That was good… sort of. At least he knew Sebastien wouldn’t hurt Anastasia, but whether or not Sebastien would hurt him… or he would hurt Sebastien… depended on several factors.
Hearing that Sebastien and Anastasia were still talking Shawn walked down the last few steps and walked out into the lobby where the two were standing, just at the same moment as Jackson made his own appearance.
So, instead of introducing himself, Shawn found himself staring at someone who looked like the illegitimate love child of a mariachi and a disco ball. A sight that was far too much for his gas addled brain.
“… Nope, nothing. Haven’t got a thing I can say to that. I do magic for a living, and even I think that is too flashy.”
Shawn was halfway down the stairs when he heard this and it stopped him dead in his tracks for a second. Sebastien? His mind was a little foggy right now; names didn’t really mean as much to him. Wasn’t he the guy from the party? The guy who had a sort of thing with Anastasia that he had never quite been able to work out what it was?
That was good… sort of. At least he knew Sebastien wouldn’t hurt Anastasia, but whether or not Sebastien would hurt him… or he would hurt Sebastien… depended on several factors.
Hearing that Sebastien and Anastasia were still talking Shawn walked down the last few steps and walked out into the lobby where the two were standing, just at the same moment as Jackson made his own appearance.
So, instead of introducing himself, Shawn found himself staring at someone who looked like the illegitimate love child of a mariachi and a disco ball. A sight that was far too much for his gas addled brain.
“… Nope, nothing. Haven’t got a thing I can say to that. I do magic for a living, and even I think that is too flashy.”
"Um."
That was all the response Sebastien could come up with when some vaguely-familiar guy in a mariachi costume rounded the corner. At least he couldn't entirely blame this one on social awkwardness; not much else you can say to someone coming out of nowhere wearing enough sequins that even Aidan's weird friend from the Fashion Club would tell him to tone it down a notch.
And then of course who should appear but Shawn Thornton, who was honestly pretty low on the list of people Sebastien would want to run into in a life-or-death situation. Either Lemming Number Two was good and accounted for, or Lemming Number Two was about to take a swing at him with that knife on his belt.
Sebastien glanced from Shawn to Ana to the mariachi guy and back again. He should probably say something to defuse the situation.
"Yeah, so... I have no idea what's going on with this."
Nailed it.
That was all the response Sebastien could come up with when some vaguely-familiar guy in a mariachi costume rounded the corner. At least he couldn't entirely blame this one on social awkwardness; not much else you can say to someone coming out of nowhere wearing enough sequins that even Aidan's weird friend from the Fashion Club would tell him to tone it down a notch.
And then of course who should appear but Shawn Thornton, who was honestly pretty low on the list of people Sebastien would want to run into in a life-or-death situation. Either Lemming Number Two was good and accounted for, or Lemming Number Two was about to take a swing at him with that knife on his belt.
Sebastien glanced from Shawn to Ana to the mariachi guy and back again. He should probably say something to defuse the situation.
"Yeah, so... I have no idea what's going on with this."
Nailed it.
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Lord_Shadow
- Posts: 536
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:43 am
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Ana looked from Seb to Mariachi guy to Shawn, love you honey, so glad you're here and back again. Mariachi dude had confirmed she and Seb were not alone, and then Shawn came to further solidify the evidence.
No one seemed to have anything to say in this akward situation. So, naturally, great orator Anastasia took the initiative. "This is a celebration of course. Know what we're celebrating? Besides being still alive that is?" She hastily added before climbing atop a nearby counter.
"By the power vested in me, by myself, I declare this group of people the first citizens of newly formed independant nation Awesometownia! I declare myself Exalt and Monarch Lady Arcadia, Court Magus and Royal Consort Lord Thorton, Grand Physician Lord Bellamy, and National Herald..."
She turned to the dude in the getup. "Sorry, I'm blanking on a name here. Help your kindly despot out?"
No one tops an Arcadia on random pointless spontaneity. No one.
No one seemed to have anything to say in this akward situation. So, naturally, great orator Anastasia took the initiative. "This is a celebration of course. Know what we're celebrating? Besides being still alive that is?" She hastily added before climbing atop a nearby counter.
"By the power vested in me, by myself, I declare this group of people the first citizens of newly formed independant nation Awesometownia! I declare myself Exalt and Monarch Lady Arcadia, Court Magus and Royal Consort Lord Thorton, Grand Physician Lord Bellamy, and National Herald..."
She turned to the dude in the getup. "Sorry, I'm blanking on a name here. Help your kindly despot out?"
No one tops an Arcadia on random pointless spontaneity. No one.
There was once a dumb psuedo-news line here. Now there's this pretentious nonsense. YOU1 DID THIS, YOU1 KNOW WHO YOU1 ARE!
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
1. Yeah you, you nefarious ne'er-do-well you.
It was then, staring at this girl from his school who started assigning everyone there royal titles and everything, that Jackson realized he was just visiting Weirdland, just a tourist with his laughable use of the Mariachi outfit.
This girl was a card-carrying citizen, and it made him uncomfortable.
"Uh." He started, confused into a mild paralysis. He shook it after a beat. "Jackson King." And then quickly, as if to make up for it and resume the facade that he was odd and thus, taking it all well, added "Royal Bard?"
This girl was a card-carrying citizen, and it made him uncomfortable.
"Uh." He started, confused into a mild paralysis. He shook it after a beat. "Jackson King." And then quickly, as if to make up for it and resume the facade that he was odd and thus, taking it all well, added "Royal Bard?"
Royal consort… Jesus.
Well, Anastasia was being her usual unusual self. It wasn’t doing his headache any favours trying to follow her train of thought but at least she was taking the situation in stride. He really didn’t think he could handle it if she broke down; he didn’t think he had the strength to keep someone in one piece emotionally while also keeping them both in one piece physically.
While the mariachi introduced himself as Jackson, Shawn took a moment to relax. Despite his initial fear that both he and Anastasia were in life threatening trouble things had turned out relatively peacefully. Sure, Sebastien wasn’t his first choice of person to run into, what with him having a thing for Anastasia that kind of clashed with his thing with Anastasia, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t start anything with him while the girl in question was around.
Jackson’s presence was another thing entirely though; Shawn didn’t know him and therefore had no reason to trust him. Also, since it was unlikely that he was part of a disco mariachi band he must be wearing his fan-service costume. Shawn didn’t really know what this meant; it could mean he was playing to the audience and the cameras, which might mean he was planning on playing the game as well. Or it could just mean his other clothes got ruined and this was all he had left.
Shawn decided that Jackson was one to keep an eye on, until he knew him a little better at least.
At least from the looks of things he didn’t have a weapon; neither did Sebastien for that matter. His knife and Anastasia’s gun – and damn if that wasn’t one hell of a gun – were the only weapons in sight actually.
Thinking of his weapon made him think of the other object he’d found with his pack, which was currently tied around his wrist. Right, they were doing a team game again this year. He supposed he’d better find out what team he was on, so he could recognise his teammates when and if he found them.
Untying the cloth from around his wrist he stretched it out with a corner in each hand so he could see it properly. Last year they’d done simple coloured bandanas, he remembered his sister telling him about how it changed the whole game to have teammates out there on your side. It made for ready made alliances while also immediately putting a huge strain on alliances with people outside of your team. Different coloured bandanas just went even further to point out that you and your new friend weren’t both making it home.
Unless one of you got ten kills. Not that killing one seventh of the competition was exactly a cakewalk.
This year however, they seemed to have gone a little further. It seemed each team would get an animal as well as a colour. His team, apparently, was the shit birds; a silhouette of a bird of prey on a reddish brown field.
Folding it up again and retying it more securely around his wrist he turned to the other three and called out to them.
“Urm, if the Queen doesn’t mind… Empress? If the Queen doesn’t mind I’d like to drag us back to reality for a second. What teams are you guys on?”
Well, Anastasia was being her usual unusual self. It wasn’t doing his headache any favours trying to follow her train of thought but at least she was taking the situation in stride. He really didn’t think he could handle it if she broke down; he didn’t think he had the strength to keep someone in one piece emotionally while also keeping them both in one piece physically.
While the mariachi introduced himself as Jackson, Shawn took a moment to relax. Despite his initial fear that both he and Anastasia were in life threatening trouble things had turned out relatively peacefully. Sure, Sebastien wasn’t his first choice of person to run into, what with him having a thing for Anastasia that kind of clashed with his thing with Anastasia, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t start anything with him while the girl in question was around.
Jackson’s presence was another thing entirely though; Shawn didn’t know him and therefore had no reason to trust him. Also, since it was unlikely that he was part of a disco mariachi band he must be wearing his fan-service costume. Shawn didn’t really know what this meant; it could mean he was playing to the audience and the cameras, which might mean he was planning on playing the game as well. Or it could just mean his other clothes got ruined and this was all he had left.
Shawn decided that Jackson was one to keep an eye on, until he knew him a little better at least.
At least from the looks of things he didn’t have a weapon; neither did Sebastien for that matter. His knife and Anastasia’s gun – and damn if that wasn’t one hell of a gun – were the only weapons in sight actually.
Thinking of his weapon made him think of the other object he’d found with his pack, which was currently tied around his wrist. Right, they were doing a team game again this year. He supposed he’d better find out what team he was on, so he could recognise his teammates when and if he found them.
Untying the cloth from around his wrist he stretched it out with a corner in each hand so he could see it properly. Last year they’d done simple coloured bandanas, he remembered his sister telling him about how it changed the whole game to have teammates out there on your side. It made for ready made alliances while also immediately putting a huge strain on alliances with people outside of your team. Different coloured bandanas just went even further to point out that you and your new friend weren’t both making it home.
Unless one of you got ten kills. Not that killing one seventh of the competition was exactly a cakewalk.
This year however, they seemed to have gone a little further. It seemed each team would get an animal as well as a colour. His team, apparently, was the shit birds; a silhouette of a bird of prey on a reddish brown field.
Folding it up again and retying it more securely around his wrist he turned to the other three and called out to them.
“Urm, if the Queen doesn’t mind… Empress? If the Queen doesn’t mind I’d like to drag us back to reality for a second. What teams are you guys on?”