"HULK SMASH!"
“Oh, really? Wow, that’s so interesting.”
"HULK SMASH!"
“I think so too!”
"HULK SMASH!"
“Wow, we sure have a lot in common, huh?”
"HULK SMASH!"
Silence. Then a sigh.
“God, what the fuck am I doing?”
[M45 – MORGAN JONES – START]
Morgan sighed again, and tipped his head back until it hit the pulpit behind him. The carved stone felt cool against his scalp, and he felt a little more at ease. A little was still only a little, though. It was the equivalent of seeing a mansion on fire and throwing a single bucket of water onto it. He’d gone through the six stages of grief about twice already since waking up. Crying, raging, pleading, very nearly pissing himself and throwing up. The whole enchilada.
He wasn’t really sure where putting on a set of fake Hulk hands and talking to them fell, in regards to those stages, though.
So, he’d gone through all of that, and now he was just. Kinda sitting here. Feeling empty. Feeling like a shell of Morgan Jones more than anything, while the mansion burned on and he clutched his little bucket of water tightly in both hands.
A little, however, was more than nothing, so Morgan kept his head resting against the cold stone as he looked up at the stained glass in front of him. He half expected the sight to inspire something within him. Any moment now, he was gonna burst into prayer, or start ranting and raving about how no benevolent God would let him suffer like this, or hurl his bag through the window in a fit of anger.
But none of that happened, and all Morgan thought as he looked up at the glass, was that if this was the last thing he ever saw, that’d be a pretty final image to have.
God. What a morbid silver lining. That was what passed for a positive thought right now, huh? He’d wondered, as he was being carted off in the bus, whether he’d gain some sorta insight as to the whole point of the Program, but now he was more clueless than ever.
A means to finding the country’s best patriots his ass.
Morgan sighed again, a disgruntled sigh this time. Maybe if he got up and actively did something he’d get himself out of this cycle of moping.
He stood up, rolling his shoulders, moving to adjust his bag before he remembered his hands were currently engulfed by a pair of giant green plush fists. Part of him said to be sensible, and take them off, and kick them into a dark corner or something. Another, louder part, caused him to keep them on. That could be his silver lining. Hope was at a premium, but hey; Hulk Smash hands. Every kid wanted them.
There was a door off to the side, hanging slightly ajar, and Morgan decided to make that his first port of call. He shuffled inside, instantly greeted by a cloud of dust that caused a hacking cough to erupt from him. Good start. And all that, just for a bunch of bookshelves with about a quarter of the books missing.
Morgan sighed once more, lightly tapping his fist against one of the shelves.
"HULK SMASH!"
“Yeah, me too, buddy.”
Radical-6
Phase 1 (0-12 Hours), Open!~
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Somersault
- Posts: 236
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:21 am
((KeKe Baker continued from The Taste Of Freedom))
Her feet were beginning to cramp up from all of the walking in heels she was doing, but KeKe was trying to pay that no mind, no sirree. Sort-of walking in one direction with a destination in mind was at least somewhat better than just wandering aimlessly with no destination in mind, and so she felt that she was already winning part of that battle. There was something in focus, and so she just had to focus on getting there. That should have probably been the easy part.
The destination in question was the Church smack-dab in the center of town, for reasons that were unknown even to herself. Maybe it was just so she could go get away from Nicky and Mina and all of the former pain-in-her-asses who were acting nice all of a sudden, because it sure as hell wasn't because she was 'bout to go looking for Jesus.
Dismissing that thought with a quick wave of her free hand, she continued to make her way towards the steepled structure.
Nearing the church, she saw the dusty stained glass, the old walls, and the overall sense of decrepitness that seemed to surround the entire building. KeKe gripped her stun gun tighter, the better to protect herself against anyone who may have come out.
Not lethal though, hopefully. She wasn't about to give in now, wasn't about to let herself become another number in this shit. She was KeKe Goddamn Baker, and if she was going out, she was going out screaming at the top of her lungs that she was here, that she once was on this earth, and that she did all she could. Were they gonna even let out a black girl like her if she was the sole survivor, the only one standing at the end of all of this shit? No way in hell she was gonna leave her fate in the hands of them, not after Tyrone.
It was with a deep breath and a fuck-it-all attitude that she stepped through the church doors, heels clacking with each step she took. That meant there wasn't any real room to go in and be subtle or whatever, but it wasn't as if she particularly cared in the moment. She was here now, that was something - but now, what the hell was she going to do?
KeKe was about to go towards one of the pews, maybe just sit for a bit to rest her tired-ass legs and go through her bag, when she heard something that vaguely sounded like the cry of the Hulk from what seemed to be a sideroom connected to the main area. No, she was not about to deal with any more weird shit today, and so, again, she let out her frustrations in one of the only ways she knew how.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Better be a crazy person with a crazy item rather than a crazy person with a gun. She was counting on it.
Her feet were beginning to cramp up from all of the walking in heels she was doing, but KeKe was trying to pay that no mind, no sirree. Sort-of walking in one direction with a destination in mind was at least somewhat better than just wandering aimlessly with no destination in mind, and so she felt that she was already winning part of that battle. There was something in focus, and so she just had to focus on getting there. That should have probably been the easy part.
The destination in question was the Church smack-dab in the center of town, for reasons that were unknown even to herself. Maybe it was just so she could go get away from Nicky and Mina and all of the former pain-in-her-asses who were acting nice all of a sudden, because it sure as hell wasn't because she was 'bout to go looking for Jesus.
Dismissing that thought with a quick wave of her free hand, she continued to make her way towards the steepled structure.
Nearing the church, she saw the dusty stained glass, the old walls, and the overall sense of decrepitness that seemed to surround the entire building. KeKe gripped her stun gun tighter, the better to protect herself against anyone who may have come out.
Not lethal though, hopefully. She wasn't about to give in now, wasn't about to let herself become another number in this shit. She was KeKe Goddamn Baker, and if she was going out, she was going out screaming at the top of her lungs that she was here, that she once was on this earth, and that she did all she could. Were they gonna even let out a black girl like her if she was the sole survivor, the only one standing at the end of all of this shit? No way in hell she was gonna leave her fate in the hands of them, not after Tyrone.
It was with a deep breath and a fuck-it-all attitude that she stepped through the church doors, heels clacking with each step she took. That meant there wasn't any real room to go in and be subtle or whatever, but it wasn't as if she particularly cared in the moment. She was here now, that was something - but now, what the hell was she going to do?
KeKe was about to go towards one of the pews, maybe just sit for a bit to rest her tired-ass legs and go through her bag, when she heard something that vaguely sounded like the cry of the Hulk from what seemed to be a sideroom connected to the main area. No, she was not about to deal with any more weird shit today, and so, again, she let out her frustrations in one of the only ways she knew how.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Better be a crazy person with a crazy item rather than a crazy person with a gun. She was counting on it.
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Pippi
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- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
A little more exploring – with the emphasis very much on ‘little’ – of this side room led Morgan to discover… well, not a whole damn lot, really. There was a desk, with nothing resting on it but a thick layer of dust. And a pencil sharpener, also covered in dust. There was a bed, which made an ominous creaking sound the moment Morgan put his hand on it. And there was a kitchen, with nothing in the fridge or the cupboards. Not even a dirty mug in the sink.
And that, ladies and gents, was that.
Morgan huffed, which made a nice change from sighing, and looked out of the doorway to the open expanse of the church’s main interior. He could always walk back out there, go mope in the church some more, maybe even head out and go somewhere else, but what was there for him? The church had nothing but emptiness and long-lost prayers echoing around it, whilst outside… Well. Morgan didn’t wanna know how many of his classmates had already decided to follow the rules of the Program to the letter.
No, for the time being, Morgan figured it would be smarter to just hole up in this little room for a while. There were books, at least. Something to while away the hours. Probably all in Spanish but hey, maybe he’d be able to expand his vocabulary beyond ‘enchilada’. He put the oversized green hands down onto the desk – one last “HULK SMASH!” echoing through the room as he did so – before walking over to the dusty bookshelf and picking the first tome his eyes picked out. He blew off the layer of dust covering the, uh, cover, and read the title out loud.
“Pounded by the Gay Unicorn Football Squad. By Chuck Tingle.
…
Huh.”
You know, Morgan didn’t think that was the expected reading material for the clergy, but then again, he hadn’t been to church in years. Maybe things had changed.
His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he was about to flip through the pages to see whether the book was exactly what it said on the tin, when a voice, twice as loud and thrice as scary as the Hulk hands, ripped through the church. He jumped, a squeal of terror escaping his lips, the book leaping from his hands and falling to the floor in a heap.
“N-Nothing! Nothing’s going on, I’m just… uh…”
Great. Real convincing start, there, Morgan, that’d make whoever it was outside think you were trustworthy.
He moved to the open doorway, hands up and open, the universal sign that he was as harmless as a new-born lamb. There was a girl, standing between the pews. A black girl. He didn’t recognise her, and he felt a sudden pang in his heart as that fact hit him. He wished he did. He wished, yet again, that he’d chosen a path that would have lead him to recognising each of the black and Asian and European kids at school, rather than having them all form into one, unidentifiable target, there only to be mocked and bullied and hurt.
But he hadn’t. He’d gone down this path instead. And now he was here. Maybe that was karma.
“I don’t want trouble,” Morgan said, trying to stop his knees from knocking together. “I’m not armed, I’ve just… Well, uh, technically I am armed, but in the- no, that’s not right either, I’m handed, not armed, but that doesn’t really make sense, and... uh…”
Fuck.
“… I’m not a threat, okay?”
And that, ladies and gents, was that.
Morgan huffed, which made a nice change from sighing, and looked out of the doorway to the open expanse of the church’s main interior. He could always walk back out there, go mope in the church some more, maybe even head out and go somewhere else, but what was there for him? The church had nothing but emptiness and long-lost prayers echoing around it, whilst outside… Well. Morgan didn’t wanna know how many of his classmates had already decided to follow the rules of the Program to the letter.
No, for the time being, Morgan figured it would be smarter to just hole up in this little room for a while. There were books, at least. Something to while away the hours. Probably all in Spanish but hey, maybe he’d be able to expand his vocabulary beyond ‘enchilada’. He put the oversized green hands down onto the desk – one last “HULK SMASH!” echoing through the room as he did so – before walking over to the dusty bookshelf and picking the first tome his eyes picked out. He blew off the layer of dust covering the, uh, cover, and read the title out loud.
“Pounded by the Gay Unicorn Football Squad. By Chuck Tingle.
…
Huh.”
You know, Morgan didn’t think that was the expected reading material for the clergy, but then again, he hadn’t been to church in years. Maybe things had changed.
His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he was about to flip through the pages to see whether the book was exactly what it said on the tin, when a voice, twice as loud and thrice as scary as the Hulk hands, ripped through the church. He jumped, a squeal of terror escaping his lips, the book leaping from his hands and falling to the floor in a heap.
“N-Nothing! Nothing’s going on, I’m just… uh…”
Great. Real convincing start, there, Morgan, that’d make whoever it was outside think you were trustworthy.
He moved to the open doorway, hands up and open, the universal sign that he was as harmless as a new-born lamb. There was a girl, standing between the pews. A black girl. He didn’t recognise her, and he felt a sudden pang in his heart as that fact hit him. He wished he did. He wished, yet again, that he’d chosen a path that would have lead him to recognising each of the black and Asian and European kids at school, rather than having them all form into one, unidentifiable target, there only to be mocked and bullied and hurt.
But he hadn’t. He’d gone down this path instead. And now he was here. Maybe that was karma.
“I don’t want trouble,” Morgan said, trying to stop his knees from knocking together. “I’m not armed, I’ve just… Well, uh, technically I am armed, but in the- no, that’s not right either, I’m handed, not armed, but that doesn’t really make sense, and... uh…”
Fuck.
“… I’m not a threat, okay?”
((Dakota Hightower continued from The Charm The Fury))
So her safety net was gone, just her luck.
Dakota had kept running until she had come upon the church, she didn't know what had caused her to slow down and stop in front of it. The idea of a church being a safe haven didn't apply to her to begin with so it certainly didn't apply now. But there was something about the First Missionary Church that made her hold up. She stopped and rested her hands on her knees for a moment as her lungs greedily sought large gulps of air. She steadied her breathing as she straightened up, putting her hands up behind her head, wincing as they made contact with the part of her head that had slammed into the wall. A reminder of what had happened. She had left that house with no gun whereas Mick now had two. He may have also had a chip on his shoulder about her biting him. She did grin a little at that though. The dog had actually bitten back.
Retrieving a bottle of water from her pack—which she had managed to keep—Dakota thought through what had happened. In short, she was back to one-hundred percent fucked. It had been nice having that ten percent while it lasted she supposed. As she approached the door she couldn't hear anything coming from inside so gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. It wasn't exactly what she had expected but it was fairly close. The main thing that dominated her vision was a large stained glass window depicting the crucifixion of Jesus. It was intense.
There were also two muffled voices coming deep from within the gut of the building. There was an open door back behind the pulpit. She didn't know what they were talking about, she couldn't hear them clearly enough but at the same time, she didn't have any interest in walking over there and leaving herself open to another ambush like had happened with Mick. Instead, she merely crept close to the door and called inside.
"Hello? Are you guys...uh, friendly?"
So her safety net was gone, just her luck.
Dakota had kept running until she had come upon the church, she didn't know what had caused her to slow down and stop in front of it. The idea of a church being a safe haven didn't apply to her to begin with so it certainly didn't apply now. But there was something about the First Missionary Church that made her hold up. She stopped and rested her hands on her knees for a moment as her lungs greedily sought large gulps of air. She steadied her breathing as she straightened up, putting her hands up behind her head, wincing as they made contact with the part of her head that had slammed into the wall. A reminder of what had happened. She had left that house with no gun whereas Mick now had two. He may have also had a chip on his shoulder about her biting him. She did grin a little at that though. The dog had actually bitten back.
Retrieving a bottle of water from her pack—which she had managed to keep—Dakota thought through what had happened. In short, she was back to one-hundred percent fucked. It had been nice having that ten percent while it lasted she supposed. As she approached the door she couldn't hear anything coming from inside so gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. It wasn't exactly what she had expected but it was fairly close. The main thing that dominated her vision was a large stained glass window depicting the crucifixion of Jesus. It was intense.
There were also two muffled voices coming deep from within the gut of the building. There was an open door back behind the pulpit. She didn't know what they were talking about, she couldn't hear them clearly enough but at the same time, she didn't have any interest in walking over there and leaving herself open to another ambush like had happened with Mick. Instead, she merely crept close to the door and called inside.
"Hello? Are you guys...uh, friendly?"
(Grant continued from Take Nothing For Granted)
When was the last time Grant had been to church again?
Kind of a while, he realised after a few seconds, given that after a few seconds he couldn't actually remember. Program would probably be a pretty convenient place to find religion; the man upstairs, if there was a man upstairs, would probably see straight through that trick.
Grant thought vaguely that there might have been some kind of saying about everyone being religious when they could get shot at any second, but maybe he was just making that up. If there wasn't a saying like that there should be. It was the kind of thing that there should be sayings about.
On the other hand, his parents going to church hadn't stopped Gerald from getting shot, and if the big guy had let Gerald got shot just cause Grant didn't go, then that, honestly, was just kind of a dick move.
Charity was okay company, although having someone else with him was making him ultra-conscious of his limp. Wounded animal kind of deal; sucked to think of it like this, but showing weakness, even to someone he pretty much thought was all right, could be dangerous. How did it get phrased sometimes? In the Program, you were one person against two dozen, three dozen enemy combatants.
Man. He liked Charity. He didn't want to think of her like an enemy. This sucked.
He looked back at her as the two of them drew up outside. He could hear voices.
"Got company. Reckon it's good or bad?"
When was the last time Grant had been to church again?
Kind of a while, he realised after a few seconds, given that after a few seconds he couldn't actually remember. Program would probably be a pretty convenient place to find religion; the man upstairs, if there was a man upstairs, would probably see straight through that trick.
Grant thought vaguely that there might have been some kind of saying about everyone being religious when they could get shot at any second, but maybe he was just making that up. If there wasn't a saying like that there should be. It was the kind of thing that there should be sayings about.
On the other hand, his parents going to church hadn't stopped Gerald from getting shot, and if the big guy had let Gerald got shot just cause Grant didn't go, then that, honestly, was just kind of a dick move.
Charity was okay company, although having someone else with him was making him ultra-conscious of his limp. Wounded animal kind of deal; sucked to think of it like this, but showing weakness, even to someone he pretty much thought was all right, could be dangerous. How did it get phrased sometimes? In the Program, you were one person against two dozen, three dozen enemy combatants.
Man. He liked Charity. He didn't want to think of her like an enemy. This sucked.
He looked back at her as the two of them drew up outside. He could hear voices.
"Got company. Reckon it's good or bad?"
((Charity Gardner continued from Take Nothing For Granted))
Man, Charity was getting sweaty. This sucked. Like, she was in good company, and she was even kind of in better physical shape than Grant as far as injuries went, but this whole situation objectively sucked. She couldn't wait to stop somewhere so that she could dump her sweatshirt.
She pulled up short behind Grant because, well, if Frankie Matsui or some other maniac with a gun decided to turn up, it was just the gentlemanly thing to do for him to get shot first.
Charity inclined her head, listening for a moment before responding. On the bright side, she couldn't hear any gunfire from within the church. The party going on inside passed the very lowest bar of friendliness with flying colors. "Doesn't sound like much of a fight to me, so there's that. Think it's BYOB?" She grinned for a moment, then let it drop and continued, "Anyway, I'd knock first. Worst case scenario, that gives us time to run for it if we need to."
Man, Charity was getting sweaty. This sucked. Like, she was in good company, and she was even kind of in better physical shape than Grant as far as injuries went, but this whole situation objectively sucked. She couldn't wait to stop somewhere so that she could dump her sweatshirt.
She pulled up short behind Grant because, well, if Frankie Matsui or some other maniac with a gun decided to turn up, it was just the gentlemanly thing to do for him to get shot first.
Charity inclined her head, listening for a moment before responding. On the bright side, she couldn't hear any gunfire from within the church. The party going on inside passed the very lowest bar of friendliness with flying colors. "Doesn't sound like much of a fight to me, so there's that. Think it's BYOB?" She grinned for a moment, then let it drop and continued, "Anyway, I'd knock first. Worst case scenario, that gives us time to run for it if we need to."
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Pippi
- Posts: 1122
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
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- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
There was silence. There was no movement.
You know, this was the part in the horror movie moments before the gormless dope in the group got ripped to shreds by the monster because they decided to wander around and explore the abandoned church by themselves. That snapping tree branch a few metres away, the guy spinning around, a terrified ‘H-Hello?’. Then silence. Then the monster of the week flying at him with limbs made of scythes, and teeth made of daggers. And, like, fingers made of AK-47s.
Fuck, yeah, wow, Morgan was really beginning to regret his decision to back himself into what amounted to a slightly-larger-than-normal closet.
He could hear the sound of his own breathing, and he was beginning to wonder just how much damage these bright green fists of fury could do if he just attempted to bumrush his way to the exit, when another voice cropped up, and God, Morgan felt as though he was one jumpscare away from coughing up his own heart already.
Slowly, with a shaky breath, he pushed his heart back down his throat and into his chest again, and tried to focus. New voice didn’t sound threatening, at least. If he had to pin a label to it, it was… apprehensive. Tentative. Not murderer-material, basically. Of course, it could very easily be an act and a ruse, but, well…
Morgan knew what it sounded like when you pretended to be someone you weren’t. He was kinda a master of it, if he said so himself. This girl honestly sounded like she just wanted a place to bunker down for a while.
Taking bets for how quickly this would bite him in the ass, starting now.
“I’m friendly! And so’s this guy!”
“HULK SMASH!”
You know, this was the part in the horror movie moments before the gormless dope in the group got ripped to shreds by the monster because they decided to wander around and explore the abandoned church by themselves. That snapping tree branch a few metres away, the guy spinning around, a terrified ‘H-Hello?’. Then silence. Then the monster of the week flying at him with limbs made of scythes, and teeth made of daggers. And, like, fingers made of AK-47s.
Fuck, yeah, wow, Morgan was really beginning to regret his decision to back himself into what amounted to a slightly-larger-than-normal closet.
He could hear the sound of his own breathing, and he was beginning to wonder just how much damage these bright green fists of fury could do if he just attempted to bumrush his way to the exit, when another voice cropped up, and God, Morgan felt as though he was one jumpscare away from coughing up his own heart already.
Slowly, with a shaky breath, he pushed his heart back down his throat and into his chest again, and tried to focus. New voice didn’t sound threatening, at least. If he had to pin a label to it, it was… apprehensive. Tentative. Not murderer-material, basically. Of course, it could very easily be an act and a ruse, but, well…
Morgan knew what it sounded like when you pretended to be someone you weren’t. He was kinda a master of it, if he said so himself. This girl honestly sounded like she just wanted a place to bunker down for a while.
Taking bets for how quickly this would bite him in the ass, starting now.
“I’m friendly! And so’s this guy!”
“HULK SMASH!”
Well, that made her feel better.
Good news first, Morgan didn't have a real weapon. Unless he had somehow smuggled the hulk hands into the Program as some kind of insane double bluff.
So, one of the things Dakota was good at was social blending. There was a reason she was accepted by the popular crowd despite the fact she wasn't like any of them in any way—besides liking and being good at cheerleading—she didn't carry conversations, she stayed quiet and she agreed. It was a simple and effective system that had worked time and time again. She was one of the popular kids at school, despite the fact she hated social situations. The only problem now was that she had to carry a conversation where her access to shelter and potentially her life rested on what she said. It was a lot of pressure for someone who's most taxing social situations previously had been awkward conversations at parties.
In short, she was not adequately prepared for the situation.
Still, she resolved to give it her best shot.
"That's a...that's good. Yeah."
As she moved around the door Dakota realised she hadn't taken any time to actually check what the situation was but it was far too late for that now. So she was both relieved and disappointed that the male voice was Morgan Jones, whereas she was someone who had managed to luck her way into the popular crowd by accident, Morgan was someone who wanted into the popular crowd so badly it had led to them rejecting him outright. He did himself no favors with his own behavior of course, that combined with his obvious desperation had led to him being permanently put in the hanger-on category. His blatant racism for no other reason than to try and fit in with the popular crowd also did him no favors in Dakota's opinion.
In fact, as Dakota thought about the situation it was probably good for her that Morgan had the Hulk hands. She was likely to be one of the people he despised most.
KeKe meanwhile, was like Dakota, a minority. However, unlike Dakota who valued having an easy trip through school more than fighting, KeKe was openly aggressive and hostile towards others. She sympathized with KeKe of course and did often find herself wishing she had the bravery to speak up the same way, but she had her position and she had felt it easier to maintain it then try and challenge the status quo.
"Uh, hey guys." There was a long awkward pause as she tried to figure out what to say. "How's it going?"
Good news first, Morgan didn't have a real weapon. Unless he had somehow smuggled the hulk hands into the Program as some kind of insane double bluff.
So, one of the things Dakota was good at was social blending. There was a reason she was accepted by the popular crowd despite the fact she wasn't like any of them in any way—besides liking and being good at cheerleading—she didn't carry conversations, she stayed quiet and she agreed. It was a simple and effective system that had worked time and time again. She was one of the popular kids at school, despite the fact she hated social situations. The only problem now was that she had to carry a conversation where her access to shelter and potentially her life rested on what she said. It was a lot of pressure for someone who's most taxing social situations previously had been awkward conversations at parties.
In short, she was not adequately prepared for the situation.
Still, she resolved to give it her best shot.
"That's a...that's good. Yeah."
As she moved around the door Dakota realised she hadn't taken any time to actually check what the situation was but it was far too late for that now. So she was both relieved and disappointed that the male voice was Morgan Jones, whereas she was someone who had managed to luck her way into the popular crowd by accident, Morgan was someone who wanted into the popular crowd so badly it had led to them rejecting him outright. He did himself no favors with his own behavior of course, that combined with his obvious desperation had led to him being permanently put in the hanger-on category. His blatant racism for no other reason than to try and fit in with the popular crowd also did him no favors in Dakota's opinion.
In fact, as Dakota thought about the situation it was probably good for her that Morgan had the Hulk hands. She was likely to be one of the people he despised most.
KeKe meanwhile, was like Dakota, a minority. However, unlike Dakota who valued having an easy trip through school more than fighting, KeKe was openly aggressive and hostile towards others. She sympathized with KeKe of course and did often find herself wishing she had the bravery to speak up the same way, but she had her position and she had felt it easier to maintain it then try and challenge the status quo.
"Uh, hey guys." There was a long awkward pause as she tried to figure out what to say. "How's it going?"
Grant nodded along with Charity. Made sense.
'Cept where the paranoia was telling him that hell noooo it didn't. He didn't want to announce shit until he had a better handle on who all was in there. Unfortunately the building's windows weren't really the kind that you could look through. Stained glass.
"Let's take a peek and then knock," he murmured in a low tone. Voices were still coming from inside, but it was difficult to place exactly where from or how many. At least two. That was a conversation, not a monologue.
Making a small gesture for Charity to follow along, Grant moved around the side of the building as quietly as he could until he found a door, sloooowly beginning to open it.
Don't fuck me now, hinge.
'Cept where the paranoia was telling him that hell noooo it didn't. He didn't want to announce shit until he had a better handle on who all was in there. Unfortunately the building's windows weren't really the kind that you could look through. Stained glass.
"Let's take a peek and then knock," he murmured in a low tone. Voices were still coming from inside, but it was difficult to place exactly where from or how many. At least two. That was a conversation, not a monologue.
Making a small gesture for Charity to follow along, Grant moved around the side of the building as quietly as he could until he found a door, sloooowly beginning to open it.
Don't fuck me now, hinge.
Charity did as Grant indicated, taking care to match her steps to his as closely as she could. If something went wrong and the people inside turned out to be both hostile and aware someone was creeping around outdoors, maybe they could at least be fooled into thinking there was only one person to deal with.
Anyways, Charity had an axe and Grant had a motherfucking bomb. Even if things did go badly, she was confident that they could take control of a room. Anybody who wanted to call that kind of bluff was suicidal or stupid enough to deserve the fallout.
She couldn't see around both Grant and the door, so she had to keep relying on her hearing and trust Grant not to make any stupid moves above all else. The good news: still no gunfire or other noises to signal that they needed to get the hell out of dodge. The bad-but-still-maybe-good news: none of the voices inside were immediately familiar enough to be identified as either friends or enemies. Nobody from the crowd Charity ran with and nobody she detested, as far as she could tell. That made whoever was in there a wild card, but she didn't have to pull herself together to face someone immediately hostile or steel herself for the potentially painful confrontation with a friend.
How long could she keep putting both of those things off?
Well, the answer to that was also conveniently off somewhere in the vague future.
It wasn't in Charity's nature to be quiet, but she did her best as she hissed to Grant, "What's it look like in there?"
Anyways, Charity had an axe and Grant had a motherfucking bomb. Even if things did go badly, she was confident that they could take control of a room. Anybody who wanted to call that kind of bluff was suicidal or stupid enough to deserve the fallout.
She couldn't see around both Grant and the door, so she had to keep relying on her hearing and trust Grant not to make any stupid moves above all else. The good news: still no gunfire or other noises to signal that they needed to get the hell out of dodge. The bad-but-still-maybe-good news: none of the voices inside were immediately familiar enough to be identified as either friends or enemies. Nobody from the crowd Charity ran with and nobody she detested, as far as she could tell. That made whoever was in there a wild card, but she didn't have to pull herself together to face someone immediately hostile or steel herself for the potentially painful confrontation with a friend.
How long could she keep putting both of those things off?
Well, the answer to that was also conveniently off somewhere in the vague future.
It wasn't in Charity's nature to be quiet, but she did her best as she hissed to Grant, "What's it look like in there?"
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Pippi
- Posts: 1122
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
If the door that Grant and Charity were currently trying to sneak through had made any noise, Morgan hadn’t heard it over the sound of his own goddamned heartbeat.
It didn’t make any sense, at least not as far as he saw it. He shouldn’t have gotten more nervous the moment he realised the other person in the church was Dakota. There was a number of people he had a good right to be scared of. Dakota was… not one of them. Not by a long shot. She was quiet, kinda friendly but also kinda reserved. Kinda pretty, too. Morgan had always had a yearning to get to know her better.
And hey, out here, he didn’t need to pretend to hate her because of her race. The popular crowd were nowhere to be seen. There was nobody to suck up to, nobody to overhear make disparaging comments behind the backs of people like Dakota. If he was gonna run into one of those popular kids he’d wanted so badly to be, they’d almost certainly be on their own. The ‘Popular Crowd’, so called, no longer existed.
Maybe that was the problem, though. The popular crowd wasn’t here, so, uh… who was he gonna cling on to? He was facing somebody he’d belittled and looked down upon, regardless of how he actually felt about her, so obviously he couldn’t rely on Dakota for help. He needed somebody to tell him what to do, here, what to say in a motherfucker of a situation like this. But there wasn’t anyone. He was all alone in the big, wild world now. No signposts, no hand-holding. Just his gut instinct.
Well, if they were all gonna die soon, no point pretending he hated people he didn’t. Even if Dakota didn’t forgive him (pretty dang likely), he could speak with a clearer conscience now.
… Damn it, now he was thinking about that whole ‘everyone dying soon’ thing, quick, fuck, say something, anything.
“It’s going ‘kay, it’s going fine!” Morgan responded. “Well, uh, I’ve been talking to my hands, actually, so I guess this place has already gotten to me.”
He laughed, and the sound echoed around the church, and he immediately hated the sound that it made.
“That was, uh. That was a joke. By the way.”
Pause. Breathe in through your nose. Then out again. Then try again.
“I thought this place might calm me down, but, uh… ‘pparently not. Heh. You doing alright?”
It didn’t make any sense, at least not as far as he saw it. He shouldn’t have gotten more nervous the moment he realised the other person in the church was Dakota. There was a number of people he had a good right to be scared of. Dakota was… not one of them. Not by a long shot. She was quiet, kinda friendly but also kinda reserved. Kinda pretty, too. Morgan had always had a yearning to get to know her better.
And hey, out here, he didn’t need to pretend to hate her because of her race. The popular crowd were nowhere to be seen. There was nobody to suck up to, nobody to overhear make disparaging comments behind the backs of people like Dakota. If he was gonna run into one of those popular kids he’d wanted so badly to be, they’d almost certainly be on their own. The ‘Popular Crowd’, so called, no longer existed.
Maybe that was the problem, though. The popular crowd wasn’t here, so, uh… who was he gonna cling on to? He was facing somebody he’d belittled and looked down upon, regardless of how he actually felt about her, so obviously he couldn’t rely on Dakota for help. He needed somebody to tell him what to do, here, what to say in a motherfucker of a situation like this. But there wasn’t anyone. He was all alone in the big, wild world now. No signposts, no hand-holding. Just his gut instinct.
Well, if they were all gonna die soon, no point pretending he hated people he didn’t. Even if Dakota didn’t forgive him (pretty dang likely), he could speak with a clearer conscience now.
… Damn it, now he was thinking about that whole ‘everyone dying soon’ thing, quick, fuck, say something, anything.
“It’s going ‘kay, it’s going fine!” Morgan responded. “Well, uh, I’ve been talking to my hands, actually, so I guess this place has already gotten to me.”
He laughed, and the sound echoed around the church, and he immediately hated the sound that it made.
“That was, uh. That was a joke. By the way.”
Pause. Breathe in through your nose. Then out again. Then try again.
“I thought this place might calm me down, but, uh… ‘pparently not. Heh. You doing alright?”
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Somersault
- Posts: 236
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:21 am
KeKe quirked an eyebrow at Morgan's statement, as she stayed silent. Ass, ass, ass. All of this. Complete and utter ass. She folded her arms as she looked at the other two expectantly, stun gun still in her grasp. She guessed she was okay with Dakota coming in, minority solidarity or whatever BS phrase, but she still did not think it was cool for Dakota to join in with those white girls, nodding, agreeing, still knowing that they weren't gonna ever accept for who she was.
Oh, maybe she was a cheerleader, maybe she was agreeable, but there still was one thing she absolutely was not: white. If there was one way to describe the coward with the hulk hands or what ever. White. White as wonder bread, and as elitist as it too.
In any case, no one in this little church gathering were friends, and it wasn't as if KeKe had any intentions of becoming that with anyone present here. She had already ran into two people running off the rails into crazyland, and it wasn't as if she really waned to join them either. Still, the awkward ways everyone tried to fill the silence was boring her to tears, so she guessed that perhaps it was her time to do some shit.
She looked at Dakota and Morgan straight in the eyes. "I'ma be honest here: me?"
KeKe pointed at herself. Best they knew what was up.
"Going well? Uh, nope. Being stuck on an island where people are killing each other's asses tends to do that shit."
Oh, maybe she was a cheerleader, maybe she was agreeable, but there still was one thing she absolutely was not: white. If there was one way to describe the coward with the hulk hands or what ever. White. White as wonder bread, and as elitist as it too.
In any case, no one in this little church gathering were friends, and it wasn't as if KeKe had any intentions of becoming that with anyone present here. She had already ran into two people running off the rails into crazyland, and it wasn't as if she really waned to join them either. Still, the awkward ways everyone tried to fill the silence was boring her to tears, so she guessed that perhaps it was her time to do some shit.
She looked at Dakota and Morgan straight in the eyes. "I'ma be honest here: me?"
KeKe pointed at herself. Best they knew what was up.
"Going well? Uh, nope. Being stuck on an island where people are killing each other's asses tends to do that shit."
The responses were better than nothing. Neither Morgan nor KeKe looked likely to attack her anytime soon and that meant that for the time being Dakota was safe. She nodded grimly as KeKe finished off her reply, holding back the urge to point out they weren't on an island. She supposed that it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, the end result was likely to be the same for all of them. Her eyes darted to the stun gun KeKe held as she silently wished that she hadn't lost her gun already. It hadn't even been a day and she was already in a bad position.
"I...uh..." She paused a considered her words for a moment before starting again.
"I'm as good as I can be."
Another awkward pause.
"Mick attacked me but I got away." She felt like she as lying by not mentioning that she had lost her weapon but at the same time she didn't need anyone to know that, not when it wasn't needed.
"That's about it." She gave a weak shrug to punctuate the statement. She kind of hated how pathetic the whole thing made her seem but she was almost used to that. She was rapidly coming to terms to have fucked and meaningless her life had ended up being.
She nodded again more in agreement with KeKe.
"Yeah, I guess the situation is fucked to begin with."
"I...uh..." She paused a considered her words for a moment before starting again.
"I'm as good as I can be."
Another awkward pause.
"Mick attacked me but I got away." She felt like she as lying by not mentioning that she had lost her weapon but at the same time she didn't need anyone to know that, not when it wasn't needed.
"That's about it." She gave a weak shrug to punctuate the statement. She kind of hated how pathetic the whole thing made her seem but she was almost used to that. She was rapidly coming to terms to have fucked and meaningless her life had ended up being.
She nodded again more in agreement with KeKe.
"Yeah, I guess the situation is fucked to begin with."
The hinge did not fuck him, which was a good start, as on the list of things that Grant wanted to be fucked by, pieces of doors did not rank highly if at all.
The voices were clearer now, and though Grant was intentionally hanging back to avoid silhouetting himself in a doorway like he was flashing a great big 'shoot me now!' sign, it only took a couple sentences for him to begin piecing together who he was listening to. Morgan. Morgan of the Jones variety, that was. Grant actually knew the guy pretty well, the type of dude who crowded in at the edges of big group shots or you could just see the top of the head of in a selfie. Basically he was all right, but not what Grant would call a huge mover and shaker. Not as good as Charity, didn't have that edge to him.
The others were girls, as always his specialised area of interest as the number one ladies' man. Number one attempted ladies' man.
Anyway, he was pretty sure one of them was Dakota and the other one was probably Kass, which was a bit worse, cause that was one hundred percent not reliable and one hundred percent unlikely to want to take his side. Dakota was okay on the other hand, but not someone he knew he could depend on, if he was going to follow through with this.
Was he, though? It was a better plan than the original plan and a better plan than the other plan, but...
He leaned back out to Charity.
"Nobody's killing each other," he didn't bother to add the redundant 'yet'. "Think we're in the clear for now."
Course, nothing was saying that any one of those three didn't have a bazooka or something and was all set to full fucking Rambo but you know, he was trying to stay optimistic here.
The voices were clearer now, and though Grant was intentionally hanging back to avoid silhouetting himself in a doorway like he was flashing a great big 'shoot me now!' sign, it only took a couple sentences for him to begin piecing together who he was listening to. Morgan. Morgan of the Jones variety, that was. Grant actually knew the guy pretty well, the type of dude who crowded in at the edges of big group shots or you could just see the top of the head of in a selfie. Basically he was all right, but not what Grant would call a huge mover and shaker. Not as good as Charity, didn't have that edge to him.
The others were girls, as always his specialised area of interest as the number one ladies' man. Number one attempted ladies' man.
Anyway, he was pretty sure one of them was Dakota and the other one was probably Kass, which was a bit worse, cause that was one hundred percent not reliable and one hundred percent unlikely to want to take his side. Dakota was okay on the other hand, but not someone he knew he could depend on, if he was going to follow through with this.
Was he, though? It was a better plan than the original plan and a better plan than the other plan, but...
He leaned back out to Charity.
"Nobody's killing each other," he didn't bother to add the redundant 'yet'. "Think we're in the clear for now."
Course, nothing was saying that any one of those three didn't have a bazooka or something and was all set to full fucking Rambo but you know, he was trying to stay optimistic here.
Nobody killing each other was good. For now. "Does it look like our kind of crowd, though?"
That was the main thing. Charity might not want to run into anyone she was too friendly with here and now, but she didn't need another Frankie, someone that had more motive than just plain survival to put a bullet in her.
Then again, just plain old survival was enough to make any cornered rat bite.
"If it's chill, I say we go in and scope out the scene properly. We either find somebody else who's cool, or..." She shrugged, keeping up that casual veneer, but her hand drifted meaningfully to the front pouch of her sweatshirt where the axe rested.
"You're the guy in front, though. Your call."
That was the main thing. Charity might not want to run into anyone she was too friendly with here and now, but she didn't need another Frankie, someone that had more motive than just plain survival to put a bullet in her.
Then again, just plain old survival was enough to make any cornered rat bite.
"If it's chill, I say we go in and scope out the scene properly. We either find somebody else who's cool, or..." She shrugged, keeping up that casual veneer, but her hand drifted meaningfully to the front pouch of her sweatshirt where the axe rested.
"You're the guy in front, though. Your call."