((Brenda Hernandez, continued from A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's))
Brenda took a swig of the water bottle that was now permanently in her hand, looking at her new surroundings. After hours of walking, enough so that the sun had set, the group had managed to find themselves...at a different beach.
She sighed in defeat. Good enough. "Alright, I'm tired, so we might as well take a rest here. For a little bit, anyways."
She sat in the sand, taking another drink from her water and pulling out the map. She assumed they were at the Western Beach, due mostly to the fact that somehow getting all the way across in the island in such a short period of time seemed implausible. They were still miles away from the Ski Resort, which seemed like a ridiculously far goal now.
Baby steps. We go too far now, we end up too tired later when someone...
Brenda swallowed the thought, refusing to believe that this early in the game people were already in that mindset. That took desperation, anger, hatred- there was no way that anyone could have been that far gone so early on.
As if just to spite her, the announcements blared to life at that exact moment. Brenda listened closely, already making plans in her head- people to mourn, people to avoid, people to help.
She didn't expect to hear Karen Ruiz at all.
She blinked in shock, turning her head towards the sky, as if she could see the host talking right above her, sitting among the stars.
Karen? Karen was already killing people? And to make it worse, it wasn't just some stranger from SDA- it was Anthony, the kid with the camera who was glued to the hip of Anna Hitchins. It was someone Brenda knew, killing someone else she knew.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
"Damnit," she murmured, rubbing her temples.
She considered, for a moment, going to find Karen, to demand answers from her, to try and help her. But Brenda was suddenly very uncertain of what Karen would do in that situation, and it simply wasn't worth getting anyone else killed over it. Instead, Brenda just sat, holding back her tears.
She had to be strong now. She had to get off of this island, and to save as many people as possible. That was her goal. That was her destiny, it was God's plan.
Brenda drew a small heart in the sand with her finger.
Save Yourself, Serve Yourself
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Save Yourself, Serve Yourself
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
[April Stone, continued from A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's.]
The heart was soon joined by an unceremoniously dropped beaten up pair of brown sneakers, followed by one exhausted girl slumping to the ground beside her.
“Good plan, I was hoping we would stop again anyway.” April breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she took her bag off and placed it next to her, taking extra care not to drop it and kick up sand.
The others were further back, close enough to keep track of but far away enough that it wouldn’t look like they were all bunched together. April wasn’t sure whose idea that was, but it had worked; their journey was a wholly uneventful one.
But it was a long and quiet one.
April wasn’t sure how long they had walked for, but it had almost killed her. Since it had started to get dark, every step she had taken sent sharp spikes of pain up through her heels to her calves to her thighs. To April's credit, she soldiered on though, through not wanting to be seen by her team mates as a burden. Their infrequent breaks had alleviated the pain for a while each time, as had taking her shoes off as the land gave way to the beach they were currently walking on, but April knew that something was going to have to be done if they were going to carry on walking as much as they had.
“You okay, Brenda?” April stretched her legs out in front of her and curled her toes.
It was obvious, given that the announcement had sounded and the news that someone had died this early on in the game, that the answer wasn’t going to be yes, but April felt compelled to ask, even if it was the “poking a hornet’s nest” of supportive questions.
Actually, the more she thought about it, the worse the entire idea of even asking Brenda the question in the first place sounded. Honestly, how stupid of her was it? She didn’t even know Brenda’s last name and yet here she was acting like they were best friends. She should have just left when she first saw her, or something, right?
…Or, she could stop beating herself up about it and apologise. “I… sorry, you, um, don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
April bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood, which she'd never done before, even when she was in the car home with her mother and hoping desperately that she wouldn't notice the stench of vomit and alcohol that- although masked by Jeanette's perfumes and sprays- was still a prominent part of her presence. But, that was a completely different time, and the lack of any serious punishment from her parents- after all, she was a sobbing wreck swearing to teetotalism for most of that car ride- had stopped her from really getting too nervous about the whole thing in the end.
April winced for a moment as the blood mixed with saliva and the wound began to sting, then tried to focus again. She couldn't get hung up on little things now. This was different from the outside world, where calling your friend "kind of a bitch" was a cause for two weeks of worry. She just had to hope Brenda felt the same way. Hopefully though, she hadn’t messed this up before they’d even really gotten started.
The heart was soon joined by an unceremoniously dropped beaten up pair of brown sneakers, followed by one exhausted girl slumping to the ground beside her.
“Good plan, I was hoping we would stop again anyway.” April breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she took her bag off and placed it next to her, taking extra care not to drop it and kick up sand.
The others were further back, close enough to keep track of but far away enough that it wouldn’t look like they were all bunched together. April wasn’t sure whose idea that was, but it had worked; their journey was a wholly uneventful one.
But it was a long and quiet one.
April wasn’t sure how long they had walked for, but it had almost killed her. Since it had started to get dark, every step she had taken sent sharp spikes of pain up through her heels to her calves to her thighs. To April's credit, she soldiered on though, through not wanting to be seen by her team mates as a burden. Their infrequent breaks had alleviated the pain for a while each time, as had taking her shoes off as the land gave way to the beach they were currently walking on, but April knew that something was going to have to be done if they were going to carry on walking as much as they had.
“You okay, Brenda?” April stretched her legs out in front of her and curled her toes.
It was obvious, given that the announcement had sounded and the news that someone had died this early on in the game, that the answer wasn’t going to be yes, but April felt compelled to ask, even if it was the “poking a hornet’s nest” of supportive questions.
Actually, the more she thought about it, the worse the entire idea of even asking Brenda the question in the first place sounded. Honestly, how stupid of her was it? She didn’t even know Brenda’s last name and yet here she was acting like they were best friends. She should have just left when she first saw her, or something, right?
…Or, she could stop beating herself up about it and apologise. “I… sorry, you, um, don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
April bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood, which she'd never done before, even when she was in the car home with her mother and hoping desperately that she wouldn't notice the stench of vomit and alcohol that- although masked by Jeanette's perfumes and sprays- was still a prominent part of her presence. But, that was a completely different time, and the lack of any serious punishment from her parents- after all, she was a sobbing wreck swearing to teetotalism for most of that car ride- had stopped her from really getting too nervous about the whole thing in the end.
April winced for a moment as the blood mixed with saliva and the wound began to sting, then tried to focus again. She couldn't get hung up on little things now. This was different from the outside world, where calling your friend "kind of a bitch" was a cause for two weeks of worry. She just had to hope Brenda felt the same way. Hopefully though, she hadn’t messed this up before they’d even really gotten started.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Macha.
[A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's --> Eloise Winterburn]
Eloise was the third to arrive at the designated random choice of destination, coming across a rather tired Brenda and April sitting down on the sand. Having lugged a massive hammer along the way with her, she too was hardly looking forward to more hiking - stamina for running was one thing, but to keep up a decent pace for miles? Entirely another. The obnoxious afternoon sun's omnipresent rays for the first leg of the journey certainly didn't make things any easier, for that matter. By comparison, the cool evening breeze and pale moonlight felt like a Godsend.
So, surrendering to exhaustion, she gave over control of the sledgehammer to gravity, letting it drop off of her shoulder and onto the ground behind her, where the head buried itself deep enough in the sand to keep the handle upright. She slumped down in the sand, started to catch her breath again.
And it was at about that point that the announcement reared its ugly head. Karen Ruiz, familiar name, unfamiliar person that went with it. It took Eloise a while to remember exactly who the name belonged to, that one girl who made such a point of going unnoticed, it almost become noticeable in and of itself. Almost. In truth, Eloise knew almost nothing about her and had never cared to find anything out. Now, in the context of a potential threat to her life, that seemed like quite a glaring omission on her part. Oh well, too late to rectify it now.
On the other hand, she definitely recognised Anthony Rollins. The boy that was practically Siamese with that one girl Anna Hitchins. He'd been at that party where she'd now-infamously made out with Amber, mostly filming anything interesting that happened. The video of said making out on the internet had probably been his doing, come to think of it. Eloise wasn't sure how to feel about him being dead; they hadn't been much more than acquaintances, if that, but he had been a nice enough guy, the sort she probably could've gotten along with if she'd made the effort to get to know.
It's always the nice ones that die first, huh?
Brenda seemed to be taking it worse. Eloise couldn't be certain if it was as a result of Karen being a killer, or Anthony being dead, or both, but regardless, she didn't feel it would be a good idea to stick her nose in until she did. April seemed to have the comforting friend thing down for now. So she just sat there, trying to figure out what to do next.
Eloise was the third to arrive at the designated random choice of destination, coming across a rather tired Brenda and April sitting down on the sand. Having lugged a massive hammer along the way with her, she too was hardly looking forward to more hiking - stamina for running was one thing, but to keep up a decent pace for miles? Entirely another. The obnoxious afternoon sun's omnipresent rays for the first leg of the journey certainly didn't make things any easier, for that matter. By comparison, the cool evening breeze and pale moonlight felt like a Godsend.
So, surrendering to exhaustion, she gave over control of the sledgehammer to gravity, letting it drop off of her shoulder and onto the ground behind her, where the head buried itself deep enough in the sand to keep the handle upright. She slumped down in the sand, started to catch her breath again.
And it was at about that point that the announcement reared its ugly head. Karen Ruiz, familiar name, unfamiliar person that went with it. It took Eloise a while to remember exactly who the name belonged to, that one girl who made such a point of going unnoticed, it almost become noticeable in and of itself. Almost. In truth, Eloise knew almost nothing about her and had never cared to find anything out. Now, in the context of a potential threat to her life, that seemed like quite a glaring omission on her part. Oh well, too late to rectify it now.
On the other hand, she definitely recognised Anthony Rollins. The boy that was practically Siamese with that one girl Anna Hitchins. He'd been at that party where she'd now-infamously made out with Amber, mostly filming anything interesting that happened. The video of said making out on the internet had probably been his doing, come to think of it. Eloise wasn't sure how to feel about him being dead; they hadn't been much more than acquaintances, if that, but he had been a nice enough guy, the sort she probably could've gotten along with if she'd made the effort to get to know.
It's always the nice ones that die first, huh?
Brenda seemed to be taking it worse. Eloise couldn't be certain if it was as a result of Karen being a killer, or Anthony being dead, or both, but regardless, she didn't feel it would be a good idea to stick her nose in until she did. April seemed to have the comforting friend thing down for now. So she just sat there, trying to figure out what to do next.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. 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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Carrion Queen
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 6:35 am
((Jeanette continued from A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's))
Jeanette had long taken off her shoes and walked barefoot along the beach. It was a long hike, but she didn't complain. She came up behind the other three girls because she'd been stopping every once in a while to collect flowers to weave into a wreath.
She stopped at the collection of girls sitting down. The announcements went off, but Peter wasn't on it, and thus, it was of little consequence to her.
Brenda seemed upset though. Jeanette threw the wreath on her head.
"Did they get someone you knew?" she said trying to be comforting. Her comforting was rather hit and miss.
In the sand, Jeanette started to make a sandcastle. She dug a little until she found wet sand and started on the foundation of the castle. Her hands ran along the columns of sand, making sure they could support what was to come. She looked strangely contemplative while she built, as if she were thinking very hard on something.
She was. And it was not about the structural integrity of her castle.
Jeanette had long taken off her shoes and walked barefoot along the beach. It was a long hike, but she didn't complain. She came up behind the other three girls because she'd been stopping every once in a while to collect flowers to weave into a wreath.
She stopped at the collection of girls sitting down. The announcements went off, but Peter wasn't on it, and thus, it was of little consequence to her.
Brenda seemed upset though. Jeanette threw the wreath on her head.
"Did they get someone you knew?" she said trying to be comforting. Her comforting was rather hit and miss.
In the sand, Jeanette started to make a sandcastle. She dug a little until she found wet sand and started on the foundation of the castle. Her hands ran along the columns of sand, making sure they could support what was to come. She looked strangely contemplative while she built, as if she were thinking very hard on something.
She was. And it was not about the structural integrity of her castle.
((Jhamel Thompson continued from A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's))
Someone had suggested the Ski Lodge, and then they walked. Jhamel hadn't bothered to check his map, he figured Brenda knew where she was going... and what she was doing. So they walked, a pretty uneventful walk. It hadn't taken him all that long to catch up, and the manual had provided light reading along the way, something to keep him occupied. Well, occupied enough to walk right into that tree in the middle of no-fucking-where. Which had hurt like a motherfucker.
But yeah. He didn't think about that little embarrassment on national fucking television. It did however, prompt him to put the manual back in his waistband and actually pay a little bit of attention to where in the hell he was going.
No one really said anything the entire way. Just the five of them, brown and red, walking across the island. Plains, plains, and more fucking plains. Sure they were well kept, and there were flowers everywhere, but... Christ, can a motherfucker get a change in scenery every once in a while to keep things spiced up a little.
Heh, look at him. Bitching at things being too samey on Survival of the Fittest. Of all places. Back in Detroit he would have room to bitch. Just get back home after school, crash out on the old uncomfortable couch, and click on the tube. Nothing much else to do in Detroit except party, and... Well, it was a... what, Wednesday? That shit didn't start till the weekend. Damn, that sounded nice right about now. Drown your ass in a big bottle, and forget about everything, just chill, move with the music, maybe get a little somethin' somethin'.
It was almost enough to make Jhamel smile as Brenda stopped in front of the group. They were on the shore again. More beach stretched out infront of them, but this place looked like it had been deserted long before the producers had ever gotten here. There wasn't a single food vendor, no trash on the ground, nothing. It was almost idyllic, in a way. Not that he actually gave a shit about that kind of stuff, but it was still nice. Quiet. Maybe he could finish looking over the manual, figure out what the hell they meant by "single action" in the first couple of pages.
And then Jhamel jumped like a scared cat as soon as the PA system cracked to life. He should have known that this would happen, it always did. Every single season right since one, there had been some dude telling the kids how well they were doing, what was going on across the island. The first few times he'd watched, they'd had a different dude every single time. But a few in, it switched to a permanent announcer.
He went on and on, saying that they were SO entertaining. No wonder the fuck got the job every year. When he talked, it sounded like he got his rocks off to this shit. Watching for the entertainment was one thing, that was just fucked.
But then came the important part, the deaths and danger zones.
There's plenty else to go around... Well, except for everybody but Anthony Rollins, who's taken one for the show, if you know what I mean.
...Anthony?
"A-Are you fucking with me? You're fucking with me, right?"
Jhamel knew Anthony. Sure, he didn't hang with the kid that much, but Anthony was a good kid. He didn't deserve that shit. But he needed to shut up for just long enough to hear the danger zones.
...
Good. Not where they were.
"Dude... I-I can't fucking believe it... Anthony man." Talking to absolutely no one in-particular. Maybe his gun. Was he losing it already? No. No he wasn't. He had shit to do. Fame to grab, deals to make when he got home, he was getting the fuck out of the slums of Detroit. This could be his ticket out of here.
He turned to Brenda, and just kind of... stared. Not at her, but through her almost. Focusing right in on that bandanna. Brown. He was supposed to kill her. They were flying flags. Gangs, gang warfare, that's all this really was. The initiation was being the unlucky bastard called for the game. You didn't choose your homies, but you never did. Shit, he didn't like everyone in the Bloods, but he was still trying for it. Maybe he should play the game the way the producers intended. Maybe he should start shooting.
...No. Gangs had truces in real life. Why couldn't they here? Brown and Red were allied, that's all there was to it. Get the entire group together. Fight out of here. Game over. If everything went well, he wouldn't need to fire a single bullet on anyone flying either of those flags.
Yeah. Just keep telling yourself that.
Someone had suggested the Ski Lodge, and then they walked. Jhamel hadn't bothered to check his map, he figured Brenda knew where she was going... and what she was doing. So they walked, a pretty uneventful walk. It hadn't taken him all that long to catch up, and the manual had provided light reading along the way, something to keep him occupied. Well, occupied enough to walk right into that tree in the middle of no-fucking-where. Which had hurt like a motherfucker.
But yeah. He didn't think about that little embarrassment on national fucking television. It did however, prompt him to put the manual back in his waistband and actually pay a little bit of attention to where in the hell he was going.
No one really said anything the entire way. Just the five of them, brown and red, walking across the island. Plains, plains, and more fucking plains. Sure they were well kept, and there were flowers everywhere, but... Christ, can a motherfucker get a change in scenery every once in a while to keep things spiced up a little.
Heh, look at him. Bitching at things being too samey on Survival of the Fittest. Of all places. Back in Detroit he would have room to bitch. Just get back home after school, crash out on the old uncomfortable couch, and click on the tube. Nothing much else to do in Detroit except party, and... Well, it was a... what, Wednesday? That shit didn't start till the weekend. Damn, that sounded nice right about now. Drown your ass in a big bottle, and forget about everything, just chill, move with the music, maybe get a little somethin' somethin'.
It was almost enough to make Jhamel smile as Brenda stopped in front of the group. They were on the shore again. More beach stretched out infront of them, but this place looked like it had been deserted long before the producers had ever gotten here. There wasn't a single food vendor, no trash on the ground, nothing. It was almost idyllic, in a way. Not that he actually gave a shit about that kind of stuff, but it was still nice. Quiet. Maybe he could finish looking over the manual, figure out what the hell they meant by "single action" in the first couple of pages.
And then Jhamel jumped like a scared cat as soon as the PA system cracked to life. He should have known that this would happen, it always did. Every single season right since one, there had been some dude telling the kids how well they were doing, what was going on across the island. The first few times he'd watched, they'd had a different dude every single time. But a few in, it switched to a permanent announcer.
He went on and on, saying that they were SO entertaining. No wonder the fuck got the job every year. When he talked, it sounded like he got his rocks off to this shit. Watching for the entertainment was one thing, that was just fucked.
But then came the important part, the deaths and danger zones.
There's plenty else to go around... Well, except for everybody but Anthony Rollins, who's taken one for the show, if you know what I mean.
...Anthony?
"A-Are you fucking with me? You're fucking with me, right?"
Jhamel knew Anthony. Sure, he didn't hang with the kid that much, but Anthony was a good kid. He didn't deserve that shit. But he needed to shut up for just long enough to hear the danger zones.
...
Good. Not where they were.
"Dude... I-I can't fucking believe it... Anthony man." Talking to absolutely no one in-particular. Maybe his gun. Was he losing it already? No. No he wasn't. He had shit to do. Fame to grab, deals to make when he got home, he was getting the fuck out of the slums of Detroit. This could be his ticket out of here.
He turned to Brenda, and just kind of... stared. Not at her, but through her almost. Focusing right in on that bandanna. Brown. He was supposed to kill her. They were flying flags. Gangs, gang warfare, that's all this really was. The initiation was being the unlucky bastard called for the game. You didn't choose your homies, but you never did. Shit, he didn't like everyone in the Bloods, but he was still trying for it. Maybe he should play the game the way the producers intended. Maybe he should start shooting.
...No. Gangs had truces in real life. Why couldn't they here? Brown and Red were allied, that's all there was to it. Get the entire group together. Fight out of here. Game over. If everything went well, he wouldn't need to fire a single bullet on anyone flying either of those flags.
Yeah. Just keep telling yourself that.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
A small smile formed on Brenda's face as April's shoes joined her. Despite barely knowing her, it was clear to Brenda already that the girl was not very graceful.
The smile vanished when April asked her if she was alright.
Truthfully, Brenda was unsure of how to answer the question. Being upset that someone died was normal, but Brenda wasn't upset about Anthony. He was nice, but he was gone and there was very little she could do about that. Karen, however...she hadn't expected Karen to start killing right away.
Maybe it was self-defense, though. Maybe Karen was completely innocent.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't picture Anthony rushing Karen.
"I'm fine. Just tired." She smiled weakly, not caring if it looked too fake. Brenda could practically feel the bags under her eyes at this point, so it was convincing enough, she figured. Not that it mattered.
She needed to change the subject, though.
"We walked for a while. How are your feet? We could have stopped earlier..."
Brenda was cut off by the arrival of the others. Eloise dropping the sledgehammer almost made Brenda jump straight out of her skin, but she managed to control herself slightly, only flinching a little. She turned to face Eloise, and laughed lightly at the exhausted girl. It sounded hollow, though, which probably didn't go unnoticed, considering Jeanette's question.
Brenda looked up at the hula dancer, wondering how to answer it in the least personal way possible. It wasn't that she didn't like her makeshift team, it was more that...she didn't know them. And she didn't need to burden them.
"You could say that, yeah. I'm fine though. I just need some sleep." She looked back to Eloise, wondering how heavy that hammer was, and how that girl managed to carry it all day. "I think we all do."
Brenda turned to Jhamel, finally. He was taking it harder than her, at least outwardly. He was looking at her, but there was something off about his eyes that she couldn't quite understand.
Suddenly, she felt awful.
Here she was, upset that one of her friends was a killer, not even thinking about Anthony's friends. He was gone. Karen could be helped, Karen could be saved, but Anthony was gone. And he'd never come back.
Brenda's heart dropped into her stomach.
This was her team, and she had to help them. That was her goal, that was her mission.
She stood up and walked over to Jhamel, trying to stare him in the eye, which was difficult considering the fact that he was taller than her. She wanted to help him, but she was clueless on how too. Brenda was never clueless. She always had some idea, some notion.
Now all she had was impulse.
She wrapped her arms around Jhamel's midsection and hugged him. It was something her mother would have done to her. "I'm sorry. I really am." She was whispering, trying to blink away the tears in her eyes.
It wasn't much, but it was all she could offer. It wouldn't be enough, she knew. But maybe it would help a little.
The smile vanished when April asked her if she was alright.
Truthfully, Brenda was unsure of how to answer the question. Being upset that someone died was normal, but Brenda wasn't upset about Anthony. He was nice, but he was gone and there was very little she could do about that. Karen, however...she hadn't expected Karen to start killing right away.
Maybe it was self-defense, though. Maybe Karen was completely innocent.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't picture Anthony rushing Karen.
"I'm fine. Just tired." She smiled weakly, not caring if it looked too fake. Brenda could practically feel the bags under her eyes at this point, so it was convincing enough, she figured. Not that it mattered.
She needed to change the subject, though.
"We walked for a while. How are your feet? We could have stopped earlier..."
Brenda was cut off by the arrival of the others. Eloise dropping the sledgehammer almost made Brenda jump straight out of her skin, but she managed to control herself slightly, only flinching a little. She turned to face Eloise, and laughed lightly at the exhausted girl. It sounded hollow, though, which probably didn't go unnoticed, considering Jeanette's question.
Brenda looked up at the hula dancer, wondering how to answer it in the least personal way possible. It wasn't that she didn't like her makeshift team, it was more that...she didn't know them. And she didn't need to burden them.
"You could say that, yeah. I'm fine though. I just need some sleep." She looked back to Eloise, wondering how heavy that hammer was, and how that girl managed to carry it all day. "I think we all do."
Brenda turned to Jhamel, finally. He was taking it harder than her, at least outwardly. He was looking at her, but there was something off about his eyes that she couldn't quite understand.
Suddenly, she felt awful.
Here she was, upset that one of her friends was a killer, not even thinking about Anthony's friends. He was gone. Karen could be helped, Karen could be saved, but Anthony was gone. And he'd never come back.
Brenda's heart dropped into her stomach.
This was her team, and she had to help them. That was her goal, that was her mission.
She stood up and walked over to Jhamel, trying to stare him in the eye, which was difficult considering the fact that he was taller than her. She wanted to help him, but she was clueless on how too. Brenda was never clueless. She always had some idea, some notion.
Now all she had was impulse.
She wrapped her arms around Jhamel's midsection and hugged him. It was something her mother would have done to her. "I'm sorry. I really am." She was whispering, trying to blink away the tears in her eyes.
It wasn't much, but it was all she could offer. It wouldn't be enough, she knew. But maybe it would help a little.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
Brenda’s smile faded almost as soon as April was done talking. That was not a good sign at all, and also the first warning bell that something was really wrong. But, it was better than the reaction April had expected, so she couldn’t help but feel some relief in the response. She felt silly now, for getting so worked up about what Brenda’s response would be in the first place. April stuck one of her fingers in her mouth and pressed it against the inside of her cheek, before pulling it out and wincing and pressing her tongue against it when it started to sting. She must have looked like a complete idiot, but the red drops of blood on her finger afterwards suggested that there was indeed method to her madness.
April sighed and took another bite out of her bar. Not much she could do about a cut on the inside of her mouth.
Brenda started talking again. She wasn’t fine, and it wasn’t just because she was tired. That much was easy to figure out. She tried to play it down though, which April found a little odd. Someone who April had assumed to be Brenda’s friend had either been killed, or killed someone. But she was being strong. April could respect that. She was being a strong leader, and such.
Leader. Was Brenda in charge now? That was something they would need to think about later on. If they did need a leader, though, April would be flagging Brenda for it. She just seemed so… good at it. April couldn’t put her finger on why.
Brenda changed the subject, though. April was okay with that. She wouldn’t want to talk about it either if Peter, Jeanette, or even Zach became killers. April bit her cheek again. Her mind had gone into a dark place there. None of them were becoming killers, least of which her. April repeated that in her head a few times until it sank in. It didn’t stop her worrying.
"Yeah," April said, pulling her legs back in and crossing them. "We could have. But it’s okay, I’m fine. Not sure about the others, though, they kind of…”
April trailed off into silence. Eloise, the new girl, had caught up, and dropped her sledgehammer to the ground with a dull thud. That was… kind of rude, but not on par with Ranting Dick so she let it slide. Brenda laughed. Jeanie asked the same question April had but with the tact and diplomacy of a 5 year old. Jhamel was last, and looked worst hit. He was muttering, talking to no one in particular.
Leave it to Brenda, April decided, she’s known him longer than you have.
That was the reason she tried to make herself believe. But she couldn’t. The real reason was that April wasn’t sure just what to do. What could she do? She didn’t know him, she didn’t know either of the names that had been listed off, she didn’t have any comforting advice to give, and she couldn’t even think of anything at all to say that would make anything better right now.
All April could do was sit there and be useless.
Until Brenda walked up and threw her arms around Jhamel. Then April got to her feet, quickly threw her shoes on- almost tripping over the laces as she did- and walked over to the hug in progress. Then she had an idea.
"Come on," April shook her head. "If we do this, we've got to do it right."
The small girl threw her arms around both Jhamel and Brenda, struggling to get her hands to meet around the other side.
April sighed and took another bite out of her bar. Not much she could do about a cut on the inside of her mouth.
Brenda started talking again. She wasn’t fine, and it wasn’t just because she was tired. That much was easy to figure out. She tried to play it down though, which April found a little odd. Someone who April had assumed to be Brenda’s friend had either been killed, or killed someone. But she was being strong. April could respect that. She was being a strong leader, and such.
Leader. Was Brenda in charge now? That was something they would need to think about later on. If they did need a leader, though, April would be flagging Brenda for it. She just seemed so… good at it. April couldn’t put her finger on why.
Brenda changed the subject, though. April was okay with that. She wouldn’t want to talk about it either if Peter, Jeanette, or even Zach became killers. April bit her cheek again. Her mind had gone into a dark place there. None of them were becoming killers, least of which her. April repeated that in her head a few times until it sank in. It didn’t stop her worrying.
"Yeah," April said, pulling her legs back in and crossing them. "We could have. But it’s okay, I’m fine. Not sure about the others, though, they kind of…”
April trailed off into silence. Eloise, the new girl, had caught up, and dropped her sledgehammer to the ground with a dull thud. That was… kind of rude, but not on par with Ranting Dick so she let it slide. Brenda laughed. Jeanie asked the same question April had but with the tact and diplomacy of a 5 year old. Jhamel was last, and looked worst hit. He was muttering, talking to no one in particular.
Leave it to Brenda, April decided, she’s known him longer than you have.
That was the reason she tried to make herself believe. But she couldn’t. The real reason was that April wasn’t sure just what to do. What could she do? She didn’t know him, she didn’t know either of the names that had been listed off, she didn’t have any comforting advice to give, and she couldn’t even think of anything at all to say that would make anything better right now.
All April could do was sit there and be useless.
Until Brenda walked up and threw her arms around Jhamel. Then April got to her feet, quickly threw her shoes on- almost tripping over the laces as she did- and walked over to the hug in progress. Then she had an idea.
"Come on," April shook her head. "If we do this, we've got to do it right."
The small girl threw her arms around both Jhamel and Brenda, struggling to get her hands to meet around the other side.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Macha.
In hindsight, maybe Eloise shouldn't have been surprised at the reactions to the announcement. She watched the show, she knew, the first one to die always had at least one friend, and someone almost invariably swore vengeance, or cried, or threw up, or some other over-the-top ratings-grabbing emotional outburst. It was part of the reason she'd sometimes suspected it had been a conspiracy within a conspiracy - the whole thing was scripted, more or less, and whether or not the actors actually died was something she could never decide on. It was just a pet theory, of course, not something she genuinely believed. She just hadn't expected it to happen right under her nose, she hadn't thought about the repercussions of a human being's untimely death.
Maybe she was better off that way.
Regardless, there were kind words and hugs all around, things Eloise didn't have the time or energy for. General aloof nature and lack of desire to get involved, the kind of staying power she'd developed for distance running and 3-set matches didn't quite equate to hiking across an unfamiliar island with more weight than she'd ever before needed to carry. No, that was Marine Corps grade stamina, not Eloise-grade. She was quite content to just saunter inland a short distance, far enough that sand was no longer under her feet, and lay down to rest.
She didn't plan to fall asleep, there were still important matters like keeping watch for the night, and actually comfortable flooring, to consider first. But Eloise wanted to conserve her energy, wait the emotional theatrics out, and just close her eyes for a few minutes...
[Which essentially means to say, if anyone's going to interact with Eloise, she'll wake up. If not, drift off into actual sleep. Just to be clear.]
Maybe she was better off that way.
Regardless, there were kind words and hugs all around, things Eloise didn't have the time or energy for. General aloof nature and lack of desire to get involved, the kind of staying power she'd developed for distance running and 3-set matches didn't quite equate to hiking across an unfamiliar island with more weight than she'd ever before needed to carry. No, that was Marine Corps grade stamina, not Eloise-grade. She was quite content to just saunter inland a short distance, far enough that sand was no longer under her feet, and lay down to rest.
She didn't plan to fall asleep, there were still important matters like keeping watch for the night, and actually comfortable flooring, to consider first. But Eloise wanted to conserve her energy, wait the emotional theatrics out, and just close her eyes for a few minutes...
[Which essentially means to say, if anyone's going to interact with Eloise, she'll wake up. If not, drift off into actual sleep. Just to be clear.]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. 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.
((I'm starting to get close to 10 days, and I already wrote it out, not realizing I wasn't up yet... Oh what the hell. *Shrug*))
He... He never really had to deal with anyone around him dying. That shit just didn't happen. Sure, on an intellectual level he knew it would happen the moment he joined a gang. Well, assuming he ever did. But... Still, it just didn't happen. He knew people from school died every once in a while. Shit, it was Detroit, that shit happens.
No one he ever knew though.
Anthony was a good kid. He didn't deserve this. No one deserved this shit. Especially not that dude. He was the one person who was cool with like everyone back in Detroit. He wasn't a gang banger, but still new those kids. He wasn't a nerd, but he swore he'd seen Anthony hang with them every so often too. He had no idea who this Karen bitch was, but... How could anyone want to do that to him. Of all people.
Suddenly, his thoughts were broken by a pair of arms, warmth from seemingly nowhere blocking the cool coastal breeze, body heat combining in the most unexpected of ways.
"W-Wha?"
He hadn't even realized he'd started tearing up. This was no way for a real man to act. But... It just wouldn't stop, and Brenda was just making it worse. Some would say better, since it was more healthy to let your emotions out. Jhamel wasn't that kind of pussy. But it still wouldn't stop. The words, the thoughts, the whole breakdown load of bullshit. It just wouldn't go away. No matter how hard he tried. What happened to being a hard motherfucker, not afraid to walk the streets of Detroit at night? Well, red streets anyways. He was long gone. Or buried about six feet under this emotional garbage.
"I'm sorry. I really am."
"I-It's cool... I just I mean... Anthony man. He was like e'rybody's friend back home."
Another pair of arms. Brenda's friend, something about doing this right or some kinda shit like that. He just shook his head. It didn't really matter all that much to him. His eyes closed, and the gun in his hand, cocked and locked, dropped to the sand with a soft thump. There was really nothing else he could say. Anthony was gone, and nothing he said was gonna bring him back. His mind drifted, wandered again. Who was on the island that he knew? Marcus? Devonte? Jazmine? That bitch, Mariva? They must have picked the people that they figured would draw the most viewers... Those were the folks that immediately came to mind.
They were going to die. Every single one of them was going to die, except for one. Well, not one this time. Maybe. Somewhere between one and fi- Oh shut the fuck up. He mentally berated himself. He wasn't going to let his mind wander like that, mulling over pointless shit like statistics and odds and numbers and shit.
He had a gun for a reason. Well, even if the draws really were random like everyone and their brother said, he was going to damn well make a reason that he had this Colt.
"I ain't gonna let that shit happen to no one else." Tearchoked, barely audible, but the words resonated with him. Something about them felt right. His voice was cracking, but he steeled on with a conviction. "I'm gonna find the red team. Find our homies. And I'm gonna fuck up every single last person who wants to stop me."
That's all there was to it. Jhamel wasn't gonna give up. Never gave up. He was gonna protect his crew, and fuck the producer who in his right mind thought he could stop Jhamel from picking his motherfucking crew. His motherfucking crew was the red team, the brown team, and whatever teams his friends were on. That would be one hell of a force to be reckoned with. What, 20? 25 fuckers, on a foundation of a crew who new each other like the back of their hands.
It was a mantra. Just running over and over in his mind.
"I ain't gonna let that shit happen to no one else."
"We're a team, and the hell if anyone thinks different. And I ain't gonna let anything happen to you fuckers."
He turned his head, just enough to glance the pair of girls directly in the eyes. "You feel me?"
He... He never really had to deal with anyone around him dying. That shit just didn't happen. Sure, on an intellectual level he knew it would happen the moment he joined a gang. Well, assuming he ever did. But... Still, it just didn't happen. He knew people from school died every once in a while. Shit, it was Detroit, that shit happens.
No one he ever knew though.
Anthony was a good kid. He didn't deserve this. No one deserved this shit. Especially not that dude. He was the one person who was cool with like everyone back in Detroit. He wasn't a gang banger, but still new those kids. He wasn't a nerd, but he swore he'd seen Anthony hang with them every so often too. He had no idea who this Karen bitch was, but... How could anyone want to do that to him. Of all people.
Suddenly, his thoughts were broken by a pair of arms, warmth from seemingly nowhere blocking the cool coastal breeze, body heat combining in the most unexpected of ways.
"W-Wha?"
He hadn't even realized he'd started tearing up. This was no way for a real man to act. But... It just wouldn't stop, and Brenda was just making it worse. Some would say better, since it was more healthy to let your emotions out. Jhamel wasn't that kind of pussy. But it still wouldn't stop. The words, the thoughts, the whole breakdown load of bullshit. It just wouldn't go away. No matter how hard he tried. What happened to being a hard motherfucker, not afraid to walk the streets of Detroit at night? Well, red streets anyways. He was long gone. Or buried about six feet under this emotional garbage.
"I'm sorry. I really am."
"I-It's cool... I just I mean... Anthony man. He was like e'rybody's friend back home."
Another pair of arms. Brenda's friend, something about doing this right or some kinda shit like that. He just shook his head. It didn't really matter all that much to him. His eyes closed, and the gun in his hand, cocked and locked, dropped to the sand with a soft thump. There was really nothing else he could say. Anthony was gone, and nothing he said was gonna bring him back. His mind drifted, wandered again. Who was on the island that he knew? Marcus? Devonte? Jazmine? That bitch, Mariva? They must have picked the people that they figured would draw the most viewers... Those were the folks that immediately came to mind.
They were going to die. Every single one of them was going to die, except for one. Well, not one this time. Maybe. Somewhere between one and fi- Oh shut the fuck up. He mentally berated himself. He wasn't going to let his mind wander like that, mulling over pointless shit like statistics and odds and numbers and shit.
He had a gun for a reason. Well, even if the draws really were random like everyone and their brother said, he was going to damn well make a reason that he had this Colt.
"I ain't gonna let that shit happen to no one else." Tearchoked, barely audible, but the words resonated with him. Something about them felt right. His voice was cracking, but he steeled on with a conviction. "I'm gonna find the red team. Find our homies. And I'm gonna fuck up every single last person who wants to stop me."
That's all there was to it. Jhamel wasn't gonna give up. Never gave up. He was gonna protect his crew, and fuck the producer who in his right mind thought he could stop Jhamel from picking his motherfucking crew. His motherfucking crew was the red team, the brown team, and whatever teams his friends were on. That would be one hell of a force to be reckoned with. What, 20? 25 fuckers, on a foundation of a crew who new each other like the back of their hands.
It was a mantra. Just running over and over in his mind.
"I ain't gonna let that shit happen to no one else."
"We're a team, and the hell if anyone thinks different. And I ain't gonna let anything happen to you fuckers."
He turned his head, just enough to glance the pair of girls directly in the eyes. "You feel me?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 375
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
(( Zachariah Johnston continued from ...A Psycopath ))
Zach ran. The branches cut horrible gashes in his face, the fresh blood oozing out, joining the rest of the blood that coated him like a gorey costume from some little kids nightmare. He ignored it, and, eventually, the branches stopped cutting him, and eventually stopped existing as he ran through the plains, and onto the sands.
He kept running. He wasn't even sure what he was running from now. He was just running to run, so he wouldn't have to think. His legs were on fire, his lungs were shrivelled raisins, every pace was agony, but he still ran.
He ran until he couldn't run anymore. He came to a stop in the way a plane "lands" during a crash landing. It would've looked comical, like a slow motion collapse, a controlled demolition of what felt like a solid hours running.
He lay there for a few moments, sprawled in the mud.
He crawled into a seated position, hugged his knees against his chest, buried his head in the gap, and cried.
He cried. He sobbed, the rage, the love, the lust, the envy, the shock, the hate, the sadness, the feeling of rejection, the fear, the frustration, the confusion, the self loathing; all of the negative emotions under the sun, expressed in twin streaks of salty water, cutting two perfect, parallel lines through the grime and dried blood.
Eventually, the tears stopped, but he was still shaking, still trying to cry, but there was nothing left. Eventually the emotions burned on one another and then there was nothing. Nothing, but a feeling of emptiness, a feeling of being half full, incomplete. And somehow it hurt more than anything else.
He slammed his fist into the ground.
He was going to shout at the camera that sat beside him, but, why bother?
It wasn't like anyone cared about him. Noone liked him. Noone had, or would. He was unloved, unlovable.
So, he drew the hand lethargically back into himself, and hugged tighter.
Then, a little shadow, through the bushes. He froze, going silent.
He hiccuped.
Shit.
He tensed.
The shadow went away.
Thank god.
He moved forward, peering through the leaves and twigs and thorns. There they were. A little group. Their faces were fuzzy, too distant to make out. He cursed his sub par eyesight.
He tried to call to them, but his voice wasn't working. All that came out was another strangled sob. And another hiccup. Maybe that was for the best. It wasn't like they'd like him, or, hopefully, even know him. He dreaded that he'd see another of his friends here. Jeanette, Mad... April? Was April a friend? He wasn't sure. Hed said Hi at school to her after his first and only attempt at flirting had ended in what could only be called a catastrophe, but he hoped she wasn't on the island any ways.
He stood up, another strangled sob rose from his throat.
He thought about turning, running again. But, he was so tired. He'd just stay here, watch them. Hopefully he'd remember what happiness was somewhere along the way
Zach ran. The branches cut horrible gashes in his face, the fresh blood oozing out, joining the rest of the blood that coated him like a gorey costume from some little kids nightmare. He ignored it, and, eventually, the branches stopped cutting him, and eventually stopped existing as he ran through the plains, and onto the sands.
He kept running. He wasn't even sure what he was running from now. He was just running to run, so he wouldn't have to think. His legs were on fire, his lungs were shrivelled raisins, every pace was agony, but he still ran.
He ran until he couldn't run anymore. He came to a stop in the way a plane "lands" during a crash landing. It would've looked comical, like a slow motion collapse, a controlled demolition of what felt like a solid hours running.
He lay there for a few moments, sprawled in the mud.
He crawled into a seated position, hugged his knees against his chest, buried his head in the gap, and cried.
He cried. He sobbed, the rage, the love, the lust, the envy, the shock, the hate, the sadness, the feeling of rejection, the fear, the frustration, the confusion, the self loathing; all of the negative emotions under the sun, expressed in twin streaks of salty water, cutting two perfect, parallel lines through the grime and dried blood.
Eventually, the tears stopped, but he was still shaking, still trying to cry, but there was nothing left. Eventually the emotions burned on one another and then there was nothing. Nothing, but a feeling of emptiness, a feeling of being half full, incomplete. And somehow it hurt more than anything else.
He slammed his fist into the ground.
He was going to shout at the camera that sat beside him, but, why bother?
It wasn't like anyone cared about him. Noone liked him. Noone had, or would. He was unloved, unlovable.
So, he drew the hand lethargically back into himself, and hugged tighter.
Then, a little shadow, through the bushes. He froze, going silent.
He hiccuped.
Shit.
He tensed.
The shadow went away.
Thank god.
He moved forward, peering through the leaves and twigs and thorns. There they were. A little group. Their faces were fuzzy, too distant to make out. He cursed his sub par eyesight.
He tried to call to them, but his voice wasn't working. All that came out was another strangled sob. And another hiccup. Maybe that was for the best. It wasn't like they'd like him, or, hopefully, even know him. He dreaded that he'd see another of his friends here. Jeanette, Mad... April? Was April a friend? He wasn't sure. Hed said Hi at school to her after his first and only attempt at flirting had ended in what could only be called a catastrophe, but he hoped she wasn't on the island any ways.
He stood up, another strangled sob rose from his throat.
He thought about turning, running again. But, he was so tired. He'd just stay here, watch them. Hopefully he'd remember what happiness was somewhere along the way
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
A voice echoes from Jhamel's and Jeanette's collars...
"Listen up, kids. You've got it pretty rough here, but if you work together you can make it out of this in one piece. You need discipline, planning, and action. I hope you'll take that into account. Also, remember, alliances of convenience are fine, but at the end of the day you have to look out for your own above all else."
"Listen up, kids. You've got it pretty rough here, but if you work together you can make it out of this in one piece. You need discipline, planning, and action. I hope you'll take that into account. Also, remember, alliances of convenience are fine, but at the end of the day you have to look out for your own above all else."
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Carrion Queen
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 6:35 am
Brenda was visibly upset. Jeanette bit her lip and looked at the girl. She had something on her mind and she had the tact of an elephant on roller skates when she wanted something done right away.
"April and I are just gonna give you two some space a sec, okay?" she said smiling and pulled April to the side while Brenda hugged Jhamel.
"Listen," she whispered. "Ten kills and you get a free pass off, right? I've seen the show before. I want off and I'll do what I have to," she said tapping the knife stashed in her hula skirt. "You don't have to go with me, but I'm letting you know what I'm doing. Got it, April showers?"
Suddenly a voice came out of her neck. She raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes.
"Shut the fuck up, neck."
She turned towards Jhamel. Seemed he was having some sort of freak out and said something about the red team.
"Sorry, back now. We were talking about periods and girl stuff."
"April and I are just gonna give you two some space a sec, okay?" she said smiling and pulled April to the side while Brenda hugged Jhamel.
"Listen," she whispered. "Ten kills and you get a free pass off, right? I've seen the show before. I want off and I'll do what I have to," she said tapping the knife stashed in her hula skirt. "You don't have to go with me, but I'm letting you know what I'm doing. Got it, April showers?"
Suddenly a voice came out of her neck. She raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes.
"Shut the fuck up, neck."
She turned towards Jhamel. Seemed he was having some sort of freak out and said something about the red team.
"Sorry, back now. We were talking about periods and girl stuff."
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Brenda laughed out loud when April joined the hug. Somehow they'd managed to have a touching moment in the middle of hell. She removed her arms from around Jhamel, smiling at him. "I understand. We're not normal but..."
She looked around at the group, April and Jeanette talking to the side, Eloise asleep on the sand, and her and Jhamel in the center.
"But normal's a bit overrated, I guess."
She wasn't expecting a voice to come from Jhamel's neck, and took a step back when it happened. Alliances of convenience didn't matter in the end.
In other words, he was being told to kill Brenda, Eloise, and April.
Brenda pursed her lips. "At the end of the day, it's your choice. Not the voice in your neck's."
But it's right, isn't it? Some of you have to die. Only one team makes it off.
Brenda knew she wasn't going to kill these people, but they still had their own free will. "Either way, I won't judge you." She patted Jhamel's arm, smiling broadly as she turned away from him and back towards the others.
"So," she said, clapping her hands together, "dinner and bed? I don't even know what they gave us to eat, to be honest." She reached into her bag, pulling out some food.
The bikini top fell out. Brenda frowned at it, blushing slightly, before shoving it back into her bag, hoping no one noticed.
"I guess we could make jerky sandwiches?"
She looked around at the group, April and Jeanette talking to the side, Eloise asleep on the sand, and her and Jhamel in the center.
"But normal's a bit overrated, I guess."
She wasn't expecting a voice to come from Jhamel's neck, and took a step back when it happened. Alliances of convenience didn't matter in the end.
In other words, he was being told to kill Brenda, Eloise, and April.
Brenda pursed her lips. "At the end of the day, it's your choice. Not the voice in your neck's."
But it's right, isn't it? Some of you have to die. Only one team makes it off.
Brenda knew she wasn't going to kill these people, but they still had their own free will. "Either way, I won't judge you." She patted Jhamel's arm, smiling broadly as she turned away from him and back towards the others.
"So," she said, clapping her hands together, "dinner and bed? I don't even know what they gave us to eat, to be honest." She reached into her bag, pulling out some food.
The bikini top fell out. Brenda frowned at it, blushing slightly, before shoving it back into her bag, hoping no one noticed.
"I guess we could make jerky sandwiches?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
“I feel you, Jhamel.” April spoke the words, and she believed them. Shockingly, the team was working after all. Jhamel was determined, driven to making sure nothing happened to them, and April was willing to pay anyone on her team back in kind. For a group of people who, two days ago, would never have looked twice if they saw each other in the street, they were doing alright for themselves.
Her fingers were prised apart as April was torn away from the group- from the first moment of teamwork and camaraderie they’d really experienced- by Jeanette, who had something to ask of April.
Normally, this wouldn’t have been much of an issue; Jeanie trusted April with her problems much as April trusted Jeanie with her own. The problem was something April couldn’t help with, though. But April could doubt Jeanie’s solution.
She listened intently, trying to process Jeanette’s words and their implications for herself. There was an old loophole, a footnote rarely seen in the seasons April had watched but nevertheless there, allowing players who had killed 10 or more to go home.
April looked down at the checked bandanna tightly tied around her leg. That made her the opposition, if Jeanie was now playing to win. If she was now taking the selfish option and killing her way out. Normally, the thought of her best friend killing her wouldn’t have crossed her mind, but the fact that Jeanette had even considered killing her way out had planted the seed of doubt into April’s already fragile mind. Again, April hoped that Peter was okay, and not going crazy away from them. If Jeanie was like this with her best friend, April didn’t want to think of the possibilities for how Peter was thinking without them.
Finally, after she had regained her composure, she spoke, her own voice a whisper, but much harsher than Jeanette’s.
“Jeanie, No.” She paused and shook her head. The inside of her cheek started stinging again. “I won’t let you do this. We have to stick together, find Peter, and get off of the island.”
She wasn’t lying, either. April wasn’t strong, or tough, but she would have smacked some sense into Jeanette if that was what it would take for her not to leave. She curled her fists and everything, before the interruption from a metallic voice in Jeanie’s- and probably, Jhamel’s - collar threw everything out of focus. It told her to look out for herself, not her ‘allies of convenience.’ She should have gotten mad. Here there was, some voice telling her best friend what to do. A voice that had probably, over the course of the day, tricked her into thinking that she should kill people, get out the selfish way. April tried to stay composed, though. She tried to keep the thoughts of doubt from creeping into her head, tried to stop herself screaming in Jeanette’s face, and tried not to develop an intense hatred for the man just sat there, at his computer, analysing little dots on a TV screen, telling people to betray their friends while they were down here, scared crapless. She couldn’t manage that last one, looking at the girl who had just threatened to kill ten people.
She’s my best friend, you asshole.
Jeanette was a slut, a bitch, irresponsible as all hell, drunk half the time, and generally a horrible person, but she was April’s best friend and up until she’d pulled her over, April was going to stick by her no matter what, but this just didn’t fly. April just hoped Jeanie would reconsider, though she knew the chances of that were slim.
April wiped the beginnings of tears from her eyes with her wrist and just looked at Jeanette, shaking her head. She reiterated that she wouldn’t let Jeanie do what she was planning, but the words sounded hollow, even to her. Hollow, empty threats, when Jeanette’s mind was set and there was nothing she could do about it.
They had taken too long away from the group. April was worried, for a moment, that they would think that April and Jeanette were conspiring against them, so she suggested they move back. Jeanette was already halfway back to the group when she finished.
For now, April too returned to the group, a weak, fake smile plastered on her face, and her hands still curled into fists as Jeanette cracked another joke, trying to play down what she had just said to April. Fine. If Jeanette wanted to be that way, April would let her. It killed her, but she didn’t think she had it in her to stop Jeanette now. Stopping Jeanette from anything was a task once she had her mind set on it, and April knew that she couldn’t this time.
There was nothing she could do any more but hope that whatever she did, she’d be okay, and that Peter would be okay.
“Dinner sounds good.” April had already looked through her food, though the contents of the rest of her bag were still a mystery to her. To be honest, she really didn’t want to find out. Brenda pulled out her own food, pulling out a bikini top in the process. April bit her tongue to stop a real smile at how embarrassed Brenda got at that.
“Brenda, it’s a bikini. Not the end of the world.” She spoke quietly, but she was fairly sure Brenda heard her, so she quickly moved on. Everyone still had their own food, which was good, since if they just pooled their resources April figured they would last much longer.
“…um, No. Not jerky,” April felt that she had to point this out, mentally checking over the list of stuff she remembered she didn’t eat. She had to go and make things difficult, didn’t she? Now they were going to think of her as the frail vegan girl. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. But she couldn’t risk getting sick. Not here. “I’m a vegan; I’ve got a weak immune system. Sorry.”
Her fingers were prised apart as April was torn away from the group- from the first moment of teamwork and camaraderie they’d really experienced- by Jeanette, who had something to ask of April.
Normally, this wouldn’t have been much of an issue; Jeanie trusted April with her problems much as April trusted Jeanie with her own. The problem was something April couldn’t help with, though. But April could doubt Jeanie’s solution.
She listened intently, trying to process Jeanette’s words and their implications for herself. There was an old loophole, a footnote rarely seen in the seasons April had watched but nevertheless there, allowing players who had killed 10 or more to go home.
April looked down at the checked bandanna tightly tied around her leg. That made her the opposition, if Jeanie was now playing to win. If she was now taking the selfish option and killing her way out. Normally, the thought of her best friend killing her wouldn’t have crossed her mind, but the fact that Jeanette had even considered killing her way out had planted the seed of doubt into April’s already fragile mind. Again, April hoped that Peter was okay, and not going crazy away from them. If Jeanie was like this with her best friend, April didn’t want to think of the possibilities for how Peter was thinking without them.
Finally, after she had regained her composure, she spoke, her own voice a whisper, but much harsher than Jeanette’s.
“Jeanie, No.” She paused and shook her head. The inside of her cheek started stinging again. “I won’t let you do this. We have to stick together, find Peter, and get off of the island.”
She wasn’t lying, either. April wasn’t strong, or tough, but she would have smacked some sense into Jeanette if that was what it would take for her not to leave. She curled her fists and everything, before the interruption from a metallic voice in Jeanie’s- and probably, Jhamel’s - collar threw everything out of focus. It told her to look out for herself, not her ‘allies of convenience.’ She should have gotten mad. Here there was, some voice telling her best friend what to do. A voice that had probably, over the course of the day, tricked her into thinking that she should kill people, get out the selfish way. April tried to stay composed, though. She tried to keep the thoughts of doubt from creeping into her head, tried to stop herself screaming in Jeanette’s face, and tried not to develop an intense hatred for the man just sat there, at his computer, analysing little dots on a TV screen, telling people to betray their friends while they were down here, scared crapless. She couldn’t manage that last one, looking at the girl who had just threatened to kill ten people.
She’s my best friend, you asshole.
Jeanette was a slut, a bitch, irresponsible as all hell, drunk half the time, and generally a horrible person, but she was April’s best friend and up until she’d pulled her over, April was going to stick by her no matter what, but this just didn’t fly. April just hoped Jeanie would reconsider, though she knew the chances of that were slim.
April wiped the beginnings of tears from her eyes with her wrist and just looked at Jeanette, shaking her head. She reiterated that she wouldn’t let Jeanie do what she was planning, but the words sounded hollow, even to her. Hollow, empty threats, when Jeanette’s mind was set and there was nothing she could do about it.
They had taken too long away from the group. April was worried, for a moment, that they would think that April and Jeanette were conspiring against them, so she suggested they move back. Jeanette was already halfway back to the group when she finished.
For now, April too returned to the group, a weak, fake smile plastered on her face, and her hands still curled into fists as Jeanette cracked another joke, trying to play down what she had just said to April. Fine. If Jeanette wanted to be that way, April would let her. It killed her, but she didn’t think she had it in her to stop Jeanette now. Stopping Jeanette from anything was a task once she had her mind set on it, and April knew that she couldn’t this time.
There was nothing she could do any more but hope that whatever she did, she’d be okay, and that Peter would be okay.
“Dinner sounds good.” April had already looked through her food, though the contents of the rest of her bag were still a mystery to her. To be honest, she really didn’t want to find out. Brenda pulled out her own food, pulling out a bikini top in the process. April bit her tongue to stop a real smile at how embarrassed Brenda got at that.
“Brenda, it’s a bikini. Not the end of the world.” She spoke quietly, but she was fairly sure Brenda heard her, so she quickly moved on. Everyone still had their own food, which was good, since if they just pooled their resources April figured they would last much longer.
“…um, No. Not jerky,” April felt that she had to point this out, mentally checking over the list of stuff she remembered she didn’t eat. She had to go and make things difficult, didn’t she? Now they were going to think of her as the frail vegan girl. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. But she couldn’t risk getting sick. Not here. “I’m a vegan; I’ve got a weak immune system. Sorry.”
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Macha.
Listening to the emotional theatrics of people acting as though they'd seen their best friend murdered before their eyes was tiresome enough, sure, and Eloise certainly wanted to get to sleep and block it out, sure, but for whatever reason, that sweet temporary oblivion wouldn't come. For a while, she wondered if it was her conscience, refusing to give her what she wanted until she synthesised some sympathy for her companions who had, after all, either lost a friend or discovered that a friend was now a killer. But she dismissed that thought, there wasn't any place for conscience or sympathy here or now. If watching SotF for almost as long as she could remember hadn't hardened Eloise's heart to the very real atrocities committed on it, she didn't know what would.
Still, there was something in some corner of her mind, not giving up on its insistence that she should feel something for Jhamel et al.
Regardless of all of that, though, was the fact that she somehow couldn't sleep. Her body cried out for rest, complaining at any movement beyond fidgeting, and yet her mind refused to shut off for the time being. So she ignored the vehement complaints from her body and got up, electing to leave her hammer where it was, and wandered a short distance further inland, rubbing her eyes.
She heard a strange noise, almost like a hiccup, but surely it couldn't be something so banal. It wasn't repeated, so Eloise assumed it was some kind of wildlife, probably running away from her footsteps, and continued her on her aimless path, the darkness and her fatigue rendering her entirely unaware of Zachariah's presence a few metres away.
Finally, when her legs would have no more of the movement, she came to a stop, sighing quite loudly. "What happened, El?" she murmured to herself, barely realising it was out loud, "Why am I playing the loner?"
No answer was forthcoming, unsurprisingly. She sat down, her back against a tree, and closed her eyes again. It'd just be for a minute, then she'd head back and find the others, rest easy amongst friendly company. Yeah. Eloise's head nodded forwards, she didn't even want to use the energy to hold it up. "What am I doing here?"
Still, there was something in some corner of her mind, not giving up on its insistence that she should feel something for Jhamel et al.
Regardless of all of that, though, was the fact that she somehow couldn't sleep. Her body cried out for rest, complaining at any movement beyond fidgeting, and yet her mind refused to shut off for the time being. So she ignored the vehement complaints from her body and got up, electing to leave her hammer where it was, and wandered a short distance further inland, rubbing her eyes.
She heard a strange noise, almost like a hiccup, but surely it couldn't be something so banal. It wasn't repeated, so Eloise assumed it was some kind of wildlife, probably running away from her footsteps, and continued her on her aimless path, the darkness and her fatigue rendering her entirely unaware of Zachariah's presence a few metres away.
Finally, when her legs would have no more of the movement, she came to a stop, sighing quite loudly. "What happened, El?" she murmured to herself, barely realising it was out loud, "Why am I playing the loner?"
No answer was forthcoming, unsurprisingly. She sat down, her back against a tree, and closed her eyes again. It'd just be for a minute, then she'd head back and find the others, rest easy amongst friendly company. Yeah. Eloise's head nodded forwards, she didn't even want to use the energy to hold it up. "What am I doing here?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. 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.