((Emma Babineaux continued from Where the Sinners Gather))
The entire earth was spread out before her. It made for such a serene landscape, the clouds gently rolling under the huge expanse of clear blue sky. Unlike most people she knew, Emma absolutely loved heights. The feeling of being able to see everything beneath her, surveying it like a kingdom, the thrill of being able to fall at any moment, it was absolutely amazing. Bridget, on the other hand, was not quite as fond of the idea of being thousands of feet in the air. She had insisted that Emma take the window seat when they boarded the plane, and kept her gaze anywhere but outside. Even as she talked to Emma, she was careful not to let her eyes stray to the window.
"I still can't believe Ellen missed that serve," she was saying to Emma, "I mean, I know her wrist just healed and everything, but... I'm pretty sure we would've won that last game if she'd just gotten that ONE hit..."
"Aw, give her a break. Who cares if we won or lost? I still can't believe we got to visit France. Honestly, I'd be happy if we lost before we made it to the finals, it was worth it to have come here. It's so beautiful..."
Bridget laughed, shaking a few dark curls out of her eyes before continuing. "That's just like you, Emma, to be obsessed with something as unimportant as the scenery when our team's dignity is at stake. I mean, so much for The Amazing Southridge All-Girl Volleyball Team's unbreakable winning streak."
Emma laughed as well before responding, "What, and you were so focused on the game that you completely missed all of the gorgeous sights? Come on, you know you loved that trip." At this, Bridget rolled her eyes. "All right, all right... I have to admit, France isn't bad."
"'Isn't bad'? You took all those amazing pictures and that's all you've got say about it?" Emma laughed, "You have to show those to Ms. Brigmann when we get back, those are going to look great in your portfolio."
Bridget's smile began to falter when Emma said this. She always seemed so sad whenever her college portfolio was brought up. This was Bridget's last year at Southridge – she would be attending Southridge University, which was a few hours away from the town, and dorming there. It would be the first time since Emma could remember that the two girls would be attending different schools. Every time Emma asked her if she was looking forward to majoring in photography there, Bridget always gave her a half-hearted answer - Emma never really understood why it had to be such a sad affair. "Aw, don't be like that," she told Bridget, "come on, I only graduate one year after you. Papa works there, he can keep you updated on how I'm doing, and you know we'll see each other on breaks and holidays, and I'll apply to the University next year and then when I graduate, we can both go there together. We're still going to be best friends. One year isn't going to change that."
"I hope you're right..." Bridget said quietly, apparently lost in thought. Emma responded with another smile, and began fumbling around in the backpack she had brought along for the trip. She hastily took out a pair of knitting needles followed by a large ball of red yarn. "Hey, you know I almost finished your hat," she said to Bridget in an attempt to lighten the mood, "it'll probably be done before the flight's over..."
"Emma," Bridget interrupted, "how would you like to live here with me? In France?" Emma laughed, figuring she must be joking. "I bet Maman would be excited that I'm spending time in 'the mother country' or whatever. We'd probably have to stop her from trying to move in with us, too."
"I'm serious," Bridget continued, becoming more and more excited, "I've looked into it... Southridge U's got a pretty big study abroad program. You've got family there. We could rent an apartment together after next year, once you've graduated, too."
Emma was stunned, not to mention touched, that Bridget would suggest this. Living in Europe with her best friend, away from her parents, was the kind of thing she'd only fantasized about, but hearing her say it out loud almost made it seem like it was already happening. Quickly abandoning her knitting, she leaned over and gave Bridget the tightest hug she could muster. "Let's do it," she said simply. Bridget returned the embrace, keeping as close of a hold on her friend as she could. "The only problem," she said quietly in Emma's ear, "is where to come up with the money for it."
Emma chuckled once again. "I wasn't kidding when I said that Maman would love it if I came back to France. She was doing cartwheels when she found out the team was playing here, she'd probably pay for the plane tickets, at least."
"But what about rent? Food? We're going to need a LOT of backup money before we can get jobs there," Bridget said, breaking the embrace and looking at her friend seriously. Emma's frowned, her fantasy slightly deflated. Wrapped up in the thought of living with her best friend, she hadn't considered how expensive living independently could be. She doubted her mother would be THAT generous with money... "Well... I mean, where could I work to start saving up?" she asked, more to herself than anyone else.
Bridget grinned slightly deviously. "Well... What if I told you I had another way for us to see each other while I'm at college?" Emma simply stared, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
"You turn eighteen in December, right? ...You ever considered nude modeling?"
~
Emma didn't stop running after she heard the beeping of her collar die down. It wasn't until the adrenaline finally began to wear off that she found herself slowing to a halt, her legs practically giving way beneath her as she slumped to her knees once again. Breathing heavily, her heart pounding, she silently thanked her coach for the vigorous training she had been put through on the volleyball team - tired as she was now, her legs had carried her far. She looked up to survey her surroundings and found that she was once again sitting at the edge of the jungle near another run-down building. She noticed that once again, there were a few bodies sprawled on the ground near the entrance, but she was able to push the thought from her mind, albeit with a shudder. No need to take a closer look at those...
Feeling her breath come back to her somewhat, Emma stood up again, and took a moment to assess her situation. She had just escaped a Danger Zone, shortly before getting into what could've been a fatal encounter. Hell, she could still be in that fatal encounter - in her panic, she hadn't bothered to check if either Shameeca or Renee had run off in the same direction she had.
The terror from having heard Danya's list of the dead still fresh in her mind, Emma once again drew the sword from her daypack. Just in case.
A Short History of Almost Something
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A Short History of Almost Something
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((Continued from Where The Sinners Gather))
The panic in her head that made the black girl run like an animal away from her temporary shelter had died along with the beep and the rush of emotion had somewhat cleared her head. Shameeca was clearminded again, enough to realise that Renee would probably be after the red-headed girl that she had recently met. Players always targeted the weak and when she had bolted, it was a clear sign that Emma hadn't yet gained that hard skin needed to stay alive. Show your back and they would find a way to put a bullet or blade in it. Well, Shameeca refused to let her die in that way and so had come to find her. Luckily, she had stumbled, as if almost by accident onto the showers when she was trying to remember which areas where safe and what wasn't.
Entering through the door, Shameeca raised her gun, the barrell pointing straight ahead, just in case there was anyone in here that would try and fight her. It was an almost dead end, only one way in, sparesly filled with a few items such as showers, sinks, taps, and toilets. Maybe when whoever had lived here before, this had been where they all had washed before they went off to fight or whatever they did. Maybe this had even been the terrorists training camp, although from what he sounded like, Danya probably hadn't settled for accomodation like this. But in the room, there was one certain thing that Shameeca was interested in: Emma.
"Emma, its me, Shamee. I'm comin in, so don't get freaked out or nothing. I don't think that Renee is after you no more, she seemed to vanish a lil' while after she started after ya" she said loudly enough so the red-head would hear her and entered the small building, her rifle raised upwards and away from the other girl, who seemed to be holding some sort of sword. Well, at least she was armed enough to fight, so if they did make a sort of alliance, then they could at least help each other out. With her wrench, gun and the other weapon that she was still slightly embarrased over, Shamee was sure that she could take on a fair few people. Neither of the pair was injured more than superficial wounds and Emma seemed healthy enough.
"You cool girl? I am not a player, so I ain't gonna hurt you, ok"
The panic in her head that made the black girl run like an animal away from her temporary shelter had died along with the beep and the rush of emotion had somewhat cleared her head. Shameeca was clearminded again, enough to realise that Renee would probably be after the red-headed girl that she had recently met. Players always targeted the weak and when she had bolted, it was a clear sign that Emma hadn't yet gained that hard skin needed to stay alive. Show your back and they would find a way to put a bullet or blade in it. Well, Shameeca refused to let her die in that way and so had come to find her. Luckily, she had stumbled, as if almost by accident onto the showers when she was trying to remember which areas where safe and what wasn't.
Entering through the door, Shameeca raised her gun, the barrell pointing straight ahead, just in case there was anyone in here that would try and fight her. It was an almost dead end, only one way in, sparesly filled with a few items such as showers, sinks, taps, and toilets. Maybe when whoever had lived here before, this had been where they all had washed before they went off to fight or whatever they did. Maybe this had even been the terrorists training camp, although from what he sounded like, Danya probably hadn't settled for accomodation like this. But in the room, there was one certain thing that Shameeca was interested in: Emma.
"Emma, its me, Shamee. I'm comin in, so don't get freaked out or nothing. I don't think that Renee is after you no more, she seemed to vanish a lil' while after she started after ya" she said loudly enough so the red-head would hear her and entered the small building, her rifle raised upwards and away from the other girl, who seemed to be holding some sort of sword. Well, at least she was armed enough to fight, so if they did make a sort of alliance, then they could at least help each other out. With her wrench, gun and the other weapon that she was still slightly embarrased over, Shamee was sure that she could take on a fair few people. Neither of the pair was injured more than superficial wounds and Emma seemed healthy enough.
"You cool girl? I am not a player, so I ain't gonna hurt you, ok"
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((Continued from Grosse))
For all of the philosophizing that Ryan Atwell could have done about his time during Survival of the Fittest, the one thing that kept sticking in his mind was how damn lucky that he'd been. The fact that it'd been almost a week that him and his peers had been fighting for their lives, and he'd neither been shot at, nor had to shoot back at anyone was something that could barely be seen as nothing short of a miracle. Not to mention the fact that he'd been assigned what was perhaps the best weapon around to start things off, and he should have been feeling like he was on top of the world.
Unfortunately, it was more a quiet sense of loss, and disbelief, coupled with the fact that he truly believed himself to be amongst those who were blessed with an inordinate amount of luck.
Unlike so many of the others, he still had his life, and he still had his health. He wasn't bleeding, nor was he cursed with some sort of grout or disease. No, all things considered, he was doing pretty well. Notwithstanding the general sense of fatigue that he was certain everyone was probably feeling right now, he could almost have closed his eyes and imagined that he were back tree-planting in northern British Columbia.
Unfortunately, the cold grasp of the assault rifle that he carried would throw him right back to reality the second that he'd drift out of it. That, coupled with the feeling of the collar around his neck lent a certain amount of gravity to his situation.
And even still, he knew that he was lucky.
Ever since the last announcement, Ryan had been wandering around in a bit of a daze. It seemed that pretty much everybody with whom he'd associated with at school, or gotten along with - or hell, even seen while here in Survival of the Fittest; were all dead. Everyone from Dean Portman, with whom he'd seperated with early on during the game after they'd been attacked, and Adam Dodd, the tortured-looking former winner of this game who wandered around looking like he was going to reach out and strangle someone - or himself. Somehow, they and many more had managed to find themselves killed, and now Ryan felt as though he were truly alone. He'd been travelling by himself for the vast majority of the time, but he'd always been looking. Looking for friends, for people to trust.
Now? The game was winding down, and Ryan knew that it was only going to become more difficult as those remaining would be battle-hardened and used to killing. Much unlike himself.
As he'd wandered along a path through the jungle, moving quickly and quietly through the brush, his mind thought back to Dodd and the conversation that they'd had. Ryan had tried to open his eyes to the fact that he was alive, and he needed to embrace that fact. It had seemed to work...but what was it all for? It sadly seemed a bit wasteful. He'd had such a turnaround, and then died...so why had Ryan even bothered? Someone like Dodd was bound to get themselves killed sooner or later, so it had been a waste of energy on his behalf, right?
Unless I was trying to convince myself, along with him. The second that I let myself turn into a cynical guy, then I become exactly like Dodd was. Pissed off, mad at the world...man, I thought that I had problems before! How about now? I'd say that this trumps anything that I'd even dreamed of from before.
"How about now, eh Ryan?"
Mumbling to himself as he followed the path, he moved until he came to a bit of an opening in the path, where a small structure seemed to stand ominously in his way. Stopping for a moment at the sight of it, Ryan was reminded that he HAD indeed been shot at once, but it'd happened so long ago that he'd managed to put it out of his mind - hence having forgotten it before.
I probably wouldn't have forgotten it so easily had it managed to hit me, now would I?
Dismissing the thought, his eyes now focused in upon what looked to be a lone figure, approaching the structure and calling something out at it, before she entered in the front door. He was torn. Thanks to his extensive dealings with pretty much everybody in school while on the student council, he was familiar with a large amount of the student body - if not close with few of them. Instead, it was mostly acquaintances, but this girl was one that he knew immediately. There weren't a lot of black girls in Southridge, but most of the others who'd been on the trip were deceased, and so it was fairly simple to pick Shameeca Mitchell out of a crowd. Ryan didn't recall seeing her name on the announcements as having killed anyone, but the gun that she carried meant that there was undoubtedly a threat there.
Mentally, he wracked his brain. Did he go in and reach out to one of the only other human beings that he saw who seemed to be mentally balanced? Or just continue on and forget that he'd seen anyone? Perhaps it was the lonliness, or perhaps it was the fact that the rest of his friends - the ones on the student council, were pretty much all dead, but Ryan decided that he had to chance it. He recalled speaking with Shameeca once before, when she was trying to organize funding for some sort of bake sale around school. She'd been fairly new at school, but if nothing else, she had spirit. Ryan could appreciate that, and hoped that it hadn't been tempered by what she'd experienced upon the island.
Perhaps more appropriately, he hoped that she wouldn't take one look at him and start shooting.
Carefully, Ryan made his way over towards the entrance to the building. Holding the assault rifle in as non-threatening a way as he could, but still keeping it at the ready in case any bullets came whizzing his way, Ryan called out to Shameeca inside of the facility (which appeared to be that of a bathroom).
"Hello? Anybody in there? It's Ryan Atwell, and I'm not a killer. I'm just...I'm just looking around. Are there any friendly faces in there?"
Pensively, Ryan waited for a response. His heart raced; this was the closest he'd gotten thusfar to being shot at - and he still hadn't the faintest idea if he would, or not.
For all of the philosophizing that Ryan Atwell could have done about his time during Survival of the Fittest, the one thing that kept sticking in his mind was how damn lucky that he'd been. The fact that it'd been almost a week that him and his peers had been fighting for their lives, and he'd neither been shot at, nor had to shoot back at anyone was something that could barely be seen as nothing short of a miracle. Not to mention the fact that he'd been assigned what was perhaps the best weapon around to start things off, and he should have been feeling like he was on top of the world.
Unfortunately, it was more a quiet sense of loss, and disbelief, coupled with the fact that he truly believed himself to be amongst those who were blessed with an inordinate amount of luck.
Unlike so many of the others, he still had his life, and he still had his health. He wasn't bleeding, nor was he cursed with some sort of grout or disease. No, all things considered, he was doing pretty well. Notwithstanding the general sense of fatigue that he was certain everyone was probably feeling right now, he could almost have closed his eyes and imagined that he were back tree-planting in northern British Columbia.
Unfortunately, the cold grasp of the assault rifle that he carried would throw him right back to reality the second that he'd drift out of it. That, coupled with the feeling of the collar around his neck lent a certain amount of gravity to his situation.
And even still, he knew that he was lucky.
Ever since the last announcement, Ryan had been wandering around in a bit of a daze. It seemed that pretty much everybody with whom he'd associated with at school, or gotten along with - or hell, even seen while here in Survival of the Fittest; were all dead. Everyone from Dean Portman, with whom he'd seperated with early on during the game after they'd been attacked, and Adam Dodd, the tortured-looking former winner of this game who wandered around looking like he was going to reach out and strangle someone - or himself. Somehow, they and many more had managed to find themselves killed, and now Ryan felt as though he were truly alone. He'd been travelling by himself for the vast majority of the time, but he'd always been looking. Looking for friends, for people to trust.
Now? The game was winding down, and Ryan knew that it was only going to become more difficult as those remaining would be battle-hardened and used to killing. Much unlike himself.
As he'd wandered along a path through the jungle, moving quickly and quietly through the brush, his mind thought back to Dodd and the conversation that they'd had. Ryan had tried to open his eyes to the fact that he was alive, and he needed to embrace that fact. It had seemed to work...but what was it all for? It sadly seemed a bit wasteful. He'd had such a turnaround, and then died...so why had Ryan even bothered? Someone like Dodd was bound to get themselves killed sooner or later, so it had been a waste of energy on his behalf, right?
Unless I was trying to convince myself, along with him. The second that I let myself turn into a cynical guy, then I become exactly like Dodd was. Pissed off, mad at the world...man, I thought that I had problems before! How about now? I'd say that this trumps anything that I'd even dreamed of from before.
"How about now, eh Ryan?"
Mumbling to himself as he followed the path, he moved until he came to a bit of an opening in the path, where a small structure seemed to stand ominously in his way. Stopping for a moment at the sight of it, Ryan was reminded that he HAD indeed been shot at once, but it'd happened so long ago that he'd managed to put it out of his mind - hence having forgotten it before.
I probably wouldn't have forgotten it so easily had it managed to hit me, now would I?
Dismissing the thought, his eyes now focused in upon what looked to be a lone figure, approaching the structure and calling something out at it, before she entered in the front door. He was torn. Thanks to his extensive dealings with pretty much everybody in school while on the student council, he was familiar with a large amount of the student body - if not close with few of them. Instead, it was mostly acquaintances, but this girl was one that he knew immediately. There weren't a lot of black girls in Southridge, but most of the others who'd been on the trip were deceased, and so it was fairly simple to pick Shameeca Mitchell out of a crowd. Ryan didn't recall seeing her name on the announcements as having killed anyone, but the gun that she carried meant that there was undoubtedly a threat there.
Mentally, he wracked his brain. Did he go in and reach out to one of the only other human beings that he saw who seemed to be mentally balanced? Or just continue on and forget that he'd seen anyone? Perhaps it was the lonliness, or perhaps it was the fact that the rest of his friends - the ones on the student council, were pretty much all dead, but Ryan decided that he had to chance it. He recalled speaking with Shameeca once before, when she was trying to organize funding for some sort of bake sale around school. She'd been fairly new at school, but if nothing else, she had spirit. Ryan could appreciate that, and hoped that it hadn't been tempered by what she'd experienced upon the island.
Perhaps more appropriately, he hoped that she wouldn't take one look at him and start shooting.
Carefully, Ryan made his way over towards the entrance to the building. Holding the assault rifle in as non-threatening a way as he could, but still keeping it at the ready in case any bullets came whizzing his way, Ryan called out to Shameeca inside of the facility (which appeared to be that of a bathroom).
"Hello? Anybody in there? It's Ryan Atwell, and I'm not a killer. I'm just...I'm just looking around. Are there any friendly faces in there?"
Pensively, Ryan waited for a response. His heart raced; this was the closest he'd gotten thusfar to being shot at - and he still hadn't the faintest idea if he would, or not.
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Keeping her sword at her side, Emma was careful not to let her eyes linger on the corpses too long as she entered the building. She knew she'd have to get used to the shock of seeing them eventually, but honestly, why would she want to get used to the sight of mutilated bodies? Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by Shameeca's voice. So she HAD been followed. She sounded reassuring, promising that Renee was gone, but Emma wasn't entirely convinced - the fact that Shameeca had killed someone was still fresh in her mind. How could anyone commit murder without being as out of their mind as John had been? Emma held her sword tighter and was going to say this to Shameeca when her stomach spasmed in a huge jolt of pain.
She hadn't eaten in days, had she?
Emma lowered her sword, realizing she was in no condition to get herself into a potentially violent situation. Shameeca had at least tried to protect her - even if she was attempting to lull Emma into a false sense of security, that would at least buy her enough time to get some food in her stomach before she had to defend herself. It was the closest thing to an ally she had at the moment.
"O-okay," Emma called back to Shameeca, sounding slightly defeated, "I'm not going to hurt you either, you can come in." It might not last, but at least she could calm down for a few moments.
Unfortunately, another voice put Emma back on edge just after she lowered her weapon. Had Renee followed them after all? No... the voice sounded male, and he identified himself as Ryan Atwell. She wasn't very familiar with him personally, but she was fairly certain he was in her art class back at school. Someone she knew at least slightly, and he didn't sound hostile...
Don't get complacent, she reminded herself, you thought you knew John a lot better than you know this guy, and look how that ended. Emma raised her sword once again, albeit with more struggle, but another angry rumble from her stomach caused her to drop it to the floor with a clatter as she doubled over slightly. The pain of her stomach and the smell emanating from the nearby bodies was sickening - as much as she wanted to defend herself, to finally do anything for herself, there was no way she could actually fight at this point, especially not with such a heavy weapon. Emma looked up at Shameeca, who Ryan had addressed. She did her best to communicate with a look that it would be up to her to fend him off if he was lying about his intentions, but she was sure that all she had managed to do was look sick.
She hadn't eaten in days, had she?
Emma lowered her sword, realizing she was in no condition to get herself into a potentially violent situation. Shameeca had at least tried to protect her - even if she was attempting to lull Emma into a false sense of security, that would at least buy her enough time to get some food in her stomach before she had to defend herself. It was the closest thing to an ally she had at the moment.
"O-okay," Emma called back to Shameeca, sounding slightly defeated, "I'm not going to hurt you either, you can come in." It might not last, but at least she could calm down for a few moments.
Unfortunately, another voice put Emma back on edge just after she lowered her weapon. Had Renee followed them after all? No... the voice sounded male, and he identified himself as Ryan Atwell. She wasn't very familiar with him personally, but she was fairly certain he was in her art class back at school. Someone she knew at least slightly, and he didn't sound hostile...
Don't get complacent, she reminded herself, you thought you knew John a lot better than you know this guy, and look how that ended. Emma raised her sword once again, albeit with more struggle, but another angry rumble from her stomach caused her to drop it to the floor with a clatter as she doubled over slightly. The pain of her stomach and the smell emanating from the nearby bodies was sickening - as much as she wanted to defend herself, to finally do anything for herself, there was no way she could actually fight at this point, especially not with such a heavy weapon. Emma looked up at Shameeca, who Ryan had addressed. She did her best to communicate with a look that it would be up to her to fend him off if he was lying about his intentions, but she was sure that all she had managed to do was look sick.
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Following with the permission of Emma, Shamee walked into the small building, her gun aimed low as to not cause alarm. The girl that she had seen only a few minutes before looked so different. Unlike some of the other players, Shamee had managed to feed herself. Whoever said that the cookery course in wilderness foraging would be useless must be looking pretty stupid now. It would of been easier if she could of eaten something healthier but apart from what she could scavenge and collect, it was basically nothing after what they had gotten in their bags. And despite what could of been, Shameeca had gotten enough food to keep her going for the week, despite the hunger. But for the last few days she had been running on adrenaline and sooner or later she was going to crash down badly. But not now, not till she was safe.
Suddenly a voice behind her distracted her before she could say anything to Emma and she span around on her heel, gun raised towards the doorway as she slowly stepped backwards towards what could be an ally. Suddenly the thought that she was showing her back to a girl who was carrying a sword made her turn slightly, so that while she was moving backwards, she could still keep an eye on the redhead. You know, just in case she snapped and decided to play. Shamee thought that she didn't seem like that type of girl, but you never knew in this game, you couldn't trust anyone totally. No matter how much you think that you know someone, they could always turn around and bury that knife in your spine. No matter how she wanted to trust Emma that much, Shameeca was not a moron.
The figure that appeared at the doorway would of had an barrell pointed at them, as Shameeca decided to protect herself rather than be a nice girl and invite them in. Nice girls finished last or in this case, dead. For an instant, she tried to recognise him till his name jumped her memory and suddenly, she was able to place him. She knew him, Ryan Atwell, tall, lanky and with short brown hair, kind of cute if you squinted but he wasn't that good looking anymore. Having the same thoughts that he had, Shameeca realised that the gun made him a threat, and a dangerous one at that. No-one was unless there was a salon hidden on the island and Shameeca doubted that. Although the idea of everyone stopping the fighting for a quick pedicure was hilarious. Her nails were horrendous and her skin was suprisingly healthy underneath the dirt, blood and tears. A little surprise from the game, one that didn't really help her though.
Suddenly a clatter from behind her made her look the other way and she saw that Emma was on her knees. Dear Jesus, she must be ill if even standing up was hard. Had Emma been wounded on her way here, or was she already hurt? What if it was poison, someone had drugged her or even just an infection. An stampede of panicked thoughts swarmed through her mind and Shameeca looked back at the figure and decided to make the choice. She lowered her gun.
"Ok Ryan, come in quick before anyone sees you. Emma's not in good shape at the minute, but I'm Shameeca. Don't worry, I'm not gonna shoot you, but you try anything with that gun, I won't hesitate. You get me?"
Suddenly a voice behind her distracted her before she could say anything to Emma and she span around on her heel, gun raised towards the doorway as she slowly stepped backwards towards what could be an ally. Suddenly the thought that she was showing her back to a girl who was carrying a sword made her turn slightly, so that while she was moving backwards, she could still keep an eye on the redhead. You know, just in case she snapped and decided to play. Shamee thought that she didn't seem like that type of girl, but you never knew in this game, you couldn't trust anyone totally. No matter how much you think that you know someone, they could always turn around and bury that knife in your spine. No matter how she wanted to trust Emma that much, Shameeca was not a moron.
The figure that appeared at the doorway would of had an barrell pointed at them, as Shameeca decided to protect herself rather than be a nice girl and invite them in. Nice girls finished last or in this case, dead. For an instant, she tried to recognise him till his name jumped her memory and suddenly, she was able to place him. She knew him, Ryan Atwell, tall, lanky and with short brown hair, kind of cute if you squinted but he wasn't that good looking anymore. Having the same thoughts that he had, Shameeca realised that the gun made him a threat, and a dangerous one at that. No-one was unless there was a salon hidden on the island and Shameeca doubted that. Although the idea of everyone stopping the fighting for a quick pedicure was hilarious. Her nails were horrendous and her skin was suprisingly healthy underneath the dirt, blood and tears. A little surprise from the game, one that didn't really help her though.
Suddenly a clatter from behind her made her look the other way and she saw that Emma was on her knees. Dear Jesus, she must be ill if even standing up was hard. Had Emma been wounded on her way here, or was she already hurt? What if it was poison, someone had drugged her or even just an infection. An stampede of panicked thoughts swarmed through her mind and Shameeca looked back at the figure and decided to make the choice. She lowered her gun.
"Ok Ryan, come in quick before anyone sees you. Emma's not in good shape at the minute, but I'm Shameeca. Don't worry, I'm not gonna shoot you, but you try anything with that gun, I won't hesitate. You get me?"
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((I know I'm fucking post order again, I just feel really guilty about never having posted Emma as eating...))
Emma's stomach once again gurgled in pain. As much as she didn't want to make any sudden movements before Ryan decided to enter the building, she had to eat something, and fast. If Ryan did end up being hostile, Shameeca was there to protect her - at least, she seemed like she would. Emma still wasn't entirely sure whether or not she could trust Shameeca, but she was slowly warming up to the idea that she might not be hostile. After all, she had had plenty of opportunities to kill Emma. If she hadn't taken any of them by now, that either meant that she didn't ever intend to, or she was just doing a very bad job of trying to kill her. Either way, it meant that Emma was relatively safe for now.
She kneeled on the floor and once again dug through her back, hastily removing a water bottle, which was about half-full, and the loaf of bread. Without hesitating, she took a huge bite out of it. It was stale and tasted like dust, but given that she had barely eaten in the past few days, Emma didn't care much. She managed to down the remainder of the water bottle and scarf the entire loaf of bread in a matter of minutes, surprising herself with her own appetite. She made a mental note to examine the packs of the bodies around her as soon as she worked up the courage to get closer to them.
For now, though, she once again picked up her falchion and stood back up. She hoped she wouldn't need to use it, but she currently trusted this newcomer far less than she did Shameeca, and if he came in and turned out hostile, she wasn't going to let herself be hurt again. She was still a bit weak from hunger, but she could at least hold her sword relatively steady now.
"It's all right, I'm fine..." she muttered to Shameeca, once again embarrassed at having nearly collapsed in front of her, "I know this guy a little, but I knew a few people that turned out to be psychotic, so... let's be careful."
Emma's stomach once again gurgled in pain. As much as she didn't want to make any sudden movements before Ryan decided to enter the building, she had to eat something, and fast. If Ryan did end up being hostile, Shameeca was there to protect her - at least, she seemed like she would. Emma still wasn't entirely sure whether or not she could trust Shameeca, but she was slowly warming up to the idea that she might not be hostile. After all, she had had plenty of opportunities to kill Emma. If she hadn't taken any of them by now, that either meant that she didn't ever intend to, or she was just doing a very bad job of trying to kill her. Either way, it meant that Emma was relatively safe for now.
She kneeled on the floor and once again dug through her back, hastily removing a water bottle, which was about half-full, and the loaf of bread. Without hesitating, she took a huge bite out of it. It was stale and tasted like dust, but given that she had barely eaten in the past few days, Emma didn't care much. She managed to down the remainder of the water bottle and scarf the entire loaf of bread in a matter of minutes, surprising herself with her own appetite. She made a mental note to examine the packs of the bodies around her as soon as she worked up the courage to get closer to them.
For now, though, she once again picked up her falchion and stood back up. She hoped she wouldn't need to use it, but she currently trusted this newcomer far less than she did Shameeca, and if he came in and turned out hostile, she wasn't going to let herself be hurt again. She was still a bit weak from hunger, but she could at least hold her sword relatively steady now.
"It's all right, I'm fine..." she muttered to Shameeca, once again embarrassed at having nearly collapsed in front of her, "I know this guy a little, but I knew a few people that turned out to be psychotic, so... let's be careful."
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As he cautiously poked his head around the corner of the doorway, Ryan had to admit that he was amazed with how battle-ravaged both girls seemed to look. It reaffirmed his belief that he'd been lucky so far. Compared to them, he figured that all he looked was a little tired. Keeping the rifle's barrel pointed downwards, Ryan quickly slipped inside of the small facility and exhaled, looking at them both with a sense of quiet relief. His self-imposed exile had been for all of the right reasons, but at this point, he knew that he would need all the help he could get to make it to the end. Survival hadn't been something he'd been actively thinking about - at least, THAT kind of survival, and it caused Ryan to question his own ability to take a life to protect his own.
Would he be able to make that kind of a call, when it all came down to it?
There's no way that I want to find that out until it's absolutely necessary.
Aloud, he smiled sadly at the two girls, and observed their appearance.
"I know that you aren't supposed to say this to a girl, but you both look like hell...I hope that you can take my word that I'm not playing this game, nor have I been associating with anyone who has. The only people I've even spoken to are now all dead, so..."
Ryan trailed off, and shrugged a bit.
"...I guess I've been lucky."
Thanks to the dirty clothes, the matted hair, and the general darkness of the interior of the building, Ryan couldn't quite tell if either girl was injured, but he supposed that in the interest of not being shot or stabbed in the face, he would offer up his own assistance.
"Are either of you hurt? I still have a full first-aid kit. I haven't needed to use it...yet."
As he looked the girls over, he did his best to try and ignore the corpses that littered the room. Nearly every place he'd gone, bodies had lay around him. Some that he knew, others that he didn't, but all the same, he tried not to think about them.
I can't let the game get into my mind, because otherwise, that's when you start to lose it...
Would he be able to make that kind of a call, when it all came down to it?
There's no way that I want to find that out until it's absolutely necessary.
Aloud, he smiled sadly at the two girls, and observed their appearance.
"I know that you aren't supposed to say this to a girl, but you both look like hell...I hope that you can take my word that I'm not playing this game, nor have I been associating with anyone who has. The only people I've even spoken to are now all dead, so..."
Ryan trailed off, and shrugged a bit.
"...I guess I've been lucky."
Thanks to the dirty clothes, the matted hair, and the general darkness of the interior of the building, Ryan couldn't quite tell if either girl was injured, but he supposed that in the interest of not being shot or stabbed in the face, he would offer up his own assistance.
"Are either of you hurt? I still have a full first-aid kit. I haven't needed to use it...yet."
As he looked the girls over, he did his best to try and ignore the corpses that littered the room. Nearly every place he'd gone, bodies had lay around him. Some that he knew, others that he didn't, but all the same, he tried not to think about them.
I can't let the game get into my mind, because otherwise, that's when you start to lose it...
Listening to her fellow girl in the room devour the food, Shameeca was relieved when it turned out that she only had little worse than just hunger. As much as she wanted to try and protect someone, she would be near useless if Emma turned out to be seriously ill. The closest thing Shamee had ever been to a hospital for ten years was for a broken wrist when she had fallen over on some ice at a skating rink and landed heavily. Her lack of medical knowledge had been apparent only a few days ago when Petra had died, bleeding to death on the floor while she tried with the others to save her life. But now Heath had died and all she had left from that small bunch of people she had met was Bobby, where ever he was.
Despite the fact that she didn't know Emma that well, Shameeca knew more than enough that if she looked after someone, it gave her more of a chance later on against players, enough of watching last season of Sotf had taught her that. Little did she know that she would be dumped into the game herself, forced to fight for her life. But Shameeca had been lucky, only with a few scratches and bruises to her name, nothing that a few days rest wouldn't fix.
However, no-one on the island had that time and the black teenager knew that to stay alive, they would have to stay smart. By entering a group, it would give her and them an advantage in the game, safety in numbers. However the problem with groups was that they would end up making or breaking you. So by sticking with the gut feeling that had come up when she had spied the red-head, Shamee knew that they would be alright, at least for a little while.
"Guess that makes two of us then. Only one guy who I have met that isn't part of those crazy twins Lenny and Lizzie, besides Emma here hasn't been called out on those announcements. I hope hes fine. I don't really need anything at all, but you know, I guess the first-aid kit may come in handy later. Ryan, you stick with us, we will last longer, yeah? I mean, we are all armed and mostly fine, so the players will steer clear of us. But you know what, I think we need to move. We are like sitting ducks here, like if someone throws a grenade in we are all screwed. So I say we move out and find somewhere a little less enclosed" she said, thinking outloud, perhaps being a little less tactful than she should of been. Picking up her bag, she looked at Emma and started to head towards the door.
"Come on guys, lets go"
((Shameeca continued elsewhere))
Despite the fact that she didn't know Emma that well, Shameeca knew more than enough that if she looked after someone, it gave her more of a chance later on against players, enough of watching last season of Sotf had taught her that. Little did she know that she would be dumped into the game herself, forced to fight for her life. But Shameeca had been lucky, only with a few scratches and bruises to her name, nothing that a few days rest wouldn't fix.
However, no-one on the island had that time and the black teenager knew that to stay alive, they would have to stay smart. By entering a group, it would give her and them an advantage in the game, safety in numbers. However the problem with groups was that they would end up making or breaking you. So by sticking with the gut feeling that had come up when she had spied the red-head, Shamee knew that they would be alright, at least for a little while.
"Guess that makes two of us then. Only one guy who I have met that isn't part of those crazy twins Lenny and Lizzie, besides Emma here hasn't been called out on those announcements. I hope hes fine. I don't really need anything at all, but you know, I guess the first-aid kit may come in handy later. Ryan, you stick with us, we will last longer, yeah? I mean, we are all armed and mostly fine, so the players will steer clear of us. But you know what, I think we need to move. We are like sitting ducks here, like if someone throws a grenade in we are all screwed. So I say we move out and find somewhere a little less enclosed" she said, thinking outloud, perhaps being a little less tactful than she should of been. Picking up her bag, she looked at Emma and started to head towards the door.
"Come on guys, lets go"
((Shameeca continued elsewhere))
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landlocked†
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Normally, she would have been a bit offended by someone commenting on her appearance, but Emma was so grateful that Ryan didn't seem hostile that she let it slide. She lowered her sword as Ryan entered the building, glad she wouldn't have to use it. Given her state of near collapse a moment ago, she wasn't entirely sure how well she would be able to hold up with it in a fight, and after all, she had found out just how heavy it was the first time she tried to attack...
Ugh. Her thoughts were wandering back towards Maxie and John again. She quietly cursed herself. Thanks to her own ignorance, Emma wasn't even sure if Maxie was still alive or not - she could have lost her only chance at getting forgiveness for letting John sweet-talk her, and she didn't even know it for sure. Maybe she should ask Ryan if he had heard their names on the announcements? If Maxie was still alive, they could find her and...
...No. Emma knew that odds were, Maxie hadn't survived based on how long the last list of the dead was, but hearing it confirmed... She preferred to stick with the hope that maybe there was still a chance to apologize to her for what she did. And John... it was just more comfortable to think that she wouldn't have to see him again.
"I'm fine," Emma said absently to Ryan, running a hand through her red hair. Her fingers quickly got snagged in the dirty, tangled mess. Wonderful. She sighed as she continued, "I'm just a little bit bruised... but thanks. Shameeca's right, it's been a while since we saw someone that didn't want us dead..."
She was interrupted by Shameeca.
Ryan, you stick with us, we will last longer, yeah? I mean, we are all armed and mostly fine, so the players will steer clear of us.
Emma realized that she was right. They'd probably look pretty intimidating, two of them had guns, and Shameeca had proven she was capable of defending herself...
Yeah, and the last time you decided to stick with someone capable of murder, you almost ended up his next victim.
Emma sighed. She had been through this mental debate what felt like a hundred times, and she was sick of it. If she didn't make a decision about this eventually, she'd be stuck in limbo with no idea what to do until another psychopath picked her off. Shameeca seemed sure of herself, she had stuck with her, tried to help, and had shown no desire to end Emma's life. She could trust her.
"You're right," Emma said, voicing her thoughts, "the three of us are a lot more intimidating as a group." Becoming more and more relieved at the idea of having allies, she turned to Ryan. After casting aside her doubts about Shameeca, doing the same thing for him seemed a little bit easier - she knew him a tiny bit better, anyway, right? "You said you've got full medical supplies, right? Two guns, a sword, plenty of first aid... I think maybe we could make a good team."
It could've been suicidal. But Emma was sick of worrying and running and death and decay. She wanted to feel safe, she wanted to feel protected, and this was the first time it had happened in the last nine (was it ten now?) days on this island. Before following Shameeca out of the building, she decided to search the place a bit more for food. Finding a body near one of the showers, she approached its daypack, rummaging through it for any spare food - she managed to score another tin of a crackers and a water bottle. In a burst of confidence, she glanced down at the body of the student it belonged to.
With a start, she realized the body was naked. It was hard to tell at first considering how rotten it had become - it was covered in dried blood, the stomach had apparently exploded, it was all over the floor, a knife stuck in his face and a maggot in one of the eye sockets and, oh god, the smell, it was unbearable...
Emma quickly turned around and ran out of the building after Shameeca. Allies or not, she wasn't ever going to get used to that.
((Emma Babineaux continued in Hand Up, Guns Out))
Ugh. Her thoughts were wandering back towards Maxie and John again. She quietly cursed herself. Thanks to her own ignorance, Emma wasn't even sure if Maxie was still alive or not - she could have lost her only chance at getting forgiveness for letting John sweet-talk her, and she didn't even know it for sure. Maybe she should ask Ryan if he had heard their names on the announcements? If Maxie was still alive, they could find her and...
...No. Emma knew that odds were, Maxie hadn't survived based on how long the last list of the dead was, but hearing it confirmed... She preferred to stick with the hope that maybe there was still a chance to apologize to her for what she did. And John... it was just more comfortable to think that she wouldn't have to see him again.
"I'm fine," Emma said absently to Ryan, running a hand through her red hair. Her fingers quickly got snagged in the dirty, tangled mess. Wonderful. She sighed as she continued, "I'm just a little bit bruised... but thanks. Shameeca's right, it's been a while since we saw someone that didn't want us dead..."
She was interrupted by Shameeca.
Ryan, you stick with us, we will last longer, yeah? I mean, we are all armed and mostly fine, so the players will steer clear of us.
Emma realized that she was right. They'd probably look pretty intimidating, two of them had guns, and Shameeca had proven she was capable of defending herself...
Yeah, and the last time you decided to stick with someone capable of murder, you almost ended up his next victim.
Emma sighed. She had been through this mental debate what felt like a hundred times, and she was sick of it. If she didn't make a decision about this eventually, she'd be stuck in limbo with no idea what to do until another psychopath picked her off. Shameeca seemed sure of herself, she had stuck with her, tried to help, and had shown no desire to end Emma's life. She could trust her.
"You're right," Emma said, voicing her thoughts, "the three of us are a lot more intimidating as a group." Becoming more and more relieved at the idea of having allies, she turned to Ryan. After casting aside her doubts about Shameeca, doing the same thing for him seemed a little bit easier - she knew him a tiny bit better, anyway, right? "You said you've got full medical supplies, right? Two guns, a sword, plenty of first aid... I think maybe we could make a good team."
It could've been suicidal. But Emma was sick of worrying and running and death and decay. She wanted to feel safe, she wanted to feel protected, and this was the first time it had happened in the last nine (was it ten now?) days on this island. Before following Shameeca out of the building, she decided to search the place a bit more for food. Finding a body near one of the showers, she approached its daypack, rummaging through it for any spare food - she managed to score another tin of a crackers and a water bottle. In a burst of confidence, she glanced down at the body of the student it belonged to.
With a start, she realized the body was naked. It was hard to tell at first considering how rotten it had become - it was covered in dried blood, the stomach had apparently exploded, it was all over the floor, a knife stuck in his face and a maggot in one of the eye sockets and, oh god, the smell, it was unbearable...
Emma quickly turned around and ran out of the building after Shameeca. Allies or not, she wasn't ever going to get used to that.
((Emma Babineaux continued in Hand Up, Guns Out))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler landlocked. 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.
Ryan followed quickly behind, but got turned around and didn't end up going the same way as the others.
((Continued elsewhere, swear that I had posted something before, board must have eaten it))
((Continued elsewhere, swear that I had posted something before, board must have eaten it))