"Hello, room service? Yeah, I'd like...a, uhh...small pizza delivered to my room, along with a couple cans of Pepsi. Yeah, pepperoni and cheese. Yeah, that'll be on my room. Eight seventy-seven. Thanks."
As Adam Dodd hung up the phone, he stepped to the window and looked down on the city below. Cars zipped back and forth and the small people wandered to and fro on the city streets below. It had been a long time since he'd stepped foot in anything even close to a busy city, and even longer since he'd stayed at a five-star hotel.
Fifteen long years had passed since he'd made that ever-so-fateful decision to just up and vanish. He knew that such a decision would have reprocussions, but to Adam, he knew that it was the only decision that he could make. It was the only way to preserve his sanity, and his life. As it had been, his parents had just recieved the settlement money and it had been deposited into his bank account on the Friday afternoon that he decided he would need to leave. He had walked into his bank, withdrawn ten thousand dollars in cash, and hopped on the first flight to Europe. Nobody knew that he was gone, nor where he'd gone, thanks in part to his slight transgression of getting a false identity. It had seemed the only thing to do, and now, here it was, full-circle, and everything had come back to him. Everything he'd been running from, everything he'd been avoiding for fifteen years, and it was all here, all back.
But he'd run enough, he'd had many a sleepless night and he thought that he was doing the right thing. In a way, he had. He'd become much more at ease with himself over his actions on the island, and while he'd attempted to justify it to himself for years that he was simply trying to save his friends lives, it had hardly worked, and only time had healed the wounds that Danya had inflicted upon him.
It had been closer to the thirteenth year that Adam had truly debated rejoining society. He had a comfortable home deep in the Norweigan woods, a log cabin that he lived alone in, comfortably and solitarily, with only his thoughts and the occasional traveller to keep him company. And here he was, standing in a five-star hotel, thought to be dead by most of his friends, family, and the general American public.
Moving to the desk at the other side of the room, Adam grabbed his duffel bag off of his bed and retrieved his laptop computer out of the bag. Plugging in the power adapter and the network cable, he turned it on and silently wandered back over to the window and waited for the machine to boot up. He'd kept tabs on world events and even some of his former fellow students using his computer, and while he knew very little about many of them, there were a few who were easy to keep track of. The few that achieved fame and fortune, became famous and infamous. Vince Samsa, the football player, was one. Adam read about him, and in many interviews and biographies on the man, he read about the terror of that horrible couple of days, bringing back memories each time. He wasn't surprised when David Jackson's name had come up in the news, as he had heard before he had vanished that David wanted to stick it to Danya. Joining the army seemed like a good enough way.
And then there was Amanda...
Amanda had been the other one he found it somewhat easy to keep tabs on. He knew that she had decided to pursue her music, and the critics universally praised her for doing so. Amanda Jones had become quite the impressive musical star, and toured worldwide. He had even once gone to see one of her performances. Sitting in the same room as someone he hadn't talked to in over nine years had been ridiculously odd, and he knew how easy that it would be to simply approach her after the show, but...he could never bring himself to do it. He simply just looked at the woman that he knew he would love, always and forever, and watched her go and leave her mark on the world, while he sat around, alone with his thoughts.
It had been a strange day when Adam had read about the conference, the television spot that was supposed to take place in two days. Everyone had been invited by the organizers; at least, those that were still living or reachable. He knew he was neither of the two, and as such never got an invite. However, the Internet, as he knew, was a wonderful thing, and when he read about the meeting, his interest was piqued. This could be his chance...his one chance to attempt to put his suffering behind him. All of the nightmares, all of the emotional dreams, and all of the heartache from all that he'd left behind...it was his one chance to solve it all...
...and he had almost not gone. As he had stood in front of the terminal, duffel bag in hand, he'd hesitated, almost frightened to step onto the airplane that would bring it all rushing back. He had almost walked away, and had in fact walked into a nearby gift shop to compose himself, buy a drink, and head home. It was then that he paused to look at a rack of postcards, and one brought back a vauge memory...
...it had been one late December night in the earlier days, the more difficult ones, and Adam had been at his worst. He'd began to drink profusely, and in one of his drunken stupors, he had picked up a postcard from some local shop, and mailed it to the person who made his heart ache the most. The one person who he knew would know what it meant. The memory was vauge, and it was the only thing that Adam could bear to do - to let HER know that he was alive.
He assumed that she'd never told anybody, because any searches on his name on Google only went straight to memorial websites created for him in the wake of SOTF. To the world, Adam Dodd was dead, and that was the way that it had stayed...
A knocking at his door surprised him, and he turned around quickly.
What? Did somebody see me? What's going- oh, shit. It's my pizza.
As he stepped towards the hotel room door, Adam Dodd knew that while he intended upon crashing the conference, he wasn't ready to end the silence that seemed to surround him just yet, because he knew that as soon as people knew he was alive, that silence would very quickly go away, not to be found for some time.
~~~
Amanda Jones sighed and shook her head with a sad look on her face.
"Adam? No, I haven't seen nor heard anything of him in fifteen years, same as you. It's taken me a long time to finally accept the fact that he's gone and never coming back. I always just kind of thought that the island stole him away from us, just like it stole all those others...it just took a little more time to get him..."
Amanda sighed slightly and lowered her voice so only Madelaine could hear.
"It's taken me fifteen years to accept the fact that Adam isn't going to come back, and that I need to move on. Until recently, I've never dated anyone since..."
What do you plan on doing in fifteen years?
Fifteen years after SOTF
-
LadyMakaze†
- Posts: 475
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:48 pm
"...I see," Madelaine murmured, feeling somewhat remorseful for bringing up the topic in the first place. She began to shift uncomfortably against the tiled floor, her soft-soled shoes casting light echoes as they tapped against the floor lightly.
Now that she thought about it, the topic of Adam Dodd still being unaccounted for was a troubling matter. Hawley and Amanda probably felt the same as she did, worried and anxious about Adam's whereabouts and state of well-being. Once again, it had been fifteen years ago when Adam had suddenly vanished and gone off somewhere, without so much as a proper goodbye to any of his friends. While Madelaine had taken Adam's disappearance quite hard, as Hawley did, seeing as they had been best friends for a mere six days on that island, Madelaine knew for a fact that Adam's sudden exodus into an unknown location had left Amanda devastated.
She had loved him, so of course it must have been difficult for her to accept the possibility that Adam was never coming back. It was hard enough for Madelaine to move on, for Amanda it must have meant a world of pain. And now, fifteen years have long since past, and Madelaine had learned to accept Adam's absence for the time being. Madelaine supposed there and then that she had it easy, since though Adam had been very close to her at the time of his disappearance, he wasn't the most important one. Madelaine had Hawley after all, and also had her hands full with work and school for the first few years after graduation. Because of that, Madelaine was able to move on, and accept the possibility that Adam may never reappear. But Amanda...she probably had no one. Adam was simply that irreplaceable person in her life that meant the world to her, and to lose Adam probably meant to lose a huge part of herself, leaving behind a void that would remain with her for more than fifteen years.
Madelaine herself had moved on, though there was also that other reason she had agreed to attend the conference in the first place. Somehow, the invitation seemed to renew her hope that Adam would suddenly appear in front of them again. Greetings would be exchanged, friends would be reunited, and all would be well again, and far from being just another nuisance from the media, Madelaine saw this event as one that would hopefully resolve the issues of the past by repairing this once tightly-knit circle of friends.
But then there was the possibility that the hopes Madelaine held for this event would end up being dashed. It was the hope she had, that Adam would return to them again. She knew Amanda and Hawley shared this hope, and wished as strongly as she did that Adam Dodd, the one who had looked after them and kept them together, would show his face again.
And now...listening to Amanda, Madelaine was beginning to feel that hope was only false after all. She smiled sadly at her friend and her husband, placing a comforting hand on Amanda's shoulder. "These fifteen years...they've been difficult for all of us. But at least it's given us time to heal, and even move on. Maybe it's the same with Adam, wherever he is now..."
Now that she thought about it, the topic of Adam Dodd still being unaccounted for was a troubling matter. Hawley and Amanda probably felt the same as she did, worried and anxious about Adam's whereabouts and state of well-being. Once again, it had been fifteen years ago when Adam had suddenly vanished and gone off somewhere, without so much as a proper goodbye to any of his friends. While Madelaine had taken Adam's disappearance quite hard, as Hawley did, seeing as they had been best friends for a mere six days on that island, Madelaine knew for a fact that Adam's sudden exodus into an unknown location had left Amanda devastated.
She had loved him, so of course it must have been difficult for her to accept the possibility that Adam was never coming back. It was hard enough for Madelaine to move on, for Amanda it must have meant a world of pain. And now, fifteen years have long since past, and Madelaine had learned to accept Adam's absence for the time being. Madelaine supposed there and then that she had it easy, since though Adam had been very close to her at the time of his disappearance, he wasn't the most important one. Madelaine had Hawley after all, and also had her hands full with work and school for the first few years after graduation. Because of that, Madelaine was able to move on, and accept the possibility that Adam may never reappear. But Amanda...she probably had no one. Adam was simply that irreplaceable person in her life that meant the world to her, and to lose Adam probably meant to lose a huge part of herself, leaving behind a void that would remain with her for more than fifteen years.
Madelaine herself had moved on, though there was also that other reason she had agreed to attend the conference in the first place. Somehow, the invitation seemed to renew her hope that Adam would suddenly appear in front of them again. Greetings would be exchanged, friends would be reunited, and all would be well again, and far from being just another nuisance from the media, Madelaine saw this event as one that would hopefully resolve the issues of the past by repairing this once tightly-knit circle of friends.
But then there was the possibility that the hopes Madelaine held for this event would end up being dashed. It was the hope she had, that Adam would return to them again. She knew Amanda and Hawley shared this hope, and wished as strongly as she did that Adam Dodd, the one who had looked after them and kept them together, would show his face again.
And now...listening to Amanda, Madelaine was beginning to feel that hope was only false after all. She smiled sadly at her friend and her husband, placing a comforting hand on Amanda's shoulder. "These fifteen years...they've been difficult for all of us. But at least it's given us time to heal, and even move on. Maybe it's the same with Adam, wherever he is now..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler LadyMakaze. 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.
((Also, I'm assuming this isn't linked in any way to the 'Aftermath' topic, because if it is, hello continuity!))
The 15 years or so had not been happy ones for Callum Hadley. As a teenager, his residual schizophrenia had not been a major problem- sure, people had thought of him as strange, but nothing more. His hallicunations- visual and auditary- had been unusual, but as his parents were never around to see how serious a problem it actually was, it was put down to nothing more than an overactive imagination.
That was why it was such a shock when, upon returning from his time on the island, Callum's condition took a turn for the worse. He became paranoid and withdrawn and his hallucinations were more severe and frequent. It was only when, one time at school, Callum had thrown his plate against the wall, shouting at the chef that he was trying to poison him and turn him into a vegetable- did anyone see it for what it really was. His parents, unable to think of any alternative, immediately sent him to an institution where he remained for four years.
Although he had made some progress in getting better, now- at 30 years old- Callum was not a great deal better. He pushed the door open, his head bowed and his hand in his pocket. He still retained the good looks and spiky brown hair from his childhood, but his face looked withdrawn. Nonetheless, he had wanted to come to see some old faces.
...and Beth.
He had never forgotten about her. Beth, and Lyndi- both of them he had tried to protect while on the island, but he had no idea what had happened to any of them. He had desperately tried to contact them afterwards, but begging his friends and family to help him find 'Beth and Lyndi' was highly inaffective. He had never given up on them; he had never lost hope. Every girl he had passed on the street who looked remotely similar to them, he had studied carefully, but he had never seen either of them since.
Shuffling over to the desk, he shot a quick glance around. None of them appeared to be in the room.
They could be fine... they just could not have gotten here yet. Don't give up...
He signed his name quickly and looked over at where a small group were congregating. He recognised a few of them- didn't have a clue what their names were, his time spent with them was brief. Regardless, he made his way over to greet them, only to knock into someone standing nearby.
"Sorry," he muttered to the someone, who was blonde and had glasses. He didn't recognise her as anyone he knew, and so carried on walking to where the crowd was stood, he tapped one of them- the red haired man- on the back. Unless he was horribly mistaken, he had to be the boy he had attacked back on the island.
"How's your stomach?" he asked shyly, although in a conversational tone, as if this was a thing he asked all the time.
((Riser, doubt if you'll remember but Callum did meet all you guys here! XDD In all fairness I totally forgot...))
The 15 years or so had not been happy ones for Callum Hadley. As a teenager, his residual schizophrenia had not been a major problem- sure, people had thought of him as strange, but nothing more. His hallicunations- visual and auditary- had been unusual, but as his parents were never around to see how serious a problem it actually was, it was put down to nothing more than an overactive imagination.
That was why it was such a shock when, upon returning from his time on the island, Callum's condition took a turn for the worse. He became paranoid and withdrawn and his hallucinations were more severe and frequent. It was only when, one time at school, Callum had thrown his plate against the wall, shouting at the chef that he was trying to poison him and turn him into a vegetable- did anyone see it for what it really was. His parents, unable to think of any alternative, immediately sent him to an institution where he remained for four years.
Although he had made some progress in getting better, now- at 30 years old- Callum was not a great deal better. He pushed the door open, his head bowed and his hand in his pocket. He still retained the good looks and spiky brown hair from his childhood, but his face looked withdrawn. Nonetheless, he had wanted to come to see some old faces.
...and Beth.
He had never forgotten about her. Beth, and Lyndi- both of them he had tried to protect while on the island, but he had no idea what had happened to any of them. He had desperately tried to contact them afterwards, but begging his friends and family to help him find 'Beth and Lyndi' was highly inaffective. He had never given up on them; he had never lost hope. Every girl he had passed on the street who looked remotely similar to them, he had studied carefully, but he had never seen either of them since.
Shuffling over to the desk, he shot a quick glance around. None of them appeared to be in the room.
They could be fine... they just could not have gotten here yet. Don't give up...
He signed his name quickly and looked over at where a small group were congregating. He recognised a few of them- didn't have a clue what their names were, his time spent with them was brief. Regardless, he made his way over to greet them, only to knock into someone standing nearby.
"Sorry," he muttered to the someone, who was blonde and had glasses. He didn't recognise her as anyone he knew, and so carried on walking to where the crowd was stood, he tapped one of them- the red haired man- on the back. Unless he was horribly mistaken, he had to be the boy he had attacked back on the island.
"How's your stomach?" he asked shyly, although in a conversational tone, as if this was a thing he asked all the time.
((Riser, doubt if you'll remember but Callum did meet all you guys here! XDD In all fairness I totally forgot...))
I am an archival account used by staff to port old posts from handlers no longer active. If you are this handler, get in touch with staff and we can get your posts back for you! Elise avatar by Kermit.
The door to the hotel opened slowly, revealing a tall man, looking to be around his upper 30s, even 40s. The man wore jeans and a jean jacket, and on his head was placed a brown cowboy hat. He'd spent so long in Arizona that he'd gotten so used to the hat, it never left his head. He even slept with it on, much like cowboys of old. As such, the man probably stuck out like a sore thumb in the city hotel. Not too often you see someone wearing a western outfit in an eastern city. The man didn't care, though. He didn’t care that he would be almost completely unrecognizable to anyone who had survived, and did remember him.
The man was Toby Valerik, and his older look was a result of the ‘game’ they had been forced to start, though thankfully, not finish. The stress of those…days, hours, however long it was… coupled with his 15 years of living afterwards had not been kind to him. Formally known as Tobs, this had been dropped. There were so few left who knew the name Tobs, and those that did were on the other side of the nation. The few who would be with him, and knew his nickname, had been ...taken. As such, he'd never again told anyone to call him Tobs. In fact, to his memory, Takara Asano was the last person to ever hear that name. He sighed at the memory. Had he met her under normal circumstances, things could have been different. However, they had met under rather extreme circumstances.
He was now exclusively 'Toby.' An enigma to those he now knew, he never talked of anything that had ever happened to him. Every so often, he'd slip up and reminisce in the presence of others about Michigan, or even people he'd met on the ...the Island, as he called it. These occurrences were rarely explained, leaving most people that knew him after the Island to distance themselves from him.
His mere presence had always been a downer. It was as if he radiated depressedness and sadness from his body; then again, he had enough of it.
He remembered everything that had happened on the Island, yet had refused to seek counseling. Why, even his parents never found out. He didn't see a need to pay for it, though; the events rarely returned to the front of his mind. The only time they ever did was when he looked at anything remotely similar to something on the Island; Toby, upon his return, had immediately forced the removal of all drills from his house, for example. The drills were permanently taboo, thanks to the Island. His clothes from the Island, bloody and battered...he'd had them encased in a plastic wrap-like thing, and hung them up in the back of his closet. He wouldn't throw them away, since they held a scarce good memory, but wouldn't look at them because of all the bad associated.
Upon his rescue, he'd reentered the High School immediately; the only reason he went back to BC High was because his parents had thought he'd be better suited in a school with the people he'd been through SoTF with (ignoring the killers). They could all comfort each other, they'd thought. Well, for the most part, they were right; however, Toby was an exception. While surely not the only one, he did not jump back into the social swing of things. Toby just couldn’t look at a friend and not think of the Island; the things that had happened on it just wouldn’t let go of him.
Toby did not become a loner, or some depressed guy in the corner. Instead, he just simply seemed to keep to himself; when spoken to, he spoke. When he felt like talking, he talked. Even so, he never quite went back to being the Tobs people had known before. For those few people who got to know him at BC High, before the Island, the change was startling, if not understandable.
Toby pulled his low grades up to a respectable B+ average after the events involving the Island had faded into the past, graduating with a nice 3.5 or so as an average GPA. From BC High, he moved out to Arizona, believing the move to be permanent, and entered the UofA. At the University, he held a constant 3.4 or higher. Even so, he never had very many friends. Every time he ‘made’ a friend, he could only see the faces of those who the Island had taken. Still refusing to get counseling of any sort, Toby graduated from UofA easily, acquiring his needed degrees at a normal pace.
He had dreamed of having a job as a pilot since he’d first seen a plane; this was something he had shared with Drew. However, he dropped this career path. Not only had the Island incident begun with an airliner hijacking, but Drew’s life dream had been to fly …and Drew had been killed. Drew had died beside the River, and Toby had been forced to bury his friend of years. Within a day of Drew’s burial, they’d been rescued by the Americans.
Needless to say, this meant Toby had quite the negative perspective on life from this incident on. Once more, very understandable.
He tried to get into the FBI, and made it rather far through the admittance process, but was finally turned away. The FBI’s reason had been ‘mental instability stemming from a High School incident.’ Word for word, that was what had been said to him, and his ideas for jobs just died.
Failing that, he just began to get random jobs here and there. He had enough money to keep his house out in Arizona, but he finally gave up after a decade of trying. He caved, seeking a job as a Pilot, and got the job easily. After quite a bit of required psychoanalysis relating to flight and hijacking, and some testing of a certain wound on his leg.
All in all, Toby lived a comfortable life now, but he was not the social person he’d been before. Any faith in humanity he’d had had disappeared entirely on the Island, giving him a strong faith in himself and nothing else. He found himself friendless and not caring a bit about it, and this fact distanced those few friendly people he talked to from him further. Why had he even accepted the invitation to this conference? He didn’t know, really. A need to see people. To see if they’d been …been taken.
His thoughts returned to the Island, and he recalled what had happened at the River. It had been so frantic, so fast…and it had happened within hours of his awakening on the Island. He’d barely had time to acclimate himself to what was going on, and the River Battle, as he’d dubbed it, had completely shaken him.
He’d become the core of a small group of people, and the River had been the beginning of it and …and the end. The River Battle had started with one idiot trying to get the upper hand against a group, but failing miserably; it had deteriorated into a gun battle within minutes, and Toby’s drill had been all but useless. However, Drew had had a firearm.
He shut his eyes, turning to look away from the crowd of people. In his mind’s eye, he’d seen the Battle again. In the seconds he’d stood there, he relived 20 minutes of Hell. And it hadn’t even ended quickly.
In the movies, battles always ended with a bang. On top of that, if someone important to the main character died, that tended to signify the battle would end in several minutes tops. No.
Drew had been shot in the beginning, and Toby had been forced to fight for 15 minutes with a bullet in his leg, all while having Drew just meters from him, bleeding to death on the River’s bank. And, in the end, the boy who had started it didn’t go out with a bang. No, he died slowly, bleeding from a wound from, of all people, Drew.
No, dammit, no. You need to stop thinking of it like that. Now, get in there and talk to them. Maybe you’ll find someone you remember. He told himself this, over and over. Maybe there would be someone there. Someone he remembered. He doubted it; almost all his time on the Island had been spent digging a hole, and filling it in. The only people who had helped him were Takara Asano and …damn, he forgot if Sid and Chance had stayed. Still, from then on, he was devoted to burying his friend. The body of Drew’s killer was left, completely unceremoniously. Toby had not the stomach to give him the same ‘honor’ of a burial.
From the River Battle, it had only been about 18 hours or so until they had been rescued. By that time, however, the group had been splintered again. They’d been attacked in open ground by another dumb ass trying to get the upper hand against an armed group; Tobs had had to go alone, and he lost track of the others. If they’d stayed together, he didn’t know it. All he knew was that he’d had to spend only an hour until rescue. Alone.
Now, Toby walked towards the Receptionist’s desk, shifting legs every so often in the line. His left leg still hurt every now and then, but the Airline’s psychologist had determined it was more of a Phantom pain. Caused by his own mind’s memories, they said. Whatever.
“Name?” The word jolted him out of his reverie, and he looked up suddenly.
“Um…Tob---Toby Valerik.” He’d almost said Tobs, but no. No, Tobs was a thing of the past. Tobs represented everything he’d been before the Island. He wasn’t Tobs anymore. Not to himself.
[Hm. I think this could be my greatest ever post, bar none. I love this one...@@ Not even my death posts seem to hold a candle to this. Opinions, please?]
The man was Toby Valerik, and his older look was a result of the ‘game’ they had been forced to start, though thankfully, not finish. The stress of those…days, hours, however long it was… coupled with his 15 years of living afterwards had not been kind to him. Formally known as Tobs, this had been dropped. There were so few left who knew the name Tobs, and those that did were on the other side of the nation. The few who would be with him, and knew his nickname, had been ...taken. As such, he'd never again told anyone to call him Tobs. In fact, to his memory, Takara Asano was the last person to ever hear that name. He sighed at the memory. Had he met her under normal circumstances, things could have been different. However, they had met under rather extreme circumstances.
He was now exclusively 'Toby.' An enigma to those he now knew, he never talked of anything that had ever happened to him. Every so often, he'd slip up and reminisce in the presence of others about Michigan, or even people he'd met on the ...the Island, as he called it. These occurrences were rarely explained, leaving most people that knew him after the Island to distance themselves from him.
His mere presence had always been a downer. It was as if he radiated depressedness and sadness from his body; then again, he had enough of it.
He remembered everything that had happened on the Island, yet had refused to seek counseling. Why, even his parents never found out. He didn't see a need to pay for it, though; the events rarely returned to the front of his mind. The only time they ever did was when he looked at anything remotely similar to something on the Island; Toby, upon his return, had immediately forced the removal of all drills from his house, for example. The drills were permanently taboo, thanks to the Island. His clothes from the Island, bloody and battered...he'd had them encased in a plastic wrap-like thing, and hung them up in the back of his closet. He wouldn't throw them away, since they held a scarce good memory, but wouldn't look at them because of all the bad associated.
Upon his rescue, he'd reentered the High School immediately; the only reason he went back to BC High was because his parents had thought he'd be better suited in a school with the people he'd been through SoTF with (ignoring the killers). They could all comfort each other, they'd thought. Well, for the most part, they were right; however, Toby was an exception. While surely not the only one, he did not jump back into the social swing of things. Toby just couldn’t look at a friend and not think of the Island; the things that had happened on it just wouldn’t let go of him.
Toby did not become a loner, or some depressed guy in the corner. Instead, he just simply seemed to keep to himself; when spoken to, he spoke. When he felt like talking, he talked. Even so, he never quite went back to being the Tobs people had known before. For those few people who got to know him at BC High, before the Island, the change was startling, if not understandable.
Toby pulled his low grades up to a respectable B+ average after the events involving the Island had faded into the past, graduating with a nice 3.5 or so as an average GPA. From BC High, he moved out to Arizona, believing the move to be permanent, and entered the UofA. At the University, he held a constant 3.4 or higher. Even so, he never had very many friends. Every time he ‘made’ a friend, he could only see the faces of those who the Island had taken. Still refusing to get counseling of any sort, Toby graduated from UofA easily, acquiring his needed degrees at a normal pace.
He had dreamed of having a job as a pilot since he’d first seen a plane; this was something he had shared with Drew. However, he dropped this career path. Not only had the Island incident begun with an airliner hijacking, but Drew’s life dream had been to fly …and Drew had been killed. Drew had died beside the River, and Toby had been forced to bury his friend of years. Within a day of Drew’s burial, they’d been rescued by the Americans.
Needless to say, this meant Toby had quite the negative perspective on life from this incident on. Once more, very understandable.
He tried to get into the FBI, and made it rather far through the admittance process, but was finally turned away. The FBI’s reason had been ‘mental instability stemming from a High School incident.’ Word for word, that was what had been said to him, and his ideas for jobs just died.
Failing that, he just began to get random jobs here and there. He had enough money to keep his house out in Arizona, but he finally gave up after a decade of trying. He caved, seeking a job as a Pilot, and got the job easily. After quite a bit of required psychoanalysis relating to flight and hijacking, and some testing of a certain wound on his leg.
All in all, Toby lived a comfortable life now, but he was not the social person he’d been before. Any faith in humanity he’d had had disappeared entirely on the Island, giving him a strong faith in himself and nothing else. He found himself friendless and not caring a bit about it, and this fact distanced those few friendly people he talked to from him further. Why had he even accepted the invitation to this conference? He didn’t know, really. A need to see people. To see if they’d been …been taken.
His thoughts returned to the Island, and he recalled what had happened at the River. It had been so frantic, so fast…and it had happened within hours of his awakening on the Island. He’d barely had time to acclimate himself to what was going on, and the River Battle, as he’d dubbed it, had completely shaken him.
He’d become the core of a small group of people, and the River had been the beginning of it and …and the end. The River Battle had started with one idiot trying to get the upper hand against a group, but failing miserably; it had deteriorated into a gun battle within minutes, and Toby’s drill had been all but useless. However, Drew had had a firearm.
He shut his eyes, turning to look away from the crowd of people. In his mind’s eye, he’d seen the Battle again. In the seconds he’d stood there, he relived 20 minutes of Hell. And it hadn’t even ended quickly.
In the movies, battles always ended with a bang. On top of that, if someone important to the main character died, that tended to signify the battle would end in several minutes tops. No.
Drew had been shot in the beginning, and Toby had been forced to fight for 15 minutes with a bullet in his leg, all while having Drew just meters from him, bleeding to death on the River’s bank. And, in the end, the boy who had started it didn’t go out with a bang. No, he died slowly, bleeding from a wound from, of all people, Drew.
No, dammit, no. You need to stop thinking of it like that. Now, get in there and talk to them. Maybe you’ll find someone you remember. He told himself this, over and over. Maybe there would be someone there. Someone he remembered. He doubted it; almost all his time on the Island had been spent digging a hole, and filling it in. The only people who had helped him were Takara Asano and …damn, he forgot if Sid and Chance had stayed. Still, from then on, he was devoted to burying his friend. The body of Drew’s killer was left, completely unceremoniously. Toby had not the stomach to give him the same ‘honor’ of a burial.
From the River Battle, it had only been about 18 hours or so until they had been rescued. By that time, however, the group had been splintered again. They’d been attacked in open ground by another dumb ass trying to get the upper hand against an armed group; Tobs had had to go alone, and he lost track of the others. If they’d stayed together, he didn’t know it. All he knew was that he’d had to spend only an hour until rescue. Alone.
Now, Toby walked towards the Receptionist’s desk, shifting legs every so often in the line. His left leg still hurt every now and then, but the Airline’s psychologist had determined it was more of a Phantom pain. Caused by his own mind’s memories, they said. Whatever.
“Name?” The word jolted him out of his reverie, and he looked up suddenly.
“Um…Tob---Toby Valerik.” He’d almost said Tobs, but no. No, Tobs was a thing of the past. Tobs represented everything he’d been before the Island. He wasn’t Tobs anymore. Not to himself.
[Hm. I think this could be my greatest ever post, bar none. I love this one...@@ Not even my death posts seem to hold a candle to this. Opinions, please?]
I am an archival account used by staff to port old posts from handlers no longer active. If you are this handler, get in touch with staff and we can get your posts back for you! Classic Tobs avatar by Kermit.
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kuroraishu†
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 6:39 pm
Walking into the exquisite lobby of the five-star hotel came a woman of about her early thirties carrying a suitcase in one hand and a briefcase in the other. She was clad in a black business suit, coat and short to medium length skirt with a deep red shirt, and high-heels to complete the outfit. Her long, now black hair, was pulled back into a tight bun with two small strands hanging down the sides of her face to just beneath her chin. Her once crimson colored eyes were now a pale shade of blue, almost silver, in fact this was her natural eye color; she no longer wore the colored contacts, they were a part of the old her from Survival of the Fittest.
One thing about her remained the same though, her figure. The only thing that changed with her figure was that her chest filled out a bit more, and although she didn't wear the skin fitting clothing she used to, her curves were still visible. Her facial expression was stone hard, and the skin remained as smooth as ever, free of blemishes, pimples, or dried out spots. Now, it took little effort for her to conceal her true feelings, as she had been able to practice for the past fifteen years. Also within those years, she had repressed almost all of her memories of her sophmore year in high school.
There was only one person on the Island, Survival of the Fittest, that she felt she would even be remotely happy to see, but she doubted he'd be here. Why had she even come to this? All it would do was stir memories she didn't want to remember, and yet, here she was.
Takara Asano. A tough bitch of a girl, yet carefree, in high school before SoTF had claimed her and her fellow classmates. Now, all that remained of that girl, was the bitch and a cold-heart. She had continued with high school after the rescue, and had brought her grades up to all A's, except for one B in an advanced placement Chemistry class. Over all, she had a 3.9 GPA when she graduated and from there, she went on to UW-Madison to begin her studies of law. From there, she went on to law school and graduated top of her class.
It was no surprise to her that she became a very successful lawyer, what with her attitude and her learning. Her very presence in a room tended to dampen the mood; she always seemed to have an icy feel roll off of her in waves. Nothing mattered to her anymore, not even the money, which she had lots of.
Approaching the front desk, Takara looked around her, as if considering turning her back and quickly leaving before anyone spotted her.
"Name please."
The voice of the clerk knocked her out of her thoughts, bringing her back to the real world. Though, his voice sounded as if he were referring her as just another person like everyone else. But, wasn't she just another person, regardless of Survival of the Fittest? She liked to think she was.
"Takara. Takara Asano."
The clerk took down her name, and once she was fully signed in, she took her room key and looked around the lobby. Was he here? Did he come? She didn't even know if she'd recognize him, she doubted he'd recognize her. Toby Valerik, whom she knew as Tobs. He was one of three people who had stuck with her, and she had stuck with, through most of their time on the Island.
A small shudder ran through her as past memories came flooding back to her. The one that stood out was the River battle that had happened shortly before they were rescued. Drew, someone she barely knew, but had met through Tobs, was the first to be hit. There was nothing she could do to help, especially with his killer having a firearm, and she a pathetic knife. When it was over though, she had stayed by Tobs side and helped him bury his friend; she felt terrible at what had befallen him, and at the time, she knew would greatly affect him, but how she didn't know.
It was a day later that they were rescued, but before they were, Takara had wandered off for a bit of alone time, intending on returning to Tobs side to help him grieve, but a terrible event had befallen her before she could return. She had been grabbed from behind by some guy, and she knew what would happen if she didn't get away. Needless to say, she just barely escaped rape by killing the guy with her knife. She didn't bother to take the knife out of the guy, she just got away and went back to Tobs, where she stayed silent and kept to herself; half frightened, half scarred for life.
Breaking out of her memories, Takara looked about again, spotting an older man wearing a cowboy hat. Squinting her eyes, she tried to make out who he might be, finding him to be recognizable, yet different to a point that she couldn't place a name to him. Out of curiousity, she approached him, taking a deep breath. It took a lot to make her nervous, or even remotely discomforted, but here she was, worrying about talking to someone who was either a complete stranger, or one guy from her group on the Island.
"Tobs...? Is-- is that you?"
For the first time in fifteen years, her voice held a tone of uncertainty, and her face twisted slightly, showing hope, yet ready disappointment at making a mistake. God she hoped she didn't walk up to a complete stranger and asked something like.
Please be Tobs. I can't look like an idiot... not anymore.
Were she a more open person, she probably would have smiled, but now she merely had a cold expression most always, or an impassive one. Her current look surprised her, for she even hid the fact that she was either concerned or worried about someone, and never, EVER, allowed herself to get close or intimate with someone. Tobs, Sidney, and Chance were the only people she really felt close to, and they were the only ones she ever would.
[Whee! Fun fun. Behold, teh Taka has come! >.>]
One thing about her remained the same though, her figure. The only thing that changed with her figure was that her chest filled out a bit more, and although she didn't wear the skin fitting clothing she used to, her curves were still visible. Her facial expression was stone hard, and the skin remained as smooth as ever, free of blemishes, pimples, or dried out spots. Now, it took little effort for her to conceal her true feelings, as she had been able to practice for the past fifteen years. Also within those years, she had repressed almost all of her memories of her sophmore year in high school.
There was only one person on the Island, Survival of the Fittest, that she felt she would even be remotely happy to see, but she doubted he'd be here. Why had she even come to this? All it would do was stir memories she didn't want to remember, and yet, here she was.
Takara Asano. A tough bitch of a girl, yet carefree, in high school before SoTF had claimed her and her fellow classmates. Now, all that remained of that girl, was the bitch and a cold-heart. She had continued with high school after the rescue, and had brought her grades up to all A's, except for one B in an advanced placement Chemistry class. Over all, she had a 3.9 GPA when she graduated and from there, she went on to UW-Madison to begin her studies of law. From there, she went on to law school and graduated top of her class.
It was no surprise to her that she became a very successful lawyer, what with her attitude and her learning. Her very presence in a room tended to dampen the mood; she always seemed to have an icy feel roll off of her in waves. Nothing mattered to her anymore, not even the money, which she had lots of.
Approaching the front desk, Takara looked around her, as if considering turning her back and quickly leaving before anyone spotted her.
"Name please."
The voice of the clerk knocked her out of her thoughts, bringing her back to the real world. Though, his voice sounded as if he were referring her as just another person like everyone else. But, wasn't she just another person, regardless of Survival of the Fittest? She liked to think she was.
"Takara. Takara Asano."
The clerk took down her name, and once she was fully signed in, she took her room key and looked around the lobby. Was he here? Did he come? She didn't even know if she'd recognize him, she doubted he'd recognize her. Toby Valerik, whom she knew as Tobs. He was one of three people who had stuck with her, and she had stuck with, through most of their time on the Island.
A small shudder ran through her as past memories came flooding back to her. The one that stood out was the River battle that had happened shortly before they were rescued. Drew, someone she barely knew, but had met through Tobs, was the first to be hit. There was nothing she could do to help, especially with his killer having a firearm, and she a pathetic knife. When it was over though, she had stayed by Tobs side and helped him bury his friend; she felt terrible at what had befallen him, and at the time, she knew would greatly affect him, but how she didn't know.
It was a day later that they were rescued, but before they were, Takara had wandered off for a bit of alone time, intending on returning to Tobs side to help him grieve, but a terrible event had befallen her before she could return. She had been grabbed from behind by some guy, and she knew what would happen if she didn't get away. Needless to say, she just barely escaped rape by killing the guy with her knife. She didn't bother to take the knife out of the guy, she just got away and went back to Tobs, where she stayed silent and kept to herself; half frightened, half scarred for life.
Breaking out of her memories, Takara looked about again, spotting an older man wearing a cowboy hat. Squinting her eyes, she tried to make out who he might be, finding him to be recognizable, yet different to a point that she couldn't place a name to him. Out of curiousity, she approached him, taking a deep breath. It took a lot to make her nervous, or even remotely discomforted, but here she was, worrying about talking to someone who was either a complete stranger, or one guy from her group on the Island.
"Tobs...? Is-- is that you?"
For the first time in fifteen years, her voice held a tone of uncertainty, and her face twisted slightly, showing hope, yet ready disappointment at making a mistake. God she hoped she didn't walk up to a complete stranger and asked something like.
Please be Tobs. I can't look like an idiot... not anymore.
Were she a more open person, she probably would have smiled, but now she merely had a cold expression most always, or an impassive one. Her current look surprised her, for she even hid the fact that she was either concerned or worried about someone, and never, EVER, allowed herself to get close or intimate with someone. Tobs, Sidney, and Chance were the only people she really felt close to, and they were the only ones she ever would.
[Whee! Fun fun. Behold, teh Taka has come! >.>]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler kuroraishu. 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.
The heart had ALWAYS been there, no matter what. That much, he knew, and he had always known. So it was simply heart that embodied all that Sidney Crosby stood for, and to those who followed hockey at all, they would know that he stood for a LOT. After Survival of the Fittest, Crosby had returned to Pittsburgh, where he'd undergone extensive surgery to repair the damage to the bottom of his foot. The surgery had been successful, and thanks to a lot of heart on Sidney's part, he was back on the ice practicing in four weeks. And while Sidney's foot healed quickly, everyone knew that his mind was another matter. It had taken Ottawa Senator Dany Heatley a long time to put the past behind him when Dan Snyder had died in the tragic Atlanta auto accident, and even more time for Todd Bertuzzi to rebound after he lost his temper and attacked Steve Moore, breaking the man's neck and ending his hockey career. But for Sidney Crosby, the experts predicted that the boy who was once being hailed as 'the Next One' would never be the same after SOTF. Mentally, Sid was a bit of a wreck. While he kept in contact with only four students from the SOTF incident, he very rarely liked to talk about it, and only Mario Lemeiux knew the reality of how much poor Sidney Crosby was hurting inside. That first year, he hardly played, only playing in three games all year, and not looking at all like the Sidney Crosby who everyone had been talked about. Some wrote him off, and said he was the worst number one draft pick since Alexandre Daigle had disappointed everyone back in the mid-nineties.
But Sid had rebounded the next year, and became a force to be reckoned with. To the public, it seemed as though Sidney Crosby had finally rid himself of his demons. The year after his disappointing three-game season, Crosby scored 153 points in 82 games in his rookie campaign and picked up the Calder trophy and the Art Ross trophy, awarded to the best rookie and player in the NHL who had the most points. He finished second in voting for the Hart Trophy, awarded to the MVP of the NHL, beaten only by Toronto's Tomas Kaberle, who was the sole reason that the Toronto Maple Leafs finished in 6th instead of down at 15th, scoring 45 goals (easily the best of any defenseman in more than ten years) and averaging a monstrous 37 minutes of ice time per game, in which he was a +51 rating all year. Crosby was beaten but not by much, though some said while Kaberle's stats were impressive, Crosby had lit the league on fire, and it was a controversial decision for sure. He didn't have to wait long for his first Hart trophy, though, as he captured it the year after.
Sidney Crosby in the fifteen years since SOTF had done quite a bit in his NHL career. He played for Pittsburgh for five years and then was surprisingly traded to the San Jose Sharks, where he played another two years and then signed as an unrestricted free agent with the Minnesota Wild, whom he captained to six straight Stanley Cups. A year prior, he had signed with the Montreal Canadiens, who he played for to this day. Crosby'd accomplished a lot in his career, and at the age of 32, he was getting ever-so-close to Wayne Gretzky's assist record, scoring no fewer than 140 assists in every season since his rookie season.
So as Sidney Crosby stepped into the hotel, carrying a small suitcase and wearing a black Canadiens t-shirt, he couldn't help but have a bit of apprehension. Sidney had an admittedly hard time putting SOTF behind him, and it was only when he found out how he could channel his feelings into his hockey that he had started doing incredibly well. Even to this day, however, there were some things that Sid just didn't really understand, and some things that he felt like he'd never. So coming to meet with the other survivors was something that he felt he HAD to do, no matter what. Stepping towards the counter, the smiling hotel clerk gave him a form, not even needing to ask who he was. Smirking to himself, he took his room key from the girl, and turned around into the lobby. A few familiar faces were definitely milling about, in fact there were a few that he knew to be former BC High students, who had been on the island with him. People were starting to arrive, and he couldn't help but wonder how much everyone had changed. Even Takara, Toby and Chance, all of whom he'd tried to keep in contact with via email had likely changed, and he hadn't seen any of them in fifteen years. Scratching the back of his neck, he took another look around the room, and sighed.
Here we are to relive the past, and revisit that which brought us all together. How truly fucked up is that?
But Sid had rebounded the next year, and became a force to be reckoned with. To the public, it seemed as though Sidney Crosby had finally rid himself of his demons. The year after his disappointing three-game season, Crosby scored 153 points in 82 games in his rookie campaign and picked up the Calder trophy and the Art Ross trophy, awarded to the best rookie and player in the NHL who had the most points. He finished second in voting for the Hart Trophy, awarded to the MVP of the NHL, beaten only by Toronto's Tomas Kaberle, who was the sole reason that the Toronto Maple Leafs finished in 6th instead of down at 15th, scoring 45 goals (easily the best of any defenseman in more than ten years) and averaging a monstrous 37 minutes of ice time per game, in which he was a +51 rating all year. Crosby was beaten but not by much, though some said while Kaberle's stats were impressive, Crosby had lit the league on fire, and it was a controversial decision for sure. He didn't have to wait long for his first Hart trophy, though, as he captured it the year after.
Sidney Crosby in the fifteen years since SOTF had done quite a bit in his NHL career. He played for Pittsburgh for five years and then was surprisingly traded to the San Jose Sharks, where he played another two years and then signed as an unrestricted free agent with the Minnesota Wild, whom he captained to six straight Stanley Cups. A year prior, he had signed with the Montreal Canadiens, who he played for to this day. Crosby'd accomplished a lot in his career, and at the age of 32, he was getting ever-so-close to Wayne Gretzky's assist record, scoring no fewer than 140 assists in every season since his rookie season.
So as Sidney Crosby stepped into the hotel, carrying a small suitcase and wearing a black Canadiens t-shirt, he couldn't help but have a bit of apprehension. Sidney had an admittedly hard time putting SOTF behind him, and it was only when he found out how he could channel his feelings into his hockey that he had started doing incredibly well. Even to this day, however, there were some things that Sid just didn't really understand, and some things that he felt like he'd never. So coming to meet with the other survivors was something that he felt he HAD to do, no matter what. Stepping towards the counter, the smiling hotel clerk gave him a form, not even needing to ask who he was. Smirking to himself, he took his room key from the girl, and turned around into the lobby. A few familiar faces were definitely milling about, in fact there were a few that he knew to be former BC High students, who had been on the island with him. People were starting to arrive, and he couldn't help but wonder how much everyone had changed. Even Takara, Toby and Chance, all of whom he'd tried to keep in contact with via email had likely changed, and he hadn't seen any of them in fifteen years. Scratching the back of his neck, he took another look around the room, and sighed.
Here we are to relive the past, and revisit that which brought us all together. How truly fucked up is that?
Stepping through the doors into the hotel, a man in his early thirties slowly wondered in somewhat uneasily as if he didn’t want to be there. All in truth somewhere in the back of his mind, he didn’t… he would have very well wished to remain in California instead of traveling all the way here to go to a conference to remember something he rather not have.
These fifteen years hadn’t been the easiest at first, but giving himself both time and patience he had been able to move on from the horror that he had witnessed and been apart of on that island during the Survival of the Fittest act all that time ago. And of course, probably like a majority of the people here figured they wouldn’t have to deal with that little part of their lives ever again, he figured this too – after getting married. And now well past his sixth marriage anniversary and not to mention a four-year old daughter to support the Survival of the Fittest act was all but forgotten to Glenn Hughes.
“Yeah… I just got to the hotel, it’s bloody nice.” He spoke into the cell-phone against his ear to his wife on the other line; he hadn’t wanted to bring them along to this – no need for it really. So she and their daughter Alix had stayed behind in California while he had traveled over the west coast to the east coast for all this that was happening in the next two days. “Don’t worry about me, this’ll probably help out, and I’ll get to see everyone again.”
That had been the main reason he had came to this thing, he had failed to keep in touch with a majority of the people he had come to know on the island, that included his glob-trotting soccer star of a brother. So when he had received the invite last month, he had decided if not for anything else to go simply to see everyone again.
“Alright, I’ll call you both tomorrow. Love you too.” And with that, closed the phone and placed it in one of the side pockets of his jacket continuing his walk through the large crowd toward the front desk where a large number of people where already waiting in line, glancing about as he walked for anyone familiar. He had managed to speak to Fred earlier in the week, he mentioning that he would be showing up for the conference, though knowing him would show up the minute the TV spot itself started.
Reaching the line leading up toward the front desk, he quickly took a spot in line, swinging his the bag of luggage in his right hand a bit as he continued to glance around for any familiar faces. A number of people caught his attention, but he wasn’t able to say he truly knew them besides maybe sharing a class or two, and maybe having come across one another during the game.
Looking down at his wristwatch he sighed just a bit, returning to looking forward in line as he sifted his feet a bit trying to take the weight off his left knee, which still after all these years continued to bother him still. Though not as much as it had in his younger years, after two surgeries and a pain medication he’d been able to take a majority of the growing pain away and allow him to continue on with his job. Playing guitar in a rather well known band, who had a close following, as well as for smaller local group performances and the such.
“Excuse me sir?”
Blinking out of his thoughts, Glenn faced forward again noting that the line had gone through much faster than he had thought and stepping forward smiled an apology of sorts, “Um. I’m here to check in for the conference?”
“Alright sir, name please.”
“Glenn Hughes.”
The woman behind the desk typed into her computer, smiling a moment as she grabbed him his room keys he taking them with a light smile before moving away from the desk. Pocketing the keys into his jacket and looking around once more, and shrugging off moved the elevator pressing the up button, and watching as the floor’s lighted up on the way down before the elevator doors parted ways. Glenn stepping aside in order to allow some people past before stepping inside him, hitting the button to the seventh floor and sighing as he fell against the back of the elevator, watching as the doors closed and begun to take him to the floor his room was on.
Running a hand through his still shaggy, blond curled hair he let his hand drop as the elevator reached where it was heading too, and he stepped off glancing from side to side down the long halls before heading down one. ‘764… 765… 766… Here we go 767.’ He muttered in thought, opening the door and glancing around lightly in awe, these rooms where quite big… and nice at that too. Closing the door behind him, he dropped his luggage close to the bed, smiling some before fully collapsing against his bed with a sigh.
‘Only two more days…’
=====
Pocketing the ring into the pocket of his jeans, Hawley stood somewhat silent as the two girls talked amongst each other, talking about everything from the more recent events all the way to the whereabouts of Adam Dodd. Their friend who had all but dissapered off the face of the Earth that short time after the end of Survival of the Fittest those fifteen years ago.
Pursing his lips in a thoughtful manner, he listened on to what the girl’s where saying glancing around every so often at the people around them, still noting the familiar faces that fluttered about the room through the crowds.
Rubbing his arm uncomfortable he glanced back toward the front desk, blinking some as he took note of a familiar red-haired man standing and checking in. His mind running through faces and names, till one finally came up, he had remembered the young man had soon joined the military in the war against Danya and his men. And had done quite well, having been awarded a medal of some sort he believed. But like a majority of their tight knit circle of friends that had been made on the island, they hadn’t kept in touch at all either.
David Jackson, he sure did look like a bodyguard now… none the less he smiled at the sight of one of their old friends, glancing over at the girls once more as Madelaine seemed to take notice of David as well. Though they once again seemed to go off in talk of another sorts and Hawley seemed looked off again, switching the luggage in his one hand off into the other as holding it had become a tad bit uncomfortable for the moment.
Though as he stood there with his back somewhat to the girls, he felt another tap on his back, expecting it to be either Amanda or his wife trying to get his attention he turned back a little. Coming to face that of another man, one that was quite oddly familiar, the new man asking him a rather odd question as well.
His stomach? Glancing down, he blinked a bit… well he felt fine. Though glancing up again toward the man, he frowned trying to figure where he had seemed so familiar. But taking the question and the familiar face he finally let them click as his mind went back to the time on the island, and the time when they had been looking for Adam. Though he rather not remember the detailed facts of why the other had attacked, he knew it had to do with all the inner troubles he had been having there.
This man here – Callum was it? He had been looking for someone on the island, some girl… but something else had seemed wrong with the young man at the time. But smiling some, Hawley nodded, “I’m fine – quite fine really, I… um… how have you been? Callum, right?” Hawley asked, still unsure if that was the other man's name or not.
These fifteen years hadn’t been the easiest at first, but giving himself both time and patience he had been able to move on from the horror that he had witnessed and been apart of on that island during the Survival of the Fittest act all that time ago. And of course, probably like a majority of the people here figured they wouldn’t have to deal with that little part of their lives ever again, he figured this too – after getting married. And now well past his sixth marriage anniversary and not to mention a four-year old daughter to support the Survival of the Fittest act was all but forgotten to Glenn Hughes.
“Yeah… I just got to the hotel, it’s bloody nice.” He spoke into the cell-phone against his ear to his wife on the other line; he hadn’t wanted to bring them along to this – no need for it really. So she and their daughter Alix had stayed behind in California while he had traveled over the west coast to the east coast for all this that was happening in the next two days. “Don’t worry about me, this’ll probably help out, and I’ll get to see everyone again.”
That had been the main reason he had came to this thing, he had failed to keep in touch with a majority of the people he had come to know on the island, that included his glob-trotting soccer star of a brother. So when he had received the invite last month, he had decided if not for anything else to go simply to see everyone again.
“Alright, I’ll call you both tomorrow. Love you too.” And with that, closed the phone and placed it in one of the side pockets of his jacket continuing his walk through the large crowd toward the front desk where a large number of people where already waiting in line, glancing about as he walked for anyone familiar. He had managed to speak to Fred earlier in the week, he mentioning that he would be showing up for the conference, though knowing him would show up the minute the TV spot itself started.
Reaching the line leading up toward the front desk, he quickly took a spot in line, swinging his the bag of luggage in his right hand a bit as he continued to glance around for any familiar faces. A number of people caught his attention, but he wasn’t able to say he truly knew them besides maybe sharing a class or two, and maybe having come across one another during the game.
Looking down at his wristwatch he sighed just a bit, returning to looking forward in line as he sifted his feet a bit trying to take the weight off his left knee, which still after all these years continued to bother him still. Though not as much as it had in his younger years, after two surgeries and a pain medication he’d been able to take a majority of the growing pain away and allow him to continue on with his job. Playing guitar in a rather well known band, who had a close following, as well as for smaller local group performances and the such.
“Excuse me sir?”
Blinking out of his thoughts, Glenn faced forward again noting that the line had gone through much faster than he had thought and stepping forward smiled an apology of sorts, “Um. I’m here to check in for the conference?”
“Alright sir, name please.”
“Glenn Hughes.”
The woman behind the desk typed into her computer, smiling a moment as she grabbed him his room keys he taking them with a light smile before moving away from the desk. Pocketing the keys into his jacket and looking around once more, and shrugging off moved the elevator pressing the up button, and watching as the floor’s lighted up on the way down before the elevator doors parted ways. Glenn stepping aside in order to allow some people past before stepping inside him, hitting the button to the seventh floor and sighing as he fell against the back of the elevator, watching as the doors closed and begun to take him to the floor his room was on.
Running a hand through his still shaggy, blond curled hair he let his hand drop as the elevator reached where it was heading too, and he stepped off glancing from side to side down the long halls before heading down one. ‘764… 765… 766… Here we go 767.’ He muttered in thought, opening the door and glancing around lightly in awe, these rooms where quite big… and nice at that too. Closing the door behind him, he dropped his luggage close to the bed, smiling some before fully collapsing against his bed with a sigh.
‘Only two more days…’
=====
Pocketing the ring into the pocket of his jeans, Hawley stood somewhat silent as the two girls talked amongst each other, talking about everything from the more recent events all the way to the whereabouts of Adam Dodd. Their friend who had all but dissapered off the face of the Earth that short time after the end of Survival of the Fittest those fifteen years ago.
Pursing his lips in a thoughtful manner, he listened on to what the girl’s where saying glancing around every so often at the people around them, still noting the familiar faces that fluttered about the room through the crowds.
Rubbing his arm uncomfortable he glanced back toward the front desk, blinking some as he took note of a familiar red-haired man standing and checking in. His mind running through faces and names, till one finally came up, he had remembered the young man had soon joined the military in the war against Danya and his men. And had done quite well, having been awarded a medal of some sort he believed. But like a majority of their tight knit circle of friends that had been made on the island, they hadn’t kept in touch at all either.
David Jackson, he sure did look like a bodyguard now… none the less he smiled at the sight of one of their old friends, glancing over at the girls once more as Madelaine seemed to take notice of David as well. Though they once again seemed to go off in talk of another sorts and Hawley seemed looked off again, switching the luggage in his one hand off into the other as holding it had become a tad bit uncomfortable for the moment.
Though as he stood there with his back somewhat to the girls, he felt another tap on his back, expecting it to be either Amanda or his wife trying to get his attention he turned back a little. Coming to face that of another man, one that was quite oddly familiar, the new man asking him a rather odd question as well.
His stomach? Glancing down, he blinked a bit… well he felt fine. Though glancing up again toward the man, he frowned trying to figure where he had seemed so familiar. But taking the question and the familiar face he finally let them click as his mind went back to the time on the island, and the time when they had been looking for Adam. Though he rather not remember the detailed facts of why the other had attacked, he knew it had to do with all the inner troubles he had been having there.
This man here – Callum was it? He had been looking for someone on the island, some girl… but something else had seemed wrong with the young man at the time. But smiling some, Hawley nodded, “I’m fine – quite fine really, I… um… how have you been? Callum, right?” Hawley asked, still unsure if that was the other man's name or not.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.
Callum nodded, almost relieved. His hands still in his pockets, he mumbled almost inaudibly.
"I've been OK," he said, nodding. "Um... you'll have to forgive me, but I have no idea what your name is..."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Huffing in an irritated manner, Mallory dragged her bags along the stairs leading to the hotel entrance. How had she managed to pack so much stuff? Dragging it along behind her, she stumbled up the stairs.
No, it's OK, I didn't need you to come...
Her husband hadn't even offered to come along to the conference- not wishing to be assosciated with it- and so Mallory had to make her own way, bags and all. What was worse was the large bump protuding from her stomach- Mallory was 8 months pregnant.
Sweat dripping down her face and feeling exhausted, she shouldered the door to force it open and stumbled through it. Dropping her suitcase onto the floor, she leant against the wall, desperately trying to regain her posture. She hadn't been as successful as some of her fellow students, although she had a comfortable job as an office worker, she didn't make a vast amount of money. Looking around, she felt quite out of place. She didn't look scruffy, but compared to all the women wearing business suits and so on, she felt almost embarrassed. Her hair was now shoulder length, instead of the waist length it had been, but her overall body appearance hadn't changed much. She had, of course, ditched the whole 'goth' look, but other than that, her face was still pale and deeply contrasted by her black hair.
Sitting on her suitcase, she wiped the sweat off her forehead, hoping that someone would come and help her carry her bags.
"I've been OK," he said, nodding. "Um... you'll have to forgive me, but I have no idea what your name is..."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Huffing in an irritated manner, Mallory dragged her bags along the stairs leading to the hotel entrance. How had she managed to pack so much stuff? Dragging it along behind her, she stumbled up the stairs.
No, it's OK, I didn't need you to come...
Her husband hadn't even offered to come along to the conference- not wishing to be assosciated with it- and so Mallory had to make her own way, bags and all. What was worse was the large bump protuding from her stomach- Mallory was 8 months pregnant.
Sweat dripping down her face and feeling exhausted, she shouldered the door to force it open and stumbled through it. Dropping her suitcase onto the floor, she leant against the wall, desperately trying to regain her posture. She hadn't been as successful as some of her fellow students, although she had a comfortable job as an office worker, she didn't make a vast amount of money. Looking around, she felt quite out of place. She didn't look scruffy, but compared to all the women wearing business suits and so on, she felt almost embarrassed. Her hair was now shoulder length, instead of the waist length it had been, but her overall body appearance hadn't changed much. She had, of course, ditched the whole 'goth' look, but other than that, her face was still pale and deeply contrasted by her black hair.
Sitting on her suitcase, she wiped the sweat off her forehead, hoping that someone would come and help her carry her bags.
I am an archival account used by staff to port old posts from handlers no longer active. If you are this handler, get in touch with staff and we can get your posts back for you! Elise avatar by Kermit.
It had been fifteen years since the international phenomenon known as Survival of the Fittest had taken place. The brutal and inhumane contest had claimed the lives of many, and drastically changed the lives of all the students who had been forced into participation. Of course, when a 16-year-old Lyndi Thibodeaux had arrived home from that fateful island, she and the other students from Barry Coleson had been the talk of the town. But, as other things happened in the world, they moved on, leaving the Sophomore and Freshman classes of Barry Coleson to get on with their lives the best they knew how.
Unlike many of the students who she had attended school with, Lyndi's first few years back home were good ones. Of course, the attention she had gained from SOTF was a bit overwhelming, but her parents and her brother had stood by her through thick and thin in those times, and for that, Lyndi thanked them. She had gone on with her life, like all the rest, and even went on to college. Needless to say, Lyndi remained involved in cheerleading, even in college, and that was where she got her first taste of "camera life", so to speak, after SOTF.
She had actually graduated from college and earned a degree in Marketing. What Lyndi did not realize then was that instead of making the advertisements, she would soon be in them. At 18 and in her Freshman year of college, Lyndi had been offered a modeling deal by a local agent. If things went well, they would offer her a contract. Apparently, Lyndi's "look" sold well, and her career in modeling skyrocketed. Once again, Lyndi had re-entered the American spotlight. Magazines, swimsuit catelogs, even billboards... Lyndi had done it all.
Now, Lyndi had continued her modeling, and become quite the successful woman. This fall, her first in a line of perfumes was to be released, entitled "Endeavor". In retrospect, she had done pretty well for herself. The one thing Lyndi had never quite regained after Survival of the Fittest was her social life. Now nearing her 31st birthday, Lyndi Thibodeaux was still single, with no prospect in sight. The world had been kind to them in their first moments out of SOTF, but they had lost interest quickly. The modeling industry, however, had been almost cruel about the entire ordeal, and many of the models looked down on Lyndi as if she were tainted.
Despite all that had gone on in the years that had elapsed, she had never forgotten about that place or the people in it. Now, as the black stretch limousine pulled up in front of the hotel where the conference was to be held, Lyndi could not help but smile. All at once, though, the scenario made her nervous. She had not seen most of these people in fifteen years, and she certainly had made no attempt at keeping in touch with many of them. Part of her wondered how they were doing now, but the other part did not care to see any of them again. After all, as her mother told her after her return to Barry Coleson, seeing them would "just remind her".
As the limo door opened and she took in her first view of the large and highly-reputed hotel, she smiled a bit. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all. Her driver had appeared with her bags, prepared to follow her in with them. Lyndi stepped out of the limo, adjusting her almost casual attire, consisting of a red tie-back Renaissance style shirt and a pair of khakis. She stood there a moment, examining the prestine hotel. Finally, she motioned to her companion to follow her into the hotel with her bags. The driver courteously opened the door and Lyndi entered, taking the room in slowly.
It was crowded already, filled to the brim with faces she had not seen in ages. Casting a glance to a dark haired woman sitting on her suitcase, Lyndi smiled slightly, but kept walking. She did not recognize the woman who sat there. For that matter, she did not recognize 95% of the former students who stood in the hotel lobby. Regardless, she walked with her head held high. Finally, she approached the counter and smiled faintly at the clerk who sat behind it. Fiddling with a strand of her long mocha-colored hair, which had not changed much since high school, though she had long since ditched the ponytail and ribbon combo, Lyndi addressed him casually.
"I'm here to check in... for the, you know, SOTF conference."
"Name, please?"
"...Thibodeaux. Lyndi Thibodeaux."
The woman drummed quietly on her computer keyboard a moment before finally turning and handing Lyndi a set of keys. She smiled knowingly as Lyndi looked about the room once again, almost flustered by all the unrecognizable faces she saw. Without hesitation, she took the keys from the woman behind the desk, looking down at the room number written on the tag. 751... Turning toward her limo driver, who stood attentively, awaiting his next instructions, she ushered him toward the door, smiling halfheartedly.
"I'll take them from here on out. Thank you."
The man nodded and tipped his hat before escorting himself out the door and eventually moving the limousine that had been blocking the wrap-around entrance to the front of the hotel. Casting a wary glance toward the group of people that had congregated, she avoided attracting any attention to herself. Lord knows she had enough of that every day as it stood now. Besides that, those people, they were not "her" people, the people she had come to this conference to see in the first place. Placing a hand on her suitcase, she struggled a moment to pick it up, then quietly headed toward the elevator, hoping to avoid contact with the group in the lobby.
Besides, how embarrassing would that be... I don't remember them. Any of them. Least... I didn't recognize any of the faces that I saw. I'd feel bad if they remembered me and I just stood there staring at them. Then again, what do they expect? It has been fifteen years, after all. We've all changed... a lot.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened, signaling for Lyndi to step onto the elevator. Even the elevators in this place were stunning... glass elevators that provided a view of the entire hotel as they moved up. Gazing about the structure as the elevator made its way upward, she got a good glimpse of her surroundings before the elevator once again dinged. The glass doors opened and she found herself on the eighth floor, where all the 700 rooms were located. Dragging her suitcase off the elevator behind her, she stood out in the hallway, trying to get her barrings a bit in this elaborate place.
Unlike many of the students who she had attended school with, Lyndi's first few years back home were good ones. Of course, the attention she had gained from SOTF was a bit overwhelming, but her parents and her brother had stood by her through thick and thin in those times, and for that, Lyndi thanked them. She had gone on with her life, like all the rest, and even went on to college. Needless to say, Lyndi remained involved in cheerleading, even in college, and that was where she got her first taste of "camera life", so to speak, after SOTF.
She had actually graduated from college and earned a degree in Marketing. What Lyndi did not realize then was that instead of making the advertisements, she would soon be in them. At 18 and in her Freshman year of college, Lyndi had been offered a modeling deal by a local agent. If things went well, they would offer her a contract. Apparently, Lyndi's "look" sold well, and her career in modeling skyrocketed. Once again, Lyndi had re-entered the American spotlight. Magazines, swimsuit catelogs, even billboards... Lyndi had done it all.
Now, Lyndi had continued her modeling, and become quite the successful woman. This fall, her first in a line of perfumes was to be released, entitled "Endeavor". In retrospect, she had done pretty well for herself. The one thing Lyndi had never quite regained after Survival of the Fittest was her social life. Now nearing her 31st birthday, Lyndi Thibodeaux was still single, with no prospect in sight. The world had been kind to them in their first moments out of SOTF, but they had lost interest quickly. The modeling industry, however, had been almost cruel about the entire ordeal, and many of the models looked down on Lyndi as if she were tainted.
Despite all that had gone on in the years that had elapsed, she had never forgotten about that place or the people in it. Now, as the black stretch limousine pulled up in front of the hotel where the conference was to be held, Lyndi could not help but smile. All at once, though, the scenario made her nervous. She had not seen most of these people in fifteen years, and she certainly had made no attempt at keeping in touch with many of them. Part of her wondered how they were doing now, but the other part did not care to see any of them again. After all, as her mother told her after her return to Barry Coleson, seeing them would "just remind her".
As the limo door opened and she took in her first view of the large and highly-reputed hotel, she smiled a bit. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all. Her driver had appeared with her bags, prepared to follow her in with them. Lyndi stepped out of the limo, adjusting her almost casual attire, consisting of a red tie-back Renaissance style shirt and a pair of khakis. She stood there a moment, examining the prestine hotel. Finally, she motioned to her companion to follow her into the hotel with her bags. The driver courteously opened the door and Lyndi entered, taking the room in slowly.
It was crowded already, filled to the brim with faces she had not seen in ages. Casting a glance to a dark haired woman sitting on her suitcase, Lyndi smiled slightly, but kept walking. She did not recognize the woman who sat there. For that matter, she did not recognize 95% of the former students who stood in the hotel lobby. Regardless, she walked with her head held high. Finally, she approached the counter and smiled faintly at the clerk who sat behind it. Fiddling with a strand of her long mocha-colored hair, which had not changed much since high school, though she had long since ditched the ponytail and ribbon combo, Lyndi addressed him casually.
"I'm here to check in... for the, you know, SOTF conference."
"Name, please?"
"...Thibodeaux. Lyndi Thibodeaux."
The woman drummed quietly on her computer keyboard a moment before finally turning and handing Lyndi a set of keys. She smiled knowingly as Lyndi looked about the room once again, almost flustered by all the unrecognizable faces she saw. Without hesitation, she took the keys from the woman behind the desk, looking down at the room number written on the tag. 751... Turning toward her limo driver, who stood attentively, awaiting his next instructions, she ushered him toward the door, smiling halfheartedly.
"I'll take them from here on out. Thank you."
The man nodded and tipped his hat before escorting himself out the door and eventually moving the limousine that had been blocking the wrap-around entrance to the front of the hotel. Casting a wary glance toward the group of people that had congregated, she avoided attracting any attention to herself. Lord knows she had enough of that every day as it stood now. Besides that, those people, they were not "her" people, the people she had come to this conference to see in the first place. Placing a hand on her suitcase, she struggled a moment to pick it up, then quietly headed toward the elevator, hoping to avoid contact with the group in the lobby.
Besides, how embarrassing would that be... I don't remember them. Any of them. Least... I didn't recognize any of the faces that I saw. I'd feel bad if they remembered me and I just stood there staring at them. Then again, what do they expect? It has been fifteen years, after all. We've all changed... a lot.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened, signaling for Lyndi to step onto the elevator. Even the elevators in this place were stunning... glass elevators that provided a view of the entire hotel as they moved up. Gazing about the structure as the elevator made its way upward, she got a good glimpse of her surroundings before the elevator once again dinged. The glass doors opened and she found herself on the eighth floor, where all the 700 rooms were located. Dragging her suitcase off the elevator behind her, she stood out in the hallway, trying to get her barrings a bit in this elaborate place.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
The man walked away from the reception desk, his polished cowboy boots clunking heavily against the floor. His hand reached up and pressed his hat further down over his head, hiding his eyes a bit more. Yes, he was in what could be called stereotypical cowboy attire, but he'd lived in Arizona for a while now, and was used to wearing nothing but said attire. The only thing he didn't have was a horse, really. A horse and some 6-shooters, or a rifle. None of that was his to own, though everything else, he had. I guess.
He scanned the crowd again, wondering if anyone from the River group had survived. He'd seen Drew die...there would be no happy, Hollywood reunion with Drew. No. The endings in movies that had always annoyed him (as in, someone who'd clearly died came back again) now flat out disgusted him. Was it a reminder of what Drew could not do? Or was it just his new, mostly pessimistic attitude towards life in general? Whatever the real cause, the result remained the same: those movies annoyed the shit out of him, and only depressed him for quite some time after viewing. It was one part of SoTF that he'd never come to terms with, and one he would never do so with.
As he took another step towards wherever the hell he wanted to go (as he'd yet to decide...), he got the feeling of someone approaching him from behind. He stopped in his tracks. Why would someone approach him?
Bad idea to wear the cowboy stuff, eh? Shoulda broken out the old clothes. Given these guys a nostalgic shock. He slowly turned, looking at the woman. There were only two things that came to mind from her attire. Lawyer or reporter. I swear to God, I'll---
"Tobs...? Is-- is that you?" Something about being called Tobs made it impossible for him to think. He didn't catch on to the subtle hints she'd given; he didn't see the hope or anything else in her face, he didn't see anything familiar in the way she spoke.
He bristled instantly upong being called Tobs, as if the past had been dug up forceably. It was like someone digging up a coffin you were in, opening it, and gawking at your body while you watched as a spirit. There was nothing you could really do, not at the moment, but you wished desperately for the grave diggers to replace your body in the coffin and refill the hole. Though, it was impossible to refill a hole created by words, not in this short instance.
"Listen, the first time I met with you damned reporters, I told you all my name was Toby. I said you were never to call me 'Tobs,' no matter how well you thought you knew me. So, don't fucking call me Tobs!" He snapped this out, glaring at her under the brim of his cowboy hat. Nothing seemed to click in his mind, at least not yet. The old Tobs still existed in one respect that Takara may recognize: his refusal to keep his language in check when his temper had flared.
"...wait. Reporters aren't allowed in here. That means..." And so, he looked at Takara closer. There was something in her face.. Something...Oh, shit, did I just make the largest mistake of my adult life? He thought this to himself rather quickly, and began to mentally scour his memory. Takara looked so different. She wouldn't look like that, would she? Well...it has been 15 years, and it looks like 25 for me. So...that means... His eyes slowly widened in comprehension of his enourmous faux pas, if that's what it was. He turned around fully, facing her directly. He took an unbelieving step towards her, and another.
Absent-mindedly, he thought to himself If I don't get slapped for that, I'm truly amazed.
"...Takara? Takara Asano?" His voice was a croaking whisper, barely eeking out from his mouth. He was so surprised, his voice refused to form.
She...wait, Takara came to this? But...I thought she'd ...scoff at it. I never imagined she'd be the kind to come to ...THIS! He was amazed. Bewildered. And thinking he was hallucinating, just a little bit.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another person that seemed to radiate and air of familiarity walk by. The man was older looking than the last time he'd ever seen him, of course, but something was incredibly similar about him.
Oh, and he was the only boy Tobs had met on the Island wearing a hockey shirt. That image stuck with Toby.
"...Sidney? Crosby?" Once more, his voice was nothing more than a croak, barely audible above the ambient background noise of the hotel itself. I'm either dreaming, hallucinating, dead...or this is seriously happening.
He scanned the crowd again, wondering if anyone from the River group had survived. He'd seen Drew die...there would be no happy, Hollywood reunion with Drew. No. The endings in movies that had always annoyed him (as in, someone who'd clearly died came back again) now flat out disgusted him. Was it a reminder of what Drew could not do? Or was it just his new, mostly pessimistic attitude towards life in general? Whatever the real cause, the result remained the same: those movies annoyed the shit out of him, and only depressed him for quite some time after viewing. It was one part of SoTF that he'd never come to terms with, and one he would never do so with.
As he took another step towards wherever the hell he wanted to go (as he'd yet to decide...), he got the feeling of someone approaching him from behind. He stopped in his tracks. Why would someone approach him?
Bad idea to wear the cowboy stuff, eh? Shoulda broken out the old clothes. Given these guys a nostalgic shock. He slowly turned, looking at the woman. There were only two things that came to mind from her attire. Lawyer or reporter. I swear to God, I'll---
"Tobs...? Is-- is that you?" Something about being called Tobs made it impossible for him to think. He didn't catch on to the subtle hints she'd given; he didn't see the hope or anything else in her face, he didn't see anything familiar in the way she spoke.
He bristled instantly upong being called Tobs, as if the past had been dug up forceably. It was like someone digging up a coffin you were in, opening it, and gawking at your body while you watched as a spirit. There was nothing you could really do, not at the moment, but you wished desperately for the grave diggers to replace your body in the coffin and refill the hole. Though, it was impossible to refill a hole created by words, not in this short instance.
"Listen, the first time I met with you damned reporters, I told you all my name was Toby. I said you were never to call me 'Tobs,' no matter how well you thought you knew me. So, don't fucking call me Tobs!" He snapped this out, glaring at her under the brim of his cowboy hat. Nothing seemed to click in his mind, at least not yet. The old Tobs still existed in one respect that Takara may recognize: his refusal to keep his language in check when his temper had flared.
"...wait. Reporters aren't allowed in here. That means..." And so, he looked at Takara closer. There was something in her face.. Something...Oh, shit, did I just make the largest mistake of my adult life? He thought this to himself rather quickly, and began to mentally scour his memory. Takara looked so different. She wouldn't look like that, would she? Well...it has been 15 years, and it looks like 25 for me. So...that means... His eyes slowly widened in comprehension of his enourmous faux pas, if that's what it was. He turned around fully, facing her directly. He took an unbelieving step towards her, and another.
Absent-mindedly, he thought to himself If I don't get slapped for that, I'm truly amazed.
"...Takara? Takara Asano?" His voice was a croaking whisper, barely eeking out from his mouth. He was so surprised, his voice refused to form.
She...wait, Takara came to this? But...I thought she'd ...scoff at it. I never imagined she'd be the kind to come to ...THIS! He was amazed. Bewildered. And thinking he was hallucinating, just a little bit.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another person that seemed to radiate and air of familiarity walk by. The man was older looking than the last time he'd ever seen him, of course, but something was incredibly similar about him.
Oh, and he was the only boy Tobs had met on the Island wearing a hockey shirt. That image stuck with Toby.
"...Sidney? Crosby?" Once more, his voice was nothing more than a croak, barely audible above the ambient background noise of the hotel itself. I'm either dreaming, hallucinating, dead...or this is seriously happening.
I am an archival account used by staff to port old posts from handlers no longer active. If you are this handler, get in touch with staff and we can get your posts back for you! Classic Tobs avatar by Kermit.
Vince rubbed his shoulder lightly as he stared at Clare with a huge smile “Yeah, being a millionaire and signing autographs for ten year olds is very strenuous, then again your work has been the Christmas present I have given every super model girl friend I have had over the past two years…and no I am not still going out with that Czech chick…” Vince said quietly “How about me and you ditch this place…I know of a great place down town, we can get a drink and maybe talk a bit…plus this guy serves awesome pizza.” Vince said the gigantic smile plastered to his face.
Clare. She had been sort of attached to his hip Junior and Senior year, they even went to prom together, Vince however did not take advantage of her then…he was caught up in his own trip and worried about colleges…Clare had become a secondary thing for him. Maybe Hawley and Madelaine had inspired him, but he wanted to rekindle his ties with Clare.
Clare. She had been sort of attached to his hip Junior and Senior year, they even went to prom together, Vince however did not take advantage of her then…he was caught up in his own trip and worried about colleges…Clare had become a secondary thing for him. Maybe Hawley and Madelaine had inspired him, but he wanted to rekindle his ties with Clare.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
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OnceForgotten†
- Posts: 225
- Joined: Sat Aug 18, 2018 2:46 am
In the cold air outside the hotel, a white van sat idling near the door. It was nothing the Valet's really wanted to see, because they knew the tips would be very scant based on the scrawling letters that covered the side.
Burgess West Mental Health Clinic
-Serving those who cannot serve themselves
Two men stood outside the back of the van, both nervously bouncing on the balls of their feet. They seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. Soon a buzzing sound could be heard, and a muffled commotion could be heard from the back of the van. The two men took several steps back, both pulling small weapons out of their coats. The doors of the van suddenly burst open, and the trademark blond hair and blue eyes could be seen. Cody Jenson stood in the doorway, wrapped tightly in a straightjacket. Two orderlies held on to either shoulder, and the two men flanked them, their guns trained on Cody. He seemed complacent, almost docile, but those who knew him knew that he could shake the veneer off at any moment and go into one of his tangents.
A bubble of spittle formed on his lower lip as they slowly led him into the hotel, and his body seemed to go slack. The orderlies strained to keep him upright, speaking in soothing voices to him as they struggled to drag him towards the receptionist desk. Suddenly, he seemed to come to life, helping himself up off the floor on his own. He stood and looked at the two men who were moving him towards the desk, seemingly seeing them for the first time. He leaned in to one, perhaps to share a secret with his friend, and quickly took a bite out of the mans ear. Suddenly, the two men in the coats sprung to life, jabbing their small weapons into Codys back. He convulsed for several seconds, coming to a stop panting on the floor of the hotel. The missing eared orderlie stood hissing and clutchng the side of his head.
"Get him to his fucking room, and get him stabilized. We will give him some Strychnine or something."
As they continued to drag the now crying Cody, he could be heard mumbling, words that had no meaning to anyone but those that knew him.
"Loretta...I loved her...Those bastards took her away...rip out her fucking THROAT!!...I loved her..."
Burgess West Mental Health Clinic
-Serving those who cannot serve themselves
Two men stood outside the back of the van, both nervously bouncing on the balls of their feet. They seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. Soon a buzzing sound could be heard, and a muffled commotion could be heard from the back of the van. The two men took several steps back, both pulling small weapons out of their coats. The doors of the van suddenly burst open, and the trademark blond hair and blue eyes could be seen. Cody Jenson stood in the doorway, wrapped tightly in a straightjacket. Two orderlies held on to either shoulder, and the two men flanked them, their guns trained on Cody. He seemed complacent, almost docile, but those who knew him knew that he could shake the veneer off at any moment and go into one of his tangents.
A bubble of spittle formed on his lower lip as they slowly led him into the hotel, and his body seemed to go slack. The orderlies strained to keep him upright, speaking in soothing voices to him as they struggled to drag him towards the receptionist desk. Suddenly, he seemed to come to life, helping himself up off the floor on his own. He stood and looked at the two men who were moving him towards the desk, seemingly seeing them for the first time. He leaned in to one, perhaps to share a secret with his friend, and quickly took a bite out of the mans ear. Suddenly, the two men in the coats sprung to life, jabbing their small weapons into Codys back. He convulsed for several seconds, coming to a stop panting on the floor of the hotel. The missing eared orderlie stood hissing and clutchng the side of his head.
"Get him to his fucking room, and get him stabilized. We will give him some Strychnine or something."
As they continued to drag the now crying Cody, he could be heard mumbling, words that had no meaning to anyone but those that knew him.
"Loretta...I loved her...Those bastards took her away...rip out her fucking THROAT!!...I loved her..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler OnceForgotten. 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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kuroraishu†
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 6:39 pm
As soon as Toby began to speak, Takara realized the mistake she had made, but his tone of voice! He could have at least looked to see who the hell he was talking to. His sudden jump to anger caused her to bristle and purse her lips together as her face visibly tensed.
Setting down her suitcase and briefcase, she crossed her arms, waiting for him to turn and face her.
Reporter my ass! Like I'd ever become one of those annoying liars.
When he fully faced her, she raised her right hand level with his check and smacked him. It wasn't his language that made her slap him, rather it was the fact he had snapped, snapped!, at her; after all they had been through.
"Yeah, no reporters allowed as of yet. And why the fuck would I, of all people, become a reporter?" Her expression was one of disgust at the mere thought of her being a reporter. She'd rather be a prostitte than a reporter. "I'm a lawyer. Keep it straight. Hence the briefcase."
As who she was seemed to settle in place, Takara crossed her arms loosely and merely looked at him. He seemed so much older than he really was, but then again, far more had happened to him during SoTF.
"...Takara? Takara Asano?" A sly smile crossed onto the normally cold face, making her seem as if she were in court and had just won the case at hand.
"No, Bob Hope." Her voice was laced through and through with sarcasm, her face void of any expression indicating her mood. "Different, ne? Not to mention a bit of surprise that I'm even here."
She herself was amazed that she was even here. In any other situation, she would have blown it off and would have kept on living, but this was different. This was to be a reunion of the survivors of SoTF, and the only reason she came was in hope of seeing those who had stuck with her throughout the game. She would never really admit it, but they were the closet thing she had to calling a 'family' since her mother ran away and her father committed suicide.
Looking Tobs up and down, she couldn't help but look at the cowboy hat resting upon his head with utter disbelief. It was one thing out west, but here on the East coast? Who the hell wore a cowboy hat? Snatching it from his head, she let a small grin play onto her face. Even through everything that had happened, she still retained a small bit of her impish behavior, but that only showed through her cold and heartless demeanor when she was amidst real close friends. Smirking, she placed the hat upon her own head.
"Nice hat, cowboy." She gave a small wink, adjusting the hat so it hung slightly over one eye.
"...Sidney? Crosby?" At the mere mention of that name, Takara looked about for the man she knew was still around. He was one of the few that she kept in close contact with, even if it was just e-mail. It didn't take long to spot him, and when she did, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd recognize her.
Sidney? He actually came? I'm surprised the coach even let him come to this. Then again... even I showed up to this thing...
Setting down her suitcase and briefcase, she crossed her arms, waiting for him to turn and face her.
Reporter my ass! Like I'd ever become one of those annoying liars.
When he fully faced her, she raised her right hand level with his check and smacked him. It wasn't his language that made her slap him, rather it was the fact he had snapped, snapped!, at her; after all they had been through.
"Yeah, no reporters allowed as of yet. And why the fuck would I, of all people, become a reporter?" Her expression was one of disgust at the mere thought of her being a reporter. She'd rather be a prostitte than a reporter. "I'm a lawyer. Keep it straight. Hence the briefcase."
As who she was seemed to settle in place, Takara crossed her arms loosely and merely looked at him. He seemed so much older than he really was, but then again, far more had happened to him during SoTF.
"...Takara? Takara Asano?" A sly smile crossed onto the normally cold face, making her seem as if she were in court and had just won the case at hand.
"No, Bob Hope." Her voice was laced through and through with sarcasm, her face void of any expression indicating her mood. "Different, ne? Not to mention a bit of surprise that I'm even here."
She herself was amazed that she was even here. In any other situation, she would have blown it off and would have kept on living, but this was different. This was to be a reunion of the survivors of SoTF, and the only reason she came was in hope of seeing those who had stuck with her throughout the game. She would never really admit it, but they were the closet thing she had to calling a 'family' since her mother ran away and her father committed suicide.
Looking Tobs up and down, she couldn't help but look at the cowboy hat resting upon his head with utter disbelief. It was one thing out west, but here on the East coast? Who the hell wore a cowboy hat? Snatching it from his head, she let a small grin play onto her face. Even through everything that had happened, she still retained a small bit of her impish behavior, but that only showed through her cold and heartless demeanor when she was amidst real close friends. Smirking, she placed the hat upon her own head.
"Nice hat, cowboy." She gave a small wink, adjusting the hat so it hung slightly over one eye.
"...Sidney? Crosby?" At the mere mention of that name, Takara looked about for the man she knew was still around. He was one of the few that she kept in close contact with, even if it was just e-mail. It didn't take long to spot him, and when she did, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd recognize her.
Sidney? He actually came? I'm surprised the coach even let him come to this. Then again... even I showed up to this thing...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler kuroraishu. 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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LadyMakaze†
- Posts: 475
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:48 pm
Madelaine recognized Callum immediately as someone she, Hawley, and Amanda had all briefly encountered during their time on the island. Questionable was the first impression he had landed on them, seeing that the first thing he did when he encountered them was sock Hawley in the stomach.
That aside, Callum seemed like a harmless, even good-natured kind of person, especially seeing as he greeted Hawley by asking him how he was doing. It was still somewhat odd, this Madelaine thought, seeing as it happened fifteen years ago. It was still kind of him, nonetheless.
"Hello, Callum," she told him kindly, smiling a bit. "Glad to see you're alright after all this time. We haven't properly introduced ourselves yet, have we? I'm Madelaine, and this is my husband Hawley and my friend Amanda."
It was then that Madelaine started wondering just how many more familiar faces she would see during the next few days. Though she had been hopeful to meet her friends again, she didn't think that so many people would actually attend this event. Perhaps some, like her, had been hopeful of meeting old friends again. But to allow memories of the past better left forgotten to resurface was probably really painful for them, and so Madelaine had been doubtful that this many people would appear.
Hopefully this is some kind of omen that Adam will appear, Madelaine thought to herself, trying to feel optimistic on the matter.
Gradually, the hotel began to fill itself with even more familiar figures, many of which Madelaine knew not by name, only by face. It surprised Madelaine somewhat, seeing as how all of them were doing particularly well after all of fifteen years. Most of them seemed to have moved on with their lives, leaving everything that had to do with SOTF behind.
At least, that much was apparent enough. There were some things that couldn't be forgotten completely, and witnessing a world of death, fear, and hopelessness was enough to linger in the mind of a lifetime. Some things were persistant enough to follow you to the grave. Madelaine herself had a such a recollection in mind...
And speaking of which, Madelaine suddenly found her thoughts interrupted by the sound of yet more people entering the hotel. She turned around, wondering if any of them were familiar faces. Madelaine frowned slightly in confusion, as one of them, the one being led by others, seemed to be wearing a straitjacket...
As though she had been slapped suddenly, Madelaine suddenly flinched, staggering back slightly, a hand reaching up towards her mouth. Her face paled rapidly, eyes widening as she recognized yet another familiar figure, and rather than feeling her spirits lifting, Madelaine felt as though her insides had frozen over...
Fifteen years ago, she had encountered this particular person only moments before she was rescued, and such an encounter was one Madelaine would have done anything to forget. What had happened to her then was probably the most painful and frightening event of all, beyond the presence of death and the desperation to survive. And what had happened between her and Cody Jensen was probably the hardest thing of all that Madelaine had been forced to deal with for all of fifteen years.
She backed away slightly, covering her mouth with her hands and looking away. Right now Madelaine doubted that this person in particular had seen her, and even if he had, Madelaine doubted somewhat that he would even recognize her...being a mental patient and all.
At the very least, this much was what she was hoping for.
"Oh God...." she murmured almost inaudibly. "I never thought...I didn't think that HE would be here as well..."
That aside, Callum seemed like a harmless, even good-natured kind of person, especially seeing as he greeted Hawley by asking him how he was doing. It was still somewhat odd, this Madelaine thought, seeing as it happened fifteen years ago. It was still kind of him, nonetheless.
"Hello, Callum," she told him kindly, smiling a bit. "Glad to see you're alright after all this time. We haven't properly introduced ourselves yet, have we? I'm Madelaine, and this is my husband Hawley and my friend Amanda."
It was then that Madelaine started wondering just how many more familiar faces she would see during the next few days. Though she had been hopeful to meet her friends again, she didn't think that so many people would actually attend this event. Perhaps some, like her, had been hopeful of meeting old friends again. But to allow memories of the past better left forgotten to resurface was probably really painful for them, and so Madelaine had been doubtful that this many people would appear.
Hopefully this is some kind of omen that Adam will appear, Madelaine thought to herself, trying to feel optimistic on the matter.
Gradually, the hotel began to fill itself with even more familiar figures, many of which Madelaine knew not by name, only by face. It surprised Madelaine somewhat, seeing as how all of them were doing particularly well after all of fifteen years. Most of them seemed to have moved on with their lives, leaving everything that had to do with SOTF behind.
At least, that much was apparent enough. There were some things that couldn't be forgotten completely, and witnessing a world of death, fear, and hopelessness was enough to linger in the mind of a lifetime. Some things were persistant enough to follow you to the grave. Madelaine herself had a such a recollection in mind...
And speaking of which, Madelaine suddenly found her thoughts interrupted by the sound of yet more people entering the hotel. She turned around, wondering if any of them were familiar faces. Madelaine frowned slightly in confusion, as one of them, the one being led by others, seemed to be wearing a straitjacket...
As though she had been slapped suddenly, Madelaine suddenly flinched, staggering back slightly, a hand reaching up towards her mouth. Her face paled rapidly, eyes widening as she recognized yet another familiar figure, and rather than feeling her spirits lifting, Madelaine felt as though her insides had frozen over...
Fifteen years ago, she had encountered this particular person only moments before she was rescued, and such an encounter was one Madelaine would have done anything to forget. What had happened to her then was probably the most painful and frightening event of all, beyond the presence of death and the desperation to survive. And what had happened between her and Cody Jensen was probably the hardest thing of all that Madelaine had been forced to deal with for all of fifteen years.
She backed away slightly, covering her mouth with her hands and looking away. Right now Madelaine doubted that this person in particular had seen her, and even if he had, Madelaine doubted somewhat that he would even recognize her...being a mental patient and all.
At the very least, this much was what she was hoping for.
"Oh God...." she murmured almost inaudibly. "I never thought...I didn't think that HE would be here as well..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler LadyMakaze. 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.
To say that Madelaine's eyes were the only ones glued to the hotel lobby doors as Cody Jenson was carted in would be a falsehood in itself. In fact, at least two other sets of eyes were glued to the insane man as he was brought into the hotel for the conference. The first set of eyes belonged to someone standing right beside Madelaine, someone who felt the shock that Madelaine felt, mainly because she staggered right back into her. That person was Amanda Jones. Her jaw dropping a little, she stood, shocked that the organizers would have even considered bringing Cody Jenson out of whatever mental institute that they'd put him in. It had been a widely known fact that Jenson had gone insane while on the island (though some speculated that he was beforeso as well), and the horrors that he had perpetrated on the island were some of the darkest moments of Survival of the Fittest. Madelaine's rape had been something she never liked to talk about, but Amanda had been the one that she'd spent countless nights on the phone with, trying to comfort her devastated friend. It was mainly because of that, Amanda knew, that was the reason that Madelaine had never really dated. She never felt all that comfortable around guys after SOTF, save for Hawley, and Adam for the first six days before he disappeared. Amanda couldn't imagine what her friend had gone through mentally, though she had an idea.
...and after all this time, she's got to live through it again...that's just not fair...
Shaking her head a bit, she pulled herself out of the self-induced trance and placed her hand on Madelaine's shoulder. If there was a moment that her friend needed some form of comfort, it was now. Glancing at Hawley, she spoke in a low voice.
"I'm shocked that they even let HIM out...why, though, what would the point be...of having him back, I mean? He's insane...God, I'm so sorry, Madelaine. Hey, uh...what do you guys say we check into our rooms, and go grab a bite to eat, get out of here? Get a drink, toast to friends forever lost...that kind of thing?"
~~~
The second set of eyes belonged to a man standing on the opposite end of the room, a man known to many of the people in the room, thanks to his success and fame. Sidney Crosby's mouth dropped open similarly to Amanda Jones', and yet, Crosby couldn't find himself the words to convey the shock at the appearance of Cody Jenson.
The man who Crosby had competed with and against in junior hockey, the man who'd subsequently injured his knee and gone completely insane, swearing death onto himself, raping another girl, and killing even more. After the island, Jenson had been the only student who had actually been taken into custody, mainly because of the rape. Sidney had tried to purge the boy from his mind, though at times he still woke up, the man's face in his mind, muttering something about feeling like afternoon tea...
Sidney visibly shivered. It were as if death had walked into the room, and had done his business and left without warning. The room was all the worse for wear for it, and every single person in the room knew it.
...and after all this time, she's got to live through it again...that's just not fair...
Shaking her head a bit, she pulled herself out of the self-induced trance and placed her hand on Madelaine's shoulder. If there was a moment that her friend needed some form of comfort, it was now. Glancing at Hawley, she spoke in a low voice.
"I'm shocked that they even let HIM out...why, though, what would the point be...of having him back, I mean? He's insane...God, I'm so sorry, Madelaine. Hey, uh...what do you guys say we check into our rooms, and go grab a bite to eat, get out of here? Get a drink, toast to friends forever lost...that kind of thing?"
~~~
The second set of eyes belonged to a man standing on the opposite end of the room, a man known to many of the people in the room, thanks to his success and fame. Sidney Crosby's mouth dropped open similarly to Amanda Jones', and yet, Crosby couldn't find himself the words to convey the shock at the appearance of Cody Jenson.
The man who Crosby had competed with and against in junior hockey, the man who'd subsequently injured his knee and gone completely insane, swearing death onto himself, raping another girl, and killing even more. After the island, Jenson had been the only student who had actually been taken into custody, mainly because of the rape. Sidney had tried to purge the boy from his mind, though at times he still woke up, the man's face in his mind, muttering something about feeling like afternoon tea...
Sidney visibly shivered. It were as if death had walked into the room, and had done his business and left without warning. The room was all the worse for wear for it, and every single person in the room knew it.