((B054 - Oscar Trig start))
Ocean. Endless Ocean.
From as far the eye could see there was only a massive expanse of blue stretching out for several miles. Any sign of the mainland, was beyond sight; assisted or otherwise. The tide had pulled back the ocean expanse only a few meters, revealing nothing but an expansive series of rocky crags, shaped this way after years upon years of constant water and wind. The sun's rays cascaded down upon the quiet grotto causing the water to shimmer in between each wave, gentle wisps of steam rising up to greet the gentle breeze.
If Oscar had it his way, he would have wanted to paint it. Style it like Church would have. The sun would be gently in the distance, the expansive caves as the true focus on both the east and the west. And similar to the work of his idols, humanity would be nowhere to be seen. If Oscar Trig had his way, he would title it 'Waking Up' or perhaps 'The Beginning of Time'.
But if Oscar Trig truly had his way. He would not be standing here, staring out of a pair of binoculars.
Removing them from his face and placing them into his backpack, Oscar looked out at the grotto and sighed. His hands then moved back to his neck, gently fingering the cool strip of metal that was tightly clinging to his neck. He was itchy, but he knew better than to scratch. Discomfort was something he was going to have to deal with.
The tide was going to be out for a while, but he knew that it would return eventually, so getting out of here was a priority. He had already spent what felt like years in total darkness with only his Zippo to guide him out, some bastards idea of a joke.
Shuffling his feet gently down the slope, Oscar tread out of the cave and onto what could be considered a beach. As he stepped out, looking to his left he saw what looked like a path into a forest, with a large tower standing proud amongst it. Squinting deeply, Oscar could see what looked like a tower similar to the one found at the airport. But closer inspection proved that it would be treacherous to traverse to, with many tidal pools and areas in the way. Which meant that as time went by, he would be swimming, not walking to his destination.
To his right, and to his surprise, was civilization. Or perhaps it was the remains of one. The area was only slightly less hazardous, with only a few caves and depressions similar to the one he was standing in. If he started moving, he could probably make it in about half an hour.
Of course, civilization meant people. And on SOTF, that was a problem.
He had received no weapon, just the binoculars; he figured it was the same bastard who thought tossing him into a cave was the joke of the century. But he knew that his classmates were out there, probably with something better than him. Which would then mean that he was likely...
"I need a smoke."
Making his way east, Oscar scrambled up the small, jagged rock face, using crags as footholds. Once he reached the next cave, Oscar fished into his backpack and dug out a small carton of cigarettes. With ease, he opened the carton to find nineteen little sticks greeting him.
Oscar fished one out and placed it in between his lips, the end quivering in the wind. After fetching the Zippo from his front pocket, he opened it up and flicked at the ignition, multiple times with only fleeting sparks to greet him.
"Damn wind."
With shaking hands, Oscar flicked again, his free hand feebly trying to block out some of the swirling air. This time, a flame was produced, and Oscar quickly bent forward, putting flame to end until that familiar trail of smoke appeared.
He sighed, before casting his gaze once more towards the ocean.
"So now what?"
Waking Up at the Beginning of Time
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Waking Up at the Beginning of Time
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G029 Zoe Leverett start.
Sing a song for your favorite child soldiers, shoulders holding steady all along the battle line and here's a cheer for the righteous, cheer for the wicked, cheer for those who won't play a part as they stand so ready to play their parts, leaving only these: the lonely, the lonely, the lonely. So sing a song for Zoe. Reached in her bag and pulled out her weapons: the will to see his face again, a pair of outstretched arms waiting for his shape to fill their space, the belief that things could still get worse. Oh, Max, where did you go? The certainty of unkind words called out—no answer—and what a world he'd show her now that they were dead. Would that a whirlwind could whisk her there, with a whim and a hop and a skip he'd be standing right here, and we can paint him scared and paint him contrite and right here, right now, he's just as he ought to be. O, the promises and apologies ringing out, O what fiiiiine accompaniment to the end of days. Not enough time left in the world to break the promises. Small blessings.
Pebble in the sea to stir the sight of some leviathan, hope in her heart for the sight of a friendly face. Whose. Could be anyone's, could be any of those faint gentle voices behind some horizon calling Not today, not today. All there was to do was pick out a horizon, her and the machete and the leviathan that was gonna show its head any second now, and walk towards where the heartbeats got louder. O, she'd wear her bravest face, she'd fashion a battle cry out of the Hi's and Um's and the grim determination to not mention Max yet, and soon enough the end of her journey. Someone that nervously smiled back. Then they could have a dialogue, like so:
She'd say, "Not today?"
And he'd say, "Not today."
And they'd switch off their parts till they were friends. And never would she be the girl with the wish called Him, never the weakening knees and the Please help me find him. Small kindness to her new friend when she'd let him suggest what their story could be about, maybe. But it's wasn't really kindness if it was really for her, and it was really for her, for her. Because you've seen that girl, her knees give way and she starts to pray and who could say now how her story will end? All of us could, all of us will, there's half of us here saying She finds him and half of us there saying She never does. And in the middle, Zoe, and who can say now which answer scares her more?
If she still wants to find him, if a quiet part of her does, nobody will blame her. But it ends when she says it aloud, she's a Girl-Who-Prayed-For-Him now and forever. O how the island loves its Boys-Who and its Girls-Who, won't ever let them go once they say the magic words. But Zoe is very talented, and she learned long ago the trick of saying very very little. And she's found the right horizon, and here's a boy who might nervously smile back, he's Lord of Flame and Smoke atop the worst tower in the world. One time he painted a tree that she almost started to talk about. It's the best resume for a friend she'll come across today.
"Oscar?" with the nervous smile, that's hers out of the way, now it's his turn. "Zoe." And Zoe's outstretched hands, empty, friendly, harmless. "I'm harmless. Can I... ?" As she pointed at his shitty tower. Room for two, at least for now, perhaps. The Lord and his friend, perhaps, making a silent wager for however long:
The first of us to remark on the aesthetic splendor of the ocean waves is the loser.
Sing a song for your favorite child soldiers, shoulders holding steady all along the battle line and here's a cheer for the righteous, cheer for the wicked, cheer for those who won't play a part as they stand so ready to play their parts, leaving only these: the lonely, the lonely, the lonely. So sing a song for Zoe. Reached in her bag and pulled out her weapons: the will to see his face again, a pair of outstretched arms waiting for his shape to fill their space, the belief that things could still get worse. Oh, Max, where did you go? The certainty of unkind words called out—no answer—and what a world he'd show her now that they were dead. Would that a whirlwind could whisk her there, with a whim and a hop and a skip he'd be standing right here, and we can paint him scared and paint him contrite and right here, right now, he's just as he ought to be. O, the promises and apologies ringing out, O what fiiiiine accompaniment to the end of days. Not enough time left in the world to break the promises. Small blessings.
Pebble in the sea to stir the sight of some leviathan, hope in her heart for the sight of a friendly face. Whose. Could be anyone's, could be any of those faint gentle voices behind some horizon calling Not today, not today. All there was to do was pick out a horizon, her and the machete and the leviathan that was gonna show its head any second now, and walk towards where the heartbeats got louder. O, she'd wear her bravest face, she'd fashion a battle cry out of the Hi's and Um's and the grim determination to not mention Max yet, and soon enough the end of her journey. Someone that nervously smiled back. Then they could have a dialogue, like so:
She'd say, "Not today?"
And he'd say, "Not today."
And they'd switch off their parts till they were friends. And never would she be the girl with the wish called Him, never the weakening knees and the Please help me find him. Small kindness to her new friend when she'd let him suggest what their story could be about, maybe. But it's wasn't really kindness if it was really for her, and it was really for her, for her. Because you've seen that girl, her knees give way and she starts to pray and who could say now how her story will end? All of us could, all of us will, there's half of us here saying She finds him and half of us there saying She never does. And in the middle, Zoe, and who can say now which answer scares her more?
If she still wants to find him, if a quiet part of her does, nobody will blame her. But it ends when she says it aloud, she's a Girl-Who-Prayed-For-Him now and forever. O how the island loves its Boys-Who and its Girls-Who, won't ever let them go once they say the magic words. But Zoe is very talented, and she learned long ago the trick of saying very very little. And she's found the right horizon, and here's a boy who might nervously smile back, he's Lord of Flame and Smoke atop the worst tower in the world. One time he painted a tree that she almost started to talk about. It's the best resume for a friend she'll come across today.
"Oscar?" with the nervous smile, that's hers out of the way, now it's his turn. "Zoe." And Zoe's outstretched hands, empty, friendly, harmless. "I'm harmless. Can I... ?" As she pointed at his shitty tower. Room for two, at least for now, perhaps. The Lord and his friend, perhaps, making a silent wager for however long:
The first of us to remark on the aesthetic splendor of the ocean waves is the loser.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. 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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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Every carton had the same message; or at the very least, one that would say that smoking, in every aspect of the word, was bad for you. Occasionally they'd show a blackened piece of meat, theoretically a lung or a heart, or if they were feeling really bold- a human brain. Other times they would show a child, always forlorn perhaps tearing up even, as if to say why would you do this Dad? Or Mom, but then again, it wasn't Mom that introduced Oscar to the world of smoking.
Being honest with himself, yes he knew. He knew that it was a bad situation that he had left himself in by accepting his father's invitation to join him in a brotherhood of nicotine. But at the same time, there was a relief that came with inhaling the ashy smoke. Familiarization was the best way to put it. Smoking had become familiar, and a much needed resource at times of stress. Deadlines, tests and the like. He wasn't alone in this opinion either, judging by the population of smokers that inhabited Aurora High. He had heard a great share of problems, when smoking. And sometimes, if he was in the mood, he would share his own worries.
But as it stood right now, he was alone. The ocean was not exactly going to say much, nor were the rocks or caves surrounding him. In the end, he was alone which made the cigarette taste only of chemicals.
On the coast of an island of death, that is where he was now. He had gone through most of his panic, and his first cigarette in the cave he emerged from. Now it was just a permanent unsettled feeling that was likely to be with him for however long he may last on this island. He had heard about the abductions, who didn't really? It was on every television back then. But back then, it was also believed that it was over.
He was strong enough to admit, that he wasn't going to give up on life. There was no way he could be that type of person, even now. But he was also damn sure that he would be unable to be the murderous creature that they wanted him to be. He'd like to believe that everyone else held the same opinion as he did. But, well, evidence from back then suggested otherwise.
So it left Oscar at an impasse as to where he actually was in all of this.
The only thing that Oscar did know was that he would be moving inland eventually. Perhaps he would make his way towards that tower. It looked like one of the bigger places of the island. It would at least offer a view that would be worth it. He'd have to go soon though. As there was likely a reason that the cave had a series of ropes in front of it. And the quickest and safest way through, would be the east. Towards civilization...
It was then out of the corner of his eye that he saw a figure approaching, forcing him to turn away from the expansive blue that surrounded his new home. Strawberry blonde hair was the first thing he noticed, a beacon amongst the dreary blues of jeans and faded shirt. It did not take him any time to recognize who the person was. He had seen her numerous times during art classes, or during after-school painting sessions. Zoe Leverett.
A quiet girl, some would say too much beyond social acceptance. But then again, Oscar was sure the same could be said about him. He recalled looking at her work before. And although he wasn't quite sure what she would call her art. Oscar viewed it as Romanticism with a modern spin. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Whichever it was, Oscar could at the very least say with confidence that he liked it. There was something to be said about the idea of taking modern concepts, and bringing them back to their roots. He had thought about painting a skyscraper overrun with vines, or the playgrounds at Battle Point Park overtaken by the lush foliage that was once relegated to its flowerbeds. But he never committed brush to easel at that time, struggling to truly capture the image he wanted to create.
She approached him gingerly, as if she were a doe that had wandered out into humanity's view. There was no weapon in her hands at least. But it appeared that within her pack there was something, something bigger than binoculars at the very least. However a smile adorned her face, dispelling at least some of his unease. He nodded when she asked his name. She said that she was harmless, and it took Oscar some time to decide whether what she said was true. It was hard to deny the fear of someone saying that they were harmless while clearly having something hidden in a large bag. But looking back to the times spent in the art classes, he knew the answer. She was genuine, nervous even, maybe looking for a friendly face. Just like he was.
Oscar nodded, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and resting it on a ledge above his head before kneeling down and reaching a hand out.
"Here," he said, returning the smile.
The tide was bound to come in soon. But perhaps there was just a little bit of time left. Enough time to sit, smoke and watch as the tide ebbed closer and closer. Its waves cresting up to form little white puffs of water, before fading away into the ocean, becoming still once more.
At the very least, the cigarette would taste better now that someone was here. That would be all that Oscar could ask for.
Being honest with himself, yes he knew. He knew that it was a bad situation that he had left himself in by accepting his father's invitation to join him in a brotherhood of nicotine. But at the same time, there was a relief that came with inhaling the ashy smoke. Familiarization was the best way to put it. Smoking had become familiar, and a much needed resource at times of stress. Deadlines, tests and the like. He wasn't alone in this opinion either, judging by the population of smokers that inhabited Aurora High. He had heard a great share of problems, when smoking. And sometimes, if he was in the mood, he would share his own worries.
But as it stood right now, he was alone. The ocean was not exactly going to say much, nor were the rocks or caves surrounding him. In the end, he was alone which made the cigarette taste only of chemicals.
On the coast of an island of death, that is where he was now. He had gone through most of his panic, and his first cigarette in the cave he emerged from. Now it was just a permanent unsettled feeling that was likely to be with him for however long he may last on this island. He had heard about the abductions, who didn't really? It was on every television back then. But back then, it was also believed that it was over.
He was strong enough to admit, that he wasn't going to give up on life. There was no way he could be that type of person, even now. But he was also damn sure that he would be unable to be the murderous creature that they wanted him to be. He'd like to believe that everyone else held the same opinion as he did. But, well, evidence from back then suggested otherwise.
So it left Oscar at an impasse as to where he actually was in all of this.
The only thing that Oscar did know was that he would be moving inland eventually. Perhaps he would make his way towards that tower. It looked like one of the bigger places of the island. It would at least offer a view that would be worth it. He'd have to go soon though. As there was likely a reason that the cave had a series of ropes in front of it. And the quickest and safest way through, would be the east. Towards civilization...
It was then out of the corner of his eye that he saw a figure approaching, forcing him to turn away from the expansive blue that surrounded his new home. Strawberry blonde hair was the first thing he noticed, a beacon amongst the dreary blues of jeans and faded shirt. It did not take him any time to recognize who the person was. He had seen her numerous times during art classes, or during after-school painting sessions. Zoe Leverett.
A quiet girl, some would say too much beyond social acceptance. But then again, Oscar was sure the same could be said about him. He recalled looking at her work before. And although he wasn't quite sure what she would call her art. Oscar viewed it as Romanticism with a modern spin. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Whichever it was, Oscar could at the very least say with confidence that he liked it. There was something to be said about the idea of taking modern concepts, and bringing them back to their roots. He had thought about painting a skyscraper overrun with vines, or the playgrounds at Battle Point Park overtaken by the lush foliage that was once relegated to its flowerbeds. But he never committed brush to easel at that time, struggling to truly capture the image he wanted to create.
She approached him gingerly, as if she were a doe that had wandered out into humanity's view. There was no weapon in her hands at least. But it appeared that within her pack there was something, something bigger than binoculars at the very least. However a smile adorned her face, dispelling at least some of his unease. He nodded when she asked his name. She said that she was harmless, and it took Oscar some time to decide whether what she said was true. It was hard to deny the fear of someone saying that they were harmless while clearly having something hidden in a large bag. But looking back to the times spent in the art classes, he knew the answer. She was genuine, nervous even, maybe looking for a friendly face. Just like he was.
Oscar nodded, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and resting it on a ledge above his head before kneeling down and reaching a hand out.
"Here," he said, returning the smile.
The tide was bound to come in soon. But perhaps there was just a little bit of time left. Enough time to sit, smoke and watch as the tide ebbed closer and closer. Its waves cresting up to form little white puffs of water, before fading away into the ocean, becoming still once more.
At the very least, the cigarette would taste better now that someone was here. That would be all that Oscar could ask for.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler GregTheAnti-Viking. 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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BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
((B063 - Cooper Komorowski start))
Cooper picked his way along the rocks, having finished his exploration of the cave-thingy he started in. This time, he was sure he had found the way out because the light was getting brighter and bigger. So what that he'd had a few setbacks and falls? Things were turning around all ready.
He was sure that some people were freaking out about this whole 'abducted by terrorists' thing, but personally he wasn't super concerned. If he remembered how this went last time, a group of people pulled off a rescue and there were a ton of survivors. Plus, he had this really sick knife. If he could just outwit, outlast, and outplay, he could catch a ride home with the rescue group, no problem.
Finally staggering out into full light, Cooper winced and raised his arm to shield his eyes. As his eyes adjusted, he could see nothing but ocean in front of him. Not terrible but not great either. On the plus side, he could finally see clearly. It occurred to him that perhaps now it would be a good time to reassure his family that he was okay.
With a complete lack of embarrassment, Cooper shifted his arm and waved. Unsure where the cameras were, he turned right and continued to wave. He even went as far as mouthing the words 'Hi, Mom' and 'love you'. For a second he realized that perhaps he was taking things a bit far but then shook the thought off. Athletes did the same thing all the time and they were only playing-for-pay. It was important for his mom not to freak out until after he got rescued.
Turning left to repeat the gesture, he spotted some people. The dude and girl were doing...something. He was leaning down and holding out his hand. She was standing there, staring up at him. The whole scene kind of looked like something out of one of his sister's text books. One of those super old paintings where the chick was naked and in nature.
Too bad this chick wasn't naked. That would be infinitely more interesting. Cooper could practically feel the slap his sister would have given him if she knew what he was thinking and grinned.
He turned his head to the side and considered the couple again. 'Or maybe a romance novel cover, like at the store. But he's got his shirt on and she wasn't nearly naked enough.' Either way, Cooper was a bit confused as to what they were doing. He shifted his grip on his bag, settling it into a more comfortable hold before calling out to them, "Hey, you guys okay? It all right if I come over there?"
Cooper picked his way along the rocks, having finished his exploration of the cave-thingy he started in. This time, he was sure he had found the way out because the light was getting brighter and bigger. So what that he'd had a few setbacks and falls? Things were turning around all ready.
He was sure that some people were freaking out about this whole 'abducted by terrorists' thing, but personally he wasn't super concerned. If he remembered how this went last time, a group of people pulled off a rescue and there were a ton of survivors. Plus, he had this really sick knife. If he could just outwit, outlast, and outplay, he could catch a ride home with the rescue group, no problem.
Finally staggering out into full light, Cooper winced and raised his arm to shield his eyes. As his eyes adjusted, he could see nothing but ocean in front of him. Not terrible but not great either. On the plus side, he could finally see clearly. It occurred to him that perhaps now it would be a good time to reassure his family that he was okay.
With a complete lack of embarrassment, Cooper shifted his arm and waved. Unsure where the cameras were, he turned right and continued to wave. He even went as far as mouthing the words 'Hi, Mom' and 'love you'. For a second he realized that perhaps he was taking things a bit far but then shook the thought off. Athletes did the same thing all the time and they were only playing-for-pay. It was important for his mom not to freak out until after he got rescued.
Turning left to repeat the gesture, he spotted some people. The dude and girl were doing...something. He was leaning down and holding out his hand. She was standing there, staring up at him. The whole scene kind of looked like something out of one of his sister's text books. One of those super old paintings where the chick was naked and in nature.
Too bad this chick wasn't naked. That would be infinitely more interesting. Cooper could practically feel the slap his sister would have given him if she knew what he was thinking and grinned.
He turned his head to the side and considered the couple again. 'Or maybe a romance novel cover, like at the store. But he's got his shirt on and she wasn't nearly naked enough.' Either way, Cooper was a bit confused as to what they were doing. He shifted his grip on his bag, settling it into a more comfortable hold before calling out to them, "Hey, you guys okay? It all right if I come over there?"
She'd wished for a frame worth freezing, maybe, and forgotten all about it. Zoe on the shore, we've seen her like this before, her hands are empty, harmless. And his bent knee, arm out. And he's friendly, charming, up in his tower you can maybe hear his silence say Milady. And if she took his hand, all the better, the shot's still the same, both of them still in frame with the shore and the rock and what's more she'd have that friend she'd been looking for. So that could be worth saving, all of it.
It could be she'd made the wish. It was hard enough to think of them as individuals by now, those softly floating hopes. Every so often there'd be a signal on the island amid the noisy pleasant hum of the not-today-not-today's, the joyful presence of a mind that still hoped for more. And if she was that lucky, to still dream so big of joy and beauty, then tallyho, tallyho, adventure afoot on this island and Zoe there to answer its call, some savage spectacle awaits her eyes if only she'd hurry up and climb onto that damn rock. But there was still the moment, still the frame worth freezing, and that itself seemed too fragile to toss aside so soon.
Sooner, maybe, and he wouldn't have seen her in that frame. The boy whose chest said Violence, whose face said he got the joke, some joke, any joke. The joke was named Zoe, funny-like-a-clown, there in her frame and no, no, oh no, don't nudge her this way or that, oh no, all will fall into ruin, doing violence to her self-importance till she's just a girl at the foot of a stubby rock and there's a boy, smells like shit and cancer, asking if she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Nobody will sing a song about this. It will never find a home in bronze. But there will be a story, now and at the end of time, and it starts like this: So there she was, like a fucking maiden, like a goddamn fucking damsel, this shit you wouldn't believe.
O tell us all the ending.
It ended with ascension, onto the mountaintop and if the boy who said Violence wanted to laugh, now he'd have to laugh up. And now that she looked down on him, she maybe didn't want to. Here he was, bottom of the mountain, hands not yet outstretched but who could hold it against him. Asking the same two questions this island had known from the beginning of time. No we're not okay, as always. Yes it's alright if you come over here, as always. What's the worst that could await, some hateful heart and bloody thirst, shaped like a boy but something else entirely? It seemed so silly. It seemed so far off. It was somewhere else, it wasn't this boy. She knew where all his hate was, all his thirst for blood. It was on a shirt he'd bought because he thought it'd make him look cool.
From the mountaintop: "Sure, sure. Come over. Umm... Zoe. And Oscar. And... Carter?" Or something like it. If she was wrong, forgiveness forthcoming and all would be well. She'd seen his face before and felt sorry for him. Here's a boy without a name, mom and dad said sorry son, said you gotta make do, here's two last names and if you ever wanna be interesting then that's on you. So hey, hey, that was another small blessing she could be thankful for, as she slowly died here at sea.
She had a name: Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.
It could be she'd made the wish. It was hard enough to think of them as individuals by now, those softly floating hopes. Every so often there'd be a signal on the island amid the noisy pleasant hum of the not-today-not-today's, the joyful presence of a mind that still hoped for more. And if she was that lucky, to still dream so big of joy and beauty, then tallyho, tallyho, adventure afoot on this island and Zoe there to answer its call, some savage spectacle awaits her eyes if only she'd hurry up and climb onto that damn rock. But there was still the moment, still the frame worth freezing, and that itself seemed too fragile to toss aside so soon.
Sooner, maybe, and he wouldn't have seen her in that frame. The boy whose chest said Violence, whose face said he got the joke, some joke, any joke. The joke was named Zoe, funny-like-a-clown, there in her frame and no, no, oh no, don't nudge her this way or that, oh no, all will fall into ruin, doing violence to her self-importance till she's just a girl at the foot of a stubby rock and there's a boy, smells like shit and cancer, asking if she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Nobody will sing a song about this. It will never find a home in bronze. But there will be a story, now and at the end of time, and it starts like this: So there she was, like a fucking maiden, like a goddamn fucking damsel, this shit you wouldn't believe.
O tell us all the ending.
It ended with ascension, onto the mountaintop and if the boy who said Violence wanted to laugh, now he'd have to laugh up. And now that she looked down on him, she maybe didn't want to. Here he was, bottom of the mountain, hands not yet outstretched but who could hold it against him. Asking the same two questions this island had known from the beginning of time. No we're not okay, as always. Yes it's alright if you come over here, as always. What's the worst that could await, some hateful heart and bloody thirst, shaped like a boy but something else entirely? It seemed so silly. It seemed so far off. It was somewhere else, it wasn't this boy. She knew where all his hate was, all his thirst for blood. It was on a shirt he'd bought because he thought it'd make him look cool.
From the mountaintop: "Sure, sure. Come over. Umm... Zoe. And Oscar. And... Carter?" Or something like it. If she was wrong, forgiveness forthcoming and all would be well. She'd seen his face before and felt sorry for him. Here's a boy without a name, mom and dad said sorry son, said you gotta make do, here's two last names and if you ever wanna be interesting then that's on you. So hey, hey, that was another small blessing she could be thankful for, as she slowly died here at sea.
She had a name: Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. 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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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
For a moment, there was no movement, nor sound from either of them. The only sound was the low drum of wave crashing upon wave. With the smell of cigarette smoke seeping into his nose. Perhaps Oscar had been too presumptuous in offering his help. He had hiked numerous times up and down treacherous paths, paths that he doubted many others took, probably because they weren't exactly marked. But still, that did not mean that people like Zoe couldn't make it up the slope.
It was then that the loud voice coming from the direction of the caves drew his attention. He flinched for a moment, before turning his head over. A wild splash of colours was the first thing that drew his attention; a loud green shirt, accompanied by even louder shoes. After a couple unsteady blinks, Oscar was able to place a name to him. Cooper. Cooper something. He couldn't remember the last name off hand. Something Polish, he thought. But perhaps something like that didn't quite matter.
Oscar could recall some of the crowd that Cooper hung out with. But he couldn't quite remember much about the man himself. He was a part of the mixed martial arts crowd in Aurora High. That group was full of a lot of lively people. People like Paulo Abbate, Mallory McCormick, and Adam Morgan. But, then again, it was probably harder to be livelier than someone like Paulo. Cooper just blended in by comparison.
He was about to retract his hand and call out to him when Zoe grabbed on it. The unexpected tug nearly sent him down to the beach below, but a reshuffling of feet allowed him to regain his grip and help her out. He tugged back, in an attempt to help her out as she climbed.
Zoe's hand was soft, gentle, an indication of what type of artist she was. During his times spent in art classes, Oscar could tell that there were many different types of artist's hands. His own were rough, shaped by years of dried paint and tightly held paintbrushes. There were other hands that were rougher still, like woodworkers with their cuts and abrasions, and sculptors with their callouses covered in brown clay. And then there were Zoe's hands, the hands of the artist working with a pen and digital easel. Still preserved and new.
And in an instant, Zoe let go and was now with him amongst the rocks of the grotto. While there was room enough for two upon the rocky expanse, Oscar could not help but feel claustrophobic. His white hat nearly brushed up against her forehead and he could see his own eyes in her glasses. He looked down and flexed his hand momentarily, before gingerly turning around and reaching for the cigarette still above his head.
Zoe called out to Cooper. Getting his name wrong, but Oscar saw no need to correct her on it. She had also invited him over, which when he thought about it, he had no objections to. Nerves perhaps, but a quick drag from his newly reacquired cigarette and it was gone. He readjusted his hat, pulling it down towards his eyes and looked out to Cooper.
"Hey, we're fine," Oscar called, putting his cigarette in his mouth and letting it droop in front of him. Using the rock wall as a guide, Oscar gently brought himself down to a sitting position. His gaze turned back to the panorama and he slumped his shoulders. With a deep breath he took one last mental photo of the ocean, before staring down at the beach below him.
"Sure is a lovely place isn't it?"
It was then that the loud voice coming from the direction of the caves drew his attention. He flinched for a moment, before turning his head over. A wild splash of colours was the first thing that drew his attention; a loud green shirt, accompanied by even louder shoes. After a couple unsteady blinks, Oscar was able to place a name to him. Cooper. Cooper something. He couldn't remember the last name off hand. Something Polish, he thought. But perhaps something like that didn't quite matter.
Oscar could recall some of the crowd that Cooper hung out with. But he couldn't quite remember much about the man himself. He was a part of the mixed martial arts crowd in Aurora High. That group was full of a lot of lively people. People like Paulo Abbate, Mallory McCormick, and Adam Morgan. But, then again, it was probably harder to be livelier than someone like Paulo. Cooper just blended in by comparison.
He was about to retract his hand and call out to him when Zoe grabbed on it. The unexpected tug nearly sent him down to the beach below, but a reshuffling of feet allowed him to regain his grip and help her out. He tugged back, in an attempt to help her out as she climbed.
Zoe's hand was soft, gentle, an indication of what type of artist she was. During his times spent in art classes, Oscar could tell that there were many different types of artist's hands. His own were rough, shaped by years of dried paint and tightly held paintbrushes. There were other hands that were rougher still, like woodworkers with their cuts and abrasions, and sculptors with their callouses covered in brown clay. And then there were Zoe's hands, the hands of the artist working with a pen and digital easel. Still preserved and new.
And in an instant, Zoe let go and was now with him amongst the rocks of the grotto. While there was room enough for two upon the rocky expanse, Oscar could not help but feel claustrophobic. His white hat nearly brushed up against her forehead and he could see his own eyes in her glasses. He looked down and flexed his hand momentarily, before gingerly turning around and reaching for the cigarette still above his head.
Zoe called out to Cooper. Getting his name wrong, but Oscar saw no need to correct her on it. She had also invited him over, which when he thought about it, he had no objections to. Nerves perhaps, but a quick drag from his newly reacquired cigarette and it was gone. He readjusted his hat, pulling it down towards his eyes and looked out to Cooper.
"Hey, we're fine," Oscar called, putting his cigarette in his mouth and letting it droop in front of him. Using the rock wall as a guide, Oscar gently brought himself down to a sitting position. His gaze turned back to the panorama and he slumped his shoulders. With a deep breath he took one last mental photo of the ocean, before staring down at the beach below him.
"Sure is a lovely place isn't it?"
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BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
Once given the all-clear, Cooper carefully made his way over to the duo. He was glad they said he could come over, even if he didn't really know either of these people. Being all alone was kind of creepy so the company was nice until he found his friends. But they were both Aurora students, and that made them pretty decent people.
He was glad the girl introduced them because he couldn't recall their names. He knew they hung out with the artsy crowd at school, which was kind of cool. He kept his artistic talents secret so he tried not to be too judgmental about the talents of others. Cooper shrugged off Zoe messing up his name. People in glass houses and all that, right?
At Oscar's comment, Cooper turned and really looked at the scene in front of him. Yeah, it was pretty but it wasn't anything super new, was it? There were sections of the coast near home that kind of looked like this. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, trying to dispel the wave of homesickness that washed over him. Shoving down those feelings, he looked up at the pair.
"I dunno," he said breezily, gesturing out at the water. "I mean, yeah, it's nice but it's nothing really special, right? There are views like this back home, and honestly, I think I prefer those. If you know what I mean."
Cooper flashed them a cheeky grin, the kind that always got a laugh from the guys. These two were so solemn. Yeah, things were bad right now. But they could and would probably get worse. Everyone needed to appreciate the moment.
He was glad the girl introduced them because he couldn't recall their names. He knew they hung out with the artsy crowd at school, which was kind of cool. He kept his artistic talents secret so he tried not to be too judgmental about the talents of others. Cooper shrugged off Zoe messing up his name. People in glass houses and all that, right?
At Oscar's comment, Cooper turned and really looked at the scene in front of him. Yeah, it was pretty but it wasn't anything super new, was it? There were sections of the coast near home that kind of looked like this. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, trying to dispel the wave of homesickness that washed over him. Shoving down those feelings, he looked up at the pair.
"I dunno," he said breezily, gesturing out at the water. "I mean, yeah, it's nice but it's nothing really special, right? There are views like this back home, and honestly, I think I prefer those. If you know what I mean."
Cooper flashed them a cheeky grin, the kind that always got a laugh from the guys. These two were so solemn. Yeah, things were bad right now. But they could and would probably get worse. Everyone needed to appreciate the moment.
Yes, but what was home.
O, but she could give it such a good shot. Here's something silly like a ziggurat, something out of sandstone with its gardens hanging down, bent low in reverence of four silhouettes so spare they could be stick figures, and beneath it in a calculated crayon its title: Home. She could summon up every scraped knee and summer breeze and Christmas tree, pretend she remembered each aunt and uncle with their smiles all too wide, call up every backyard battle with big sister that ended well, so all's well, all's well in this state we have a name for: Home. Those weren't home.
So not for the lack of a ready willing muse, she refused to conjure up whatever idyll would answer. So unnecessary, for once in her life, they seemed so unnecessary. Nothing vital to that charming pantomime, since Vital was the point all along. Home was alive, it was well, it was the breathing out that came without fear, since breathing in again would count down to nothing at all, home was the clock on the wall, on the classroom wall, five minutes longer every time you looked, the gift of forever-from-now that she'd been a fool, they'd all been fools to refuse, home was a boring death that nobody would ever talk about, never ever, and if you were lucky enough home was someone next to you when that finally happened, home was good it was beautiful it was sacred, so sacred right now.
"Yeah," was her hallelujah. "Home sounds nice right now."
Yet from her little mountaintop on this place not called home, she could still spy some selling points: not an unkind word to be heard, one boy who said nothing and one boy who meant nothing added up to no real risk. And maybe they could keep this up forever, declare and end to all those fears, now and here. Maybe all those frightful words could not return at all, and as she says it to herself, So macabre, Zoe, so macabre! over her protests that it's not what she meant at all. Max comes back. He says kind words, or brave words, or scared words, or no words at all because this island has a way of letting its silence spread.
And some plan to make that happen; Zoe the mastermind who marshaled her forces and marched on that elusive wherever that Max was calling home. Some subtle stratagem to smoke him out, coming any moment, dawning any moment, here and real set in motion any moment. But the moments passed, such an awkward girl on the mountain, letting those moments pass. Until,
"There's no plan, is there?"
O, but she could give it such a good shot. Here's something silly like a ziggurat, something out of sandstone with its gardens hanging down, bent low in reverence of four silhouettes so spare they could be stick figures, and beneath it in a calculated crayon its title: Home. She could summon up every scraped knee and summer breeze and Christmas tree, pretend she remembered each aunt and uncle with their smiles all too wide, call up every backyard battle with big sister that ended well, so all's well, all's well in this state we have a name for: Home. Those weren't home.
So not for the lack of a ready willing muse, she refused to conjure up whatever idyll would answer. So unnecessary, for once in her life, they seemed so unnecessary. Nothing vital to that charming pantomime, since Vital was the point all along. Home was alive, it was well, it was the breathing out that came without fear, since breathing in again would count down to nothing at all, home was the clock on the wall, on the classroom wall, five minutes longer every time you looked, the gift of forever-from-now that she'd been a fool, they'd all been fools to refuse, home was a boring death that nobody would ever talk about, never ever, and if you were lucky enough home was someone next to you when that finally happened, home was good it was beautiful it was sacred, so sacred right now.
"Yeah," was her hallelujah. "Home sounds nice right now."
Yet from her little mountaintop on this place not called home, she could still spy some selling points: not an unkind word to be heard, one boy who said nothing and one boy who meant nothing added up to no real risk. And maybe they could keep this up forever, declare and end to all those fears, now and here. Maybe all those frightful words could not return at all, and as she says it to herself, So macabre, Zoe, so macabre! over her protests that it's not what she meant at all. Max comes back. He says kind words, or brave words, or scared words, or no words at all because this island has a way of letting its silence spread.
And some plan to make that happen; Zoe the mastermind who marshaled her forces and marched on that elusive wherever that Max was calling home. Some subtle stratagem to smoke him out, coming any moment, dawning any moment, here and real set in motion any moment. But the moments passed, such an awkward girl on the mountain, letting those moments pass. Until,
"There's no plan, is there?"
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Oscar smirked at Cooper's attempt to cheer him up.
"Nothing special?" he said taking another drag from his cigarette, "You clearly haven't been out to Bainbridge. You want views like that, you'd best go there."
It was hard to take the man standing below him seriously, bright as a clown, preaching the views of home. The urban madness of Pike Street, smells of fresh fruit and dead fish mixing together, buildings obstructing the views of the harbour. And Washington State Convention Center with its panes of glass and alienating concrete foundation, if you got up to the top you'd see a bunch of buildings where fresh grass and trees used to be. The best view in the city was the Space Needle, he was ready to admit that, you could see the whole city, you could see the great vista of Mount Rainier, and you could see the areas still untouched by society. But you would have to pay to see it.
And yet, as Oscar lingered on it, he found that yes, he missed the city too. He missed walking through the busy streets, watching the town filled to the brim with tourists. He missed waiting for the Bainbridge ferry, watching the ship coast into the dock with relative ease. He missed that little theater that kept playing foreign films that nobody would ever know about. He missed smoking with his Dad and he missed his Mother's pork chops, cooked to perfection, as always.
He took another drag, "But maybe you have something there Coop."
As to the question of whether he had a plan. Oscar shook his head, "No plan here."
Oscar dropped his elbow onto his knee and cradled the nearly finished cig. What could he possibly plan right now? There were only so many options available anyways, which was probably how the terrorists wanted it to be. He was a terrible planner to begin with, only able to really plan about how he wanted to convey his vision on canvas. Planning anything else meant rigid rules. Most of the time, they weren't his own.
Even so, there was one thing that came to mind. As much as he loved the scenery before him, he knew two things. There was more to this island than a tiny grotto; and the three of them were not the only ones here. The best thing that could be done right now, was to get moving. It was preferred that it was somewhere high so that they knew more about where they were staying. However long that might be...
"There's a tower south of us. Looks pretty tall. I don't know if you guys have anywhere you want to go, but it's the only thing I've got. Better than nothing I guess."
With a final puffing plume of smoke, Oscar tossed the cigarette down and gently guided himself down the rocks. After adjusting his hat with the light of the sun, he walked over to where he had tossed it and with a quick stomp, squashed the paper filter, killing off the still glowing embers.
"Nothing special?" he said taking another drag from his cigarette, "You clearly haven't been out to Bainbridge. You want views like that, you'd best go there."
It was hard to take the man standing below him seriously, bright as a clown, preaching the views of home. The urban madness of Pike Street, smells of fresh fruit and dead fish mixing together, buildings obstructing the views of the harbour. And Washington State Convention Center with its panes of glass and alienating concrete foundation, if you got up to the top you'd see a bunch of buildings where fresh grass and trees used to be. The best view in the city was the Space Needle, he was ready to admit that, you could see the whole city, you could see the great vista of Mount Rainier, and you could see the areas still untouched by society. But you would have to pay to see it.
And yet, as Oscar lingered on it, he found that yes, he missed the city too. He missed walking through the busy streets, watching the town filled to the brim with tourists. He missed waiting for the Bainbridge ferry, watching the ship coast into the dock with relative ease. He missed that little theater that kept playing foreign films that nobody would ever know about. He missed smoking with his Dad and he missed his Mother's pork chops, cooked to perfection, as always.
He took another drag, "But maybe you have something there Coop."
As to the question of whether he had a plan. Oscar shook his head, "No plan here."
Oscar dropped his elbow onto his knee and cradled the nearly finished cig. What could he possibly plan right now? There were only so many options available anyways, which was probably how the terrorists wanted it to be. He was a terrible planner to begin with, only able to really plan about how he wanted to convey his vision on canvas. Planning anything else meant rigid rules. Most of the time, they weren't his own.
Even so, there was one thing that came to mind. As much as he loved the scenery before him, he knew two things. There was more to this island than a tiny grotto; and the three of them were not the only ones here. The best thing that could be done right now, was to get moving. It was preferred that it was somewhere high so that they knew more about where they were staying. However long that might be...
"There's a tower south of us. Looks pretty tall. I don't know if you guys have anywhere you want to go, but it's the only thing I've got. Better than nothing I guess."
With a final puffing plume of smoke, Oscar tossed the cigarette down and gently guided himself down the rocks. After adjusting his hat with the light of the sun, he walked over to where he had tossed it and with a quick stomp, squashed the paper filter, killing off the still glowing embers.
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BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
Cooper beamed at Oscar's positive response. Okay, so these artsy kids were a little intense, but they were pretty nice so far. Not exactly talkative, but that was all right with him.
He nodded at the suggestion that they head towards the tower down the beach. Finding some other people sounded like a really good idea. Maybe someone will have seen some of the guys. It'd be nice to hook up with them.
Hoisting his bag, Cooper looked up at the ledge-standing pair and then down at the ground. While it wasn't the biggest distance ever, the ground was uneven. If they fell, it would probably take a chunk out of them and hurt like a bitch. Feeling a little silly, he rubbed his palms on his pants.
"Uh, hey, do you guys want a hand down or you just gonna jump it? Because if you jump it, you might want to pick a spot that looks level. This rock will eat the shit out of your hands if you overbalance."
He nodded at the suggestion that they head towards the tower down the beach. Finding some other people sounded like a really good idea. Maybe someone will have seen some of the guys. It'd be nice to hook up with them.
Hoisting his bag, Cooper looked up at the ledge-standing pair and then down at the ground. While it wasn't the biggest distance ever, the ground was uneven. If they fell, it would probably take a chunk out of them and hurt like a bitch. Feeling a little silly, he rubbed his palms on his pants.
"Uh, hey, do you guys want a hand down or you just gonna jump it? Because if you jump it, you might want to pick a spot that looks level. This rock will eat the shit out of your hands if you overbalance."
Hesitation spoke so softly, so hopeful the overtures to stay, stay. And if over this hill we go, for the sake of a taller tower, might we make it with heads held high and a worth-it-after-all? Seemed so distant, faint little figment rising off from below, seemed so false and fickle with its worth-it-after-all. All hope here had that heartbreak waiting in the wings, every step forward had an echo saying Stay, march your left foot right foot and listen for that echo saying Stay, the sun goes down sometime and sleepy eyes beckon the echo saying Stay, wake up with those bleary eyes and you
"You're the leader, huh?" And she let the fears recede, there was this space now to tease her new friend Oscar and the fears seemed out of place with that. She let her shoulders shrug, to let something roll off, let a smile spread, and the echo said nothing at all. "Works for me."
Oscar had always been a better name for a mastermind. So of course he's last down from his mountain, his soldiers boldly forging forward and the triumphant himself in repose. And nothing to stop her descent regardless, nothing but Cooper-not-Carter sorta somewhat saying Stay, but the hell did he know anyway? This was never a mountain, this was never a descent worth telling, what woeful warning could stop her going down?
"I got this", said not-her-words with a grin, said some other voice that sounded strange coming from her. And bent low she made ready her departure, her feet dangled to disembark for a second of that soft-spoken hesitation before she tore her shirt and tore her hands and here she stands, not so worse for the wear, slid down to the bottom of her fall, and we can only call them tears on her hands if we're that melodramatic today. Scuffed was a good word, was what one might say if they saw those scrapes, so so was Scraped, so here was her repertoire of what to call it to cast aside the funny looks. Here was Zoe at the bottom of her fall, hoping the scuffs and scrapes on her hands and the tears on the back of her shirt.
Hoping she belonged here just a little more than the moment before.
"You're the leader, huh?" And she let the fears recede, there was this space now to tease her new friend Oscar and the fears seemed out of place with that. She let her shoulders shrug, to let something roll off, let a smile spread, and the echo said nothing at all. "Works for me."
Oscar had always been a better name for a mastermind. So of course he's last down from his mountain, his soldiers boldly forging forward and the triumphant himself in repose. And nothing to stop her descent regardless, nothing but Cooper-not-Carter sorta somewhat saying Stay, but the hell did he know anyway? This was never a mountain, this was never a descent worth telling, what woeful warning could stop her going down?
"I got this", said not-her-words with a grin, said some other voice that sounded strange coming from her. And bent low she made ready her departure, her feet dangled to disembark for a second of that soft-spoken hesitation before she tore her shirt and tore her hands and here she stands, not so worse for the wear, slid down to the bottom of her fall, and we can only call them tears on her hands if we're that melodramatic today. Scuffed was a good word, was what one might say if they saw those scrapes, so so was Scraped, so here was her repertoire of what to call it to cast aside the funny looks. Here was Zoe at the bottom of her fall, hoping the scuffs and scrapes on her hands and the tears on the back of her shirt.
Hoping she belonged here just a little more than the moment before.
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Oscar the leader. Now that was a laugh. If there was one thing that people might know about Oscar, was that he never lead anything. He was someone who sat back and smoked, letting everyone else do the talking. And yet here they were, with Zoe and Cooper placing him as their de facto guide.
But what choice did he have? It seemed that they trusted him enough to give him the reins, to give them up would mean letting their horse carry them off to places that were altogether unsavory. Granted, what place wasn't unsavory right now? Still, it was better to have a place in mind and know what really unsavory places to avoid. That was something Oscar could get behind.
Zoe had decided to make her own way down the rock face, choosing the less-than-practical option of sliding down it instead of climbing. Effective, but the rocks left their marks on her back. A hole here, a hole there, bare skin left to be filled by the light sea breeze that surrounded them. Cool for now, but potentially uncomfortable as time wore on. Did she have an extra shirt? Did he? Or was that also taken away from them?
Cooper was still looking up to him, the question of whether he needed help still open. To which Oscar shook his head. For such a small drop, he could traverse it with ease. He just had to be careful. With the rock face as a gentle guideline, Oscar found makeshift footrests all the way down to the beach and to Cooper and Zoe.
With a quick brush of the front and backside of his paint-speckled jeans, Oscar collected himself and walked over to the two of them.
"You guys have a strange idea of what a leader looks like." Oscar said, grimacing and readjusting his hat once more.
The tide was starting to make roads inwards, creeping up slowly but surely, still a ways away from his painted upon sneakers. There wasn't much time before things got really uncomfortable for all three of them though.
"We'd best get a move on. Tide's starting to come in." Oscar said, pointing out to the buildings in the distance, "Best way to get to the tower is through there."
Turning his head to look to his newfound friends, Oscar noticed something lying on the ground. Upon retracting, the tide left behind a piece of driftwood. It was long and spindly, maybe half his height, with a knot at the end. It made Oscar think for a moment about what he had been given by the terrorists. Not much. He didn't know what else was out there, and now that he thought about it, he didn't even know what Cooper and Zoe had.
It took just a few steps for Oscar to pick it up. It wasn't too heavy, though he could feel the added weight of the water that had seeped in. It was hardly a threatening piece of weaponry, but it might be enough to keep him safe, for now.
Turning back towards Zoe and Cooper, Oscar gently tapped the makeshift walking stick on the ground, "You guys ready to go?"
But what choice did he have? It seemed that they trusted him enough to give him the reins, to give them up would mean letting their horse carry them off to places that were altogether unsavory. Granted, what place wasn't unsavory right now? Still, it was better to have a place in mind and know what really unsavory places to avoid. That was something Oscar could get behind.
Zoe had decided to make her own way down the rock face, choosing the less-than-practical option of sliding down it instead of climbing. Effective, but the rocks left their marks on her back. A hole here, a hole there, bare skin left to be filled by the light sea breeze that surrounded them. Cool for now, but potentially uncomfortable as time wore on. Did she have an extra shirt? Did he? Or was that also taken away from them?
Cooper was still looking up to him, the question of whether he needed help still open. To which Oscar shook his head. For such a small drop, he could traverse it with ease. He just had to be careful. With the rock face as a gentle guideline, Oscar found makeshift footrests all the way down to the beach and to Cooper and Zoe.
With a quick brush of the front and backside of his paint-speckled jeans, Oscar collected himself and walked over to the two of them.
"You guys have a strange idea of what a leader looks like." Oscar said, grimacing and readjusting his hat once more.
The tide was starting to make roads inwards, creeping up slowly but surely, still a ways away from his painted upon sneakers. There wasn't much time before things got really uncomfortable for all three of them though.
"We'd best get a move on. Tide's starting to come in." Oscar said, pointing out to the buildings in the distance, "Best way to get to the tower is through there."
Turning his head to look to his newfound friends, Oscar noticed something lying on the ground. Upon retracting, the tide left behind a piece of driftwood. It was long and spindly, maybe half his height, with a knot at the end. It made Oscar think for a moment about what he had been given by the terrorists. Not much. He didn't know what else was out there, and now that he thought about it, he didn't even know what Cooper and Zoe had.
It took just a few steps for Oscar to pick it up. It wasn't too heavy, though he could feel the added weight of the water that had seeped in. It was hardly a threatening piece of weaponry, but it might be enough to keep him safe, for now.
Turning back towards Zoe and Cooper, Oscar gently tapped the makeshift walking stick on the ground, "You guys ready to go?"
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BetaKnight
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Mon Aug 20, 2018 4:05 am
Cooper frowned as Zoe slid and slithered her way off her perch, getting scuffed up in the process. Really? She'd rather her clothes get all jacked up than have him help her down? It wasn't like he would have tried to cop a feel or anything. That would just be too wrong, especially under the circumstances. Besides, he never copped a feel on an unwilling girl.
At least Oscar had more skill getting down, arriving unscathed. Cooper was starting to get the distinct feeling the Zoe didn't like him or disapproved of him in some way. He wasn't quite sure what he had done. He had behaved like he always had, and everyone always seemed to like him before. He turned over recent events in his mind, trying to figure out what he had done.
His reflection was interrupted by Oscar picking up a big-ass stick. Cooper nodded in approval of Oscar's impromptu club and to show that he was, indeed, ready to move on. Civilization was beckoning. Maybe Paulo and the rest of the guys would be there.
((Cooper Komorowski continued in Steadier Footing))
At least Oscar had more skill getting down, arriving unscathed. Cooper was starting to get the distinct feeling the Zoe didn't like him or disapproved of him in some way. He wasn't quite sure what he had done. He had behaved like he always had, and everyone always seemed to like him before. He turned over recent events in his mind, trying to figure out what he had done.
His reflection was interrupted by Oscar picking up a big-ass stick. Cooper nodded in approval of Oscar's impromptu club and to show that he was, indeed, ready to move on. Civilization was beckoning. Maybe Paulo and the rest of the guys would be there.
((Cooper Komorowski continued in Steadier Footing))
It made him look more like a leader, the plank of driftwood, if you ignored that it wasn't a fasces and never would be, nor a scepter, nor a sword, just a board of wood whose shortcomings we'd have to ignore, but o, so much willful ignorance to be done on this island, and so generous a leader to give Zoe a chance to practice. But it did make him more of a leader, it did it really did, and nothing even to do with phallic virtue: it was a choice, picking the thing up. A choice, pretending it'd be useful. A leader made choices, yeah?
"Should I find one too? Me and Cooper?" This was called a rhetorical question, no reason to assent, no call at all to arm Zoe so maybe she ought to quit saying soldier just cause it fit a meter nicely. Cooper with a plank of wood, maybe, something of a vanguard stalking ahead of his two new friends, here to beat the drums of war on his chest if the need were to arise, the occasion to let the symbols on his chest speak more loudly than words never too far on this field of waiting graves. Cooper, we might arm.
But oh no, no no, not the full story yet about why we're saying no to a weapon for Zoe. She had hers already, of course, hope at the bottom of her duffel bag, waiting for some ghoulish need for heroism to break open its bonds. A knife not a sword, long, broad, a flat side and a curved side, sharp, grisly, this was called a machete. Inhale and unfold the entire symbolic register of the machete,
which starts with Machete, 2010, Danny Trejo, title character was some frightful anti-hero, former homeless, or day laborer, or some disenfranchised figure, reappropriated, an action hero now, good, promising, something powerless into something heroic, but cautious, be cautious, still exotic, still the other, still some frightful unknown, and o, the ghastly others that loved their machetes, Interahamwe, Janjaweed, icons of slaughter, you can sing their names but it'll still be a dirge, the fleeting furious footfalls that go on and on till they stop, someone's fallen, someone's down, and the machete in their back is the punctuation, the fleeing, screaming, pleading, those never meant to fight, those pleading not to fight, cut down by a machete, her machete, in those places that could be lovely if the machetes stayed their hands, but still, still some other way if she hoped hard enough, some other figures cutting, cutting, cutting with machetes, cutting a tree and not a boy and a tree and not a girl and clearing the way, clearing a path, gathering wood, forging a home, a machete was survival on an island, so scary so barren of home till you've cut enough to build one, the way forward, the way to something less alien if you hack enough of those trees, but those trees, which trees, the skinny trees bending in the wind, back and forth and swaying trembling saying no, saying not today, saying cut down the brave and the strong and the wise and not me not today, but when all you have is a machete you shy away from the brave and the strong and you cut down the weak, the trembling, these shivering shafts who will prop up your home with their slender forms,
and exhale. Fuck. Her genocide cleaver sucked.
Bottom of the bag, bottom of the box, bottom of the pit, stay there and be bound for a thousand thousand years, and only then only then will Oscar beg for his miracle, only then will he need to pray to it, only then will the bag open up with a zzzzzzip and lo and behold the power to kill those weak weary souls who shiver as they run from you. Send it away, for now and the next eternity, send it away and let the driftwood suffice.
(Zoe Leverett continued in Steadier Footing)
"Should I find one too? Me and Cooper?" This was called a rhetorical question, no reason to assent, no call at all to arm Zoe so maybe she ought to quit saying soldier just cause it fit a meter nicely. Cooper with a plank of wood, maybe, something of a vanguard stalking ahead of his two new friends, here to beat the drums of war on his chest if the need were to arise, the occasion to let the symbols on his chest speak more loudly than words never too far on this field of waiting graves. Cooper, we might arm.
But oh no, no no, not the full story yet about why we're saying no to a weapon for Zoe. She had hers already, of course, hope at the bottom of her duffel bag, waiting for some ghoulish need for heroism to break open its bonds. A knife not a sword, long, broad, a flat side and a curved side, sharp, grisly, this was called a machete. Inhale and unfold the entire symbolic register of the machete,
which starts with Machete, 2010, Danny Trejo, title character was some frightful anti-hero, former homeless, or day laborer, or some disenfranchised figure, reappropriated, an action hero now, good, promising, something powerless into something heroic, but cautious, be cautious, still exotic, still the other, still some frightful unknown, and o, the ghastly others that loved their machetes, Interahamwe, Janjaweed, icons of slaughter, you can sing their names but it'll still be a dirge, the fleeting furious footfalls that go on and on till they stop, someone's fallen, someone's down, and the machete in their back is the punctuation, the fleeing, screaming, pleading, those never meant to fight, those pleading not to fight, cut down by a machete, her machete, in those places that could be lovely if the machetes stayed their hands, but still, still some other way if she hoped hard enough, some other figures cutting, cutting, cutting with machetes, cutting a tree and not a boy and a tree and not a girl and clearing the way, clearing a path, gathering wood, forging a home, a machete was survival on an island, so scary so barren of home till you've cut enough to build one, the way forward, the way to something less alien if you hack enough of those trees, but those trees, which trees, the skinny trees bending in the wind, back and forth and swaying trembling saying no, saying not today, saying cut down the brave and the strong and the wise and not me not today, but when all you have is a machete you shy away from the brave and the strong and you cut down the weak, the trembling, these shivering shafts who will prop up your home with their slender forms,
and exhale. Fuck. Her genocide cleaver sucked.
Bottom of the bag, bottom of the box, bottom of the pit, stay there and be bound for a thousand thousand years, and only then only then will Oscar beg for his miracle, only then will he need to pray to it, only then will the bag open up with a zzzzzzip and lo and behold the power to kill those weak weary souls who shiver as they run from you. Send it away, for now and the next eternity, send it away and let the driftwood suffice.
(Zoe Leverett continued in Steadier Footing)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. 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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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Oscar put weight into his new walking stick, frowning at Zoe's question. In general, Oscar didn't like these sorts of questions. Whenever he was asked his for advice or an opinion, he found himself unable to commit to any particular stance. There was a lot that could go wrong with telling someone to do one thing, when the other may have been the better choice. And when Oscar considered the often irrational reactions of other high-schoolers, it was safer to just smile, nod and say that in the end, it was their choice.
Oscar was fine with carrying a makeshift walking stick that looked more club than hiking tool. But there was a little more weight in telling others to follow his lead. For one, how many of them actually believed that is was a walking stick? By his guess, they both knew why he had it. And it was for much more martial reasons, even if it was to be used as merely a defensive tool.
He didn't want to put that weight on their shoulders. The question was whether other people would shrug off the weight. He wanted to believe that his precautions were unnecessary. He wanted to believe that everyone would just deny the terrorists, deny them and prove that nobody would ever make the attempt to kill...
He wanted to tell them that he hoped that they wouldn't need them.
Instead, he answered, "No... It's fine."
Oscar lifted the weight off of the gnarled knob of wood and felt his shoulders droop down. He gave the ocean one last sidelong glance. The ocean, endless ocean. The ocean that would still be here as days went by. The ocean that he wished he could capture upon a canvas, but instead could only stare at. Nobody else would remember this beach.
Oscar sighed once more and reset his shoulders into an unsteady, but upright position, his left hand clutching his new-found tool. It took a few steps, but soon Oscar was moving with something that resembled his usual hiking pace. He could hear the crunch of his footsteps on the sandy shore rising sharply over the waves. And with every step, Oscar found himself thinking of one thing and one thing only.
He wanted another smoke.
((Oscar Trig continued in Steadier Footing))
Oscar was fine with carrying a makeshift walking stick that looked more club than hiking tool. But there was a little more weight in telling others to follow his lead. For one, how many of them actually believed that is was a walking stick? By his guess, they both knew why he had it. And it was for much more martial reasons, even if it was to be used as merely a defensive tool.
He didn't want to put that weight on their shoulders. The question was whether other people would shrug off the weight. He wanted to believe that his precautions were unnecessary. He wanted to believe that everyone would just deny the terrorists, deny them and prove that nobody would ever make the attempt to kill...
He wanted to tell them that he hoped that they wouldn't need them.
Instead, he answered, "No... It's fine."
Oscar lifted the weight off of the gnarled knob of wood and felt his shoulders droop down. He gave the ocean one last sidelong glance. The ocean, endless ocean. The ocean that would still be here as days went by. The ocean that he wished he could capture upon a canvas, but instead could only stare at. Nobody else would remember this beach.
Oscar sighed once more and reset his shoulders into an unsteady, but upright position, his left hand clutching his new-found tool. It took a few steps, but soon Oscar was moving with something that resembled his usual hiking pace. He could hear the crunch of his footsteps on the sandy shore rising sharply over the waves. And with every step, Oscar found himself thinking of one thing and one thing only.
He wanted another smoke.
((Oscar Trig continued in Steadier Footing))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler GregTheAnti-Viking. 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.