Where was she?
It was dark... and was she floating? Actually, no. Either she just got rested on the ground (if there was any) or it just materialized under her. She could barely remember how she ended up in the darkness. Was she dead? Or did someone hurt her really hard in gym? A steady pain was forming in her head, so either one of those could be it. And it felt... well, was she outside? It had that feeling of being outside, at least.
And, that's when she opened her eyes.
A bright flash of light hit her, almost blinding her. Anna Chase lifted her hand to her face, partly because of the light, and also because of the amount of pain going through her head. After a few seconds, she realized that the light was... the sun? That must have been it. She was also apparently lying on the ground. Did she fall asleep outside? Then why did her head hurt?
Chase lifted herself off the ground as best as she could, sitting upright. The world around her was now blurry. After a few seconds, she realized that she wasn't wearing her glasses or contacts. She padded her hands across the ground and her body, hoping that she had set her glasses beside her. But, it was nowhere in sight, or rather, touch. She was going to have to find out where she was without using her eyesight.
So, where was she? Chase rested her head against her hand, feeling a bit like she wanted to throw up. After a while, with a bit of difficulty, she decided to backtrack.
Think Chase, think!
She could remember that she was just about to get on the bus to take them to the class trip, and someone had ran up to her. Who was it? She knew it was male, but she knew lots of men in her life. Suddenly it hit her; Jon? Yes! That was it! They talked about something... what was it about... oh. That's right. Chase knew she wasn't very good at the whole dating thing. She had been a horrid girlfriend. And she was getting the feeling she was hurting Jon. If he hadn't been hurt yet, he would be in the future. Chase's dad had a very firm hatred of him, and would tell Chase at any opportunity that little fact. Chase cared very much about her dad, and often worried if he would get sick again, even just from stress. And Lexie... she knew very well that she didn't like him either. It didn't help that Chase didn't see her for a while. Very often, she worried that she was actually trying to avoid her. Very often, she would wish to see her again, and just... be friends again. Another thing that was bugging her was that she was always so nervous around Jon. Chase did everything she could to please him, but was never sure if it got through to him, or even if she was just being paranoid. Many of her early concerns about the relationship had already been resolved emotionally, but these new ones had cropped up.
And then the little incident with Dawne just made things worse for her... and for Jon and her as a couple. It cinched the fact that she wasn't a good girlfriend, and that she had to do something about that.
So, that day she had called it quits. Chase knew it had hurt Jon, but it was better than him to experience more pain as more time went by. And it had hurt Chase too. She never really did want to do that. But she did. She was tired of lying to Jon, of pretending to be something she wasn't. It did not last very long, but she knew it was... kind of nice. She genuinely enjoyed being part of the relationship. It just was that... well, she needed some time to think. Chase didn't see herself as being honest around Jon.
So, that was that. By the time Chase had gotten on the bus, she was single again.
But... that didn't explain why the hell she was on the ground with a massive headache! The last thing she could remember after that was Jon giving her a small box (what was it?), laughing at the busdriver's jokes and....
Oh no. Now she remembered.
She had taken her glasses off after she started to feel sleepy, but even with nearsightedness, she could hear everything. Was that really gunshots? Was that really the....
Oh god. Survival of the Fittest.
The one time she sat down and watched the airings, it was to see what all the fuss was about. And, well, she didn't like what she saw. One would be surprised to hear that from the horror movie fangirl, but there it was. It seemed pointless... and she had no clue why so many of her classmates would drool over what was essentially a... terrorist attack or something? But, she usually paid no attention to things in the news involving SOTF.
But, here it was, staring her in the face.
Did this mean she had to... no! She couldn't kill! Chase never saw herself as a murderer. Sure, she watched all those movies, but it didn't mean that she could just pick up a gun, and... and...
Something wet started to form around her eyes. Oh god, she was starting to cry, wasn't she? Chase lifted her arm again, this time to wipe her face on her sleeve, slightly smudging what was left of her makeup in the process. Crying did nothing. She had to get out of here!
But how?
Escape wasn't possible, they said. If they saw escape attempts, apparently it will be dealt with. She could barely remember the details, due to the headache that was coming on. So, now what?
Here Anna Chase was, alone, heartbroken, close to blind, and with a headache. And she was supposed to be a murderer?! Or else she will be the one killed?! She couldn't do that!
Chase continued to attempt wiping away the tears, but it wasn't as if she could just stop. Hell, she didn't even know where she was! She lifted her arm away, and squinted. Was that a tower of some kind in front of her? Well, if it was, it was an odd looking tower, red and gold, like a giant wheel. A ferris wheel?
No, don't be silly. Why would the terrorists take over an amusement park?
That was her only clue, and frankly, it was an extremely blurry one.
She really was going to die here, wasn't she?
No! Don't think like that! All she needed to do was stay calm. That's it.
Chase continued to look around, squinting a bit more to get a closer view of her surroundings. It actually, well, it barely helped.
Hesitantly, she lifted her hands to her mouth in a cupping manner, and, as loud as she could, even with the headache, she shouted out.
"Hello?"
She waited a few seconds, listening to her own voice echo. Did someone hear her? If they did, she hoped it would be someone "nice", as in, not killing. She would pray to god that it was one of her friends nearby, like Brendan, or even Dawne or Jon.
Please be someone nice!
Break Up And Break Down
Start of (the end of) G010
-
Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
G028: Langford, Leila - Start
Her mind was broken. The things she'd seen... oh, my, the things the girl had seen.
Having been one of the first to awaken in that hall, she was also, of course, one of the first to scream. She wasn't like a lot of the others, she'd only ever heard of SOTF in passing conversations she'd had with her parents, when they were concerned about her safety. She'd dismissed it entirely, stating it was nothing more than a prank, and if her parents believed it was real, that kids were actually on an island somewhere killing each other as they spoke, then they were living in a fairytale. There was no way anyone would let that kind of thing happen, so thinking that the students at Bayview, of all places, would get kidnapped was beyond a joke.
But then she fell asleep. Then she woke up. Then she saw every one of her classmates strapped down to chairs and benches with armed soldiers watching from every corner of the room. Then she saw her teachers try to resist. Then she watched, screaming, as their blood sprayed furiously across the terrified people around them. If she could, she would have never stopped screaming, but having a gun pointed directly at your face works surprisingly well at making your voice disappear.
Forced to watch the video being played out in front of them, she screamed again as the boy on the screen stabbed his girlfriend, her eyes losing all their shine as the life was drained out of her. She remembered feeling sick at that point, knowing full well that this was much more than a joke, that this was real and happening to her right now. She was a contestant on SOTF, one of many, and that meant she was about to live out the worst moments of her life right here, right now.
Cradling her daypack, she sat in the cold light of dawn with her stilettos clutched tightly in her hands. She'd attempted to walk in them after getting used to her surroundings, but the ground was rugged and plant-life grew wildly around the fun fair, leaving her with no choice but to remove them at once, lest she cracked open her head. For now, she just wanted to rest, to make sense of everything that had happened, but whenever she tried to think she was immediately brought to tears by the image of her teachers dying. It played over and over in her head, like a terrible recording, and for the past hour it had paralyzed her.
When she initially awoke, sprawled out beneath the Ferris wheel, she couldn't recall any of the time spent getting here, even going as far as thinking she'd simply had one too many the night before and got herself lost. After taking a good look around, however, she quickly realized that she was nowhere near St.Pauls anymore, and all the memories of the bus trip and the "introduction" to the game came back to her as forcefully as they had entered.
Now, she simply sat, trembling and afraid, with her mascara running down her face and the layer of foundation she'd had on almost gone now after hours spent asleep with her face in the dirt. Her breath had yet to return to normal, with her constant crying having worn her out, and soon enough she began to feel the need for a drink as her throat grated with every gasp she took. Water could wait though. Though she may have been handling the daypack like a lost child she'd just found, the thought of opening it up and finding a machete inside was something she didn't want to acknowledge.
This was her last defense - if she opened up the bag and saw the weapon inside she'd know that there was nothing left to convince her that this could all have been a joke. The deaths of the teachers? All the blood and the violence? Easy to fake. She'd seen it herself, after all, whenever Violet would make them film a scene wherein one of them had to get brutally murdered, and if this was on television, well, they would have had a much bigger budget to use for special effects. But if she opened her daypack and found a weapon inside, if she could cut herself with it and draw her own blood... then she'd know that this wasn't pretend. She'd know, finally, that this wasn't a joke. Whatever awaited her inside that daypack could only mean terrible things for her, and she wasn't ready to face them. Not just yet.
"Hello?"
She froze.
Her mind was broken. The things she'd seen... oh, my, the things the girl had seen.
Having been one of the first to awaken in that hall, she was also, of course, one of the first to scream. She wasn't like a lot of the others, she'd only ever heard of SOTF in passing conversations she'd had with her parents, when they were concerned about her safety. She'd dismissed it entirely, stating it was nothing more than a prank, and if her parents believed it was real, that kids were actually on an island somewhere killing each other as they spoke, then they were living in a fairytale. There was no way anyone would let that kind of thing happen, so thinking that the students at Bayview, of all places, would get kidnapped was beyond a joke.
But then she fell asleep. Then she woke up. Then she saw every one of her classmates strapped down to chairs and benches with armed soldiers watching from every corner of the room. Then she saw her teachers try to resist. Then she watched, screaming, as their blood sprayed furiously across the terrified people around them. If she could, she would have never stopped screaming, but having a gun pointed directly at your face works surprisingly well at making your voice disappear.
Forced to watch the video being played out in front of them, she screamed again as the boy on the screen stabbed his girlfriend, her eyes losing all their shine as the life was drained out of her. She remembered feeling sick at that point, knowing full well that this was much more than a joke, that this was real and happening to her right now. She was a contestant on SOTF, one of many, and that meant she was about to live out the worst moments of her life right here, right now.
Cradling her daypack, she sat in the cold light of dawn with her stilettos clutched tightly in her hands. She'd attempted to walk in them after getting used to her surroundings, but the ground was rugged and plant-life grew wildly around the fun fair, leaving her with no choice but to remove them at once, lest she cracked open her head. For now, she just wanted to rest, to make sense of everything that had happened, but whenever she tried to think she was immediately brought to tears by the image of her teachers dying. It played over and over in her head, like a terrible recording, and for the past hour it had paralyzed her.
When she initially awoke, sprawled out beneath the Ferris wheel, she couldn't recall any of the time spent getting here, even going as far as thinking she'd simply had one too many the night before and got herself lost. After taking a good look around, however, she quickly realized that she was nowhere near St.Pauls anymore, and all the memories of the bus trip and the "introduction" to the game came back to her as forcefully as they had entered.
Now, she simply sat, trembling and afraid, with her mascara running down her face and the layer of foundation she'd had on almost gone now after hours spent asleep with her face in the dirt. Her breath had yet to return to normal, with her constant crying having worn her out, and soon enough she began to feel the need for a drink as her throat grated with every gasp she took. Water could wait though. Though she may have been handling the daypack like a lost child she'd just found, the thought of opening it up and finding a machete inside was something she didn't want to acknowledge.
This was her last defense - if she opened up the bag and saw the weapon inside she'd know that there was nothing left to convince her that this could all have been a joke. The deaths of the teachers? All the blood and the violence? Easy to fake. She'd seen it herself, after all, whenever Violet would make them film a scene wherein one of them had to get brutally murdered, and if this was on television, well, they would have had a much bigger budget to use for special effects. But if she opened her daypack and found a weapon inside, if she could cut herself with it and draw her own blood... then she'd know that this wasn't pretend. She'd know, finally, that this wasn't a joke. Whatever awaited her inside that daypack could only mean terrible things for her, and she wasn't ready to face them. Not just yet.
"Hello?"
She froze.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinojelly. 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 death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic."
~Joseph Stalin
"Good evening," the girl with the blue hair and the gray jacket said in a raspy voice. She smiled at Anna Chase, her hands dug into the pockets of her baggy jeans. She stared at Anna like she knew her. To be honest the girl that stood behind Anna didn't really know her all that well. One could easily try to write her cheery demeanor off, saying that perhaps she was glad to see another person. While optimism played a part, Kitty Gittschall's smile meant something else entirely.
You see, Kitty Gittschall knew EXACTLY what she was going to do. She was going to play.
There was no self-discovery. No long drawn out rants at the camera. Kitty didn't need to stroke her ego that much to figure what she wanted to do. With Kitty, she ALWAYS knew what she wanted. The killing part sounded like the hardest hurdle she would have to face. Like most things though, Kitty figured she would ease into it like one would a canoe. All you need is to be careful and go slowly. This was not something she imagined she would enjoy. In fact, she figured she would dread it.
Kitty had one small plan though - find a partner. Someone who is either on the good side of the school, or someone who is so harmless. What was her overall goal for this? Kitty wasn't sure. It was mostly a spur-of-the-moment kind of plan that she wasn't sure would work. It was better than going after people alone after all. All she needed was a strong weapon, something that could get her through to the end. Then she could chuck them away like such used trash.
The fair Kitty found herself in was very run down. It was the kind of place Kitty knew she would hang out around with her friends. Maybe fate allowed her the chance to land right next to a trashed fun fair. Perhaps some outside force was telling Kitty that this was her game, that she should try to go all the way. So she did. Then she put her plan into action - find the first lonely girl and partner up with them.
That's when she stumbled into Anna Chase. An odd little girl. She had a math class with her, so it wasn't like she didn't know her completely. The kind of harmless girl that could never hurt a fly. Kitty felt herself mentally chuckle. Yes. She would do just fine. So that was why Kitty Gittschall stood there in an abandoned fun fair, smiling kindly at Anna Chase like they had been best friends for years.
"Your name is Anna right?" She asked.
~Joseph Stalin
"Good evening," the girl with the blue hair and the gray jacket said in a raspy voice. She smiled at Anna Chase, her hands dug into the pockets of her baggy jeans. She stared at Anna like she knew her. To be honest the girl that stood behind Anna didn't really know her all that well. One could easily try to write her cheery demeanor off, saying that perhaps she was glad to see another person. While optimism played a part, Kitty Gittschall's smile meant something else entirely.
You see, Kitty Gittschall knew EXACTLY what she was going to do. She was going to play.
There was no self-discovery. No long drawn out rants at the camera. Kitty didn't need to stroke her ego that much to figure what she wanted to do. With Kitty, she ALWAYS knew what she wanted. The killing part sounded like the hardest hurdle she would have to face. Like most things though, Kitty figured she would ease into it like one would a canoe. All you need is to be careful and go slowly. This was not something she imagined she would enjoy. In fact, she figured she would dread it.
Kitty had one small plan though - find a partner. Someone who is either on the good side of the school, or someone who is so harmless. What was her overall goal for this? Kitty wasn't sure. It was mostly a spur-of-the-moment kind of plan that she wasn't sure would work. It was better than going after people alone after all. All she needed was a strong weapon, something that could get her through to the end. Then she could chuck them away like such used trash.
The fair Kitty found herself in was very run down. It was the kind of place Kitty knew she would hang out around with her friends. Maybe fate allowed her the chance to land right next to a trashed fun fair. Perhaps some outside force was telling Kitty that this was her game, that she should try to go all the way. So she did. Then she put her plan into action - find the first lonely girl and partner up with them.
That's when she stumbled into Anna Chase. An odd little girl. She had a math class with her, so it wasn't like she didn't know her completely. The kind of harmless girl that could never hurt a fly. Kitty felt herself mentally chuckle. Yes. She would do just fine. So that was why Kitty Gittschall stood there in an abandoned fun fair, smiling kindly at Anna Chase like they had been best friends for years.
"Your name is Anna right?" She asked.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
-
armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Oh god my stomach why does it hurt so bad ohhhhh. What the hell is this?
[B127]- START!
Kyle opened his eyes and gritted his teeth against pain which ran through his body. His stomach was screaming in pain. He could feel bile rising in his throat. Had he eaten something bad? He couldn't remember. Oh.... He curled up and bit his lip as his stomach shot a warning message to him. Suddenly, the blank spots in his memory filled in. The Auditorium. That voice, the voice he had listened to with mild elation. Survival Of The Fittest. That show.... He hadn't been big on the merchandise, but the show had been one he liked to turn on while he was doing homework. He had, at the time, thought that Danya's voice sounded so awesomely sinister. The irony twisted his stomach again. The pain was similar to the time he had had a Dentist's appointment for a tooth drilling. He had taken his medicine before, and the anesthetic had reacted with his medicine. That time he had....
The bile rose in his throat again as Kyle rolled over quickly. He pulled his head up and away from the ground as his stomach roiled and pushed out its contents. He gagged twice more, not pushing anything out with the heaves. He dropped to the side and panted before another realization came to light. His glasses. Where the fuck were his glasses? He looked around, his vision incredibly blurry. He patted himself down and felt something in his pocket. Relief flooded his body as he pulled out his glasses and put them on.
"Not cracked. Good," he muttered to himself. He looked around himself again and spotted the daypack. He crawled over to it, not trusting his legs to hold him up, and began rummaging through it.
"FUCK!" he exclaimed, pulling his hand out rapidly. He was bleeding heavily out of a long, but shallow gash. Cursing to himself, for both his exclamation and his sliced hand, he dumped the contents of his daypack out. A medkit, foodstuffs, other general items, and the knife. It was short and curved, a style Kyle hadn't had much dealing with. He did recognize it as a Gurka knife, used by Turkish Police Forces. He briefly wondered if Danya and his organization were Middle Eastern in origin.
Kyle opened the medkit and pulled out the bandages. He carefully poured a small amount of water over his hand before placing a gauze pad on the gash and wrapping it with the bandages. It was crude, but it would work. He went ahead and wrapped his other hand too. He would probably use his fists as much as his knife in this game, so protecting them was important. It struck him then. He was already thinking of his classmates as... nothing. Not his friends. Hayley... she would live. Until the very end, if it had to be that way. But everyone else... they were already non-entities to him. It was a chilling prospect and, if he had more time to consider it, probably said a lot about him. It shook him, knocked him uncertain. It was never a good place to be, uncertain in yourself.
Carefully, Kyle pulled himself to his feet. His knees wobbled slightly, but not enough to knock him down. Still, he sat down again quickly, making the excuse to himself that he needed to repack his stuff. His duffle was sitting next to him, passing unnoticed at the time. Inside, he found his work-out clothing, brought because he planned to work out occasionally. He also found a change of clothes. What he failed to find was his pills. This was bad. Very bad.
"Shit. I'm going to be flipping the fuck out in a couple hours...," he muttered to himself.
[B127]- START!
Kyle opened his eyes and gritted his teeth against pain which ran through his body. His stomach was screaming in pain. He could feel bile rising in his throat. Had he eaten something bad? He couldn't remember. Oh.... He curled up and bit his lip as his stomach shot a warning message to him. Suddenly, the blank spots in his memory filled in. The Auditorium. That voice, the voice he had listened to with mild elation. Survival Of The Fittest. That show.... He hadn't been big on the merchandise, but the show had been one he liked to turn on while he was doing homework. He had, at the time, thought that Danya's voice sounded so awesomely sinister. The irony twisted his stomach again. The pain was similar to the time he had had a Dentist's appointment for a tooth drilling. He had taken his medicine before, and the anesthetic had reacted with his medicine. That time he had....
The bile rose in his throat again as Kyle rolled over quickly. He pulled his head up and away from the ground as his stomach roiled and pushed out its contents. He gagged twice more, not pushing anything out with the heaves. He dropped to the side and panted before another realization came to light. His glasses. Where the fuck were his glasses? He looked around, his vision incredibly blurry. He patted himself down and felt something in his pocket. Relief flooded his body as he pulled out his glasses and put them on.
"Not cracked. Good," he muttered to himself. He looked around himself again and spotted the daypack. He crawled over to it, not trusting his legs to hold him up, and began rummaging through it.
"FUCK!" he exclaimed, pulling his hand out rapidly. He was bleeding heavily out of a long, but shallow gash. Cursing to himself, for both his exclamation and his sliced hand, he dumped the contents of his daypack out. A medkit, foodstuffs, other general items, and the knife. It was short and curved, a style Kyle hadn't had much dealing with. He did recognize it as a Gurka knife, used by Turkish Police Forces. He briefly wondered if Danya and his organization were Middle Eastern in origin.
Kyle opened the medkit and pulled out the bandages. He carefully poured a small amount of water over his hand before placing a gauze pad on the gash and wrapping it with the bandages. It was crude, but it would work. He went ahead and wrapped his other hand too. He would probably use his fists as much as his knife in this game, so protecting them was important. It struck him then. He was already thinking of his classmates as... nothing. Not his friends. Hayley... she would live. Until the very end, if it had to be that way. But everyone else... they were already non-entities to him. It was a chilling prospect and, if he had more time to consider it, probably said a lot about him. It shook him, knocked him uncertain. It was never a good place to be, uncertain in yourself.
Carefully, Kyle pulled himself to his feet. His knees wobbled slightly, but not enough to knock him down. Still, he sat down again quickly, making the excuse to himself that he needed to repack his stuff. His duffle was sitting next to him, passing unnoticed at the time. Inside, he found his work-out clothing, brought because he planned to work out occasionally. He also found a change of clothes. What he failed to find was his pills. This was bad. Very bad.
"Shit. I'm going to be flipping the fuck out in a couple hours...," he muttered to himself.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. 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.
No reply.
Well, she was not sure if that was good or bad. But, in any case, it was worrying. She really was the only one here, and it was in a way more frightening than if anyone was indeed here. On one hand, someone could easily sneak up on her while she was pretty much without sight. On the other... it seemed kind of creepy to know she was the only one there. Chase almost expected to have someone suddenly come out and start attacking her. But to know that she was truly alone for the time being... it freaked her out.
Looking around, she noticed a black object on the ground. What was that? Her hands were hastily placed on top of it, and after moving her hands around, noticed that it seemed to be made of some kind of fabric. Wait, was this a bag of some kind? She found what felt like a small piece of metal on it. Oh! So this must be a bag indeed! It sure looked like one, at least, and it felt like one... maybe it was the thing they mentioned, the "daypack"?
Okay Chase. Don't panic. You will find your glasses or contacts, right? I mean... it's not like they are gone forever...
Chase's eyes started to water again, but she quickly moved her arm to wipe the tears away. Oh, how she wanted to cry. But, she always saw crying as something that people laughed at, and something that made her look pathetic. And she was going to be on live television!
Oh god... people were watching this... right?
Best not to think about that now. Maybe her red backpack was nearby, with all the stuff she packed for the trip. It had to be. Did they let everyone have their stuff that they packed? She could remember putting her glasses inside her bag, so they must be in there. But was it nearby?
Chase attempted to move away a few more oncoming tears, and once her arm moved away, squinted as she looked around to see if it was nearby. Or... maybe it was somehow inside the bag she was currently moving her hands around? That would be weird...
However, she heard someone approach her, and soon they started talking to her.
"Good evening"?
She looked at the source, turning behind her to do so, and saw a human-shaped blur. It had some sort of blue-ish color at the top (must have been dyed hair), and seemed to be a girl, judging by the shape of the blur and the voice that was talking to her.
Oh god, what if it was one of those killer types?! That was not good. Chase immediately leapt to her feet, and squinted at the blur that was now talking to her.
"Uh... yeah. Name's An-Anna. But everyone calls me Chase. It's kinda my last n-n-name, and I kinda like to be called that..." she blurted out. "You aren't the k-killing type, are you?"
Oh god, please don't be a killer! What would Chase do then? She was blind... didn't know where her weapon was... her head was still hurting... there was no way she could defend herself! It would be horrible! Heck, she didn't even know if that bag she had been touching was in any way connected to her, now that she thought of it! Heck, it could have been anyone's, including this girl's! Maybe that's why she approached her!
Maybe if this blur was nice, she could help?
"Hey... did you s-see a red backpack nearby? Because... I kind of want to check something inside it... I'm n-not sure if they let us have the stuff we p-packed. All I found was this b-bag..." She pointed at the bag on the ground. "And I'm not sure if it's mine, actually. I just remembered they m-mentioned something about stuff for the... you know... and I kinda... if you're nice... can you help me?"
She did not tell Blurry Person that she was currently unable to see that well. If she did, what if she took advantage of that fact? It would not be good at all, really. Heck, this might not be the best idea, now that she thought of it. Chase had not been thinking straight ever since she woke up, and maybe... she did something unwise? Her head still hurt, after all, so she could end up doing anything.
Well, she was not sure if that was good or bad. But, in any case, it was worrying. She really was the only one here, and it was in a way more frightening than if anyone was indeed here. On one hand, someone could easily sneak up on her while she was pretty much without sight. On the other... it seemed kind of creepy to know she was the only one there. Chase almost expected to have someone suddenly come out and start attacking her. But to know that she was truly alone for the time being... it freaked her out.
Looking around, she noticed a black object on the ground. What was that? Her hands were hastily placed on top of it, and after moving her hands around, noticed that it seemed to be made of some kind of fabric. Wait, was this a bag of some kind? She found what felt like a small piece of metal on it. Oh! So this must be a bag indeed! It sure looked like one, at least, and it felt like one... maybe it was the thing they mentioned, the "daypack"?
Okay Chase. Don't panic. You will find your glasses or contacts, right? I mean... it's not like they are gone forever...
Chase's eyes started to water again, but she quickly moved her arm to wipe the tears away. Oh, how she wanted to cry. But, she always saw crying as something that people laughed at, and something that made her look pathetic. And she was going to be on live television!
Oh god... people were watching this... right?
Best not to think about that now. Maybe her red backpack was nearby, with all the stuff she packed for the trip. It had to be. Did they let everyone have their stuff that they packed? She could remember putting her glasses inside her bag, so they must be in there. But was it nearby?
Chase attempted to move away a few more oncoming tears, and once her arm moved away, squinted as she looked around to see if it was nearby. Or... maybe it was somehow inside the bag she was currently moving her hands around? That would be weird...
However, she heard someone approach her, and soon they started talking to her.
"Good evening"?
She looked at the source, turning behind her to do so, and saw a human-shaped blur. It had some sort of blue-ish color at the top (must have been dyed hair), and seemed to be a girl, judging by the shape of the blur and the voice that was talking to her.
Oh god, what if it was one of those killer types?! That was not good. Chase immediately leapt to her feet, and squinted at the blur that was now talking to her.
"Uh... yeah. Name's An-Anna. But everyone calls me Chase. It's kinda my last n-n-name, and I kinda like to be called that..." she blurted out. "You aren't the k-killing type, are you?"
Oh god, please don't be a killer! What would Chase do then? She was blind... didn't know where her weapon was... her head was still hurting... there was no way she could defend herself! It would be horrible! Heck, she didn't even know if that bag she had been touching was in any way connected to her, now that she thought of it! Heck, it could have been anyone's, including this girl's! Maybe that's why she approached her!
Maybe if this blur was nice, she could help?
"Hey... did you s-see a red backpack nearby? Because... I kind of want to check something inside it... I'm n-not sure if they let us have the stuff we p-packed. All I found was this b-bag..." She pointed at the bag on the ground. "And I'm not sure if it's mine, actually. I just remembered they m-mentioned something about stuff for the... you know... and I kinda... if you're nice... can you help me?"
She did not tell Blurry Person that she was currently unable to see that well. If she did, what if she took advantage of that fact? It would not be good at all, really. Heck, this might not be the best idea, now that she thought of it. Chase had not been thinking straight ever since she woke up, and maybe... she did something unwise? Her head still hurt, after all, so she could end up doing anything.
Nancy 'Gracie' Wainright, Female student no. 081 Start
Gracie Call-Me-Nancy-And-I'll-Piss-In-Your-Coffee Wainwright was an independent woman. Why, you might ask, was Gracie an independent woman? Gracie had been buying her own clothes since she was twelve and even before that, Gracie was buying her own lunch at school. Now, you might ask, why exactly did that make Gracie an independent woman? Because Gracie was resourceful. Those clothes had price tags, y'know. She, even at the tender age of twelve, knew full that money made the world go round. And in order to be high up in the world, what did you need? MONEY. So, how was Gracie resourceful? She found ways to get MONEY. Whether it was raiding her Aunt's piggy-bank of a couch or showing a little skin to a few creeps on the internet, Gracie's primary concern was MONEY.
But, you might say, why does this matter? Gracie IS on an island where MONEY has no value. Whatsoever. Now, you'd have to really know Gracie to realize what we're getting at here. Gracie is greedy. Plain and simple. She'll take as much of something as she can get and then go back for seconds. So even now, after being drugged, forced to watch the brutal deaths of her chaperones, and then being dropped onto an island without so much as a kiss goodbye, Gracie's greed had managed to prevail in the end.
You know what sucked? Waking up on a deserted island where you expected to kill your closest friends, or enemies as it'd be in her case, with only a daypack full of gross as carb-y shit. You know what sucked worse? Waking up on a stupid island and seeing that your absolute FAVORITE pair of Raybans were laying a few feet away and BUSTED on a fudging rock. You know what made all, well most of it, of it better? Seeing a big ass stinkin' rifle sticking out of your daypack once you're done cradling your broken Raybans in your hands and sobbing.
And that's how Gracie ended up hiding under some underbrush on a hill overlooking the fair like some kind of really fashionable tigress, watching dumbass Anna Chase crawl around on the ground like a retarded baby. Gracie wasn't terribly sure what the fudge she was doing crawling around on the ground, figuring it was probably some creepy ass voodoo gothic ritual or some shit. She didn't really care much either, honestly. All she wanted was that delicious looking daypack, which had been silently taunting retard-baby for awhile now. Oh GOD, what she wouldn't give for Facebook, she could see it now.
GRACIE WAINRIGHT
Status: Robbing freakin' Wednesday Addams, biiitcheeeees!!!
Exhilarated by the very thought, Gracie leapt up from the underbrush and quickly wiped the dirt off her shorts before making her way down the hill. Her stomach ad accumulated a few butterflies and she inwardly squealed, she was making freaking history. She had seen a few episodes of SOTF before, though it didn't come near being as good as America's Next Top Model, but whatever. It was cool in its own way, despite it being, y'know, REAL. But yeah, in all the episodes she had seen, never did she witness a fudgin' SHAKE DOWN, she was so dang smart. And hey, at least she knew she wouldn't die of starvation or for the next few days.
As Gracie walked nonchalantly through the gates of the fair, she could hear retard-baby's stupid ass voice—talking to the dark demon servants of Satan or some shit, probably. It wasn't until she heard another girl's (even stupider)voice did she realize that her plan might be a little trickier than she thought. Edging up against one of the game booths, Gracie peaked her head around it to survey retard-baby's area.
Are you kidding? Seriously? In the time it had taken her to make her way down to the fair, another less-whorey-but-still-whorey-enough Marge-Simpson-Wannabe-Bitch had joined the party. With a heavy sigh, Gracie swallowed the sudden lump forming in her throat and exposed herself to the girls, gun raised dangerously in her arms. Who freakin' says that TV didn't teach you anything? All those hunting shows didn't go to waste, nuh uh.
"Hands up, packs out, bitches,"
Gracie Call-Me-Nancy-And-I'll-Piss-In-Your-Coffee Wainwright was an independent woman. Why, you might ask, was Gracie an independent woman? Gracie had been buying her own clothes since she was twelve and even before that, Gracie was buying her own lunch at school. Now, you might ask, why exactly did that make Gracie an independent woman? Because Gracie was resourceful. Those clothes had price tags, y'know. She, even at the tender age of twelve, knew full that money made the world go round. And in order to be high up in the world, what did you need? MONEY. So, how was Gracie resourceful? She found ways to get MONEY. Whether it was raiding her Aunt's piggy-bank of a couch or showing a little skin to a few creeps on the internet, Gracie's primary concern was MONEY.
But, you might say, why does this matter? Gracie IS on an island where MONEY has no value. Whatsoever. Now, you'd have to really know Gracie to realize what we're getting at here. Gracie is greedy. Plain and simple. She'll take as much of something as she can get and then go back for seconds. So even now, after being drugged, forced to watch the brutal deaths of her chaperones, and then being dropped onto an island without so much as a kiss goodbye, Gracie's greed had managed to prevail in the end.
You know what sucked? Waking up on a deserted island where you expected to kill your closest friends, or enemies as it'd be in her case, with only a daypack full of gross as carb-y shit. You know what sucked worse? Waking up on a stupid island and seeing that your absolute FAVORITE pair of Raybans were laying a few feet away and BUSTED on a fudging rock. You know what made all, well most of it, of it better? Seeing a big ass stinkin' rifle sticking out of your daypack once you're done cradling your broken Raybans in your hands and sobbing.
And that's how Gracie ended up hiding under some underbrush on a hill overlooking the fair like some kind of really fashionable tigress, watching dumbass Anna Chase crawl around on the ground like a retarded baby. Gracie wasn't terribly sure what the fudge she was doing crawling around on the ground, figuring it was probably some creepy ass voodoo gothic ritual or some shit. She didn't really care much either, honestly. All she wanted was that delicious looking daypack, which had been silently taunting retard-baby for awhile now. Oh GOD, what she wouldn't give for Facebook, she could see it now.
GRACIE WAINRIGHT
Status: Robbing freakin' Wednesday Addams, biiitcheeeees!!!
Exhilarated by the very thought, Gracie leapt up from the underbrush and quickly wiped the dirt off her shorts before making her way down the hill. Her stomach ad accumulated a few butterflies and she inwardly squealed, she was making freaking history. She had seen a few episodes of SOTF before, though it didn't come near being as good as America's Next Top Model, but whatever. It was cool in its own way, despite it being, y'know, REAL. But yeah, in all the episodes she had seen, never did she witness a fudgin' SHAKE DOWN, she was so dang smart. And hey, at least she knew she wouldn't die of starvation or for the next few days.
As Gracie walked nonchalantly through the gates of the fair, she could hear retard-baby's stupid ass voice—talking to the dark demon servants of Satan or some shit, probably. It wasn't until she heard another girl's (even stupider)voice did she realize that her plan might be a little trickier than she thought. Edging up against one of the game booths, Gracie peaked her head around it to survey retard-baby's area.
Are you kidding? Seriously? In the time it had taken her to make her way down to the fair, another less-whorey-but-still-whorey-enough Marge-Simpson-Wannabe-Bitch had joined the party. With a heavy sigh, Gracie swallowed the sudden lump forming in her throat and exposed herself to the girls, gun raised dangerously in her arms. Who freakin' says that TV didn't teach you anything? All those hunting shows didn't go to waste, nuh uh.
"Hands up, packs out, bitches,"
-
Hallucinojelly†
- Posts: 133
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:17 am
Leila could hear every mumbled, stuttered, flustered word from where she sat, meaning the sources were somewhere nearby. Stirring out of her paralysis, she began to shakily get to her feet, hushing herself as her bangles clanged against the zipper of the daypack. She recognised the speech well enough, but she couldn't quite put a face to the voices, and found herself wary of taking the first step towards them.
Judging by what she could hear, and piecing together what that man on the video had told them, the voices could have belonged to anyone who came on the camping trip. She paused, letting the thought weigh heavily on her mind.
We were meant to go camping... Her body trembled as she stood, the daypack in no danger of leaving her side as she huddled it close to her chest. We were meant to be drinking, and fucking around, and- and being... 18. Her heart sank deeper into her chest, the other organs threatening to engulf it as a familiar lump began to swell in the base of her throat. We were... we were meant to be celebrating, not... this. Not fucking THIS.
She wanted to be back home, or out clubbing, or getting wasted with her friends - but this, this was her reality now, freezing and alone and scared of what she would find waiting around that corner, and more importantly, whether or not the weapon in her bag would ever be put to use. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use it, whatever it was, but secretly she knew that there might be people like that boy around here. That boy who shot and stabbed his girlfriend without blinking an eye. Those were the kind of people everyone here could end up becoming, even the ones who looked oh so harmless, even like...
"Hands up, packs out, bitches,"
A tiny squeak escaped her body, quickly muffled by her own hands as she stood rooted to the spot. Someone else had come along - someone dangerous, she assumed. Leaving the safety of the Ferris wheel's shade, she stepped out into the open, glancing around in every direction to see if she could pinpoint where everything was taking place. Then she heard a response, and her eyes looked squarely ahead, in the direction of one of the stalls.
Stepping carefully on the ruined ground, she winced as her delicate feet met with the harsh edges of the rock and the dirt. The luxury of decent footwear was not one she currently possessed, and as she marched slowly forwards, her lips quivered as she tried her best to repress the cries threatening to give away her whereabouts. To say she looked her worst right now would be entirely accurate, although given the states she'd sometimes found herself in (and much to her relief) at least she wasn't covered in someone else's vomit.
After an agonizing walk, she found herself behind what looked to be an old ring-toss stall, but the years of rain and rot had worn away the name on the sign. With her daypack in hand, she crouched down below the side of the counter, hoping that she was invisible to whoever stood on the other side, waiting to rob the people who had been so near her all this time without her knowing. It made her a little sick, to think that she could've been attacked at any opportunity, but the fact that she was still alive meant that she hadn't been seen just yet. At least, that was what she hoped.
Counting herself up to three, she raised her head, ever so slowly, above the counter; her eyes widening at the sight of her classmates being held up by that weirdo, graceless Gracie Wainwright. A weirdo... who now possessed a rifle.
Judging by what she could hear, and piecing together what that man on the video had told them, the voices could have belonged to anyone who came on the camping trip. She paused, letting the thought weigh heavily on her mind.
We were meant to go camping... Her body trembled as she stood, the daypack in no danger of leaving her side as she huddled it close to her chest. We were meant to be drinking, and fucking around, and- and being... 18. Her heart sank deeper into her chest, the other organs threatening to engulf it as a familiar lump began to swell in the base of her throat. We were... we were meant to be celebrating, not... this. Not fucking THIS.
She wanted to be back home, or out clubbing, or getting wasted with her friends - but this, this was her reality now, freezing and alone and scared of what she would find waiting around that corner, and more importantly, whether or not the weapon in her bag would ever be put to use. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use it, whatever it was, but secretly she knew that there might be people like that boy around here. That boy who shot and stabbed his girlfriend without blinking an eye. Those were the kind of people everyone here could end up becoming, even the ones who looked oh so harmless, even like...
"Hands up, packs out, bitches,"
A tiny squeak escaped her body, quickly muffled by her own hands as she stood rooted to the spot. Someone else had come along - someone dangerous, she assumed. Leaving the safety of the Ferris wheel's shade, she stepped out into the open, glancing around in every direction to see if she could pinpoint where everything was taking place. Then she heard a response, and her eyes looked squarely ahead, in the direction of one of the stalls.
Stepping carefully on the ruined ground, she winced as her delicate feet met with the harsh edges of the rock and the dirt. The luxury of decent footwear was not one she currently possessed, and as she marched slowly forwards, her lips quivered as she tried her best to repress the cries threatening to give away her whereabouts. To say she looked her worst right now would be entirely accurate, although given the states she'd sometimes found herself in (and much to her relief) at least she wasn't covered in someone else's vomit.
After an agonizing walk, she found herself behind what looked to be an old ring-toss stall, but the years of rain and rot had worn away the name on the sign. With her daypack in hand, she crouched down below the side of the counter, hoping that she was invisible to whoever stood on the other side, waiting to rob the people who had been so near her all this time without her knowing. It made her a little sick, to think that she could've been attacked at any opportunity, but the fact that she was still alive meant that she hadn't been seen just yet. At least, that was what she hoped.
Counting herself up to three, she raised her head, ever so slowly, above the counter; her eyes widening at the sight of her classmates being held up by that weirdo, graceless Gracie Wainwright. A weirdo... who now possessed a rifle.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinojelly. 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.
Kitty tried to hold in a laugh. Oh god, this girl was so nervous she was trembling. This was going to be a little easier. She smiled, brushing her curly hair back.
"No," she lied. "I'm not the killing type. Don't worry. I'm Kitty. My friends just call me Kit."
Kitty didn't exactly find a red bag when she was coming up. The blue-haired girl looked around, a little confused. Having just awoken a half-hour before, Kitty had gone through her bag at a quick pace and found everything that she needed to find. She didn't really take much else other than clothes, her IPod and a few sheets of tracing paper and colored pencils. Kitty didn't need a big bag for all of her stuff.
Kitty felt sorry for Anna now. She couldn't find her glasses so how the hell could she survive in this terrible situation? So, like any nice girl looking to help someone in trouble.
"Sure, why not?" Kitty answered. "I have nothing else to do."
Kitty couldn't help laughing now, but it was a nice laugh. It did not fit the situation they were in at all, like she was plopped right down in real life, just chatting up someone in the school hallway. Kitty was like this in real life, very talkative, kind. Even though her head was filled with gloom. She only brought out the dark imagery in her art. Kitty was no sociopath. A bright but weird girl with dyed hair, who painted grim pictures on the offside was nothing unusual. Kitty was a nice girl, despite the fact that she was going to stab this girl in the back at the next sign of trouble.
Such a Kodak moment. What could possibly go wrong?
"Hands up, packs out, bitches,"
Of course. Gracie NANCY Wainwright. SHE had to ruin the moment. What made it even worse was the fact that she was pointing a gun at them, telling them to put their hands up and throwing their daypacks out, bitches.
Kitty didn't think that Nancy would fire that gun. Ever. She looked back at Chase for a moment. Her glasses were still missing, so how the hell could she see Nancy from so far away? Kitty felt the urge to roll her eyes but kept it suppressed. That just made a simple situation complex.
Nancy Wainwright rather preferred being called Gracie, but Kitty hated girls like Nancy. She once saw Nancy lose her cool when someone didn't call her Gracie and it took all of Kitty's composure not to start laughing at the top of her lungs.
Kitty let out a yawn. It was a rather bored yawn, with every single part exaggerated to the umpteenth degree. She was clearly not impressed by Nancy's one liner. A person who tried to bite off more than she could chew deserved no respect whatsoever, and Kitty wasn't going to give it to Nancy. Kitty would just ignore Nancy and push it over on Chase if she knew what was good for her. However, Chase was pretty much in the dark over this though - she couldn't see anything for christ's sake. What would she do?
Kitty sighed. She looked back at Chase then back over at Nancy. Okay, it looks like SHE going to have to be the one to handle this.
"Alright, Wainwright." Kitty started, the darkness in her heart seeping. She forced herself not to say Nancy of fear of the one-percent chance of her actually having the guys to shoot her.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tall, green canister. To call it a canister though would be wrong because one could easily see the M18 Smoke Yellow label that was stretched across the face of it.
"Do you see this? Do you see what this is?" She shook the can around so as to catch Nancy's attention. Nancy looked like the kind of girl who only saw the surface of things, and this made it all the harder to get Kitty's point across. She stared daggers at Nancy as she hooked a finger under the black tab, looking ready to send the projectile at Nancy and run for her life. "It's called a smoke grenade. You know what I call it? It's called 'Don't screw with us.' So why don't you put the gun down, and leave the two of us ALONE?"
"No," she lied. "I'm not the killing type. Don't worry. I'm Kitty. My friends just call me Kit."
Kitty didn't exactly find a red bag when she was coming up. The blue-haired girl looked around, a little confused. Having just awoken a half-hour before, Kitty had gone through her bag at a quick pace and found everything that she needed to find. She didn't really take much else other than clothes, her IPod and a few sheets of tracing paper and colored pencils. Kitty didn't need a big bag for all of her stuff.
Kitty felt sorry for Anna now. She couldn't find her glasses so how the hell could she survive in this terrible situation? So, like any nice girl looking to help someone in trouble.
"Sure, why not?" Kitty answered. "I have nothing else to do."
Kitty couldn't help laughing now, but it was a nice laugh. It did not fit the situation they were in at all, like she was plopped right down in real life, just chatting up someone in the school hallway. Kitty was like this in real life, very talkative, kind. Even though her head was filled with gloom. She only brought out the dark imagery in her art. Kitty was no sociopath. A bright but weird girl with dyed hair, who painted grim pictures on the offside was nothing unusual. Kitty was a nice girl, despite the fact that she was going to stab this girl in the back at the next sign of trouble.
Such a Kodak moment. What could possibly go wrong?
"Hands up, packs out, bitches,"
Of course. Gracie NANCY Wainwright. SHE had to ruin the moment. What made it even worse was the fact that she was pointing a gun at them, telling them to put their hands up and throwing their daypacks out, bitches.
Kitty didn't think that Nancy would fire that gun. Ever. She looked back at Chase for a moment. Her glasses were still missing, so how the hell could she see Nancy from so far away? Kitty felt the urge to roll her eyes but kept it suppressed. That just made a simple situation complex.
Nancy Wainwright rather preferred being called Gracie, but Kitty hated girls like Nancy. She once saw Nancy lose her cool when someone didn't call her Gracie and it took all of Kitty's composure not to start laughing at the top of her lungs.
Kitty let out a yawn. It was a rather bored yawn, with every single part exaggerated to the umpteenth degree. She was clearly not impressed by Nancy's one liner. A person who tried to bite off more than she could chew deserved no respect whatsoever, and Kitty wasn't going to give it to Nancy. Kitty would just ignore Nancy and push it over on Chase if she knew what was good for her. However, Chase was pretty much in the dark over this though - she couldn't see anything for christ's sake. What would she do?
Kitty sighed. She looked back at Chase then back over at Nancy. Okay, it looks like SHE going to have to be the one to handle this.
"Alright, Wainwright." Kitty started, the darkness in her heart seeping. She forced herself not to say Nancy of fear of the one-percent chance of her actually having the guys to shoot her.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tall, green canister. To call it a canister though would be wrong because one could easily see the M18 Smoke Yellow label that was stretched across the face of it.
"Do you see this? Do you see what this is?" She shook the can around so as to catch Nancy's attention. Nancy looked like the kind of girl who only saw the surface of things, and this made it all the harder to get Kitty's point across. She stared daggers at Nancy as she hooked a finger under the black tab, looking ready to send the projectile at Nancy and run for her life. "It's called a smoke grenade. You know what I call it? It's called 'Don't screw with us.' So why don't you put the gun down, and leave the two of us ALONE?"
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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Kyle heard the voices, but it seemed they hadn't heard him. He thanked whatever deities may exist that they hadn't. The three... no, four, one was hiding behind a small fairway game, girls hadn't noticed him as he stealthily stepped around to the back of Nancy. She preferred to go by Gracie, but half of fighting was psychology, and it was the half Kyle was especially good at. As he stepped forward, he noticed a red backpack sitting near a defunct game. Kyle recalled hearing Anna asking for it. It looked like she wasn't wearing her glasses, which would probably be why.
He smoothly slid the knife into his hand as he stepped up behind Gracie. Anna was looking frightened and slightly bewildered, and Kitty was holding some sort of canister. Kyle barely got a glimpse of the label. "M18 Yel...," that was all he managed to read. It looked like some sort of... grenade. Now was a bad time to approach, and yet here he was doing it. He stepped just to the edge of his arm's reach, and said, "Hey! Nancy!"
Right after he said it, he threw a punch toward the back of Gracie's head. He hoped by the time it connected, it would be the front of Gracie's head.
He smoothly slid the knife into his hand as he stepped up behind Gracie. Anna was looking frightened and slightly bewildered, and Kitty was holding some sort of canister. Kyle barely got a glimpse of the label. "M18 Yel...," that was all he managed to read. It looked like some sort of... grenade. Now was a bad time to approach, and yet here he was doing it. He stepped just to the edge of his arm's reach, and said, "Hey! Nancy!"
Right after he said it, he threw a punch toward the back of Gracie's head. He hoped by the time it connected, it would be the front of Gracie's head.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. 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.
((GMing approved by Mimi))
Kitty (that was the blur's name) was indeed going to help her. But wait, was it all an act? After all, it wasn't as if everyone could be honest. Kitty.... that name did ring a bell. Chase guessed that she must have been in one of her classes. Kitty was laughing, and she was friendly, but what if she ended up, well, participating?
"Are you sure you aren't-" Chase started to say, but suddenly she could see another blur approaching. Who was that? But, it obviously wasn't good, as a few seconds later, it raised something, and said "Hands up, packs out, bitches".
That gave her an idea of what was going on, and immediately Chase grabbed the black blurry bag sitting next to her, even though she was not sure if it was hers, and held it to her chest for dear life. As of this moment, someone was trying to take their stuff, most likely. And oh god, what if that thing that it lifted was a gun? It sure looked like a gun, judging by the shape of the blur. It was most likely a rifle. Oh god... someone was pointing a gun at them and asking them to take out their bags. They were getting robbed. And that, of course, was never a good thing.
Wait. Chase could recognize that voice. Was that Nancy? Chase didn't know her very well, but she knew enough about her to dislike her. In a way, she was a perfect demonstration of what was wrong with the world sometimes. She knew that "Gracie" had a bit of a reputation for being petty, cruel and greedy. Heck, it was common knowledge that she wasn't exactly a nice person. And so, of course, Nancy always looking out for herself, well, it wasn't surprising that she was going to play in the terrorists' little game.
Chase just sat there, frozen in fear. Oh, how she wanted to run! But, her body was not answering her desire to just bolt for it, and so, she remained where she was. After a few seconds, she glanced at the blur named Kitty, to see what she was doing. Soon enough, she could see Kitty's shape taking out a large green object of some kind, as a sigh came out from the blur. Chase had no clue what it was, until Kitty started talking again. Yes, that was indeed Nancy who was currently threatening them, and Kitty started explaining that it was a smoke grenade. Oh, so that's what that was. Chase stared at that green object. Was Kitty really going to toss that at her? What would happen?
"Uh..." Chase whimpered, and looked back at the blur she assumed was Nancy. "I hear those things can be quite dangerous, you know... can get quite hot...."
She knew Nancy would not step down even after seeing another weapon. Heck, Chase was scared of her wits, and once again wasn't thinking straight. But, she could see another blur walking up to their attacker. Was it an accomplice? Another attacker? Someone who could help them?
Chase got her answer when she heard a male voice from their direction, and Nancy replied with a "DON'T CALL ME NA--HURK!"
Apparently the blur had hit her with its... arm? Well, anyways, Nancy was now on the ground, having been hit over the head.
Chase, run! She's distracted!
She lifted herself off the ground, and she started to attempt to run past the two blurs. Since she would be busy with the other two, it was a good idea to run. As she burst past them, she could see a red and black shape resting a couple of feet away. Was that it? The shape seemed a little too odd to be her backpack. Of course, she could not see as well as everyone else right now, so she did not know that it was indeed it.
However, before Chase could get this information or get the hell out of there, she felt something tugging on her leg, causing her to fall to her stomach. Almost on impulse, she looked behind her, and saw another person shaped blur. Nancy?! Did she trip on her? Whatever it was, Nancy now was very close. Chase attempted to kick her away almost right away, though she wasn't sure if it would hit, seeing as she was still only a pattern of fuzz right now.
"GET AWAY!" she screamed extremely loudly.
Kitty (that was the blur's name) was indeed going to help her. But wait, was it all an act? After all, it wasn't as if everyone could be honest. Kitty.... that name did ring a bell. Chase guessed that she must have been in one of her classes. Kitty was laughing, and she was friendly, but what if she ended up, well, participating?
"Are you sure you aren't-" Chase started to say, but suddenly she could see another blur approaching. Who was that? But, it obviously wasn't good, as a few seconds later, it raised something, and said "Hands up, packs out, bitches".
That gave her an idea of what was going on, and immediately Chase grabbed the black blurry bag sitting next to her, even though she was not sure if it was hers, and held it to her chest for dear life. As of this moment, someone was trying to take their stuff, most likely. And oh god, what if that thing that it lifted was a gun? It sure looked like a gun, judging by the shape of the blur. It was most likely a rifle. Oh god... someone was pointing a gun at them and asking them to take out their bags. They were getting robbed. And that, of course, was never a good thing.
Wait. Chase could recognize that voice. Was that Nancy? Chase didn't know her very well, but she knew enough about her to dislike her. In a way, she was a perfect demonstration of what was wrong with the world sometimes. She knew that "Gracie" had a bit of a reputation for being petty, cruel and greedy. Heck, it was common knowledge that she wasn't exactly a nice person. And so, of course, Nancy always looking out for herself, well, it wasn't surprising that she was going to play in the terrorists' little game.
Chase just sat there, frozen in fear. Oh, how she wanted to run! But, her body was not answering her desire to just bolt for it, and so, she remained where she was. After a few seconds, she glanced at the blur named Kitty, to see what she was doing. Soon enough, she could see Kitty's shape taking out a large green object of some kind, as a sigh came out from the blur. Chase had no clue what it was, until Kitty started talking again. Yes, that was indeed Nancy who was currently threatening them, and Kitty started explaining that it was a smoke grenade. Oh, so that's what that was. Chase stared at that green object. Was Kitty really going to toss that at her? What would happen?
"Uh..." Chase whimpered, and looked back at the blur she assumed was Nancy. "I hear those things can be quite dangerous, you know... can get quite hot...."
She knew Nancy would not step down even after seeing another weapon. Heck, Chase was scared of her wits, and once again wasn't thinking straight. But, she could see another blur walking up to their attacker. Was it an accomplice? Another attacker? Someone who could help them?
Chase got her answer when she heard a male voice from their direction, and Nancy replied with a "DON'T CALL ME NA--HURK!"
Apparently the blur had hit her with its... arm? Well, anyways, Nancy was now on the ground, having been hit over the head.
Chase, run! She's distracted!
She lifted herself off the ground, and she started to attempt to run past the two blurs. Since she would be busy with the other two, it was a good idea to run. As she burst past them, she could see a red and black shape resting a couple of feet away. Was that it? The shape seemed a little too odd to be her backpack. Of course, she could not see as well as everyone else right now, so she did not know that it was indeed it.
However, before Chase could get this information or get the hell out of there, she felt something tugging on her leg, causing her to fall to her stomach. Almost on impulse, she looked behind her, and saw another person shaped blur. Nancy?! Did she trip on her? Whatever it was, Nancy now was very close. Chase attempted to kick her away almost right away, though she wasn't sure if it would hit, seeing as she was still only a pattern of fuzz right now.
"GET AWAY!" she screamed extremely loudly.
(GMing approved by Kami)
Gracie's eyebrow twitched, irritation virtually leaking from her pores. Honestly? A smoke grenade? What the frig could she possibly do with a smoke grenade? 'Oh hey, back off or I'll give you a really nasty case of emphysema!'
"Look, Kitty," Gracie spat, her tone not failing to mime Kitty's, "I don't freaking care about yours, okay? Just gimme Elvira's and I'll be outta your hair and we can all enjoy what's left of our lives, yeah?" She nodded toward Anna, lowering her gun slightly as a show of good faith. The last thing she needed was Kitty breathing down her neck with those stupid things. And seriously? Who names their kid 'Kitty'? Like, what the hell were you smoking when you decided that was an acceptable name? Besides, she looked more like a 'Doggy'.
The atmosphere surrounding them intensified with every breath, every locking of eyes sent chills down Gracie's spine. Her legs began to buckle under the weight of the world, which balanced precariously on her shoulders. She hadn't expected a confrontation and, though she normally had no problem with it in the real world, she wasn't ready for it. She had seen Survival of the Fittest more than once before and if the rapid beating of her heart was any hint, the game did things to people. For all she knew, she could've walked right into her death.
"Hey! Nancy!"
A sinister mixture of irritation and fear bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Her heart sank into her chest as a viable freakin' ninja called out from behind her. Without a moment's hesitation, despite the pleading of her now-trembling body, Gracie whipped around to face the new threat
"DON'T CALL ME NA—HURK!" Pain.
Searing pain that sent Gracie barreling to the unforgiving ground, one hand pressed tightly against her left eye and the other clenching the gun by its mid-section for dear life. A guttural moan forced its way out of her mouth as she lay writhing on the ground. In all her years, every confrontational, petty, bitchy year, never had Gracie been hit. Not once.
But, now was as good a time as any, right?
What little survival instinct she had accumulated kicked into overdrive and, before she even had a dry her glossing eyes, had leapt to all fours—full circle from her own taunting of retard baby.
Crawlcrawlcrawlcrawlcrawlcrawlcrawl.
Her shouldered daypack flopped around awkwardly, the butt of her rifle clapped against the ground with each movement. She could feel the bruise already beginning to form on her cheekbone, the rhythmic throbbing doing nothing to help. Her bare knees smacked against the cold stone as she clamored to get as far away from her attacker as she could, though in reality she was just racing to a slower death—Kitty who looked on in amusement. Her ego as bruised as her face, Gracie tried to avoid eye contact, instead averting her tear-blurred vision toward Anna, who figured that now of all times was a perfect chance to run away. Toward Gracie, as luck would have it.
Hope. An escape.
In her hurry to get away, Anna involuntarily became Gracie's own escape. What little joy could possibly be had in the midst of being attacked erupted within her, silently thanking whatever being was living in the clouds. E.T, Santa, God, she didn't friggin' care, they'd provided and she was more than grateful.
In the blink of eye, Gracie grabbed at Anna's ankles and watched with glee as she fell faster than Rosa Fiametta's pants.
Several kicks managed to strike against her shoulder, but she could ignore the pain, there was no way she was gonna let the Nerd Herd win and lose this opportunity. With all her might and more than a little help from the adrenaline coursing through her, Gracie managed to drag herself up to Anna, grabbing a hand full of her gross-ass hair. Which, frankly, felt like hay, but whatever. She could deal. Gracie sat up, her fingers still tightly intertwined with Anna's hair. Who said playing dirty didn't get you anywhere? And it wasn't like anyone here would play by the rules, so why should she?
Catching her breath, which had managed to fully deplete during the less-than-stellar struggle, Gracie eye'd up the two people flanking her on either side. The guy who had punched her, uh hi future wife-beater, was another familiar face. Kyle somethingorother, some Karate-kid wannabe douchebag. He was a joke, probably the type of asshole who ended up on COPS because of a domestic disturbance—figured he'd pick on a girl.
"Y-you wanna come try and hit me now, loser?!" Gracie yelled, her voice wavering for a millisecond as she shook Anna's head.
She just wanted that damn bag, for Christ's sake. All this for a freakin' bag. Terrific.
Gracie's eyebrow twitched, irritation virtually leaking from her pores. Honestly? A smoke grenade? What the frig could she possibly do with a smoke grenade? 'Oh hey, back off or I'll give you a really nasty case of emphysema!'
"Look, Kitty," Gracie spat, her tone not failing to mime Kitty's, "I don't freaking care about yours, okay? Just gimme Elvira's and I'll be outta your hair and we can all enjoy what's left of our lives, yeah?" She nodded toward Anna, lowering her gun slightly as a show of good faith. The last thing she needed was Kitty breathing down her neck with those stupid things. And seriously? Who names their kid 'Kitty'? Like, what the hell were you smoking when you decided that was an acceptable name? Besides, she looked more like a 'Doggy'.
The atmosphere surrounding them intensified with every breath, every locking of eyes sent chills down Gracie's spine. Her legs began to buckle under the weight of the world, which balanced precariously on her shoulders. She hadn't expected a confrontation and, though she normally had no problem with it in the real world, she wasn't ready for it. She had seen Survival of the Fittest more than once before and if the rapid beating of her heart was any hint, the game did things to people. For all she knew, she could've walked right into her death.
"Hey! Nancy!"
A sinister mixture of irritation and fear bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Her heart sank into her chest as a viable freakin' ninja called out from behind her. Without a moment's hesitation, despite the pleading of her now-trembling body, Gracie whipped around to face the new threat
"DON'T CALL ME NA—HURK!" Pain.
Searing pain that sent Gracie barreling to the unforgiving ground, one hand pressed tightly against her left eye and the other clenching the gun by its mid-section for dear life. A guttural moan forced its way out of her mouth as she lay writhing on the ground. In all her years, every confrontational, petty, bitchy year, never had Gracie been hit. Not once.
But, now was as good a time as any, right?
What little survival instinct she had accumulated kicked into overdrive and, before she even had a dry her glossing eyes, had leapt to all fours—full circle from her own taunting of retard baby.
Crawlcrawlcrawlcrawlcrawlcrawlcrawl.
Her shouldered daypack flopped around awkwardly, the butt of her rifle clapped against the ground with each movement. She could feel the bruise already beginning to form on her cheekbone, the rhythmic throbbing doing nothing to help. Her bare knees smacked against the cold stone as she clamored to get as far away from her attacker as she could, though in reality she was just racing to a slower death—Kitty who looked on in amusement. Her ego as bruised as her face, Gracie tried to avoid eye contact, instead averting her tear-blurred vision toward Anna, who figured that now of all times was a perfect chance to run away. Toward Gracie, as luck would have it.
Hope. An escape.
In her hurry to get away, Anna involuntarily became Gracie's own escape. What little joy could possibly be had in the midst of being attacked erupted within her, silently thanking whatever being was living in the clouds. E.T, Santa, God, she didn't friggin' care, they'd provided and she was more than grateful.
In the blink of eye, Gracie grabbed at Anna's ankles and watched with glee as she fell faster than Rosa Fiametta's pants.
Several kicks managed to strike against her shoulder, but she could ignore the pain, there was no way she was gonna let the Nerd Herd win and lose this opportunity. With all her might and more than a little help from the adrenaline coursing through her, Gracie managed to drag herself up to Anna, grabbing a hand full of her gross-ass hair. Which, frankly, felt like hay, but whatever. She could deal. Gracie sat up, her fingers still tightly intertwined with Anna's hair. Who said playing dirty didn't get you anywhere? And it wasn't like anyone here would play by the rules, so why should she?
Catching her breath, which had managed to fully deplete during the less-than-stellar struggle, Gracie eye'd up the two people flanking her on either side. The guy who had punched her, uh hi future wife-beater, was another familiar face. Kyle somethingorother, some Karate-kid wannabe douchebag. He was a joke, probably the type of asshole who ended up on COPS because of a domestic disturbance—figured he'd pick on a girl.
"Y-you wanna come try and hit me now, loser?!" Gracie yelled, her voice wavering for a millisecond as she shook Anna's head.
She just wanted that damn bag, for Christ's sake. All this for a freakin' bag. Terrific.
-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
((Roland Harte continues from Mirror Mirror))
It was only a short jog from the Mirror Maze to the Fun Fair, but even still, Roland couldn't help but feel the fear rising up in his chest. The possibility of being gunned down suddenly and unexpectedly by one of his former classmates lurked around every broken down stall and attraction. He could feel sweat drip down his brow as he lead Isabel and Dave through the Carnival Grounds.
This place..., too many vantage points, too many angles. Do they even know how to use the guns they've got? Would someone have actually succumbed, this early in the game? Stupid question, remember Meredith? Would Isabel and Dave be able to learn quick enough? Too many fucking questions, I can't work my team if I don't know them...
Roland was jolted from his thoughts by a sudden shout nearby. He gritted his teeth and scurried over, crouching behind a nearby stand. His hand instinctively went to his side and gripped around the handle of his sword. On the way over, Roland had managed to make a temporary Sheath for the weapon, jabbing a hole through his jeans and sliding the wavy sword through. It was crude, but it hadn't fallen out. The added bonus of having his weapon close by, but not on hand, could help prevent further misinterpretations of his intentions- in theory.
I really need to figure out exactly what the fuck to call this thing... Heheh. Charlene. This is my rifle, this is my gun...
More shouts confirmed Roland's fear, people. More than one, and by the sound of it, an altercation. He motioned towards Dave and Isabel who had been following behind him to stay low and keep quiet.
Stupid Roland stupid! You were so lost in thought you could have walked right into them if they didn't scream! This isn't the time for those mistakes.. Clear and decisive Roland. Assess the situation and stick to your plan.
Roland peaked out from behind his makeshift cover.
Alright, by the looks of things, I don't have a clear line of sight. Doesn't necessarily mean the same for them... but I'm not going to figure out anything here.
With that, keeping low to the ground, Roland came out from behind cover and advanced down the street, his left hand gripping "Charlene's" handle. Making his way to a more opportune location, Roland peaked his head up just enough to make a rough assessment of the situation.
4 of them. 3 girls, and a guy. One seems to have a hostage... fuck, really?
He peaked up again for a second look and ducked back down, motioning for the others to move up with him, silently.
Shit, more familiar faces... Kyle Portman. Dating that, party-whore-thing Hayley. Math Class together... Know some type of hand to hand. Armed more likely than not... yes, yes that's a knife. He's got a fucking knife. Armed and dangerous.
Kitty, Kitty something. Weird piercings, weirder hair. What's with everyone in this school and fucked up hair?She was in the journalism club... I think. Or, something like that. She has some phobia or something like that. Artsy and all that other bullshit... Carrying something. A grenade? Assume it's a grenade, assume she knows how to use it... fucking God, knives vs grenades. She looks like she's on the up and up at least...
Fucking Gracie Wainwright. Antagonist by the looks of things... She's got her by the hair, whoever that last one is... Shit, not more Meredith look-alikes... Well, she wouldn't be useful at all whoever she is. Still.., by the look of things, she's in some trouble. Should you help her..? Is there any question? This is cut and dry Roland, you're a marine, you're the good guy. Gracie is evidently hostile. Kyle and Kitty, might be together, might not. Assume hostile. You've gotta at least make sure you can get that girl out of there, whoever she is.
Roland looked back and began to wave at his companions to hurry up. There wasn't much time to waste, if Gracie was armed then this could get even more risky than it already was.
What's with me and emo dykes today? Are they like, drawn to me for some reason?
It was only a short jog from the Mirror Maze to the Fun Fair, but even still, Roland couldn't help but feel the fear rising up in his chest. The possibility of being gunned down suddenly and unexpectedly by one of his former classmates lurked around every broken down stall and attraction. He could feel sweat drip down his brow as he lead Isabel and Dave through the Carnival Grounds.
This place..., too many vantage points, too many angles. Do they even know how to use the guns they've got? Would someone have actually succumbed, this early in the game? Stupid question, remember Meredith? Would Isabel and Dave be able to learn quick enough? Too many fucking questions, I can't work my team if I don't know them...
Roland was jolted from his thoughts by a sudden shout nearby. He gritted his teeth and scurried over, crouching behind a nearby stand. His hand instinctively went to his side and gripped around the handle of his sword. On the way over, Roland had managed to make a temporary Sheath for the weapon, jabbing a hole through his jeans and sliding the wavy sword through. It was crude, but it hadn't fallen out. The added bonus of having his weapon close by, but not on hand, could help prevent further misinterpretations of his intentions- in theory.
I really need to figure out exactly what the fuck to call this thing... Heheh. Charlene. This is my rifle, this is my gun...
More shouts confirmed Roland's fear, people. More than one, and by the sound of it, an altercation. He motioned towards Dave and Isabel who had been following behind him to stay low and keep quiet.
Stupid Roland stupid! You were so lost in thought you could have walked right into them if they didn't scream! This isn't the time for those mistakes.. Clear and decisive Roland. Assess the situation and stick to your plan.
Roland peaked out from behind his makeshift cover.
Alright, by the looks of things, I don't have a clear line of sight. Doesn't necessarily mean the same for them... but I'm not going to figure out anything here.
With that, keeping low to the ground, Roland came out from behind cover and advanced down the street, his left hand gripping "Charlene's" handle. Making his way to a more opportune location, Roland peaked his head up just enough to make a rough assessment of the situation.
4 of them. 3 girls, and a guy. One seems to have a hostage... fuck, really?
He peaked up again for a second look and ducked back down, motioning for the others to move up with him, silently.
Shit, more familiar faces... Kyle Portman. Dating that, party-whore-thing Hayley. Math Class together... Know some type of hand to hand. Armed more likely than not... yes, yes that's a knife. He's got a fucking knife. Armed and dangerous.
Kitty, Kitty something. Weird piercings, weirder hair. What's with everyone in this school and fucked up hair?She was in the journalism club... I think. Or, something like that. She has some phobia or something like that. Artsy and all that other bullshit... Carrying something. A grenade? Assume it's a grenade, assume she knows how to use it... fucking God, knives vs grenades. She looks like she's on the up and up at least...
Fucking Gracie Wainwright. Antagonist by the looks of things... She's got her by the hair, whoever that last one is... Shit, not more Meredith look-alikes... Well, she wouldn't be useful at all whoever she is. Still.., by the look of things, she's in some trouble. Should you help her..? Is there any question? This is cut and dry Roland, you're a marine, you're the good guy. Gracie is evidently hostile. Kyle and Kitty, might be together, might not. Assume hostile. You've gotta at least make sure you can get that girl out of there, whoever she is.
Roland looked back and began to wave at his companions to hurry up. There wasn't much time to waste, if Gracie was armed then this could get even more risky than it already was.
What's with me and emo dykes today? Are they like, drawn to me for some reason?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. 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.
((Dave Morrison, continued from Mirror Mirror))
Dave sighed as he was dragged through the Carnival. It was pretty much all ground he'd covered earlier, but he just decided to let Roland struggle though, figuring out his own way around. So he just decided to let Roland bark his commands to him and the slightly saner girl.
I really need to ask for her name at some point before I give myself a headache.
"Hey, What's your Na-?" Dave was cut off by shouting, and followed Roland behind some bins. The smell was foul, whatever was in there had long since composted. Dave held his breath and peeked his head up over one. He could see shit was going down, some kind of hostage situation. It was pretty close, too. He was surprised to notice that he actually knew two of them.
"Shit, that's Kyle, I think... and Gracie?" He tried to keep his voice low, mostly to keep Roland happy. Dave was more than convinced that even if he talked normally they probably wouldn't hear him over the screaming. "Yeah, definitely Gracie pulling the emo's hair."
Dave looked over at the slightly saner girl, then back to Roland. He could already tell he was gonna do something stupid.
"Roland, don't do it, Bro." He said, trying to dissuade him, even knowing it probably wouldn't get him anywhere. "Gracie's an obnoxious bitch, but she don't have it in her to be a murderer. She's probably just angry the emo tried to steal her happy meal or something."
"We should just hang back and-" Roland started motioning for them to join him in his inevitable idiotic crusade to rescue the damsel in distress.
"Fucking Dumbass!" Dave said, quickly moving towards him, and trying to stop the guy who was... almost a foot taller than him...
This is not gonna end well.
Dave sighed as he was dragged through the Carnival. It was pretty much all ground he'd covered earlier, but he just decided to let Roland struggle though, figuring out his own way around. So he just decided to let Roland bark his commands to him and the slightly saner girl.
I really need to ask for her name at some point before I give myself a headache.
"Hey, What's your Na-?" Dave was cut off by shouting, and followed Roland behind some bins. The smell was foul, whatever was in there had long since composted. Dave held his breath and peeked his head up over one. He could see shit was going down, some kind of hostage situation. It was pretty close, too. He was surprised to notice that he actually knew two of them.
"Shit, that's Kyle, I think... and Gracie?" He tried to keep his voice low, mostly to keep Roland happy. Dave was more than convinced that even if he talked normally they probably wouldn't hear him over the screaming. "Yeah, definitely Gracie pulling the emo's hair."
Dave looked over at the slightly saner girl, then back to Roland. He could already tell he was gonna do something stupid.
"Roland, don't do it, Bro." He said, trying to dissuade him, even knowing it probably wouldn't get him anywhere. "Gracie's an obnoxious bitch, but she don't have it in her to be a murderer. She's probably just angry the emo tried to steal her happy meal or something."
"We should just hang back and-" Roland started motioning for them to join him in his inevitable idiotic crusade to rescue the damsel in distress.
"Fucking Dumbass!" Dave said, quickly moving towards him, and trying to stop the guy who was... almost a foot taller than him...
This is not gonna end well.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Badb.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
((Isabel Guerra continued from Mirror Mirror))
Isabel kept low and followed after Roland as per his instructions. She slunk along with her trumpet weapon grasped tightly in her hand.
This place is so sad, she thought looking around the carnival. It was once a place where people came to have fun and forget their problems. Now this place was their problem. She doubted there was anyone ever who was having less fun at a carnival than they were.
"Hey, What's your Na-?"
Isabel heard the boy begin to ask her name. She had heard him alright, but she didn't answer. It was easy enough to pretend she hadn't in the chaos. She preferred it this way; him not knowing her name. If he asked again at a calmer time, she supposed she would have to, since Roland certainly knew who she was. For now she let the question go unanswered.
Up ahead she saw Roland duck down. She did likewise and crouched down low, despite not having anything to hide behind. He advanced forward once more and she did the same, this time hiding behind a dusty whack-a-mole machine. She set her trumpet, Partario, on the top of where moles would usually come out of and peered over the top.
Four people. Three girls, one boy.
Out of all of them Isabel only recognized Kyle. He was dating one of her best friends, Hayley.
Hayley. I wonder where you are. I hope you are doing alright.
During the course of her short time on the island, it never occurred to Isabel to go look for anyone. She knew that many times on Survival of the Fittest people would wake up and make it their goal to find someone they cared about. Isabel didn't really have anyone like that, but the closest thing she did have was probably Hayley. And yes, Isabel had watched Survival of the Fittest. She had watched it religiously. This wasn't something she was proud of.... Again, Isabel tried to push the thoughts out of her head by focusing on the moment.
"That girl has a gun," she observed of the girl grabbing another girl.
She saw Roland motion to them to come over. Hesitantly she obeyed, grabbed Partario and crawled over. Isabel heard Dave protest and give up, she couldn't help a little smile. Probably the very first smile she had cracked since waking up.
"Should we just leave Kyle out there?" she asked in a low voice
Isabel kept low and followed after Roland as per his instructions. She slunk along with her trumpet weapon grasped tightly in her hand.
This place is so sad, she thought looking around the carnival. It was once a place where people came to have fun and forget their problems. Now this place was their problem. She doubted there was anyone ever who was having less fun at a carnival than they were.
"Hey, What's your Na-?"
Isabel heard the boy begin to ask her name. She had heard him alright, but she didn't answer. It was easy enough to pretend she hadn't in the chaos. She preferred it this way; him not knowing her name. If he asked again at a calmer time, she supposed she would have to, since Roland certainly knew who she was. For now she let the question go unanswered.
Up ahead she saw Roland duck down. She did likewise and crouched down low, despite not having anything to hide behind. He advanced forward once more and she did the same, this time hiding behind a dusty whack-a-mole machine. She set her trumpet, Partario, on the top of where moles would usually come out of and peered over the top.
Four people. Three girls, one boy.
Out of all of them Isabel only recognized Kyle. He was dating one of her best friends, Hayley.
Hayley. I wonder where you are. I hope you are doing alright.
During the course of her short time on the island, it never occurred to Isabel to go look for anyone. She knew that many times on Survival of the Fittest people would wake up and make it their goal to find someone they cared about. Isabel didn't really have anyone like that, but the closest thing she did have was probably Hayley. And yes, Isabel had watched Survival of the Fittest. She had watched it religiously. This wasn't something she was proud of.... Again, Isabel tried to push the thoughts out of her head by focusing on the moment.
"That girl has a gun," she observed of the girl grabbing another girl.
She saw Roland motion to them to come over. Hesitantly she obeyed, grabbed Partario and crawled over. Isabel heard Dave protest and give up, she couldn't help a little smile. Probably the very first smile she had cracked since waking up.
"Should we just leave Kyle out there?" she asked in a low voice
(There's going to be a little change in the post order here kids. Next post will be Kami, then Mimi will make her post, and then Kami will make a reaction to it right after. This post order has been approved by everyone involved so yeah go Ciel go.)
Kitty KNEW Nancy wouldn't kill Anna. In fact, the girl's sudden actions had actually amused Kitty for reasons she could not fathom. Not in the sense that the goth girl was in alot of deep shit and that Kitty was laughing at her own misfortune, though that certainly was a small part of it. No. Nancy wasn't going to shoot Anna. That would be crazy. Why would she do that. it was the fact that Nancy was trying soooo hard to look so dangerous. Pathetic really. It was all just a cry for attention.
Buuut.
But this wasn't a joke. Nancy had a real gun. It wasn't a toy, this was heavy firepower. Kitty felt a shot of anxiety run through her body. Jesus christ, someone could die. She had never seen a gun before, only on television and even then she hated TV. Holy shit. It was one thing to say that she was going to play this game, it was another when someone was really close to doing it.
The kicker was that Kitty really couldn't do anything. She couldn't run because, well, she didn't want to run. She wanted to be on Anna's side, that was her plan! On the other hand, Kitty wasn't going to risk getting shot herself. That would just be stupid. So what did that leave exactly? Beg for Gracie to let go of Anna?
"Okay N-Gracie," Kitty said, lifting her hands up in a defeated position. She sounded scared. "Calm down. Just calm down. We're all friends here. This doesn't need to get messy."
Oh. Now Kitty sounded like a complete pushover. She mentally rolled her eyes at just how sad she sounded.
Kitty turned to Kyle, a boy that she vaguely remembered. She also remembered that she didn't care to know that much about the boy anyway. The only thing that she knew about the boy was that he was STUPID enough to think that hitting a gun-wielding person would be a good idea. A PERFECT IDEA. Idiot.
"Well," Kitty growled at Kyle. "You were the one who thought it'd be a good idea to hit the girl with the gun! You got any other bright ideas, Sherlock?!"
Kitty KNEW Nancy wouldn't kill Anna. In fact, the girl's sudden actions had actually amused Kitty for reasons she could not fathom. Not in the sense that the goth girl was in alot of deep shit and that Kitty was laughing at her own misfortune, though that certainly was a small part of it. No. Nancy wasn't going to shoot Anna. That would be crazy. Why would she do that. it was the fact that Nancy was trying soooo hard to look so dangerous. Pathetic really. It was all just a cry for attention.
Buuut.
But this wasn't a joke. Nancy had a real gun. It wasn't a toy, this was heavy firepower. Kitty felt a shot of anxiety run through her body. Jesus christ, someone could die. She had never seen a gun before, only on television and even then she hated TV. Holy shit. It was one thing to say that she was going to play this game, it was another when someone was really close to doing it.
The kicker was that Kitty really couldn't do anything. She couldn't run because, well, she didn't want to run. She wanted to be on Anna's side, that was her plan! On the other hand, Kitty wasn't going to risk getting shot herself. That would just be stupid. So what did that leave exactly? Beg for Gracie to let go of Anna?
"Okay N-Gracie," Kitty said, lifting her hands up in a defeated position. She sounded scared. "Calm down. Just calm down. We're all friends here. This doesn't need to get messy."
Oh. Now Kitty sounded like a complete pushover. She mentally rolled her eyes at just how sad she sounded.
Kitty turned to Kyle, a boy that she vaguely remembered. She also remembered that she didn't care to know that much about the boy anyway. The only thing that she knew about the boy was that he was STUPID enough to think that hitting a gun-wielding person would be a good idea. A PERFECT IDEA. Idiot.
"Well," Kitty growled at Kyle. "You were the one who thought it'd be a good idea to hit the girl with the gun! You got any other bright ideas, Sherlock?!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.