((OoC: Jason Harris continued from Survival of the Attentive))
Jason Harris stood in the middle of the class, waiting to be picked. Gym was something he enjoyed, but he *really* enjoyed dodgeball. It was like the sport was made for him, you could tune out, and just get in the zone. It was kinda like snowboarding, you needed to shift around and avoid anything that came your way. He had a pretty good track record while playing, usually the winner, last or second last out on his team for every school year. Years of outdoor exploring, soccer and track meant he could get the balls and avoid most throws. Catching was not his forte, but if they couldn't hit him, it didn't really matter.
Given this he was a bit surprised when Roland picked Craig first. The immediate pang of jealousy quickly shed over him and he smiled. It was great that Roland was giving Craig a chance, the kid was cool. He wondered if the larger kid had forgiven him for the jibe he made earlier on in the year. He was talking to Brook at the time who said "Just you wait," in class when he was teasing him (privately of course) about Tiffany and Jason had responded with "speaking of weight, where's Craig?" The whole room had burst out in laughter, and unfortunately at that moment Craig had walked in. He honestly didn't mean to cause any offense, it just kind of happened. He had apologised after and Craig had accepted but Jason still felt a little guilty. He hoped Craig had forgotten.
Jason was brought out of his reverie by Harold picking his next teammate. He hadn't been surprised at Harold's first choice. Cisco was an excellent keeper, barring the incident with the post a few weeks ago and Jason had already caught up with his green haired teammate before class. Sure he could go off the reserve from time to time, like when he played rush keeper and ran up the entire field with the ball. Mind you, he had scored off that, so there was something to be said about Cisco's unique play style. The next pick however confused the hell out of him. Harold had picked Meridith, the goth chick who obviously didn't want to be there. What was it today? Bizarro world? There was no way Meridith was a viable pick, not that Jason knew her very well. He tended to avoid 'that' kind of person. Total downers, talked about death all the time and didn't ever actually *do* anything. They were all in all, an unimpressive type of person, they'd grow up, leave their goth phase and become a retail checkout chick for life. Jason could pick them a mile away. What a waste of life.
Jason glanced around. He wasn't sure who's team he wanted to be on still. Taking a deep breath he cleared himself, it didn't matter and was just a game anyway. The important thing was to have fun and get those endorphins flowing. Checking in with his body, he stood up a little straighter and looked directly at Roland. It was like looking at a clock. You could literally see his mind working things out, forming and discarding strategies while assessing individuals strengths and weaknesses. Roland possessed a brilliant mind, but sometimes he did have trouble putting his plan in to action, sure he would plow regardless but sometimes, without the leadership of a more charismatic individual the strategy, although sound on paper would come across a hiccup and fail. Brilliance without leadership unfortunately didn't result in much but a slight advantage. Better something than nothing though, Jason thought to himself as he glanced at Harold. Something, Jason felt, wasn't quite right about that kid and he would rather be with the military genius than the arrogant cynic.
Relaxing in to a more comfortable stance Jason focused back on the now. All he had to do now is wait to get picked.
Going Balls Deep
Return of the random...character.
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Little Boy†
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Roland could see a glimmer of appreciation in Craig's eyes, or rather, he thought it was appreciation. It was hard to tell with Craig's massive body slumped over as he walked, his head fixated on his chest. Roland knew the larger boy was the source of a lot of teasing, some of it legitimately funny and some of it just plain cruel. He hoped getting picked first for something would at least give him a boost in moral.
Roland didn't bother to tell Craig of his exact plans for him, not just yet. There was still plenty of picks left to make, and Roland was feeling the heat. He'd taken a chance picking Craig first and now was the time to feel the sting when Harold would inevitable snatch up one of the weight room jocks or-
Roland blinked. He'd picked Meredith. Irritation flashed in his eyes. The emo (goth?) girl was technically a viable option, but there was a multitude of much more useful students (looking rather confused at the moment by the pecking order of things) standing just a few feet away. Roland wanted a challenge and he felt slighted out of it, a heated match would be much more interesting then a simplistic victory.
He considered things for a second. In all likelihood, he was probably overreacting too much. This was what he got for getting too competitive, sweating over the implications and losing sight of the big picture. He felt his inner John Madden boiling up inside as he scanned the faces in the class before coming to rest on a familiar boy.
"Alright, Jason you'll be my second." Roland said as he extended his hand in a welcoming gesture to the boy. He knew Jason Harris from a few previous classes and he was an alright kid, rather easy to get along with. More importantly he was a soccer player, which meant he'd probably be a team player. A great pick all around he reasoned.
Let's pick this up, I want to get this underway.
Roland didn't bother to tell Craig of his exact plans for him, not just yet. There was still plenty of picks left to make, and Roland was feeling the heat. He'd taken a chance picking Craig first and now was the time to feel the sting when Harold would inevitable snatch up one of the weight room jocks or-
Roland blinked. He'd picked Meredith. Irritation flashed in his eyes. The emo (goth?) girl was technically a viable option, but there was a multitude of much more useful students (looking rather confused at the moment by the pecking order of things) standing just a few feet away. Roland wanted a challenge and he felt slighted out of it, a heated match would be much more interesting then a simplistic victory.
He considered things for a second. In all likelihood, he was probably overreacting too much. This was what he got for getting too competitive, sweating over the implications and losing sight of the big picture. He felt his inner John Madden boiling up inside as he scanned the faces in the class before coming to rest on a familiar boy.
"Alright, Jason you'll be my second." Roland said as he extended his hand in a welcoming gesture to the boy. He knew Jason Harris from a few previous classes and he was an alright kid, rather easy to get along with. More importantly he was a soccer player, which meant he'd probably be a team player. A great pick all around he reasoned.
Let's pick this up, I want to get this underway.
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Meredith, as was perhaps expected, didn't take being picked very lightly. The faux-goth was famous for taking EVERYTHING personally, which actually got on the carefree Cisco's nerves sometimes. This time though, it seemed her ranting had a different effect.
"This is a big mistake. The whole world is a big mistake. This game is a bigger mistake. And what you did just now? Bigger. You've got some nerve picking me to boost your ego in this pointless bloodsport. I hope that the Caesars cheer for you when you get put into the colosseum."
Having heard that, watching his teammate Jason Harris got picked for the opposite team, the green-haired goalie's demeanor suddenly turned to that of some grizzled, old hook-handed war veteran. His face became more sullen, and his voice seemed to pick up a gruff, Texan accent as he sat down on the bleachers, watching the selection going on.
"This whole game...it's like a little Survival of the Fittest in here," Cisco muttered to himself albeit just loud enough to be heard, "Teammates turning on one another, everyone in a mad...mad scramble to survive at the expense of everyone else...we might as all have collars on and be throwing rubber-tipped landmines. Every week, at 9/8 central."
Cisco then stood up slowly, imagining that the place had just been bombed and he was standing in the middle of the wreckage, his hearing muted by shellshock as he watched the rest of the students get picked. "We might as well do what we humans are born to do. Beat the fuck outta each other and the survivors get dinner."
"This is a big mistake. The whole world is a big mistake. This game is a bigger mistake. And what you did just now? Bigger. You've got some nerve picking me to boost your ego in this pointless bloodsport. I hope that the Caesars cheer for you when you get put into the colosseum."
Having heard that, watching his teammate Jason Harris got picked for the opposite team, the green-haired goalie's demeanor suddenly turned to that of some grizzled, old hook-handed war veteran. His face became more sullen, and his voice seemed to pick up a gruff, Texan accent as he sat down on the bleachers, watching the selection going on.
"This whole game...it's like a little Survival of the Fittest in here," Cisco muttered to himself albeit just loud enough to be heard, "Teammates turning on one another, everyone in a mad...mad scramble to survive at the expense of everyone else...we might as all have collars on and be throwing rubber-tipped landmines. Every week, at 9/8 central."
Cisco then stood up slowly, imagining that the place had just been bombed and he was standing in the middle of the wreckage, his hearing muted by shellshock as he watched the rest of the students get picked. "We might as well do what we humans are born to do. Beat the fuck outta each other and the survivors get dinner."
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MK Kilmarnock
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'It isn't polite to stare!'
It's something that his dad always told him, and yet nobody in the world seemed to listen to it. Little kids walking down the street with their parents always stared at Craig, even pointing sometimes. He had gotten used to it by this point, though; he was aware he was fat. The sharpness of fat jokes had worn off somewhere around the time that he finally figured out he was useful on the football team.
There was still some comfort to the fact that maybe the little lime-head there ALSO got stared at on a regular basis. For one thing, even Craig was staring. Jason had just been picked for his team, which piqued some interest in his head (Craig remembered that he once had a mild issue with... oh, something-or-other the kid had done, but bygones were bygones, and he seemed nice enough). The interest had currently been stolen away, though, as Craig tried to figure out just what the hell Cisco was doing.
Seriously... this guy has more 'out of the box' moments than Deadpool. ... Okay, maybe not Deadpool, but he's definitely got more than Johnny Storm. Yeah, definitely more than Johnny Storm. ... No, Johnny was just hyper, that's really not powerful en- he's got more than... than... ... oh hell, he's just got a mildly less amount of them than Deadpool.
Craig rubbed his forehead, scratching an itch and clearing it of sweat at the same time. Thinking too much was a pain.
It's something that his dad always told him, and yet nobody in the world seemed to listen to it. Little kids walking down the street with their parents always stared at Craig, even pointing sometimes. He had gotten used to it by this point, though; he was aware he was fat. The sharpness of fat jokes had worn off somewhere around the time that he finally figured out he was useful on the football team.
There was still some comfort to the fact that maybe the little lime-head there ALSO got stared at on a regular basis. For one thing, even Craig was staring. Jason had just been picked for his team, which piqued some interest in his head (Craig remembered that he once had a mild issue with... oh, something-or-other the kid had done, but bygones were bygones, and he seemed nice enough). The interest had currently been stolen away, though, as Craig tried to figure out just what the hell Cisco was doing.
Seriously... this guy has more 'out of the box' moments than Deadpool. ... Okay, maybe not Deadpool, but he's definitely got more than Johnny Storm. Yeah, definitely more than Johnny Storm. ... No, Johnny was just hyper, that's really not powerful en- he's got more than... than... ... oh hell, he's just got a mildly less amount of them than Deadpool.
Craig rubbed his forehead, scratching an itch and clearing it of sweat at the same time. Thinking too much was a pain.
Oh, lovely. I knew somebody would bring up that show.
One of the things that really got Harold angry was when people equated real life situations with things that they'd seen in comic books, in movies, or on television. Survival of the Fittest especially was a big offender, and everywhere he went, it seemed like he would run into people who loved talking about it, and Harold had no clue why. It was a reality show made for sickos who reveled in gory violence and disgusting fanservice. It wasn't a real show, it wasn't worth quoting, and therefore there was no point in comparing things that happened in the show with real life.
Not that Harold had actually seen more than ten minutes of it. It wasn't intellectually stimulating, so he had turned it off.
"Would you quit being melodramatic?" Harold said to his teammate. "I'm trying to think here!"
Not that there was anyone really interesting left to pick. At this point, Roland and Harold had just been picking people in rapid-fire until there was an even spread. When the teams had been divvied up, the coach set up the boundaries and the line in the middle. This game was soon to begin. Harold attempted to stay calm, but regardless, a sick feeling began to spring up. He had never been a captain before, and he was pretty sure that after today's performance, he would never be a captain again.
"Okay," he muttered to his team, "focus fire on the big guys first. We can take out the little ones when we've whittled down their numbers."
One of the things that really got Harold angry was when people equated real life situations with things that they'd seen in comic books, in movies, or on television. Survival of the Fittest especially was a big offender, and everywhere he went, it seemed like he would run into people who loved talking about it, and Harold had no clue why. It was a reality show made for sickos who reveled in gory violence and disgusting fanservice. It wasn't a real show, it wasn't worth quoting, and therefore there was no point in comparing things that happened in the show with real life.
Not that Harold had actually seen more than ten minutes of it. It wasn't intellectually stimulating, so he had turned it off.
"Would you quit being melodramatic?" Harold said to his teammate. "I'm trying to think here!"
Not that there was anyone really interesting left to pick. At this point, Roland and Harold had just been picking people in rapid-fire until there was an even spread. When the teams had been divvied up, the coach set up the boundaries and the line in the middle. This game was soon to begin. Harold attempted to stay calm, but regardless, a sick feeling began to spring up. He had never been a captain before, and he was pretty sure that after today's performance, he would never be a captain again.
"Okay," he muttered to his team, "focus fire on the big guys first. We can take out the little ones when we've whittled down their numbers."
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selphie_trabia†
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As usual, Marion looked incredibly disinterested in what everyone else had to say and especially disinterested in what people in positions of authority had to say. Since Harold was currently being "the man", Marion's ire was currently focused on him.
The girl sighed loudly and shrugged, "Whatever."
She rolled her eyes. The fact that her team leader felt the need to discuss tactics in a silly game of high school dodgeball was, in her opinion, extremely ridiculous. What was the point of trying so hard? Dodgeball was a game that everyone lost in the end. Just like life. And someone comparing it to Survival of the Fittest? How stupid. He was probably one of those crazy gorefest fans.
She opened her mouth to voice her opinion, then shut it before she could make a single peep. There were two reasons for this, the first being that she had no way of sounding properly poetic at this point and the second being that, anything she had to say would probably be completely lost on these plebs.
The girl sighed loudly and shrugged, "Whatever."
She rolled her eyes. The fact that her team leader felt the need to discuss tactics in a silly game of high school dodgeball was, in her opinion, extremely ridiculous. What was the point of trying so hard? Dodgeball was a game that everyone lost in the end. Just like life. And someone comparing it to Survival of the Fittest? How stupid. He was probably one of those crazy gorefest fans.
She opened her mouth to voice her opinion, then shut it before she could make a single peep. There were two reasons for this, the first being that she had no way of sounding properly poetic at this point and the second being that, anything she had to say would probably be completely lost on these plebs.
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Jason jumped up and down on the spot, limbering up for the game. The key in dodge ball was to spend the majority of your time avoiding the ball. Most people think that you should focus on catching the balls the enemy team throws, but really, you shouldn't. Focus on avoiding the worst and a few easy lobs will always come your way. Jason was a decent shot with the dodge ball but preferred to let his harder hitting teammates do the heavy lifting. He'll concentrate on surviving. The teacher rolled out the dodge balls, a few to each team as Jason got in to position. Pointing at Cisco and smiling he cocked his head to one side. "Cisco, It's on!"
Bending down he put his hands on his knees, tensing his calves ready to move as the teacher blew the whistle. "Begin!"
Bending down he put his hands on his knees, tensing his calves ready to move as the teacher blew the whistle. "Begin!"
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Little Boy†
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((Apologies that this post is kinda sorta a few days later then expected. I am shite at posting order thus far... At least I think I'm next. Gah.))
With the selection of the last student, Roland started walking his team in tow to one side of the gymnasium. He mentally began to preparing himself although he didn't think he'd have to do too much... To be completely honest, he was disappointed. The selection process was a farce when it came right down to it, Roland had easily selected the best players (Craig an exception) while Harold picked the weaker kids. It didn't appear like Harold was really trying or really cared and that irked him something awful. Where was the fun if the teams were unmatched? Roland made a mental note to peg the kid with a dodge ball for his stupidity. With any luck the Coach would switch up the teams later if things proved to be too one sided. That would be interesting.
Roland noticed Jason jumping to and fro and smiled, at least a few of them were getting into things. He noticed Craig lumbering about and began to walk over to him, pushing back his greasy black hair.
"Hey Craig, you got a second?" Roland said as he slide up next to the boy. He hesitated for a minute, not wanting to come off as insensitive. But there was a reason why he had picked Craig and it would be a waste if he didn't at least bring it up with him.
To be rather honest, Roland was beginning to enjoy being nice to Craig. He'd seen his dumbstruck face when he'd been picked first for a game of dodgeball of all things. Not Football, but Dodge ball, a game of speed and agility. At the very least, Roland could see Craig making a rather loyal friend, something that didn't come along all that often. Hell, it hadn't even been a strategic misstep in picking him, what with Harold's inability to form a squad. He put his arm on Craig's gigantic shoulder and leaned in close to speak.
"Alright look, I've been thinking. From what I can see now, I have a feeling we're gonna' win this game. All the same I'd like to really smash these guys, y'know what I mean? One of the reasons I picked you is because well, you're big. No offense. But that isn't a bad thing. If we could get some of the faster guys behind you, they can get real up close and in the face of Cisco and all them, even for a short amount of time it could prove critical. How's that sound? Do you think it'd work?"
With the selection of the last student, Roland started walking his team in tow to one side of the gymnasium. He mentally began to preparing himself although he didn't think he'd have to do too much... To be completely honest, he was disappointed. The selection process was a farce when it came right down to it, Roland had easily selected the best players (Craig an exception) while Harold picked the weaker kids. It didn't appear like Harold was really trying or really cared and that irked him something awful. Where was the fun if the teams were unmatched? Roland made a mental note to peg the kid with a dodge ball for his stupidity. With any luck the Coach would switch up the teams later if things proved to be too one sided. That would be interesting.
Roland noticed Jason jumping to and fro and smiled, at least a few of them were getting into things. He noticed Craig lumbering about and began to walk over to him, pushing back his greasy black hair.
"Hey Craig, you got a second?" Roland said as he slide up next to the boy. He hesitated for a minute, not wanting to come off as insensitive. But there was a reason why he had picked Craig and it would be a waste if he didn't at least bring it up with him.
To be rather honest, Roland was beginning to enjoy being nice to Craig. He'd seen his dumbstruck face when he'd been picked first for a game of dodgeball of all things. Not Football, but Dodge ball, a game of speed and agility. At the very least, Roland could see Craig making a rather loyal friend, something that didn't come along all that often. Hell, it hadn't even been a strategic misstep in picking him, what with Harold's inability to form a squad. He put his arm on Craig's gigantic shoulder and leaned in close to speak.
"Alright look, I've been thinking. From what I can see now, I have a feeling we're gonna' win this game. All the same I'd like to really smash these guys, y'know what I mean? One of the reasons I picked you is because well, you're big. No offense. But that isn't a bad thing. If we could get some of the faster guys behind you, they can get real up close and in the face of Cisco and all them, even for a short amount of time it could prove critical. How's that sound? Do you think it'd work?"
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((Posting order is me, MK, Blast, Selphie, Fanatic and Little. Just so people know.))
It was then that Cisco's half-true flashbacks (and associated ambience) were suddenly interrupted and dissipated by an outburst from his team captain.
"Would you quit being melodramatic? I'm trying to think here!"
"Yes sir," he replied timidly, curling up and keeping quiet as he withdrew back into the real world. That little out-of-the-box moment definitely didn't go down as well as others, as he made a brief and soon-to-be-forgotten mental note not to use that material again. Not that Survival of the Fittest wasn't a game that everyone 'lost' anyway...at least as of recently.
He shuffled close to Harold as he gathered his team for a huddle.
"Okay, focus fire on the big guys first. We can take out the little ones when we've whittled down their numbers."
Cisco looked at the other team gathering for their strategy session. That was going to be pretty easy to do, as a linebacker Craig Hoyle wasn't quite tailored for 'catching.' Whittling down the rest of them was going to be hard (if not impossible) as most of the varsity kids in the class had ended up on Roland's team.
Cisco, it's on!
The lime-haired boy gave a combat glare and a matching smirk as he slowly got to his feet. He pointed his hand out in the shape of a gun and 'fired' at Jason as the coach whistled for them to make their way to the center court. This was now the final destination, a no-holds-barred rivalry between the hero and the villain...whichever one they were supposed to be. Either Roland was the King against the army of goblins and imps, or Harold would lead the freaks to conquest over the 'pros.'
A ringing descended upon Cisco's ears, the world apart from the combatants going blurry as Coach Layton blew the whistle. He didn't get a ball, but he wanted to be the first one to catch one. Or at least take one someplace painful and hold resulting reaction in, like a man. With Harold and Meredith on his team, how hard could it be?
It was then that Cisco's half-true flashbacks (and associated ambience) were suddenly interrupted and dissipated by an outburst from his team captain.
"Would you quit being melodramatic? I'm trying to think here!"
"Yes sir," he replied timidly, curling up and keeping quiet as he withdrew back into the real world. That little out-of-the-box moment definitely didn't go down as well as others, as he made a brief and soon-to-be-forgotten mental note not to use that material again. Not that Survival of the Fittest wasn't a game that everyone 'lost' anyway...at least as of recently.
He shuffled close to Harold as he gathered his team for a huddle.
"Okay, focus fire on the big guys first. We can take out the little ones when we've whittled down their numbers."
Cisco looked at the other team gathering for their strategy session. That was going to be pretty easy to do, as a linebacker Craig Hoyle wasn't quite tailored for 'catching.' Whittling down the rest of them was going to be hard (if not impossible) as most of the varsity kids in the class had ended up on Roland's team.
Cisco, it's on!
The lime-haired boy gave a combat glare and a matching smirk as he slowly got to his feet. He pointed his hand out in the shape of a gun and 'fired' at Jason as the coach whistled for them to make their way to the center court. This was now the final destination, a no-holds-barred rivalry between the hero and the villain...whichever one they were supposed to be. Either Roland was the King against the army of goblins and imps, or Harold would lead the freaks to conquest over the 'pros.'
A ringing descended upon Cisco's ears, the world apart from the combatants going blurry as Coach Layton blew the whistle. He didn't get a ball, but he wanted to be the first one to catch one. Or at least take one someplace painful and hold resulting reaction in, like a man. With Harold and Meredith on his team, how hard could it be?
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MK Kilmarnock
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It was nearing the time to play. Dodgeball really wasn't supposed to be all that much in the way of serious business. Seriously, though, all this gym needed was one of the band students to come in and start wailing out a march on a snare drum to complete the epic mood. As the whistle was about to blow any moment, Craig began to follow the rest of the students to their side of the gym, where they would all await the start, and then the rush towards the center.
Yeah, fat chance... there was no way in hell Craig could beat anybody in order to grab a ball, and he'd be easy pickings. As far as his plans went, he was probably all set to disappoint Roland. Either he was going to go for it immediately, trying to catch and such and then get out, or he'd stay as far away as possible and get owned late in the game. Neither option seemed truely promising, and both of them just made him seem like a big let-down...
These thoughts were what made him so surprised when Roland came over to talk to him. Never one to really over-think things, the typical teenage rush of 'oh my god, he's coming over here to talk to me, what do I do, what will I say' was nowhere to be found in Craig's mind. It was practically a blank slate, really, trying to just listen to whatever he wanted to say.
"Alright look, I've been thinking. From what I can see now, I have a feeling we're gonna' win this game."
Craig stayed silent. Okay, so Roland was pretty sure they were going to win no matter what, meaning he was picked first just so he wouldn't be picked last... ... well, that was nice of him!
"One of the reasons I picked you is because well, you're big. No offense."
Wait. What? The statement didn't compute with Craig at first, but as Roland explained, it all clicked into place. The larger boy heaved a deep sigh, having the entire top half of his body shift as he did so. "So, you wanted me as a human shield?" He said quietly, in a volume that was meant only for Roland to hear, but in a tone that seemed a bit incredulous. That is, until Craig grinned a little, looking towards the team on the opposite side of the gym, and then back at Roland. "... Yeah. I can do that."
He was going to be useful after all! But if he was going to do that, he had to at least stay in the game until he was needed to sacrifice himself. Even when that shrill whistle pierced the air, finally cracking the game into motion, Craig remained within arm's reach of the wall, moving back and forth and generally just trying to stay out of the way. He wasn't about to be an easy target.
Yet.
Yeah, fat chance... there was no way in hell Craig could beat anybody in order to grab a ball, and he'd be easy pickings. As far as his plans went, he was probably all set to disappoint Roland. Either he was going to go for it immediately, trying to catch and such and then get out, or he'd stay as far away as possible and get owned late in the game. Neither option seemed truely promising, and both of them just made him seem like a big let-down...
These thoughts were what made him so surprised when Roland came over to talk to him. Never one to really over-think things, the typical teenage rush of 'oh my god, he's coming over here to talk to me, what do I do, what will I say' was nowhere to be found in Craig's mind. It was practically a blank slate, really, trying to just listen to whatever he wanted to say.
"Alright look, I've been thinking. From what I can see now, I have a feeling we're gonna' win this game."
Craig stayed silent. Okay, so Roland was pretty sure they were going to win no matter what, meaning he was picked first just so he wouldn't be picked last... ... well, that was nice of him!
"One of the reasons I picked you is because well, you're big. No offense."
Wait. What? The statement didn't compute with Craig at first, but as Roland explained, it all clicked into place. The larger boy heaved a deep sigh, having the entire top half of his body shift as he did so. "So, you wanted me as a human shield?" He said quietly, in a volume that was meant only for Roland to hear, but in a tone that seemed a bit incredulous. That is, until Craig grinned a little, looking towards the team on the opposite side of the gym, and then back at Roland. "... Yeah. I can do that."
He was going to be useful after all! But if he was going to do that, he had to at least stay in the game until he was needed to sacrifice himself. Even when that shrill whistle pierced the air, finally cracking the game into motion, Craig remained within arm's reach of the wall, moving back and forth and generally just trying to stay out of the way. He wasn't about to be an easy target.
Yet.
In examining his performance after the fact, Harold would have to conclude that he was doomed from the start. Still, you couldn't have told him that as the whistle blew, and he charged forwards like a frenzied madman to get a ball before the rest of his team did. Perhaps he was a little too frenzied, because he ended up stepping on his own shoelaces, resulting in the overweight man crashing face-first onto the hard gymnasium floor.
Maybe this wasn't a good idea.
With an exertion of herculean might, Harold pulled himself back up to his knees, but that was as far as he came. Apparently, having a greasy pate jutting out towards them was too much of a temptation for the opposing team. He barely had enough time to see the ball coming for him before a ball struck him right on the top of the head, causing him to flinch back and fall onto his back like an undignified idiot.
"Fisher, you're out!" Coach Layton yelled, gesturing over to the side of the gym.
"No, I'm not!" Fisher insisted, trying once more to rise to his feet.
"Yes you are, Fisher. Get over here."
Grumbling, Harold walked over to where the coach was gesturing and sat down, his arms crossed and a sullen look on his face. The rest of his team would be joining him soon enough.
Harold Fisher - Eliminated
Maybe this wasn't a good idea.
With an exertion of herculean might, Harold pulled himself back up to his knees, but that was as far as he came. Apparently, having a greasy pate jutting out towards them was too much of a temptation for the opposing team. He barely had enough time to see the ball coming for him before a ball struck him right on the top of the head, causing him to flinch back and fall onto his back like an undignified idiot.
"Fisher, you're out!" Coach Layton yelled, gesturing over to the side of the gym.
"No, I'm not!" Fisher insisted, trying once more to rise to his feet.
"Yes you are, Fisher. Get over here."
Grumbling, Harold walked over to where the coach was gesturing and sat down, his arms crossed and a sullen look on his face. The rest of his team would be joining him soon enough.
Harold Fisher - Eliminated
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Fullcircle†
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 5:00 am
((Initial Post))
David smiled to himself as he surveyed the gym from his perch high on the rickety bleachers. Since his back injury (sustained falling off of a rooftop), David had been excused from all intense physical activities in school, changing PE from a sometimes fun, sometimes annoying class to an effortless A+. He stretched, carefully paying attention to his back in case it decided to spasm (it didn't), and let his thoughts wander. Being injured was the life, that's for sure- even though he felt like he was mostly back up to speed, it'd be the school's liability if he got injured, so he couldn't have joined in the dodgeball game even if he had wanted to. "I've just gotta figure out a way to get out of Algebra. Strenuous thinking injures muscles, right?"
As he lost himself in his thoughts, the game started up, and he was quickly pulled from his reverie by a fleshy smack.
"Fisher, you're out!"
David's grin grew wider as he listened to Harold Fisher's protests. David had helped run lights for a debate team exhibition once, and Harold had quickly made an impression on him as something of a dick. He'd been arrogant, pushy and cruel, as if he had some need to establish himself as superior to all of the people around him. Retribution was had, however- when Harold's turn on stage came up, David had made sure the lights were high enough to make the stage uncomfortably warm, drenching the already greasy boy in sweat. Hell hath no fury like that of a pissed-off Drama techie.
David smiled to himself as he surveyed the gym from his perch high on the rickety bleachers. Since his back injury (sustained falling off of a rooftop), David had been excused from all intense physical activities in school, changing PE from a sometimes fun, sometimes annoying class to an effortless A+. He stretched, carefully paying attention to his back in case it decided to spasm (it didn't), and let his thoughts wander. Being injured was the life, that's for sure- even though he felt like he was mostly back up to speed, it'd be the school's liability if he got injured, so he couldn't have joined in the dodgeball game even if he had wanted to. "I've just gotta figure out a way to get out of Algebra. Strenuous thinking injures muscles, right?"
As he lost himself in his thoughts, the game started up, and he was quickly pulled from his reverie by a fleshy smack.
"Fisher, you're out!"
David's grin grew wider as he listened to Harold Fisher's protests. David had helped run lights for a debate team exhibition once, and Harold had quickly made an impression on him as something of a dick. He'd been arrogant, pushy and cruel, as if he had some need to establish himself as superior to all of the people around him. Retribution was had, however- when Harold's turn on stage came up, David had made sure the lights were high enough to make the stage uncomfortably warm, drenching the already greasy boy in sweat. Hell hath no fury like that of a pissed-off Drama techie.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fullcircle. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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selphie_trabia†
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:51 am
Meredith stood stock still, watching as the the dodge balls got thrown at various targets around her. Lost in her thoughts, she hardly even flinched when Harold was called out.
Meredith hardly ever showed off her circus skills. They were really just a way for her to become something special. She understood now that she'd never amount to anything special, not in her parent's eyes at least. Her mind flashed through all the times she tried to show them that she was something special, only to be compared to her so-called perfect older sister.
Freakin' Rebecca. What a little angel. Such a genius. Well, she was hardly anything special now, now that she was a college dropout, was she? And yet, nothing Meredith did would ever be special enough!
She watched as a ball came flying towards her. In her thoughts, she could see herself dodging that ball perfectly, her hands held high, shoulders out as she backflipped out of its path, it missing her by scant inches due to its trajectory. She imagined landing perfectly after a series of flips, crouched down, matrix-style in the corner.
What's so great about her?
Her eyes narrowed as the ball came flying toward her face. Meredith's hands reached out and snatched the stupid thing out of the air.
I hate her so much.
The muscles in Meredith's arms tensed as her eyes scanned her opponent's team.
I wish you were dead.
Meredith glared and chose her victim, a girl. With as much force as she could muster, she lobbed the ball at the girl's chest, hoping to knock the wind out of her. Or cause some serious damage.
Meredith hardly ever showed off her circus skills. They were really just a way for her to become something special. She understood now that she'd never amount to anything special, not in her parent's eyes at least. Her mind flashed through all the times she tried to show them that she was something special, only to be compared to her so-called perfect older sister.
Freakin' Rebecca. What a little angel. Such a genius. Well, she was hardly anything special now, now that she was a college dropout, was she? And yet, nothing Meredith did would ever be special enough!
She watched as a ball came flying towards her. In her thoughts, she could see herself dodging that ball perfectly, her hands held high, shoulders out as she backflipped out of its path, it missing her by scant inches due to its trajectory. She imagined landing perfectly after a series of flips, crouched down, matrix-style in the corner.
What's so great about her?
Her eyes narrowed as the ball came flying toward her face. Meredith's hands reached out and snatched the stupid thing out of the air.
I hate her so much.
The muscles in Meredith's arms tensed as her eyes scanned her opponent's team.
I wish you were dead.
Meredith glared and chose her victim, a girl. With as much force as she could muster, she lobbed the ball at the girl's chest, hoping to knock the wind out of her. Or cause some serious damage.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. 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.
Hey Fullcircle, just a friendly reminder from the staff team to avoid GMing (that is, controlling another person's character without their permission). This applies even when it comes to backstories; unless you've worked something out with another handler, please do not add elements to their characters' histories. Thanks!
Jason ducked as a ball whizzed right past him and he heard a girlish scream come from behind. At least one of his team mates was about to be sitting out. That was survival of the fittest though. Still the shot was a little close for comfort. He was confident that the ball wasn't thrown at him, but that made it all the harder to predict. A good rule of thumb was to watch the other team's eyes. If they focused on you, a ball would be coming your way soon. A little trick he picked up reading his psychology books. Darting to one side he risked a quick glance back. Roland's team was still winning but the ranks had started to thin out a little and more balls were headed his way.
Jason hoped he was right in thinking Roland had a strategy, else this would come down to the wire. It was just dodge ball, but hey, what was it that Nathan always said? Be the best you can in everything. Craig wasn't out yet either, so he was guessing it was more luck than skill at this point, but soon the competition would get tougher. He saw Cisco pick up a ball that dribbled over to their side of the caught.
Side stepping another poor throw Jason carefully watched Cisco. He had a good arm, and was smart, although a little unpredictable. Getting ready to move Jason muttered under his breath as he stared at the green haired boy. "Don't look at me, don't look at me."
Jason hoped he was right in thinking Roland had a strategy, else this would come down to the wire. It was just dodge ball, but hey, what was it that Nathan always said? Be the best you can in everything. Craig wasn't out yet either, so he was guessing it was more luck than skill at this point, but soon the competition would get tougher. He saw Cisco pick up a ball that dribbled over to their side of the caught.
Side stepping another poor throw Jason carefully watched Cisco. He had a good arm, and was smart, although a little unpredictable. Getting ready to move Jason muttered under his breath as he stared at the green haired boy. "Don't look at me, don't look at me."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. 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.