((James continued from The Science Of Selling Yourself))
((Private between Crash & myself for a tidbit))
"Morgan!"
By now, James had lost all concern for clandestinity. His voice had grown cracked and strained from hours of desperate shouting. He'd been circling the chapel ever since his unwelcome morning jog, starting with the hopes of stumbling upon his companion silently, now reduced to screaming like a madman through the dark. It didn't help that his visibility had been reduced to not three feet in front of him in the rain-curtained witching hour (or hours rather, but he neither knew nor cared of the exact measure). For all he knew he was leagues away from the chapel by now and following some circuit around nothing more but a few trees. He was lost, assuming whatever he'd been before had been to some degree "found".
"Morg!"
And with each unanswered scream, the feeling grew that he was calling upon a corpse. He had no way of knowing if Morgan had even escaped the messy death by detonation. And if she had, what then? She was stronger than him by far, he knew that, but she was unarmed. Unless that lint roller had been laced with arsenic, which he doubted, she may as well be dead anyway. The cheap thing seemed like it could barely pick up lint. But here he was with an undeserved revolver shoved between his waist and belt. He'd risked both their lives to get it. It seemed Morgan was the one made to pay his debt.
As if summoned by this thought, fatigue finally overtook him. He let his bags fall to the ground which they met with a muddy slap, then settled against a tree himself. He ran a shaky hand through his tangled hair and across his soaked brow. His eyes wearily scanned the black fog he was engulfed in, then finally landed on the outline of the bag behind him.
A familiar craving gnawed at the back of his head. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, his hands were dipped in the front pocket and retrieving the pack and lighter. They felt dirty in his hands. It was like a final disrespect to Morgan. But his hands were shaking worse than ever, and oh God did he need to light one up right now...
A noise in the nearby underbrush sent James to his feet. His hands quickly and clumsily to the revolver pressed against his back as gravity did its noble work on his discarded cigarettes. Even as he cocked back the hammer and waved the thing at the empty air, he knew his fear was unfounded. He replaced the gun to find himself with empty hands.
"...Fuck"
James lowered himself to a crouch and blindly scoured the mire for the telltale rectangles that would finally give him his relief.
The Threepenny Opera As Performed By Potted Plants
The Threepenny Opera As Performed By Potted Plants
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler nope. 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.
(All prior GMing has been approved by choic. Alexis is continued from Recognition.)
After having redresssed her shoulder wound for what seemed like the tenth time in the last few days and stopping for a quick meal, Lex had left the area surrounding the Graveyard and once more begun her trek back through the jungle. The day evaporated gradually into night, and as it dragged on she felt the effects of prolonged exposure to this wicked game slowly creeping up on her. No matter how often she ate she was still hungry, and her rations were still running low. Her throat was dry, her skin was cold, she was dirty, her hair was tangled and matted, and she smelled like a bog; but all of it seemed insignificant compared to how scarred she was emotionally. No physical wound could even compare.
Her concern for Kyrie seemed to be slowly dissipating over the duration of the game. The more she thought about their explosive fight at the showers, the less it bothered her. After all, she'd murdered Vera; and if abandoning them was something Kyrie would never forgive her for, killing one of her allies was most certainly the nail in the coffin. Not that she had any intention of rejoining Kyrie at this point anyway. Now that Lex had resolved to win the game, having her friend around would only make her uneasy. Despite how efficient she'd proven herself to be over the last few days (to the surprise of many a former rival at school, she was sure), having the nagging worry of eventually having to kill quite possibly your closest friend in the world to guarantee your own survival was a pressure that not even Lex felt strong enough to deal with.
More importantly, what occupied her thoughts now was who she had to watch out for as she slowly made her way across the island. Bobby certainly wasn't one to mess around with, and Lenny Priestly was clearly off his rocker. Part of her was grateful that she hadn't run into a big player yet. Harry, J.R and Melina were probably also threats, but now that she was packing more heat than two wooly mammoths procreating, she really wasn't too worried about it. Intelligence was one advantage she had over most of them, and it was not only something she wasn't afraid to use, but something she often flaunted back at school. Of course, now that may have only served to stable a gigantic target to her back.
Sighing a bit as she re-adjusted her day pack, Lex avoided a few snags in the underbrush and continued along a relatively clear path that had been carved through the jungle. She could've sworn she smelled something foul about five minutes beforehand, but she wasn't curious or stupid enough to go check it out. Instead, she found relief in a clearing she seemed to have stumbled upon, and was about to relax and take a break when she noticed a figure in the distance. Ducking behind a tree and squinting intently, she eventually made it out.
James, heh. No Morgan? Good, I hate that bitch.
James was a familiar face to Lex. Both were occasional smokers, and while Lex wasn't particularly addicted to the substance the two had often found themselves sharing lighters or dragging off each other's cigarettes during lunch breaks or while skipping class. Now, of course, James was just another name on a long list of targets that she'd eventually have to eliminate. It was better sooner than later in her opinion, and having sorted it out with logic, she raised the gun and made to point it at him, before she realized something.
It's quiet. He'll hear me take the safety off.
Curious as to how she'd avoid this particular predicament, Lex watched carefully as he bent down. It seemed as though he'd dropped something and was searching for it on the ground. Since he was distracted she decided to capitalize on the opportunity and made her way closer as quickly and quietly as she possibly could, eventually ending up behind him a few feet away. She was hesitant, but now that she was so close she was more vulnerable than ever and had to act fast.
Without really thinking, Lex raised the gun high above her head and slammed it into James' skull.
He went down hard, collapsing onto the jungle floor and dropping a gun beside him. Lex wasted no time in grabbing it and stashing it in her daypack, now comfortably equipped. As far as she could remember she now had the Kel-Tech SMG, the Jericho she'd just received, the revolver, the jutte, the dynamite, the handcuffs...
Almost instantaneously Lex found herself smiling. It was a dreadful idea, but it was also a neat way to avoid wasting unnecessary bullets. Besides, her pent-up aggression towards the game and her former 'friends' was beginning to overtake her, and she needed a way to release it badly. As soon as she'd stuffed the revolver into her bag she snatched the handcuffs, dropping the bag and looking around quick before making her way towards James. She had to work quickly lest he wake up and attack her, so as smooth as she could she dragged his body towards a nearby tree root and handcuffed him to it.
As she reached the root the source of the foul stench she'd sniffed earlier made itself known in the presence of Jim Middleton's corpse, his head having fallen to the side of the tree root and his eyes closed. It also explained the blood that covered both part of the root and the ground beside Jim, evidently whoever had it in for him was considerably pissed off. Given how obnoxious he'd been while he was alive though, it didn't surprise her. Still, she paid it little mind as she made sure James was securely attached to the root, stepping back to observe the scene.
Something's missing...
Snickering slightly, she grabbed Jim's limp and cold hand and placed it on top of James' groin, marvelling at her own handiwork. Not only was it cute, albeit slightly morbid, but it was bound to piss Morgan off, which was something Lex always prided herself on doing. Satisfied with the way things had played out, she made her way back to their packs.
As quickly as she could she transferred James' food, water, ammunition and medical supplies into her bag. She also came across a lighter in the pack and his pack of cigarettes on the ground, which she greedily swiped and stashed in her pocket. She immediately reproduced the lighter, whose convenient placing was altogether perfect for what she planned to do next.
Abandoning James' pack and grabbing two sticks of dynamite out of her own, she made her way back over to his body. She wedged both into his pants near Jim's hand as quickly as she could, withdrawing the lighter and lighting both fuses carefully. As they flickered in response to the lighter and began to slowly burn away, she put the lighter away and grabbed her pack off the ground, slinging it over her back and making her way over to James one final time.
Bending over, she planted a full kiss on his lips, both caught in the excitement of the moment and subtlely hoping that Morgan was watching somewhere. Still, she didn't have much time left, which she knew, so she stood up once more, taking a few steps back.
"Good night..." she whispered morosely, turning and jogging away into the darkness.
(Alexis Machina continued in Popularity)
After having redresssed her shoulder wound for what seemed like the tenth time in the last few days and stopping for a quick meal, Lex had left the area surrounding the Graveyard and once more begun her trek back through the jungle. The day evaporated gradually into night, and as it dragged on she felt the effects of prolonged exposure to this wicked game slowly creeping up on her. No matter how often she ate she was still hungry, and her rations were still running low. Her throat was dry, her skin was cold, she was dirty, her hair was tangled and matted, and she smelled like a bog; but all of it seemed insignificant compared to how scarred she was emotionally. No physical wound could even compare.
Her concern for Kyrie seemed to be slowly dissipating over the duration of the game. The more she thought about their explosive fight at the showers, the less it bothered her. After all, she'd murdered Vera; and if abandoning them was something Kyrie would never forgive her for, killing one of her allies was most certainly the nail in the coffin. Not that she had any intention of rejoining Kyrie at this point anyway. Now that Lex had resolved to win the game, having her friend around would only make her uneasy. Despite how efficient she'd proven herself to be over the last few days (to the surprise of many a former rival at school, she was sure), having the nagging worry of eventually having to kill quite possibly your closest friend in the world to guarantee your own survival was a pressure that not even Lex felt strong enough to deal with.
More importantly, what occupied her thoughts now was who she had to watch out for as she slowly made her way across the island. Bobby certainly wasn't one to mess around with, and Lenny Priestly was clearly off his rocker. Part of her was grateful that she hadn't run into a big player yet. Harry, J.R and Melina were probably also threats, but now that she was packing more heat than two wooly mammoths procreating, she really wasn't too worried about it. Intelligence was one advantage she had over most of them, and it was not only something she wasn't afraid to use, but something she often flaunted back at school. Of course, now that may have only served to stable a gigantic target to her back.
Sighing a bit as she re-adjusted her day pack, Lex avoided a few snags in the underbrush and continued along a relatively clear path that had been carved through the jungle. She could've sworn she smelled something foul about five minutes beforehand, but she wasn't curious or stupid enough to go check it out. Instead, she found relief in a clearing she seemed to have stumbled upon, and was about to relax and take a break when she noticed a figure in the distance. Ducking behind a tree and squinting intently, she eventually made it out.
James, heh. No Morgan? Good, I hate that bitch.
James was a familiar face to Lex. Both were occasional smokers, and while Lex wasn't particularly addicted to the substance the two had often found themselves sharing lighters or dragging off each other's cigarettes during lunch breaks or while skipping class. Now, of course, James was just another name on a long list of targets that she'd eventually have to eliminate. It was better sooner than later in her opinion, and having sorted it out with logic, she raised the gun and made to point it at him, before she realized something.
It's quiet. He'll hear me take the safety off.
Curious as to how she'd avoid this particular predicament, Lex watched carefully as he bent down. It seemed as though he'd dropped something and was searching for it on the ground. Since he was distracted she decided to capitalize on the opportunity and made her way closer as quickly and quietly as she possibly could, eventually ending up behind him a few feet away. She was hesitant, but now that she was so close she was more vulnerable than ever and had to act fast.
Without really thinking, Lex raised the gun high above her head and slammed it into James' skull.
He went down hard, collapsing onto the jungle floor and dropping a gun beside him. Lex wasted no time in grabbing it and stashing it in her daypack, now comfortably equipped. As far as she could remember she now had the Kel-Tech SMG, the Jericho she'd just received, the revolver, the jutte, the dynamite, the handcuffs...
Almost instantaneously Lex found herself smiling. It was a dreadful idea, but it was also a neat way to avoid wasting unnecessary bullets. Besides, her pent-up aggression towards the game and her former 'friends' was beginning to overtake her, and she needed a way to release it badly. As soon as she'd stuffed the revolver into her bag she snatched the handcuffs, dropping the bag and looking around quick before making her way towards James. She had to work quickly lest he wake up and attack her, so as smooth as she could she dragged his body towards a nearby tree root and handcuffed him to it.
As she reached the root the source of the foul stench she'd sniffed earlier made itself known in the presence of Jim Middleton's corpse, his head having fallen to the side of the tree root and his eyes closed. It also explained the blood that covered both part of the root and the ground beside Jim, evidently whoever had it in for him was considerably pissed off. Given how obnoxious he'd been while he was alive though, it didn't surprise her. Still, she paid it little mind as she made sure James was securely attached to the root, stepping back to observe the scene.
Something's missing...
Snickering slightly, she grabbed Jim's limp and cold hand and placed it on top of James' groin, marvelling at her own handiwork. Not only was it cute, albeit slightly morbid, but it was bound to piss Morgan off, which was something Lex always prided herself on doing. Satisfied with the way things had played out, she made her way back to their packs.
As quickly as she could she transferred James' food, water, ammunition and medical supplies into her bag. She also came across a lighter in the pack and his pack of cigarettes on the ground, which she greedily swiped and stashed in her pocket. She immediately reproduced the lighter, whose convenient placing was altogether perfect for what she planned to do next.
Abandoning James' pack and grabbing two sticks of dynamite out of her own, she made her way back over to his body. She wedged both into his pants near Jim's hand as quickly as she could, withdrawing the lighter and lighting both fuses carefully. As they flickered in response to the lighter and began to slowly burn away, she put the lighter away and grabbed her pack off the ground, slinging it over her back and making her way over to James one final time.
Bending over, she planted a full kiss on his lips, both caught in the excitement of the moment and subtlely hoping that Morgan was watching somewhere. Still, she didn't have much time left, which she knew, so she stood up once more, taking a few steps back.
"Good night..." she whispered morosely, turning and jogging away into the darkness.
(Alexis Machina continued in Popularity)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Crash. 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.
Like some sick Snow White, James was awaken by a kiss.
At first, the sensation confused him. It was something he hadn't felt in months. Morgan had been so revolted by the reek of cigarettes constantly on his breath (usually coupled by that of alcohol), she had refused to touch him in those later days of their relationship. And after her, there had been no others. Of course there had been no others. Despite how overbearing she was, and how neurotic, he had always been intoxicated by her. But he was too much of a coward to keep her. He was too weak, and he'd traded her for vices that in the end meant nothing. Was she giving him a second chance? There was a fluttering in his stomach (and another sensation, a bit lower than that) as the idea dawned on him. Even as the lips, too full and too excited to have ever been Morgans, parted and uttered that telltale phrase, James was lost amongst a sea of romantic ideas.
"...Morg?"
Suddenly that sweet buzz in his head was replaced by a painful throb. He laboriously forced his eyes open just in time to see a fleeting shadow dart into the woods.
"What...? Morg!"
Something wasn't right. Why would Morgan run away like that? And why the kiss? It was so unlike her, so...
And why couldn't he move his arms?
James struggled against the force keeping him prisoner. He tugged in every angle with all his strength to free himself, but to no avail. It was not until recognizing the clicks of metal links over the driving rain that James identified his captor.
It was then he noticed the lights under his chin. He tilted his head down, examining them for several moments. After looking farther past then and spotting the red sticks from which they emanated, he realized the gravity of the situation he now found himself in.
He screamed.
He began squirming and tearing at his tree root prison with frenzied vigor. The lights danced and threatened to go out with every raindrop that came near and each of the boy's desperate blows, but they would not die.
"No. No. No no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO-"
The crack of the explosion was deafening, but James did not hear it.
It tore through flesh and obliterated bone, sending both James and Jim and even bits of the tree up in one great indiscriminate cloud of blood and flesh and splinters both white and brown. It all seemed to hand there with the smoke for a second, then drizzled back down to the earth with the rain in a macabre, colorful shower.
As if in contrast to the roar of the dynamite, there were several minutes of silence in the clearing. Then a creak. The tree that had held James so firmly, now baseless, came tumbling to the ground and splashed into the mud and nearly liquid remains.
B118 JAMES ELLET: DECEASED
At first, the sensation confused him. It was something he hadn't felt in months. Morgan had been so revolted by the reek of cigarettes constantly on his breath (usually coupled by that of alcohol), she had refused to touch him in those later days of their relationship. And after her, there had been no others. Of course there had been no others. Despite how overbearing she was, and how neurotic, he had always been intoxicated by her. But he was too much of a coward to keep her. He was too weak, and he'd traded her for vices that in the end meant nothing. Was she giving him a second chance? There was a fluttering in his stomach (and another sensation, a bit lower than that) as the idea dawned on him. Even as the lips, too full and too excited to have ever been Morgans, parted and uttered that telltale phrase, James was lost amongst a sea of romantic ideas.
"...Morg?"
Suddenly that sweet buzz in his head was replaced by a painful throb. He laboriously forced his eyes open just in time to see a fleeting shadow dart into the woods.
"What...? Morg!"
Something wasn't right. Why would Morgan run away like that? And why the kiss? It was so unlike her, so...
And why couldn't he move his arms?
James struggled against the force keeping him prisoner. He tugged in every angle with all his strength to free himself, but to no avail. It was not until recognizing the clicks of metal links over the driving rain that James identified his captor.
It was then he noticed the lights under his chin. He tilted his head down, examining them for several moments. After looking farther past then and spotting the red sticks from which they emanated, he realized the gravity of the situation he now found himself in.
He screamed.
He began squirming and tearing at his tree root prison with frenzied vigor. The lights danced and threatened to go out with every raindrop that came near and each of the boy's desperate blows, but they would not die.
"No. No. No no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO-"
The crack of the explosion was deafening, but James did not hear it.
It tore through flesh and obliterated bone, sending both James and Jim and even bits of the tree up in one great indiscriminate cloud of blood and flesh and splinters both white and brown. It all seemed to hand there with the smoke for a second, then drizzled back down to the earth with the rain in a macabre, colorful shower.
As if in contrast to the roar of the dynamite, there were several minutes of silence in the clearing. Then a creak. The tree that had held James so firmly, now baseless, came tumbling to the ground and splashed into the mud and nearly liquid remains.
B118 JAMES ELLET: DECEASED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler nope. 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.