Dezzy
it’s starting
Jubilee
what
Dezzy
SEASON 67 IS STARTING
NOW
der_bird
Wait how do ou know?
*you
Dezzy
THEY TOOK MY BROTHER
Jubilee
Oh shit
der_bird
lmao no they didn’t
Dezzy
THEY FUCKING DID YOU PIECE OF SHIT
WHERE DO I GO
TO PLACE BETS
Jubilee
wait what
Desiree
Dezzy
I know there’s someplace downtown, what’s it called
I’m googling it but I can’t find the right place
der_bird
You’re lying lmao
Dezzy
Fuck off.
@Jubilee do you know the place I’m talking about
Jubilee
I know there’s a place but not the name, one sec
Also, you know it sounds like you’re going to go and put money on your brother dying, right
Or… killing people?
Dezzy
Maybe both I dunno
Definitely the first one
der_bird
Dude what the fuck
Your borther?
*brother
That’s fucked up
Dezzy
Bitch you’ve met my brother and I know if you could throw him out a window you would
Everyone would
I’m putting a little down on first death and the rest on I don’t know, sometime in the first half
Jubilee
Dezzy uh
Should I come over?
Dezzy
Sure, we can have a watch party when the streams go live
Jubilee
that’s not what I
yeah okay sure
see you tonight then
Dezzy
@der_bird you’re not invited
der_bird
bitch
Dezzy
<3
How much should I pull out of my savings?
I’m going to make fucking bank
It took 17 fucking years but Sylv is finally doing me a goddamn favor
ES09: SYLVAIN KESSLER: START
Fun little fact about tap-dancing: it was not easy when you were wearing boots. No proper taps, for one thing, and Sylvain could tell without looking down that he’d left a bunch of skid marks all over the surface of this table. The cat ears he’d found in his pack kept bouncing around too, sliding forward off of the top of his head and falling over his face.
All in all, this was really dumb. Really making an A-1 asshole of himself on live TV, grade A, 110%. Extra credit, bonus points, the whole hog. People who woke up on SOTF and immediately started pandering to the cameras and acting like it was time for Dumbasses Gone Wild were the ones who got shot in the face as soon as they ran into someone who took competition a little more seriously. He’d seen it a million times – possibly literally, when you took re-watches into account. That was sort of the point, though.
Sylvain was kind of hoping that Emmy was watching him make a fucking joke of himself, because at least jokes made you laugh. It sort of harshed his whole vibe to have to adjust to the situation with the image of her tear-stained face on the screen burned into his mind’s eye. Serious dick move on the producers’ part, honestly.
He grinned at the camera when he was facing it, though. He didn’t spend the whole time looking into it, instead keeping his focus forward so that he could maintain his balance, like you were supposed to do, but he let it catch his eye every now and then. Until the cat ear headband bounced forward and came to rest on the bridge of his nose, obscuring his vision.
If the audience wanted drama, well, there were 60 other people here or something. If for some reason the viewers decided to watch Sylvain’s feed, they were going to get a jackass dancing on a table until someone came in and stopped him. Everything didn’t have to start off all heavy. He’d had enough of that already.
Anyway, he was wearing his bandanna around his neck, and his stuff was all stowed underneath the table, so even if people got sick of him, there was nothing they could do about it besides look somewhere else. That was the NARCISSUS Experience, baybee. All performance, all the time, no reprieve, no mercy. When Sylvain was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he answered “unbearable,” and by god he was making it there one way or another.
He hoped someone came in soon, because his legs were getting kind of tired.
I Carry Only The Finest
Tagging Sansa, others welcome
Had Stokely Keeper ever thought about how she might handle herself in SOTF-TV? Yes.
Had she concluded that she was real fucked pretty much regardless? Also yes.
Here was the deal. The TV crews made a real big thing of putting up these lil profiles on the websites ahead of time, short blurbs about the contestants that were meant to give you an idea of who you should watch out for. How often had the person with the strongest game on paper actually won? Like twice. There were way too many factors at play to call it from the start, way too many things that could and would go wrong. People had played almost flawlessly then died to flukes. People had walked into endgame completely unscathed, packing an armoury, and then gone out like a bitch. Underdogs had won time and again, because SOTF wasn't a science.
You could maximise your chances. Stokes was willing to allow that being good on paper meant you had a better chance of living longer, but winning? Any given person's chances of winning were almost the same. Tiny. Loners, jocks, popular kids, nerds, fighters, cowards. From the start, it was luck.
Stokes knew more than anyone else in the class about SOTF-TV. She knew enough to know that she was fucked.
So. So. So. Here was the deal, part two.
She had a team. She could win with the team. That maybe meant the chances were higher but so far, from a small sample, hadn't made any difference. Stokes couldn't count on a team to take her home. Going for ten kills was... that was a choice she'd have to make here and now and being real with herself, Stokes didn't have what it took. She wasn't Karen ruthless and couldn't count on being Jewel lucky. Going for ten meant putting herself in the firing line of everyone here. It wasn't a secret no more. So yeah. No public enemy number one here.
That left playing normally, or just chilling and seeing how things worked out. Players got eyes on them, sure, but in the game, was it the right move? Uh, no, hell no it wasn't. People played to win all the time but more went into it than just trying to kill everyone. Way more would-be players had tried and failed than ever went on to win. Even those that went all the way, they weren't the only players in their version. It was a thin cut. Didn't make your chances better.
Stokes also wasn't gonna sit on her skinny ass waiting to die or get lucky.
Check it out, she'd eliminated every single option.
So the answer? The answer was getting creative.
There were three picks for Stokes' plan and as it happened they were all pretty close to each other, per the map. Cruise Ship, Shop Boat, Restaurant. The biggest ship on the flotilla acted as a good navigation point as Stokes made her way across the jetties, helping her orient herself as she went. Out here she felt exposed as hell: she could see halfway across the damn thing, even picking out movement from other figures walking around. Just cause lining shots up from a distance would be hard didn't make it impossible. Hopefully nobody on the exec team was stupid enough to break from twenty versions of tradition and hand out explosives in the worst possible setting for them.
The cruise ship was the eye catcher which was kinda good but probably bad. There would be supplies there, and prolly some good places to hole up, but the thing was huge. You could see it from everywhere, so it would catch everyone's attention, and locking it down would be impossible. Not the right place.
Stokes passed the Shop Boat next and felt her enthusiasm for it die the second she laid eyes on it. Didn't look sturdy, didn't look safe. Even if it had the good shit, that wasn't a place to bunker down. Check out, yeah, but she couldn't set a base there.
C'mon restaurant, don't fail her now.
Outside, looked good. Inside...
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Aight."
Movement caught her eye.
Uh.
Sylvain, dancing on a table.
Sure it was SOTF why not.
Had she concluded that she was real fucked pretty much regardless? Also yes.
Here was the deal. The TV crews made a real big thing of putting up these lil profiles on the websites ahead of time, short blurbs about the contestants that were meant to give you an idea of who you should watch out for. How often had the person with the strongest game on paper actually won? Like twice. There were way too many factors at play to call it from the start, way too many things that could and would go wrong. People had played almost flawlessly then died to flukes. People had walked into endgame completely unscathed, packing an armoury, and then gone out like a bitch. Underdogs had won time and again, because SOTF wasn't a science.
You could maximise your chances. Stokes was willing to allow that being good on paper meant you had a better chance of living longer, but winning? Any given person's chances of winning were almost the same. Tiny. Loners, jocks, popular kids, nerds, fighters, cowards. From the start, it was luck.
Stokes knew more than anyone else in the class about SOTF-TV. She knew enough to know that she was fucked.
So. So. So. Here was the deal, part two.
She had a team. She could win with the team. That maybe meant the chances were higher but so far, from a small sample, hadn't made any difference. Stokes couldn't count on a team to take her home. Going for ten kills was... that was a choice she'd have to make here and now and being real with herself, Stokes didn't have what it took. She wasn't Karen ruthless and couldn't count on being Jewel lucky. Going for ten meant putting herself in the firing line of everyone here. It wasn't a secret no more. So yeah. No public enemy number one here.
That left playing normally, or just chilling and seeing how things worked out. Players got eyes on them, sure, but in the game, was it the right move? Uh, no, hell no it wasn't. People played to win all the time but more went into it than just trying to kill everyone. Way more would-be players had tried and failed than ever went on to win. Even those that went all the way, they weren't the only players in their version. It was a thin cut. Didn't make your chances better.
Stokes also wasn't gonna sit on her skinny ass waiting to die or get lucky.
Check it out, she'd eliminated every single option.
So the answer? The answer was getting creative.
There were three picks for Stokes' plan and as it happened they were all pretty close to each other, per the map. Cruise Ship, Shop Boat, Restaurant. The biggest ship on the flotilla acted as a good navigation point as Stokes made her way across the jetties, helping her orient herself as she went. Out here she felt exposed as hell: she could see halfway across the damn thing, even picking out movement from other figures walking around. Just cause lining shots up from a distance would be hard didn't make it impossible. Hopefully nobody on the exec team was stupid enough to break from twenty versions of tradition and hand out explosives in the worst possible setting for them.
The cruise ship was the eye catcher which was kinda good but probably bad. There would be supplies there, and prolly some good places to hole up, but the thing was huge. You could see it from everywhere, so it would catch everyone's attention, and locking it down would be impossible. Not the right place.
Stokes passed the Shop Boat next and felt her enthusiasm for it die the second she laid eyes on it. Didn't look sturdy, didn't look safe. Even if it had the good shit, that wasn't a place to bunker down. Check out, yeah, but she couldn't set a base there.
C'mon restaurant, don't fail her now.
Outside, looked good. Inside...
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Aight."
Movement caught her eye.
Uh.
Sylvain, dancing on a table.
Sure it was SOTF why not.
-
SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
SB11 — SOFIA KOWALSKI: START
Sofia Kowalski was a thinker. Always had been, always would be. Some people could go on autopilot, could let their mind drift and just go with the flow. But never Sofia. Everything was always ordered, every word and action cultivated and thought through. It was one of her biggest strengths, and often her biggest weakness.
Thinking. Thinking, always thinking and now when she really needs to do just that there’s nothing but fog. So if not thinking, then action.
Grab that bag and unzip it and ignore all the generic stuff, the memorabilia and everything that can be taken stock of later and look for the one helper they’ve given you, the one thing that distinguishes you from everybody else, the thing you can focus your energy on and finally start to think—
A horn.
Large, polished brass. So pretty, something she would’ve admired once upon a time, maybe would’ve conjured a sketch up of as she tried to replicate the way light and shadows danced on the contours and curves of its body. But now that was her identifier, the gift she’d received that was supposed to give her an edge over those she’d be fighting for her life against.
Bandanna. The bright pink hues would clash with her outfit so she couldn’t really wear it on her wrist or around her neck. She knew it was irrational to focus precious times on minutae like that in her current environment, but another part of her relished that her vanity and fashion sense were still intact, that those shreds of herself hadn’t been wholly lost to the game just yet.
Because, what was the point of surviving this if there wasn’t at least a spark left of that same Sofia that entered it?
So that silk ribbon Sofia had secured her braid with was discarded back into her coat pocket and she affixed that strip of fuschia fabric into her hair as she walked in the direction of the clumsy tapping echoing around the corner. Someone was making noise, someone wanted attention. And if they could help clear the fog that still lingered in her mind, as emotions threatened to bubble to the surface, then Sofia was more than happy to indulge in their lust for limelight.
Her hands were shaking as she lifted her bugle to her lips.
She wanted to scream, to let her lungs tear until they were tired and raw.
She breathed in, took all of that fury, frustration, and pain, and let it all out in one cacophonic blast.
Sofia Kowalski was a thinker. Always had been, always would be. Some people could go on autopilot, could let their mind drift and just go with the flow. But never Sofia. Everything was always ordered, every word and action cultivated and thought through. It was one of her biggest strengths, and often her biggest weakness.
Thinking. Thinking, always thinking and now when she really needs to do just that there’s nothing but fog. So if not thinking, then action.
Grab that bag and unzip it and ignore all the generic stuff, the memorabilia and everything that can be taken stock of later and look for the one helper they’ve given you, the one thing that distinguishes you from everybody else, the thing you can focus your energy on and finally start to think—
A horn.
Large, polished brass. So pretty, something she would’ve admired once upon a time, maybe would’ve conjured a sketch up of as she tried to replicate the way light and shadows danced on the contours and curves of its body. But now that was her identifier, the gift she’d received that was supposed to give her an edge over those she’d be fighting for her life against.
Bandanna. The bright pink hues would clash with her outfit so she couldn’t really wear it on her wrist or around her neck. She knew it was irrational to focus precious times on minutae like that in her current environment, but another part of her relished that her vanity and fashion sense were still intact, that those shreds of herself hadn’t been wholly lost to the game just yet.
Because, what was the point of surviving this if there wasn’t at least a spark left of that same Sofia that entered it?
So that silk ribbon Sofia had secured her braid with was discarded back into her coat pocket and she affixed that strip of fuschia fabric into her hair as she walked in the direction of the clumsy tapping echoing around the corner. Someone was making noise, someone wanted attention. And if they could help clear the fog that still lingered in her mind, as emotions threatened to bubble to the surface, then Sofia was more than happy to indulge in their lust for limelight.
Her hands were shaking as she lifted her bugle to her lips.
She wanted to scream, to let her lungs tear until they were tired and raw.
She breathed in, took all of that fury, frustration, and pain, and let it all out in one cacophonic blast.
And goddamn, Sylvain's prayers were answered by an honest-to-goodness heavenly trumpet. Or at least the volume was probably on part, the sound was about like what he imagined a dying goose sounded like.
The blast of noise hit him right as he had started a spin, and his foot stuttered, came down on the edge of the table instead of where he'd meant to put it, and then Sylvain fell to the floor with a squawk.
"Is anybody dead yet?" He asked once he'd recovered from having the wind knocked out of him. He stayed flat on his back on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. His cat ears had been knocked askew. Bummer.
The blast of noise hit him right as he had started a spin, and his foot stuttered, came down on the edge of the table instead of where he'd meant to put it, and then Sylvain fell to the floor with a squawk.
"Is anybody dead yet?" He asked once he'd recovered from having the wind knocked out of him. He stayed flat on his back on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. His cat ears had been knocked askew. Bummer.
"jesusgoddamntheshit—!"
Hell kinda trumpet ass?... Some wake-up call, right? CockadoodleTOOT.
Stokes could respect it though. Get something that makes a loud noise, make that loud noise. Good way of expressing yourself; who'd ever been dropped in TV and not wanted to doot up in everything?
Lots of people but hey look Sylvain the catboy just ate shit so moving right along.
Wait catboy Sylvain.
Yeah okay sure add that on too.
"Not unless there's been death by jazz."
Hell kinda trumpet ass?... Some wake-up call, right? CockadoodleTOOT.
Stokes could respect it though. Get something that makes a loud noise, make that loud noise. Good way of expressing yourself; who'd ever been dropped in TV and not wanted to doot up in everything?
Lots of people but hey look Sylvain the catboy just ate shit so moving right along.
Wait catboy Sylvain.
Yeah okay sure add that on too.
"Not unless there's been death by jazz."
"Have you guys ever heard our marching band actually, like, play?"
((SB05 continued from Thank you for that Verizon name drop))
"They're a manslaughter-lethal type group of talents."
She'd announced herself with a knuckle to the door leading into the kitchens, almost directly parallel and across from ES09's chosen burlesque stage. She'd entered gun first and had kept the weapon leveled until she'd known who was in the room. And then a second longer for good measure, before allowing her wrist to drift earthward, resting the stock of her revolver against one thigh.
(jesus christ the gun was fucking heavy, a full textbook she was trying to cram into one hand. And one of the thick AP class types to boot. See, Lucille had gone so far as to put together a full routine just for the 'holding a gun' eventuality. Who the fuck, after all, unironically devoted a full circuit to hand exercises and wrist curls in the gym?
Like, no offense to Seo or Alyssa or Marion or whoever else had maybe been kidnapped, but Lucille had most certifiably and certainly been putting in more work than any of them in terms of TV prep. Okay maybe Akeno got a pass. But for the rest of them, well... yeah, Lucille doubted they could even point this pistol in a straight direction? No offense)
The fetchingly obscene pink of SB05's bandana had eventually settled into a few simple folds into a makeshift headband tied from crown of hair to around the nape of her neck.
(honestly didn't look the worst. Lucille was reluctantly confident she could pull it off)
Most important it was easily visible, being in the general vicinity of her eyes that people would probably look at by default. Even the majority of straight cis males.
(who maybe didn't exist in this room, as of yet? Kudos to Sylvain, the cat ears did him a world of good. Lucille would have called it given the natural softness of his face- best to lean into things like that. It was a similar sort of 'pulling it off' that someone like Vasily did. It had been increasingly the case over the past several months of her life that Lucille had, like, actualized into conscious awareness her particular attraction to men who needed a question mark after their pronouns.
That particular drift in Lucille's thoughts emphasized to her what she'd been coming to learn under Bethan's gentle guidance- Lucille was a bit problematic in her internal narrative.
Tangent aside, Stokes was a potential godsend. TV trivia queen central. Generally cool too. They must have been among the few girls at school with a kind of similar wavelength on how much of a non-threat Junji was... though Stokes did kind of take it too far in the opposite direction? Imagine unironically trying to be anything more than casual friends with him.
Thinking about Junji though... Dude wasn't long for the world, realistically. Lucille hoped Stokes was ready to suffer that particular test of her mental)
"Your ears are on wrong." SB05 indicated who she was talking to by shamelessly staring right at them. "Still looks good though."
((SB05 continued from Thank you for that Verizon name drop))
"They're a manslaughter-lethal type group of talents."
She'd announced herself with a knuckle to the door leading into the kitchens, almost directly parallel and across from ES09's chosen burlesque stage. She'd entered gun first and had kept the weapon leveled until she'd known who was in the room. And then a second longer for good measure, before allowing her wrist to drift earthward, resting the stock of her revolver against one thigh.
(jesus christ the gun was fucking heavy, a full textbook she was trying to cram into one hand. And one of the thick AP class types to boot. See, Lucille had gone so far as to put together a full routine just for the 'holding a gun' eventuality. Who the fuck, after all, unironically devoted a full circuit to hand exercises and wrist curls in the gym?
Like, no offense to Seo or Alyssa or Marion or whoever else had maybe been kidnapped, but Lucille had most certifiably and certainly been putting in more work than any of them in terms of TV prep. Okay maybe Akeno got a pass. But for the rest of them, well... yeah, Lucille doubted they could even point this pistol in a straight direction? No offense)
The fetchingly obscene pink of SB05's bandana had eventually settled into a few simple folds into a makeshift headband tied from crown of hair to around the nape of her neck.
(honestly didn't look the worst. Lucille was reluctantly confident she could pull it off)
Most important it was easily visible, being in the general vicinity of her eyes that people would probably look at by default. Even the majority of straight cis males.
(who maybe didn't exist in this room, as of yet? Kudos to Sylvain, the cat ears did him a world of good. Lucille would have called it given the natural softness of his face- best to lean into things like that. It was a similar sort of 'pulling it off' that someone like Vasily did. It had been increasingly the case over the past several months of her life that Lucille had, like, actualized into conscious awareness her particular attraction to men who needed a question mark after their pronouns.
That particular drift in Lucille's thoughts emphasized to her what she'd been coming to learn under Bethan's gentle guidance- Lucille was a bit problematic in her internal narrative.
Tangent aside, Stokes was a potential godsend. TV trivia queen central. Generally cool too. They must have been among the few girls at school with a kind of similar wavelength on how much of a non-threat Junji was... though Stokes did kind of take it too far in the opposite direction? Imagine unironically trying to be anything more than casual friends with him.
Thinking about Junji though... Dude wasn't long for the world, realistically. Lucille hoped Stokes was ready to suffer that particular test of her mental)
"Your ears are on wrong." SB05 indicated who she was talking to by shamelessly staring right at them. "Still looks good though."
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
-
SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
Sofia blew until her breath ran ragged and her eardrums began to prickle with ache. She let out a painful exhale as she lowered her bugle and let it hang limply by her side. A sense of clarity returned to her as the fog in her mind began to dissipate. Perhaps she should’ve added the school band to her list of extracurriculars back at Mangrove. Who’d have known just how cathartic brasswork could be?
She heard voices as she rounded the corner, someone recovering from the fright her ‘music’ had brought out of them. Clearly she’d diverted the attention-seeker’s focus onto her actions instead, and without even being in their view.
Her eyes quickly darted across the three figures that occupied the larger dining area of the restaurant as she joined their little triangle. Sylvain. S-something? Lucille. An ex, someone whose name she could barely recall, and a girl whose fashion sense Sofia had always admired. Amongst other things, but now was neither the time nor the place for that. Not exactly the most ideal company in the world, but none of them had ever struck her as particularly malicious, the type of people whose company would immediately be dangerous in a place like this.
If she was wrong about that, however, she figured she wouldn’t have much time left to worry about it. There wasn’t much she could do by bringing a trumpet to a gunfight.
She glanced down at the brassy instrument by her side. She would be reluctant to part with it after the help it’d provided her with so far, but she didn’t want to linger much longer without something more substantial in her possession.
“Sylvain is the only person I know who can pull off the cat ears,” she added as she attempted to join their ménage à trois as smoothly as possible. “That never stopped me from trying to convince him they were a terrible idea, though.”
She heard voices as she rounded the corner, someone recovering from the fright her ‘music’ had brought out of them. Clearly she’d diverted the attention-seeker’s focus onto her actions instead, and without even being in their view.
Her eyes quickly darted across the three figures that occupied the larger dining area of the restaurant as she joined their little triangle. Sylvain. S-something? Lucille. An ex, someone whose name she could barely recall, and a girl whose fashion sense Sofia had always admired. Amongst other things, but now was neither the time nor the place for that. Not exactly the most ideal company in the world, but none of them had ever struck her as particularly malicious, the type of people whose company would immediately be dangerous in a place like this.
If she was wrong about that, however, she figured she wouldn’t have much time left to worry about it. There wasn’t much she could do by bringing a trumpet to a gunfight.
She glanced down at the brassy instrument by her side. She would be reluctant to part with it after the help it’d provided her with so far, but she didn’t want to linger much longer without something more substantial in her possession.
“Sylvain is the only person I know who can pull off the cat ears,” she added as she attempted to join their ménage à trois as smoothly as possible. “That never stopped me from trying to convince him they were a terrible idea, though.”
-
Irina Ivanov
- Posts: 222
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:47 am
- Location: The Land Down Under
[JL09 - CHRIS TYRELL START]
You know what was really, really, REALLY annoying?
Chris thought, that, he probably would have avoided this if he decided to stay at home. Yeah, yeah, sucked to miss a rehearsal, and he'd probably be super bored and tired by the time he came out of the dentist. But that was a lot more better then, oh maybe NOT WAKING UP ON SOME SHOW HE BARELY WATCHED WHILE RUNNING BACK TO SCHOOL.
Call him uncultured, maybe even moral, but Chris never got the whole SOTF show. He played Champions if a friend needed an extra friend, and he at least knew that some goth chick called Jewel won last season or whatever. That was about his extent of knowledge, which was surprising considering his bunny ears television didn't work and he blocked social media on his school phone. It was fun background noise when everyone was a character and they were just there for memes and fanfics. It got too real once the average gross teenager got their brains bashed in or got their ankle tendons ripped out.
And being on the show itself? Way, way too real. But anyways, he missed his chance of learning more about the show for about 17 straight years now. Chris wasn't trying to think about being on a show where millions of people are watching him. Or the fact he was going to maybe die. Cause he won't! He was going to win, of course, for everyone, the cameras, the audience, and dad to see.
....He just didn't want the cameras on him right now. At all.
(Unbeknownst to Chris, he had actually blocked all of his collar cameras by putting the bandanna around his neck. That was a start to not wanting the world to see him internally piss himself.)
Chris was going quietly to move out of the view of a nearby one, and then he saw Kessler on a table with furry ears. Holy shit man. Chris was a drama kid as well, but he knew when to stop with the trolling and dramatics. (No, he didn't.) He made a note to himself to never do anything attention-grabbing like that while he was still on this show, as he stood nearby a few students in second-hand embarrassment. Chris couldn't help but laugh roughly and clap along to the world's worst vaudeville act. Some people can even call it nervous laughing, but Chris did NOT nervous laugh. Period.
"Y-you know, most people, w-when they're on a show where we kill one another, you usually don't try to g-gain attention to yourself, you-you do know that r-right, Slyvain?"
While coughing up several more chuckles, Chris dropped his (really freaking heavy) backpack on a nearby dining table to see what they gave him precisely so he would get screwed over. He wouldn't be surprised if they gave him a huge rock or something, Chris had the story of Dylan something Cartway pounded into him by his SOTF fan friends.
....Huh. Chris felt a smirk rise up involuntarily, as he saw what dice he was rolled. A sharpened, anachronistic one, it seemed. He felt like King Arthur for a few blessed seconds as he drew the axe from his bag.
Which was then interrupted by Lucille coming in. Chris quickly put the axe in front of him and faced (the completely benign girl who probably just wanted to say hi called) Lucille, almost in a proper melee stance (But not really on the basis he had never held anything more dangerous then a metal guitar on him and fencing was nerdy). His exaggerated Duchenne smile went away swiftly, as swiftly as he spoke.
"Woahwoahwoahwoah, LucilleLucille, you can't just have a gunjustoutlike that, jesusCHRIST DUDE, that's just scary."
Chris said as he was holding out his very real, very sharp axe.
He swiftly put his smile back on, but it twitched, not knowing if it wanted to disappear completely and turn upside down, or turn up even further.
You know what was really, really, REALLY annoying?
Chris thought, that, he probably would have avoided this if he decided to stay at home. Yeah, yeah, sucked to miss a rehearsal, and he'd probably be super bored and tired by the time he came out of the dentist. But that was a lot more better then, oh maybe NOT WAKING UP ON SOME SHOW HE BARELY WATCHED WHILE RUNNING BACK TO SCHOOL.
Call him uncultured, maybe even moral, but Chris never got the whole SOTF show. He played Champions if a friend needed an extra friend, and he at least knew that some goth chick called Jewel won last season or whatever. That was about his extent of knowledge, which was surprising considering his bunny ears television didn't work and he blocked social media on his school phone. It was fun background noise when everyone was a character and they were just there for memes and fanfics. It got too real once the average gross teenager got their brains bashed in or got their ankle tendons ripped out.
And being on the show itself? Way, way too real. But anyways, he missed his chance of learning more about the show for about 17 straight years now. Chris wasn't trying to think about being on a show where millions of people are watching him. Or the fact he was going to maybe die. Cause he won't! He was going to win, of course, for everyone, the cameras, the audience, and dad to see.
....He just didn't want the cameras on him right now. At all.
(Unbeknownst to Chris, he had actually blocked all of his collar cameras by putting the bandanna around his neck. That was a start to not wanting the world to see him internally piss himself.)
Chris was going quietly to move out of the view of a nearby one, and then he saw Kessler on a table with furry ears. Holy shit man. Chris was a drama kid as well, but he knew when to stop with the trolling and dramatics. (No, he didn't.) He made a note to himself to never do anything attention-grabbing like that while he was still on this show, as he stood nearby a few students in second-hand embarrassment. Chris couldn't help but laugh roughly and clap along to the world's worst vaudeville act. Some people can even call it nervous laughing, but Chris did NOT nervous laugh. Period.
"Y-you know, most people, w-when they're on a show where we kill one another, you usually don't try to g-gain attention to yourself, you-you do know that r-right, Slyvain?"
While coughing up several more chuckles, Chris dropped his (really freaking heavy) backpack on a nearby dining table to see what they gave him precisely so he would get screwed over. He wouldn't be surprised if they gave him a huge rock or something, Chris had the story of Dylan something Cartway pounded into him by his SOTF fan friends.
....Huh. Chris felt a smirk rise up involuntarily, as he saw what dice he was rolled. A sharpened, anachronistic one, it seemed. He felt like King Arthur for a few blessed seconds as he drew the axe from his bag.
Which was then interrupted by Lucille coming in. Chris quickly put the axe in front of him and faced (the completely benign girl who probably just wanted to say hi called) Lucille, almost in a proper melee stance (But not really on the basis he had never held anything more dangerous then a metal guitar on him and fencing was nerdy). His exaggerated Duchenne smile went away swiftly, as swiftly as he spoke.
"Woahwoahwoahwoah, LucilleLucille, you can't just have a gunjustoutlike that, jesusCHRIST DUDE, that's just scary."
Chris said as he was holding out his very real, very sharp axe.
He swiftly put his smile back on, but it twitched, not knowing if it wanted to disappear completely and turn upside down, or turn up even further.
Oh jeeze okay, it was getting crowded in here all of a sudden. Sylvain stayed on the floor as another three people suddenly materialized, and all of the attention zoomed in on him for... yeah, okay, he couldn't just say "for some unknown reason" when he'd been doing what he was doing. Still, give a guy a chance to breathe, huh?
Lucille had come in from somewhere behind him, presumably the kitchen or a washroom. Lucille was holding a gun. Cool beans.
Sylvain, being flat on his back on the floor, had to look at her upside down. She was pointing the gun floor-ward, which right now was also Sylvain-ward, but she wasn't aiming at him, so far as he could tell.
There was a rush of hot and cold in the pit of his stomach, a flutter of icy wings. That gun was real. Lucille could, without even really having to think about it, twitch her hand up just so and pop a hole right through his head, and all it would do was make a mess on the carpet.
Sylvain grinned at her and gave her a double thumbs-up at the cat ears comment.
The next arrival he couldn't actually see without moving, but he recognized her voice. Go figure that Sofia had been the one to assault him with jazz. He turned onto his side to face her through the table legs, resting one elbow on the carpet and propping his head on his hand. Lucille didn't follow up the movement by immediately shooting him in the head, which was nice of her.
"You make it sound like I wear cat ears way more often than I actually do," he said to Sofia. The half-grin was still there. It was always there, for her, even after they'd broken up. Sometimes it riled her up, sometimes it made her laugh. She wasn't laughing right now. He wasn't sure what her expression was.
Then came Chris. Chris was freaking out, which was fine, because someone ought to be. That was how this went. If you had a whole group of people who just woke up on SOTF, and they were all just fine, just vibing, well- it didn't work. It wasn't good viewing. This scene right here was what everyone skipped through until the weapons came out.
The weapons were out. Lucille had the gun, and she was being real cool about it. Chris had an axe or something, and he was being the opposite of cool. Sofia had the power of jazz, so she was clearly at the highest power level in the room. He didn't know what Stokes had, besides personality. Sylvain was posing on the floor with a cat ear headband sitting askew on his head.
"So, everybody feeling good in this Chili's tonight?" He asked blithely, like he wasn't currently the center and focal point of a group of people who, if experience told him anything, could very well be a few choice words away from a bloodbath.
Lucille had come in from somewhere behind him, presumably the kitchen or a washroom. Lucille was holding a gun. Cool beans.
Sylvain, being flat on his back on the floor, had to look at her upside down. She was pointing the gun floor-ward, which right now was also Sylvain-ward, but she wasn't aiming at him, so far as he could tell.
There was a rush of hot and cold in the pit of his stomach, a flutter of icy wings. That gun was real. Lucille could, without even really having to think about it, twitch her hand up just so and pop a hole right through his head, and all it would do was make a mess on the carpet.
Sylvain grinned at her and gave her a double thumbs-up at the cat ears comment.
The next arrival he couldn't actually see without moving, but he recognized her voice. Go figure that Sofia had been the one to assault him with jazz. He turned onto his side to face her through the table legs, resting one elbow on the carpet and propping his head on his hand. Lucille didn't follow up the movement by immediately shooting him in the head, which was nice of her.
"You make it sound like I wear cat ears way more often than I actually do," he said to Sofia. The half-grin was still there. It was always there, for her, even after they'd broken up. Sometimes it riled her up, sometimes it made her laugh. She wasn't laughing right now. He wasn't sure what her expression was.
Then came Chris. Chris was freaking out, which was fine, because someone ought to be. That was how this went. If you had a whole group of people who just woke up on SOTF, and they were all just fine, just vibing, well- it didn't work. It wasn't good viewing. This scene right here was what everyone skipped through until the weapons came out.
The weapons were out. Lucille had the gun, and she was being real cool about it. Chris had an axe or something, and he was being the opposite of cool. Sofia had the power of jazz, so she was clearly at the highest power level in the room. He didn't know what Stokes had, besides personality. Sylvain was posing on the floor with a cat ear headband sitting askew on his head.
"So, everybody feeling good in this Chili's tonight?" He asked blithely, like he wasn't currently the center and focal point of a group of people who, if experience told him anything, could very well be a few choice words away from a bloodbath.
So goofing on Sylvain was fun and all, but Stokes had angenda here and being real the more people that stacked up, the slower her roll. Her plan needed a sell, and yeah sure repeating herself was gonna get old, but it was easier to work on one person at a time. Less noise, less BS, and once you had someone convinced, they were more likely to stick with the whole thing. People liked to be right first time, ya know?
Which was the long way of saying, goddamngoaway.
So, Lucille, okay? Gun right there, and yeah Stokes' plan needed weapons, and Lucille knew her shit, so all good, right? No, wrong, siddown. Lucille the type of girl who knew enough about SOTF to think she knew what to do in TV; she thought she knew what she was gonna do in TV. She talked about it sometimes at school, and serious enough that Stokes figured that it would stick for at least a while. Not worth the persuasion time and energy. Stokes needed to start soon as she could.
Second the gun wasn't right on her, Stokes shifted up, sliding partway behind a glass tank set atop a large island in the middle of the room, part of the divider between dining area and the rest. Wouldn't take much.
Anyway here came rogue toot. Sofia shruuuug? Didn't know her great. Could go either way there.
Course just as Stokes started setting things to rights in her head, this junior showed up with an axe and a real twitchy kinda look that Stokes did not like one bit. Nuh-uh, no thank you. Did she know him? Uhh, pass. Not a good first impression. Like maybe but she was eyeballing him already.
Sylvain spoke up.
"Yeah. All good. Thinking of staying. Setting up here."
Skipping like three steps yeah okay but.
They all knew this sucked. Did they have to sit around nodding and muttering about it? They'd seen these scenes already. Game didn't wait for you to get all caught up.
Which was the long way of saying, goddamngoaway.
So, Lucille, okay? Gun right there, and yeah Stokes' plan needed weapons, and Lucille knew her shit, so all good, right? No, wrong, siddown. Lucille the type of girl who knew enough about SOTF to think she knew what to do in TV; she thought she knew what she was gonna do in TV. She talked about it sometimes at school, and serious enough that Stokes figured that it would stick for at least a while. Not worth the persuasion time and energy. Stokes needed to start soon as she could.
Second the gun wasn't right on her, Stokes shifted up, sliding partway behind a glass tank set atop a large island in the middle of the room, part of the divider between dining area and the rest. Wouldn't take much.
Anyway here came rogue toot. Sofia shruuuug? Didn't know her great. Could go either way there.
Course just as Stokes started setting things to rights in her head, this junior showed up with an axe and a real twitchy kinda look that Stokes did not like one bit. Nuh-uh, no thank you. Did she know him? Uhh, pass. Not a good first impression. Like maybe but she was eyeballing him already.
Sylvain spoke up.
"Yeah. All good. Thinking of staying. Setting up here."
Skipping like three steps yeah okay but.
They all knew this sucked. Did they have to sit around nodding and muttering about it? They'd seen these scenes already. Game didn't wait for you to get all caught up.
(Sofia and Sylvain were exes, right? She hadn't heard a lot about it so it probably hadn't constituted a particularly spicy blend of tea. Former more-than-friend relationships were still potential danger though. Lucille had always hated that trope though- the out-of-arena drama transitioning into arena drama was so impossibly lame most of the time)
"Eh, it's like. Not that scary until I actually start shooting it, right?"
Her lips pressed together into a ripe-shape pout, aimed right at JL09 unlike the barrel of her gun.
(Lucille's Throwback Thursday for the day was the sudden blossom of an old memory: some party long ago, she'd been thinking about what Chris'd look like in his fanservice outfit. The tighter around the calves, the better, etc. Almost like Lucille had found the queer energy in her to start baiting the hets instead. Like, damn, talk about the character development)
SB05's gaze settled on the gun in her hand, as the firm grip on it was relaxed. Her bag rested against one hip, was supported by the opposite shoulder. She let it swallow up her gun, gingerly resting it on a cushion of show swag she had no particular intention of wearing anytime soon.
(so like, Lucille generally agreed with that particular line of thought where opening scenes in TV that weren't deaths tended to become too much sitting around where people who should've already known each other spent too long regurgitating the season teaser blurbs about their own characterizations and anticipated motivations in a roundabout way. But here she was, actually living through a scene of that sort and like... huh. The show didn't really capture the point of view of the contestants. Like, how would Lucille put it? That things were way harder to follow than they seemed from the outside looking in. Lucille knew there were physically five total people in this area of the restaurant, for example. But who was where? Voices blended together. Lucille's eyes would track back and forth to see Stokes staking territory or Chris standing there Menacingly but then other people would fall into the indistinct and blurry periphery of her vision and would become far more... concerning, foreboding than they probably seemed to the viewers staring at their screens with birds-eye view advantage)
Her hand emerged from between the zippered lips of the bag, now settled loosely around a bag of hale gold, deep-fried squid things.
(Stokes was going for that kind of strat? Settling down in one place wasn't the most uncommon strategy, but it demanded a loadout like... no, they weren't on the same team, as Lucille could tell from the scuffed but in a kinda fetching way tuck-in Stokes was doing with her bandana. Whatever Stokes was going for Lucille was likely already out by default, she guessed)
She started to eat, at a measured pace with only the littlest bits of grease whetting her fingers.
(been a while since she'd last had these. Still too salty, just like she remembered it. Big F if she had to be draining one of her Aquafinas this early on)
"Any of you gonna join her?" A humorless shrug, a brief pause to cursorily french kiss a single bit of breaded seafood, chew once, swallow.
"Maybe Chris is on your team, that might work out." It was an observation as casual as any tangent in any conversation could have been. SB05 turned to the other girl in the room that actually was on her team, raising an eyebrow. Remainder of her face remaining pleasantly inert.
"You and me, Sofia. Figures it'd be us, right?"
"Eh, it's like. Not that scary until I actually start shooting it, right?"
Her lips pressed together into a ripe-shape pout, aimed right at JL09 unlike the barrel of her gun.
(Lucille's Throwback Thursday for the day was the sudden blossom of an old memory: some party long ago, she'd been thinking about what Chris'd look like in his fanservice outfit. The tighter around the calves, the better, etc. Almost like Lucille had found the queer energy in her to start baiting the hets instead. Like, damn, talk about the character development)
SB05's gaze settled on the gun in her hand, as the firm grip on it was relaxed. Her bag rested against one hip, was supported by the opposite shoulder. She let it swallow up her gun, gingerly resting it on a cushion of show swag she had no particular intention of wearing anytime soon.
(so like, Lucille generally agreed with that particular line of thought where opening scenes in TV that weren't deaths tended to become too much sitting around where people who should've already known each other spent too long regurgitating the season teaser blurbs about their own characterizations and anticipated motivations in a roundabout way. But here she was, actually living through a scene of that sort and like... huh. The show didn't really capture the point of view of the contestants. Like, how would Lucille put it? That things were way harder to follow than they seemed from the outside looking in. Lucille knew there were physically five total people in this area of the restaurant, for example. But who was where? Voices blended together. Lucille's eyes would track back and forth to see Stokes staking territory or Chris standing there Menacingly but then other people would fall into the indistinct and blurry periphery of her vision and would become far more... concerning, foreboding than they probably seemed to the viewers staring at their screens with birds-eye view advantage)
Her hand emerged from between the zippered lips of the bag, now settled loosely around a bag of hale gold, deep-fried squid things.
(Stokes was going for that kind of strat? Settling down in one place wasn't the most uncommon strategy, but it demanded a loadout like... no, they weren't on the same team, as Lucille could tell from the scuffed but in a kinda fetching way tuck-in Stokes was doing with her bandana. Whatever Stokes was going for Lucille was likely already out by default, she guessed)
She started to eat, at a measured pace with only the littlest bits of grease whetting her fingers.
(been a while since she'd last had these. Still too salty, just like she remembered it. Big F if she had to be draining one of her Aquafinas this early on)
"Any of you gonna join her?" A humorless shrug, a brief pause to cursorily french kiss a single bit of breaded seafood, chew once, swallow.
"Maybe Chris is on your team, that might work out." It was an observation as casual as any tangent in any conversation could have been. SB05 turned to the other girl in the room that actually was on her team, raising an eyebrow. Remainder of her face remaining pleasantly inert.
"You and me, Sofia. Figures it'd be us, right?"
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
-
SansaSaver
- Posts: 197
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 9:15 pm
Sylvain batted away Sofia’s introductory statement with a suitably catty comment of his own. If she really thought about it, no, Sylvain didn’t wear cat ears too often but they were as much an affront to style as his more usual offending pieces -- the fingerless mesh gloves and flower crowns -- that it was easy to mix them all up.
But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that she hadn’t been shot dead on arrival, and that meant that she had a chance to get her footing in.
Before Sofia could add anything beyond her opening statement, they were joined by a fifth person, someone who brought with them a whirlwind of panic to the almost eerie calm their quartet had possessed. It was a little refreshing to see someone so outward about the world they’d awoken in, but it immediately sent a whole new set of variables into the room.
She blinked slowly as Chris affixed a smile to his face, a bandaid over his gushing wound of panic and stammered protests. She wondered if she should give words of comfort to him, try and assuage his fears. But it wouldn’t be genuine. And honestly? All of his fears were perfectly valid. Sofia distantly felt all of that anguish and panic as well, but for the moment they had been stuffed away in a locked box in the back of her head, and they were not being let out this early, or in such busy company as she had now.
All the same, Chris was an unknown entity. Not as familiar as Sylvain or Lucille, nor as collected as Stokely had thus far shown herself to be. She needed to keep an eye on him, especially with that gleaming blade in his hands.
Sylvain asked people’s plans, and Stokely proposed staying put. It was a tempting offer, to stay in company that was becoming steadily familiar and didn’t seem on the verge of collapse. Didn’t seem. There was a wiggle of uncertainty there, and that made the notion of remaining stationary almost as fear-inducing as venturing back outside into the potential bloodbaths occurring right outside the restaurant doors. So when Lucille asked if anybody would join them, Sofia remained tight-lipped.
Lucille then turned to address her personally for the first time, and Sofia let out a low whistle as she drew attention to their matching fuschia headwear.
Lucille was a good person to have on her team. She knew this game inside and out, whereas Sofia just had the names and loose storylines she’d memorised for idle small talk’s sake. She was confident and social too, and with that gun she held in her hands they weren’t totally screwed should the situation turn dire. And in all honesty? Lucille was the type of person Sofia didn’t want to be on the wrong side of in a life or death scenario.
So what did Sofia have to add to their alliance? She was fit, she could cook, and she liked to think she wouldn’t go down too easily in a fight. Did Lucille know anything of that?
“I think we’re a fetching duo, Lucille.”
She strode quickly to entrench herself more closely within the group, and stood at Lucille’s side. She was a whole half foot taller than her, even without heels on, and wondered who looked more intimidating in the moment -- the gun toter or the willowy giantess. She pulled her own packet of dried squid from her daypack and lifted a small handful to her mouth, chewing in unison with Lucille as she considered her next words.
“So who do we all think is gonna shoot for ten?”
But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that she hadn’t been shot dead on arrival, and that meant that she had a chance to get her footing in.
Before Sofia could add anything beyond her opening statement, they were joined by a fifth person, someone who brought with them a whirlwind of panic to the almost eerie calm their quartet had possessed. It was a little refreshing to see someone so outward about the world they’d awoken in, but it immediately sent a whole new set of variables into the room.
She blinked slowly as Chris affixed a smile to his face, a bandaid over his gushing wound of panic and stammered protests. She wondered if she should give words of comfort to him, try and assuage his fears. But it wouldn’t be genuine. And honestly? All of his fears were perfectly valid. Sofia distantly felt all of that anguish and panic as well, but for the moment they had been stuffed away in a locked box in the back of her head, and they were not being let out this early, or in such busy company as she had now.
All the same, Chris was an unknown entity. Not as familiar as Sylvain or Lucille, nor as collected as Stokely had thus far shown herself to be. She needed to keep an eye on him, especially with that gleaming blade in his hands.
Sylvain asked people’s plans, and Stokely proposed staying put. It was a tempting offer, to stay in company that was becoming steadily familiar and didn’t seem on the verge of collapse. Didn’t seem. There was a wiggle of uncertainty there, and that made the notion of remaining stationary almost as fear-inducing as venturing back outside into the potential bloodbaths occurring right outside the restaurant doors. So when Lucille asked if anybody would join them, Sofia remained tight-lipped.
Lucille then turned to address her personally for the first time, and Sofia let out a low whistle as she drew attention to their matching fuschia headwear.
Lucille was a good person to have on her team. She knew this game inside and out, whereas Sofia just had the names and loose storylines she’d memorised for idle small talk’s sake. She was confident and social too, and with that gun she held in her hands they weren’t totally screwed should the situation turn dire. And in all honesty? Lucille was the type of person Sofia didn’t want to be on the wrong side of in a life or death scenario.
So what did Sofia have to add to their alliance? She was fit, she could cook, and she liked to think she wouldn’t go down too easily in a fight. Did Lucille know anything of that?
“I think we’re a fetching duo, Lucille.”
She strode quickly to entrench herself more closely within the group, and stood at Lucille’s side. She was a whole half foot taller than her, even without heels on, and wondered who looked more intimidating in the moment -- the gun toter or the willowy giantess. She pulled her own packet of dried squid from her daypack and lifted a small handful to her mouth, chewing in unison with Lucille as she considered her next words.
“So who do we all think is gonna shoot for ten?”
-
Irina Ivanov
- Posts: 222
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:47 am
- Location: The Land Down Under
“Yeah, uh,”
Chris made sure he kept his grip on his axe tightly as he can, which was made hard because he was sweating so hard he was actually soaked. (From the heat, Chris didn't nervous sweat.) Besides, he was a Floridan, he was supposed to 420 blaze it, give an alligator a firing squad with his pals, be generally psycho, yada yada. That still didn’t make him feel any better about Luci's big metal L.
“Heh. You’re right, Lucille, maybe they even gave you a fake gun or something, hahaha, test it out on one of those little guys with anxiety or something! Give them something to be actually scared about!”
He lowered the axe slowly, as he quickly forced out the words and breathless fits of chuckles. Lucille was a friend. She wouldn’t harm Chris, even in the game where you have to kill all your buddies. Because he is her friend, they’re pals who don’t hurt each other! And besides, he was spewing out hard facts, might as well go for the wimps who can’t-
Anyways.
Everything was good, everything was fine now. Except this axe was bloody heavy. Like, carrying around the bag was hell, and it’ll probably send him there as well. (Well, heaven, but still.) Chris reversed back to his bag, which, yeah what was in this thing? Still lighter then his school bag, but do they really expect them like, carry 15 kilos around murdering people?
“Oh, I’m feeellling juuuust fine, Slyvain, tiny bit pissed that I'm-I'm uh, you know, missing out on the musical, but I'm more pissed, at maybe the fact we're on national TV and the first thing you do is pander to the furries. Are you a drama kid or a closet degenerate, seriously?"
Finishing his (last, he sweared!) light hearted quip with a smile, Chris he stood by just a little further from the group, so he could focus completely on sorting his backpack. In goes the heavy warm jacket, and on goes the sunglasses. Out goes…that (A sextant? Who even uses those), and what else could he take out? The ungodly amount of clothes. There were basic white shirts, and,
Okay. He WAS really hot and all, but Chris wasn’t that desperate.
He couldn't help but take it out for the whole restaurant and world to see. Like he was some 9 year old holding his non-existent mum's lace lingerie. Skin tight latex pants, suspenders. Bowtie collar, hat.
Chris quietly walked over to the nearest bin with his bag. Loudly trashed the sextant thing. Going against his left side of his brain, he kept the suspenders and accessories under the things he actually wanted and needed. He might need the pants later. And besides, he was never going to use or look it ever again! Look, he was walking back to the group without thinking about it. Right now.
(When did TV shows start encouraging high schoolers to wear playboy clothes)
"Setting up? What, are you turning this place into Fort Chop Suey or something? Heh, I'm in, by the way, if you need any brawn or brains, I..."
'I should shut up' was that he really should have said, but he didn't need to humiliate himself anymore, that awkward fade out was not normal Chris behaviour. Why was he not being normal chill Chris anyways? He was going to play the game, he was going to win, he was going to go home no doubt, being manic and scared and all that stuff he totally wasn't was a sissy's thing. He might have never watched the show properly, but that was fine! First, for his plan through the game, he...
Yeah about that.
Chris made sure he kept his grip on his axe tightly as he can, which was made hard because he was sweating so hard he was actually soaked. (From the heat, Chris didn't nervous sweat.) Besides, he was a Floridan, he was supposed to 420 blaze it, give an alligator a firing squad with his pals, be generally psycho, yada yada. That still didn’t make him feel any better about Luci's big metal L.
“Heh. You’re right, Lucille, maybe they even gave you a fake gun or something, hahaha, test it out on one of those little guys with anxiety or something! Give them something to be actually scared about!”
He lowered the axe slowly, as he quickly forced out the words and breathless fits of chuckles. Lucille was a friend. She wouldn’t harm Chris, even in the game where you have to kill all your buddies. Because he is her friend, they’re pals who don’t hurt each other! And besides, he was spewing out hard facts, might as well go for the wimps who can’t-
Anyways.
Everything was good, everything was fine now. Except this axe was bloody heavy. Like, carrying around the bag was hell, and it’ll probably send him there as well. (Well, heaven, but still.) Chris reversed back to his bag, which, yeah what was in this thing? Still lighter then his school bag, but do they really expect them like, carry 15 kilos around murdering people?
“Oh, I’m feeellling juuuust fine, Slyvain, tiny bit pissed that I'm-I'm uh, you know, missing out on the musical, but I'm more pissed, at maybe the fact we're on national TV and the first thing you do is pander to the furries. Are you a drama kid or a closet degenerate, seriously?"
Finishing his (last, he sweared!) light hearted quip with a smile, Chris he stood by just a little further from the group, so he could focus completely on sorting his backpack. In goes the heavy warm jacket, and on goes the sunglasses. Out goes…that (A sextant? Who even uses those), and what else could he take out? The ungodly amount of clothes. There were basic white shirts, and,
Okay. He WAS really hot and all, but Chris wasn’t that desperate.
He couldn't help but take it out for the whole restaurant and world to see. Like he was some 9 year old holding his non-existent mum's lace lingerie. Skin tight latex pants, suspenders. Bowtie collar, hat.
Chris quietly walked over to the nearest bin with his bag. Loudly trashed the sextant thing. Going against his left side of his brain, he kept the suspenders and accessories under the things he actually wanted and needed. He might need the pants later. And besides, he was never going to use or look it ever again! Look, he was walking back to the group without thinking about it. Right now.
(When did TV shows start encouraging high schoolers to wear playboy clothes)
"Setting up? What, are you turning this place into Fort Chop Suey or something? Heh, I'm in, by the way, if you need any brawn or brains, I..."
'I should shut up' was that he really should have said, but he didn't need to humiliate himself anymore, that awkward fade out was not normal Chris behaviour. Why was he not being normal chill Chris anyways? He was going to play the game, he was going to win, he was going to go home no doubt, being manic and scared and all that stuff he totally wasn't was a sissy's thing. He might have never watched the show properly, but that was fine! First, for his plan through the game, he...
Yeah about that.
Everyone shared their first impressions and their first hints of plans, Round Robin-style. Lucille and Sofia got it. They were on the same team. Same color. Years of people knowing each other, the loyalties, the drama built up? All of that could get swept right under the rug if you had the right rag tied to you. That, of course, depending on people actually being able to prioritize the teams over whatever they had going on before. Sylvain had watched the last two seasons, obviously, and the team mechanic was, uh...
Yeah, they could have thought that one through better, honestly. It was a cool gimmick; Sylvain actually didn't hate it, but the implementation was "eh." Should have gone with either the rival schools bit or the teams, not both in the same season, and definitely not twice in a row. 66 had come close enough to having a team win even despite the conflicting school loyalties, but honestly, the producers never learned anything from all the previous seasons where they had tried to do too much at once.
He guessed maybe he should ask Emmy later if Mangrove Garden was, in fact, the only school this season. Not that it mattered too much, but he'd be annoyed about it if they weren't. Nobody ever consulted him, Sylvain Nicholas Kessler of Miami, age 17, alias NARCISSUS, for some reason. Huge oversight on the part of the production team, to be honest.
"What do you mean, 'closet' degenerate?" He asked Chris, interrupting his own thoughts to tune back in to the conversation he was only half-listening to at this point. Look, they'd all seen the show, right? They knew how this part went. Unless one of the two actually armed people decided to start going ham, they were going to chat and plan and then probably mostly go their separate ways and eventually, well. Hopefully something exciting would happen, but you couldn't discount the possibility of someone just tripping off a cliff or whatever.
Sylvain had a momentary, vivid mental image of any (all) of them laying bloody and broken at the foot of a drop. He spoke over it. "I've always been like this and you know it, man."
So, Stokes had a plan. The plan was, sadly, bunkum. You know, due to the whole mental spiel that Sylvain had gone through just a minute earlier about teams and how only Lucille and Sofia were currently matchy-matchy? The one he hadn't actually gone into out loud for everyone else's benefit, but come on, he shouldn't be the only one thinking it.
"Careful" might not have been considered in Sylvain's nature, but he could be careful. When he wanted to be. Keep people on their toes, and all that. So, carefully, he reached for the bag he'd stowed underneath the table and looped his arm through the strap to pull it close. Hopefully it was evident that he wasn't actually reaching into it.
Another few moments later, and it would be even more evident that he had no reason to reach into it, as he hauled up all 30-something pounds of car battery that he'd been given. There were jumper cables too, but those were actually in the bag still. He needed both hands for the battery.
Sylvain got to his feet with a grunt, dragging up the whole arrangement along with him. "I don't want to stay here," he said. "I want to go steal a car or something. And then I'll get the ten by just running people down or something."
Flippant. Plain. Impossible. He'd already looked at the map, he knew where they were and that he'd be doing exactly nothing with a car battery, most likely. Not using it for its intended purpose, for sure.
That wasn't the part of what he had said that mattered. It was the intent, and the reaction. He didn't turn to look at Sofia, though he had answered her question. He didn't turn to look at Lucille and the gun. He just threw his words out into the world and waited for what came back.
Yeah, they could have thought that one through better, honestly. It was a cool gimmick; Sylvain actually didn't hate it, but the implementation was "eh." Should have gone with either the rival schools bit or the teams, not both in the same season, and definitely not twice in a row. 66 had come close enough to having a team win even despite the conflicting school loyalties, but honestly, the producers never learned anything from all the previous seasons where they had tried to do too much at once.
He guessed maybe he should ask Emmy later if Mangrove Garden was, in fact, the only school this season. Not that it mattered too much, but he'd be annoyed about it if they weren't. Nobody ever consulted him, Sylvain Nicholas Kessler of Miami, age 17, alias NARCISSUS, for some reason. Huge oversight on the part of the production team, to be honest.
"What do you mean, 'closet' degenerate?" He asked Chris, interrupting his own thoughts to tune back in to the conversation he was only half-listening to at this point. Look, they'd all seen the show, right? They knew how this part went. Unless one of the two actually armed people decided to start going ham, they were going to chat and plan and then probably mostly go their separate ways and eventually, well. Hopefully something exciting would happen, but you couldn't discount the possibility of someone just tripping off a cliff or whatever.
Sylvain had a momentary, vivid mental image of any (all) of them laying bloody and broken at the foot of a drop. He spoke over it. "I've always been like this and you know it, man."
So, Stokes had a plan. The plan was, sadly, bunkum. You know, due to the whole mental spiel that Sylvain had gone through just a minute earlier about teams and how only Lucille and Sofia were currently matchy-matchy? The one he hadn't actually gone into out loud for everyone else's benefit, but come on, he shouldn't be the only one thinking it.
"Careful" might not have been considered in Sylvain's nature, but he could be careful. When he wanted to be. Keep people on their toes, and all that. So, carefully, he reached for the bag he'd stowed underneath the table and looped his arm through the strap to pull it close. Hopefully it was evident that he wasn't actually reaching into it.
Another few moments later, and it would be even more evident that he had no reason to reach into it, as he hauled up all 30-something pounds of car battery that he'd been given. There were jumper cables too, but those were actually in the bag still. He needed both hands for the battery.
Sylvain got to his feet with a grunt, dragging up the whole arrangement along with him. "I don't want to stay here," he said. "I want to go steal a car or something. And then I'll get the ten by just running people down or something."
Flippant. Plain. Impossible. He'd already looked at the map, he knew where they were and that he'd be doing exactly nothing with a car battery, most likely. Not using it for its intended purpose, for sure.
That wasn't the part of what he had said that mattered. It was the intent, and the reaction. He didn't turn to look at Sofia, though he had answered her question. He didn't turn to look at Lucille and the gun. He just threw his words out into the world and waited for what came back.
Unfortunately the only predictable thing about SOTF was that you couldn't. Nobody usually started blasting fresh off sleepy gas, but it wasn't never. Quick kills happened. Sofia and Lucille had a teammate and the only gun, and Lucille was the worse of the two to have it. This right here could get bad real quick. It didn't have to take much.
Stokes was reluctant to leave, although it would be stupid to die on the hill of this specific boat. Giving up on her first three choices this fast would be a huge pain in the ass, especially if she wanted to get started as soon as possible. The longer the setup took, the harder it would be to get established. If she couldn't get established, the whole damn thing fell apart.
"Don't care about ten, or teams. Ten twice in a row was fluke. People are just gonna kill each other halfway there chasing it."
Stokes glanced at Junior, who was still being weird, but sorta, nervous weird. 'Oh shit haha I'm on SOTF' weird. Be better if he wasn't, but it was a step up from just a second ago and she trusted it more than Lucille. He was interested, too, so ...
So... hum.
Early establishment. Getting in on the ground floor. She... okay, alright. She was gonna have to take this risk, wasn't she?
"I wanna see if I can set up a service," said Stokes. "I mean, have fun finding a car or thinking about ten but I'm gonna be trying something creative, different." She shrugged. "Better than relying on a hundred to one chance, or teams that ain't worked out once yet." She looked back to Junior. "So yeah, uh, you're hired."
Stokes was reluctant to leave, although it would be stupid to die on the hill of this specific boat. Giving up on her first three choices this fast would be a huge pain in the ass, especially if she wanted to get started as soon as possible. The longer the setup took, the harder it would be to get established. If she couldn't get established, the whole damn thing fell apart.
"Don't care about ten, or teams. Ten twice in a row was fluke. People are just gonna kill each other halfway there chasing it."
Stokes glanced at Junior, who was still being weird, but sorta, nervous weird. 'Oh shit haha I'm on SOTF' weird. Be better if he wasn't, but it was a step up from just a second ago and she trusted it more than Lucille. He was interested, too, so ...
So... hum.
Early establishment. Getting in on the ground floor. She... okay, alright. She was gonna have to take this risk, wasn't she?
"I wanna see if I can set up a service," said Stokes. "I mean, have fun finding a car or thinking about ten but I'm gonna be trying something creative, different." She shrugged. "Better than relying on a hundred to one chance, or teams that ain't worked out once yet." She looked back to Junior. "So yeah, uh, you're hired."