(Any GModding is approved)
"Hmm, use the oar to get down Pepper's bag? Sounds like a plan if I've heard one."
So Patrick went over to Ramona's oar, picked it up and tested its weight. It was a lot heavier than Patrick was expecting and he briefly wondered how Ramona had managed to carry the thing all the way out to where they were. He lifted the oar, and grabbed the end of it, pointing the paddle at the backpack. Unfortunately, this also caused most of the weight to be on the top part, making it hard to hold. Grunting, Patrick swung the oar... missing the backpack.
"Damn," he muttered.
He tried to swing the oar again but missed.
"Crap!"
What happened next was a ten-minute lesson in trial-and-error adhoc oar-swinging. He even tried throwing the oar, to no avail. Patrick half-seriously wished that he'd taken baseball or javelin throwing rather than track for once in his life.
After another minute, Patrick finally managed to score a hit on the backpack, unceremoniously causing it to fall to the ground with a big "thump".
"Haw yeah! Let's here it for Patrick, oar-swinger extraordinaire!" He exclaimed, sweating from having to swing the thing for so long. However, he quickly noticed that no one was clapping. He made a disappointed face before handing the oar to Benny. "Here, you hold this thing," he mumbled.
Patrick glanced at Pepper, who was looking apathetic, almost humiliated. By some token, Patrick realized that he must've come off as a massive asshole when he asked the others who wanted to "take her", treating her like some animal. Plus the fact that he was basically gloating about the fact that he rescued her backpack.
He glanced at the others for a second before saying, "Um, how about I take Pepper, yeah? I'll take her for a walk-er, I mean escort her around town. Sound good?"
Patrick took the initiative and grabbed Pepper's hand, dragging her off somewhere else. "We'll meet up with you guys here later, okay? Mark the ground or something so we don't forget!" Patrick shouted back as he walked off, Pepper in tow.
(Patrick Reynolds continued in From Where You're Kneeling)
I Can Hear the Bells
F23 Start, Open
-
Cash Money*
- Posts: 58
- Joined: Tue Aug 21, 2018 4:14 am
Benny looked on, bemused by Patrick's attempts to get the backpack down. He tried to think of an apt comparison to what he was doing. Nothing came to mind (at least nothing that wouldn't be a stretch or horribly inappropriate), and as it became clear that no progress was being made, he sat down on a nearby stretch of sidewalk made of boards.
His right hand absentmindedly tapped out piano exercises while he reached for his pistol with his left. He checked the various components of his oddly shaped firearm while his anxiety jumped from hand to foot, intently tapping out the SOS he was unwilling to acknowledge he wanted to send. Safety? Yep, that worked. That weird wooden case that came with it? Yep, it fit. He slid the top back and tried pushing a clip in - it was harder than expected, but it worked. He was really scared now. Why would that idiot give them real, working weapons? Somebody could get hurt.
He heard Patrick announce that he'd finally gotten it down. He made sure the safety was on, stuffed it in the wooden case, and then stuffed it in his backpack as quickly as he could. No way was he going to get trigger happy. Guns were pretty funny in the movies he watched. The rookie cop would be all, "How does this thing work?" And then they'd accidentally shoot themselves in the ass, and then their partner would have to put some hot sauce on it (because that apparently that disinfects stuff in a pinch or something) and then more hilarity ensued. But he took a look at the people in front of him - they weren't playing roles, and this wasn't a buddy comedy. They were actual buddies of his, who he cared about, and he'd rather not have to break out the hot sauce on them if he could help it.
Patrick gave Benny his oar, which he passed to Ramona. He then tripped over his words, and Benny realized exactly what he was thinking. "Don't dig yourself too deep a hole there, buddy. You clearly can't paddle your way out of it." He cringed at his own mixed metaphor, then realized he had something else to say before Ramona and he took off. "Hey, when you guys are done, let's meet back here at the pole!"
((Benny Lightfield and Ramona Shirley continued in The Good, The Bad, and the Ohmigodwhatthefuck))
His right hand absentmindedly tapped out piano exercises while he reached for his pistol with his left. He checked the various components of his oddly shaped firearm while his anxiety jumped from hand to foot, intently tapping out the SOS he was unwilling to acknowledge he wanted to send. Safety? Yep, that worked. That weird wooden case that came with it? Yep, it fit. He slid the top back and tried pushing a clip in - it was harder than expected, but it worked. He was really scared now. Why would that idiot give them real, working weapons? Somebody could get hurt.
He heard Patrick announce that he'd finally gotten it down. He made sure the safety was on, stuffed it in the wooden case, and then stuffed it in his backpack as quickly as he could. No way was he going to get trigger happy. Guns were pretty funny in the movies he watched. The rookie cop would be all, "How does this thing work?" And then they'd accidentally shoot themselves in the ass, and then their partner would have to put some hot sauce on it (because that apparently that disinfects stuff in a pinch or something) and then more hilarity ensued. But he took a look at the people in front of him - they weren't playing roles, and this wasn't a buddy comedy. They were actual buddies of his, who he cared about, and he'd rather not have to break out the hot sauce on them if he could help it.
Patrick gave Benny his oar, which he passed to Ramona. He then tripped over his words, and Benny realized exactly what he was thinking. "Don't dig yourself too deep a hole there, buddy. You clearly can't paddle your way out of it." He cringed at his own mixed metaphor, then realized he had something else to say before Ramona and he took off. "Hey, when you guys are done, let's meet back here at the pole!"
((Benny Lightfield and Ramona Shirley continued in The Good, The Bad, and the Ohmigodwhatthefuck))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cash Money. 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.
Pepper anxiously wringed her hands as she waited for Patrick to retrieve her bag. She desperately needed something to do with her hands, lest they retreat back up into her sleeve with their ill-will toward her arm hair. She couldn’t do it now, though, not while all eyes were on her.
It was her secret.
Her shame.
Nobody else could know.
Pepper’s eyes darted over to Benny, positive that he’d heard what she was thinking and in the process of silently crucifying her. Instead, he was seated on the neglected, splintered sidewalk idly thumbing a gun. For a moment, she was positive her heart would explode, splattering a portrait of gore across the broken down houses. Instinctively she took a step away, eyes still trained on the gun in Benny’s hands.
It made everything seem more real, in a sense. Not that the collar around her neck wasn’t reminder enough, but seeing a gun for the first time in real life proved just how real the situation was.
She stopped herself from retreating into her sleeve.
Her secret shame.
They couldn’t know.
"Um, how about I take Pepper, yeah? I'll take her for a walk-er, I mean escort her around town. Sound good?"
Pepper broke from her trance, batting away the beginnings of tears as she looked over toward Patrick, whom was holding her bag out to her. Graciously, albeit with a shade of humiliation, she took her bag and hugged it to her chest, not even minding the fact that Patrick had just offered to walk her.
At least they’d be away from the danger.
She recoiled slightly as he took her hand, but still followed suit. Quickly, she glanced behind her at the other two theatre kids, solemnly wondering if she’d see them again.
Or if she wanted to, really.
It was her secret.
Her shame.
Nobody else could know.
Pepper’s eyes darted over to Benny, positive that he’d heard what she was thinking and in the process of silently crucifying her. Instead, he was seated on the neglected, splintered sidewalk idly thumbing a gun. For a moment, she was positive her heart would explode, splattering a portrait of gore across the broken down houses. Instinctively she took a step away, eyes still trained on the gun in Benny’s hands.
It made everything seem more real, in a sense. Not that the collar around her neck wasn’t reminder enough, but seeing a gun for the first time in real life proved just how real the situation was.
She stopped herself from retreating into her sleeve.
Her secret shame.
They couldn’t know.
"Um, how about I take Pepper, yeah? I'll take her for a walk-er, I mean escort her around town. Sound good?"
Pepper broke from her trance, batting away the beginnings of tears as she looked over toward Patrick, whom was holding her bag out to her. Graciously, albeit with a shade of humiliation, she took her bag and hugged it to her chest, not even minding the fact that Patrick had just offered to walk her.
At least they’d be away from the danger.
She recoiled slightly as he took her hand, but still followed suit. Quickly, she glanced behind her at the other two theatre kids, solemnly wondering if she’d see them again.
Or if she wanted to, really.
** Pepper Clarke, female no. 23, continued in... From Where You're Kneeling