Heels drummed a beat on the sun-beaten rocks. Tiny flakes broke away from the face of the mountain and tumbled away into the abyss.
Oz stared out into space and tried to blank thought out of his mind. A rising panic, which he did his best to quell, wanted him to freak out. Scream, yell. Go nuts. Part of him just wanted to stay there, legs hanging off the edge of the mountain trail - he'd be able to see anyone coming, keep himself safe. Then there were the thoughts that said he might as well just shuffle forward a little, close his eyes and let the wind blow past him on the way down...
But Oz didn't do that. He remained anchored to his perch. He hadn't even looked inside his bag yet. He couldn't build up the nerve. In many ways, he was afraid. Not just of others, not just of being killed, but... the idea of what he might be capable of. What if there was a gun in there? Oz told himself that he would never stoop to killing somebody, but what if it were as easy as just pulling the trigger?
No. Stop it. He was being irrational. It didn't matter what he had, this whole situation was completely insane. There was no possible way that this could continue without them getting found, the guy in charge of all this caught. When they didn't show up at... the place... they were going to, the people there would surely realise - there would surely be communication. Their parents would expect phone calls, and when there was nothing but dead air, there'd be an investigation. Hell, the train not getting in on time would be noted! This couldn't work. They'd be getting rescued within the day. They had to be.
And he'd look to see the weapon - just in case, just as a precaution to make sure that he wasn't going into danger blind. If Oz had a gun, it would ward aggressive people long enough for him to explain his rescue theory...
He turned and opened the daypack.
His laughter rang out hollow.
Hope
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 10:23 pm
skrunch skrunch skrunch
M23: Start
Dusty shoes kicked along the winding path, scuffing the ground here and there, kicking up tiny showers of pebbles. Stephen made no attempt at staying quiet or unobtrusive - perhaps, indeed, he was subconsciously announcing himself. His normally-crisp, clean gait lapsed into a sort of lazy shuffle, and he did nothing to prevent the periodic grinding of rubber sole across the path. He didn't care too much for company - not on a normal day, and not now.
At least that's what he told himself.
But there he was, searching. Wandering. Walking from the middle of nowhere to the outskirts of the middle of nowhere. He knew, of course, what he was looking for, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to find it.
It wasn't long ago - hours? Days? Hours most likely, but it was hard to tell - he'd been sitting peacefully in his compartment on a train moving peacefully on its way. And now he was hoping, hoping against an inherently ludicrous idea.
He was hoping that he could find someone who wouldn't kill him.
They were supposed to kill each other. Supposedly supposed to kill each other. They'd been given weapons and everything. Except when he'd checked his pack for his gun or katana or whatever you gave kids who were supposed to kill each other, he'd found some rope. A lasso, in fact. He'd played with it a bit, trying to get it to spin over his head in a nice, open circle. It was tougher than it looked. He'd have to practice some more. But in the meantime, he was scuffing along, daring himself to peek over the sheer drop, hoping he'd find someone who knew what was going on and could explain it all to him. You didn't go off killing because some guy dropped you off with some rope and told you to go at it. It was obviously some sort of weird joke.
But that didn't explain the collar.
He swallowed. Felt the collar press against his neck. It was the only thing that really, truly didn't fit. He didn't know where it came from, or how to get it off. He didn't know if it would really kill him if he yanked on it, but the skeptic in him wasn't overwhelming his desire not to push his luck. Yet there he was, pushing his luck anyways. Trying to find someone level-headed.
The appearance of a figure out ahead told him he was about to find out if his luck would pay off.
He squinted, trying to figure out who exactly it was. Someone his size, it seemed. That was good. He moved a little closer, scrutinizing out his face, his clothing, his physique. The name came to him. Oz. Not the person, perhaps, that topped the list of people to stumble across while you were awaiting confirmation on not killing each other, but probably levelheaded enough.
"Hey."
Don't jump into asking if he's gonna kill you or whatever, cause that's totally weird, and if it's a thing he'll probably bring it up anyways.
"What's up?"
M23: Start
Dusty shoes kicked along the winding path, scuffing the ground here and there, kicking up tiny showers of pebbles. Stephen made no attempt at staying quiet or unobtrusive - perhaps, indeed, he was subconsciously announcing himself. His normally-crisp, clean gait lapsed into a sort of lazy shuffle, and he did nothing to prevent the periodic grinding of rubber sole across the path. He didn't care too much for company - not on a normal day, and not now.
At least that's what he told himself.
But there he was, searching. Wandering. Walking from the middle of nowhere to the outskirts of the middle of nowhere. He knew, of course, what he was looking for, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to find it.
It wasn't long ago - hours? Days? Hours most likely, but it was hard to tell - he'd been sitting peacefully in his compartment on a train moving peacefully on its way. And now he was hoping, hoping against an inherently ludicrous idea.
He was hoping that he could find someone who wouldn't kill him.
They were supposed to kill each other. Supposedly supposed to kill each other. They'd been given weapons and everything. Except when he'd checked his pack for his gun or katana or whatever you gave kids who were supposed to kill each other, he'd found some rope. A lasso, in fact. He'd played with it a bit, trying to get it to spin over his head in a nice, open circle. It was tougher than it looked. He'd have to practice some more. But in the meantime, he was scuffing along, daring himself to peek over the sheer drop, hoping he'd find someone who knew what was going on and could explain it all to him. You didn't go off killing because some guy dropped you off with some rope and told you to go at it. It was obviously some sort of weird joke.
But that didn't explain the collar.
He swallowed. Felt the collar press against his neck. It was the only thing that really, truly didn't fit. He didn't know where it came from, or how to get it off. He didn't know if it would really kill him if he yanked on it, but the skeptic in him wasn't overwhelming his desire not to push his luck. Yet there he was, pushing his luck anyways. Trying to find someone level-headed.
The appearance of a figure out ahead told him he was about to find out if his luck would pay off.
He squinted, trying to figure out who exactly it was. Someone his size, it seemed. That was good. He moved a little closer, scrutinizing out his face, his clothing, his physique. The name came to him. Oz. Not the person, perhaps, that topped the list of people to stumble across while you were awaiting confirmation on not killing each other, but probably levelheaded enough.
"Hey."
Don't jump into asking if he's gonna kill you or whatever, cause that's totally weird, and if it's a thing he'll probably bring it up anyways.
"What's up?"
Oz was still turning the skates over and over in his hands when somebody called out at him, sending his heart slamming against his chest.
He looked around and saw a familiar face. In a town as small as Alderbrook, even somebody as withdrawn as Oz knew most everyone that went to his school. Oz maybe didn't know them well, but he could put faces to names. Stephen. Stephen Brown. He ran track. That was pretty much the extent of what Oz could say. Was he likely to flip out, was he likely to lose his head? Anybody's guess, although Oz liked to think that there would be other people taking all of this semi-logically.
"Thinking," Oz's voice was quite quiet. This situation hadn't broken him of that. He supposed though, that now was as good a time as any to share his theory. Maybe another head would point out potential flaws - or maybe help him spread it around, if it was good. "There's no way this can really work. They'll know when the train doesn't arrive at... when it doesn't arrive, that something's wrong. You don't just grab fifty people and have nobody notice. If we just wait long enough, somebody will come along and help," Oz laid the skates down next to him on the ledge. "There's just no way we could have fallen straight off everyone's grid."
Vocalising it made him feel better. It wasn't wild hope, it was solid, there was reasoning behind it. They'd be reported missing, and then someone would find them. Police, military. It had to happen.
He looked around and saw a familiar face. In a town as small as Alderbrook, even somebody as withdrawn as Oz knew most everyone that went to his school. Oz maybe didn't know them well, but he could put faces to names. Stephen. Stephen Brown. He ran track. That was pretty much the extent of what Oz could say. Was he likely to flip out, was he likely to lose his head? Anybody's guess, although Oz liked to think that there would be other people taking all of this semi-logically.
"Thinking," Oz's voice was quite quiet. This situation hadn't broken him of that. He supposed though, that now was as good a time as any to share his theory. Maybe another head would point out potential flaws - or maybe help him spread it around, if it was good. "There's no way this can really work. They'll know when the train doesn't arrive at... when it doesn't arrive, that something's wrong. You don't just grab fifty people and have nobody notice. If we just wait long enough, somebody will come along and help," Oz laid the skates down next to him on the ledge. "There's just no way we could have fallen straight off everyone's grid."
Vocalising it made him feel better. It wasn't wild hope, it was solid, there was reasoning behind it. They'd be reported missing, and then someone would find them. Police, military. It had to happen.
Stephen nodded at Oz's response. It seemed sane enough. They were gone long enough that someone had to have noticed, by now. Of course, the chances of actually finding them probably weren't all that strong, considering no one knew where they were, exactly, and they had no way of communicating with people outside. But Stephen wasn't considering that. People would notice that they hadn't arrived, and once that happened, the rescue wouldn't be far off.
"Yeah, I hear you. We just gotta be cool about this."
Stephen shrugged and leaned back on his heels. Slowly, he turned his head towards the sky. "I mean, I don't have a clue about where we are, but we obviously took a train here. And train tracks aren't exactly remote, or anything, so...someone could probably just follow those and find us, right?" He nodded, finding sense in all of this. "I don't anyone's gonna start flipping out early. I mean, we're all friends. It doesn't make sense. So, if everyone keeps calm, then we'll all be alright."
Of course, Stephen wouldn't last long enough to actually know if he was right or not.
Stephen had some bad habits, but his worst was his ability to simply not notice things. Most of the time he could deal with this, seeing as he rarely lost focus enough to harm himself or others.
Most times, Stephen was not standing on a mountain's edge.
Slowly, he rolled back on his heels again, shaking his head. He realized only a second too late that his left heel was no longer actually on the ground. He stumbled backwards, arms flailing out to steady himself. He hadn't even noticed how close he'd gotten to the edge, how his heel had just rolled straight off the side.
Unfortunately, the flailing only pitched him backwards more. His foot came completely off the edge of the cliff, and was quickly followed by the entire left side of his body. His right foot pulled off the ground, and before he could even blink, Stephen was hurtling off the side of the mountain.
He didn't even have the time to register what was happening. All he could do was blink twice more, before the ground broke his fall, his spine, and his neck.
M23- STEPHEN BROWN: DECEASED.
"Yeah, I hear you. We just gotta be cool about this."
Stephen shrugged and leaned back on his heels. Slowly, he turned his head towards the sky. "I mean, I don't have a clue about where we are, but we obviously took a train here. And train tracks aren't exactly remote, or anything, so...someone could probably just follow those and find us, right?" He nodded, finding sense in all of this. "I don't anyone's gonna start flipping out early. I mean, we're all friends. It doesn't make sense. So, if everyone keeps calm, then we'll all be alright."
Of course, Stephen wouldn't last long enough to actually know if he was right or not.
Stephen had some bad habits, but his worst was his ability to simply not notice things. Most of the time he could deal with this, seeing as he rarely lost focus enough to harm himself or others.
Most times, Stephen was not standing on a mountain's edge.
Slowly, he rolled back on his heels again, shaking his head. He realized only a second too late that his left heel was no longer actually on the ground. He stumbled backwards, arms flailing out to steady himself. He hadn't even noticed how close he'd gotten to the edge, how his heel had just rolled straight off the side.
Unfortunately, the flailing only pitched him backwards more. His foot came completely off the edge of the cliff, and was quickly followed by the entire left side of his body. His right foot pulled off the ground, and before he could even blink, Stephen was hurtling off the side of the mountain.
He didn't even have the time to register what was happening. All he could do was blink twice more, before the ground broke his fall, his spine, and his neck.
M23- STEPHEN BROWN: DECEASED.
Oz just stared.
Had that... had that really just happened?
Yes, yes it had.
Numbly, Oz stood up (carefully), and hugging the wall of the canyon that the path was cut into, made his way out.
((Oz Stevenson continued in Hope's End))
Had that... had that really just happened?
Yes, yes it had.
Numbly, Oz stood up (carefully), and hugging the wall of the canyon that the path was cut into, made his way out.
((Oz Stevenson continued in Hope's End))