SOTF Mini

((Ambrose Lexington: Start))

Ambrose held the chef's knife in his hand, admiring the blade. It wasn't the best weapon to get in The Program, but it was a decent draw. It meant he had a chance in close quarters, particularly if he combined it with his football strength. He could very easily trade it up for a gun or something much more intimidating.

He turned the knife over, looking at the wide side of it. He winced a bit as he realized he reflected a bit of the sun into his eye. He turned it over and blinked to deal with all the spots in his vision.

Ambrose had woken up seated at a table outside what appeared to be a cafe. The cafe, named "Tristana's," looked to be quite petite and stylized in what Ambrose was assumed was a charming Mexican way. Not that he had any real desire to appreciate it, but he was glad the people behind The Program at least had the decency to put him upright in a chair.

Ambrose had to think carefully. He was in The Program. There was a chance he'd die and all his dreams and goals would evaporate into thin air like that, or there was a chance he'd win and all his dreams and goals would evaporate into thin air because he would disappear like all the winners of the game. He had paid attention to the last game and had wondered what happened to the girl who won after she killed that vile minority girl, but either way, he needed to be careful. That girl won because she allied with the right people and waited until the last moment to play. Perhaps that would work for him too.

Ambrose looked around the street. He didn't see anyone, but hopefully some good ole Patriots would come by. Then he could focus on proving that Betsy had no reason to cry back on Announcement Day. After all, he had a pretty good knife as his weapon. He felt way better than those punks who'd get weapons like toilet paper and dildos. He actually felt powerful.

Scotty Ward was pissed off at everything. He wanted to scream and curse at everything. He wanted to trash everything that was around him. But he didn't do that. He was actually keeping a level head for once in his whole life. He hoped that he could get through this without dying like a dumbass. Ha! He doubted that. He knew that he was going to die here. There was no way he can deny it. Goddammit. Fuck The Program!

He was now walking around aimlessly without a care of where the fuck he was going. His bag was slung over his shoulders and he knew that his shitty weapon was a whip. Did those fuckers think that he had a disgusting kinky fetish over whips? He shivered at the strange thought.

All he could think about was how his Mom was doing right now. Possibly screaming and crying over the fact that he was gone. He felt a lump in his throat. He couldn't cry now. He didn't want to look like a stupid crybaby.

The redhead wiped away the tears that were slowly forming from his eyes and he felt a frown coming upon his face. Was that someone that he knew from school? Ambrose.... something, something? Great.... He really wanted to see him. Not....

"Oh.... It's you." He didn't move any closer to the other boy and he was trying to be cautious. "Wonderful fucking day, isn't it?"  

Ambrose held the tip of the knife into the surface of the faux-marble table top. He held the handle up and slowly turned the knife around, keeping it balanced like a much deadlier spinning top. He needed a plan. He couldn't just sit around playing with his knife. He needed allies and a strategy. Maybe he could turn the cafe into a shelter or a bunker.

Before he could think of anything, someone appeared and called out to him. Some ginger guy who seemed less than happy to see Ambrose. Ambrose wasn't particularly happy to see this guy since he was sure this guy could do jack for him.

Still, it was good to see where this guy fell on the Program Sanity Spectrum.

"Yes, wonderful indeed," Ambrose said.

Ambrose moved his hand onto the handle of the knife and flipped it up, resting the handle of the knife of the table and pointing the blade in the air. Now to see what this guy did next.

Scotty stared at the knife, then at Ambrose, back at the knife, back at Ambrose. His green eyes then stayed on Ambrose's face. All this close to Scotty, the other boy sure was attractive. Not that Scotty was into dudes, it was just an observant view in his eyes. Still the guy was armed and possibly dangerous. Scotty was not going to be a dumbass and attack the guy with a freaking knife!

"....Nice knife you got there. Looks like you got lucky."

Scotty didn't take his eyes off of Ambrose's face. He didn't want to miss reading the guy's expressions. He could be in some deep shit right now without even knowing it.

"....Are you planning to stab the fuck out of someone?"

Shit! Way to be fucking blunt with the guy, you dumbass?

The ginger seemed to have a good idea of how well-off Ambrose was at this moment in time. Ambrose wondered if the guy was close to pissing himself just from the sight of the chef's knife. After all, the guy assumed right away that Ambrose was plotting to kill someone or kill a lot of people. And brutally, at that.

Ambrose chuckled to himself.

"Well, I haven't quite decided yet," he said to the frightened ginger.

Ambrose stood up from his seat.

"I mean, I'm still running some options through my mind. Although..."

Ambrose flicked the knife towards the guy.

"...if you really want me to stab you to death, just let me know and I'll be pleased to oblige. I always have been known to help the unfortunate members of our class."

Scotty's felt his breath getting caught in his throat as soon as pretty boy was saying those words and he realised that he had made a mistake in approaching this guy. He let out a struggling coughing noise.

"Uh, fuck no!" He snapped as he took some steps backwards and he scrowled at the other boy. "You're crazy and out of your fucking mind!"

Run, you dumbass, run! Before he shoves his knife inside you.... Okay, maybe you are feeling a little gay for him, Scotty! But fucking run!

"I'm getting the fuck away from you, pretty boy!"

As he was running away like a coward, Scotty wished that he could take back those words. Oh well. Too fucking late now!

((Scotty Ward continued elsewhere))

Ambrose smirked as the ginger hastily made his exit from the scene. If this was how easy it would be to get through The Program, maybe Ambrose did have what it took to survive. Or, maybe, it's a barometer for what his classmates will be like when a knife is pointed at them.

"Wait! I've changed my mind!" Ambrose jokingly shouted as the guy disappeared from the area. "Welp, he's gone."

Ambrose chuckled to himself. He could enjoy this for now. Obviously, anyone with a gun would probably best Ambrose in a fight, and the ginger probably didn't have anything that great if he ran the minute the knife turned his way.

"Well, that was fun," Ambrose muttered to himself. "It's good to have fun every now and then."

Ambrose sat back down in his seat, pressing the tip of the knife against his index finger. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but he began to turn the knife so it rotated like rotisserie chicken in his hands.

Now that the ginger was gone, he needed to really decide on what to do. He grabbed his bag and stood back up. While it would be nice to enjoy "Tristana's" much longer, he needed to move out and figure out how he would survive this game.

((Ambrose Lexington continued in Where The Flower Goes To Die))