ES01: ALASKA FERGUSON: START
Okay so, to break it down. She had been taken from school. Ganked, in a very literal sense, as she and Laura were sneaking around the back of the school to go smoke a joint. They'd walked outside, turned the corner, and whoops official-looking dude in a suit and a guy with sunglasses and the implicit threat of a gun.
Transported to a set, broadcasting live from an undisclosed location, and sat in front of a screen to be greeted by fucking Emmy. That was some bullshit. Then she got gassed and woke up lying in the dark on some cold-ass metal. Yeah, excellent, great day of school, fucking killer...poor word choice.
Alright, she could do this. It was Survival of the Fittest. She loved Survival of the Fittest, she'd watched every season. She knew how the game was played. Whatever she had she could work with. It wasn't so hard. She was on a team and if she found the rest of them they could work something out, or she could find Laura and they could work something out. That was probably a better option. Yeah.
So what was in her bag? Alaska tore through the contents. Seaweed? squid?? oyster crackers??? Subway (alright), Captain Morgans (hell yes). A condom...which uh no...well...maybe. A screwdriver. A first aid kit. A flashlight. Wait a minute. A screwdriver? Oh, that was her weapon. Oh
Shit.
Alright, that was fine. She could still work with that. Y'know maybe, if she got lucky.
The rest of the bag was clothes. A white tank-top, white track pants, a white Roxy t-shirt with a pastel Mount Fuji design, a white bikini and...a sexy panda costume. It was basically a fluffy one-piece with leg-warmers and a hood.
Y'know, she'd expected worse on that front.
With a sigh Alaska tied her bandana over her head, setting the knot at the front. Then she turned her attention to her surroundings. At first, she'd thought she was in a room with a metal floor, which would have been weird. But as it turned out, the whole room was made of metal, which honestly, was weirder.
Standing up, Alaska packed all her items back into the dark navy backpack she'd been left with, everything besides the screwdriver. The lights gently flickered as she moved through the doorway and into a metal corridor, and what the fuck lads? Why was everything in the place metal?
As Alaska walked through the metal tube she seemed to have been placed in, she wondered if she needed to call out for someone but decided against it. She didn't want to startle anyone and get shot. She also realized she could hear water lapping against the metal on the outside of her location and she was on a submarine wasn't she?
That meant there had to be one of those surface checking things. The one that popped up above the water.
Eventually, she came to a room that looked vaguely control center-ish. In the middle was a weird upside-down T looking thing that seemed like the thing she wanted.
Stepping closer Alaska decided to take a peek through the device to see if she could spy on the outside world.
Live From The Bottom
Day 1 - Game Start - Open
((CK06: Dale Hawthorne: START))
This was not supposed to be his television debut.
Dale Hawthorne had woken up in a hall of the submarine, his body shoved in a crevice between some pipes. He had to stand and work out a whole ton of kinks in his body before he could even bother to take stock of what he had. He had the typical stuff, and he found the bandanna that signified him as Team Claudia. But there was another bandanna. And another. And another. And another. And several more. And a sequin jumpsuit. He had been thrown into a death game and was given nothing but useless fabric. It was too dark to really make the bandannas out, but he was able to figure out which was the one that wouldn't kill him, and thus it was now fashioned into a cuff around his wrist.
Dale began to pace slowly down the halls. He still hadn't gotten a great idea where he was or what his odds of survival were. He needed to get outside of this boat or wherever he was.
As he walked, Dale thought about what was next. Invitacion al amor was supposed to start filming over the summer. He had some table reads coming up. Those were all probably cancelled. Even if he survived, he would probably be too fucked up to actually star as the sexy Mateo. They were probably going to recast him. Probably hire that asshole Diego Viridiana instead. Ugh.
So now what did he have to look forward to? His life was officially ruined, only better if he could actually survive. All he'd be known for was this dumbass reality show, which is where you go if you don't actually think your acting career could survive. It's not like he was Jamie Chung. Not everyone could be like Jamie Chung. Was his career dead because he was unwillingly cast on this shitty program?
The hall led into a more open room. Dale was on a lower level of the room, and it looked like someone was higher up and moving. He couldn't make out who exactly it was, but he figured it couldn't hurt to be cautious.
"Hey," he called out. "Where the fuck are we? And are you Team Claudia?"
This was not supposed to be his television debut.
Dale Hawthorne had woken up in a hall of the submarine, his body shoved in a crevice between some pipes. He had to stand and work out a whole ton of kinks in his body before he could even bother to take stock of what he had. He had the typical stuff, and he found the bandanna that signified him as Team Claudia. But there was another bandanna. And another. And another. And another. And several more. And a sequin jumpsuit. He had been thrown into a death game and was given nothing but useless fabric. It was too dark to really make the bandannas out, but he was able to figure out which was the one that wouldn't kill him, and thus it was now fashioned into a cuff around his wrist.
Dale began to pace slowly down the halls. He still hadn't gotten a great idea where he was or what his odds of survival were. He needed to get outside of this boat or wherever he was.
As he walked, Dale thought about what was next. Invitacion al amor was supposed to start filming over the summer. He had some table reads coming up. Those were all probably cancelled. Even if he survived, he would probably be too fucked up to actually star as the sexy Mateo. They were probably going to recast him. Probably hire that asshole Diego Viridiana instead. Ugh.
So now what did he have to look forward to? His life was officially ruined, only better if he could actually survive. All he'd be known for was this dumbass reality show, which is where you go if you don't actually think your acting career could survive. It's not like he was Jamie Chung. Not everyone could be like Jamie Chung. Was his career dead because he was unwillingly cast on this shitty program?
The hall led into a more open room. Dale was on a lower level of the room, and it looked like someone was higher up and moving. He couldn't make out who exactly it was, but he figured it couldn't hurt to be cautious.
"Hey," he called out. "Where the fuck are we? And are you Team Claudia?"
G014: Mayumi Tendou
ES07 - START
Steel.
The floor was steel, and cold. Hurt to wake up on, though someone had placed a duffel bag underneath his head as a makeshift pillow.
The walls were steel, too. Also metal. Musty cots lined the walls, and the floor was little more than a narrow set of metal grates.
The ceiling was within reach, strangely enough.
A confined space.
It was damp in this place, and unnervingly quiet.
In a panic, Larry had felt around his surroundings, hoping in vain to get his bearings in the pitch black room. After a few moments, memories of what had happened came flooding back.
SOTF-TV. It was their turn. Not getting swept up in the fandom for the program didn’t make it any less likely that he’d get actually swept up in it, though Larry let himself believe that ever since he first saw the footage. He privately rehearsed debates between himself and a mental strawman about all the reasons why it was wrong, why it reflected deep social ills, why it was this and that and the other evil thing. Reason didn’t really account for its existence though, and reason wasn’t what he turned to in order to allay fears of what would happen if one day, it was their turn to participate. Selective interpretations of statistics and the comfortable delusion that bad things like that happen to other people.
They showed up while he was writing in his notebook, towards the edge of the school’s property. He liked handwriting, it had a deliberate nature to it that forced little pauses, moments to look up and think about what he was going to write down. The adventurers in his D&D group were headed on a long journey, and he’d started to sketch a couple of random encounters.
A pair of brigands approached Sir Laurence while he was resting at a crossroads. One small, beady-eyed. The other large, broad, and well-armed. In their eyes burned the fires of malice; the gallant knight-errant suspected devilry. According to the oafish one, the Sovereign demanded Laurence’s participation in a grand tournament. By the laws of the land, he had to participate. They possessed greater strength of arms than he, and Sir Laurence was in no position to refuse. A swift invocation from the impish one tore him from the land of the waking, into a deep and dreamless sleep.
He listened to the presenters, halfheartedly at first. It was hard to imagine having the stomach to participate in any of this. Before long, he was listening intently. Not to the facilitators, though. Larry was hanging on Emmy’s every word.
She was as much an unwilling participant as they were. She was sorry. She didn’t want them to kill, but she wanted them to stay alive.
Another comfortable delusion, no doubt.
He got why she felt that way, even if Larry didn’t really know her. Most people didn’t want to have to kill. Still, it was hard not to feel some resentment at how their supposed “mentor” was just as ill-prepared as the rest of them.
Blood sport only appeals to masses content that they themselves aren’t expected to participate. The thrill of combat, without the risk. Detestable. Of course she’d react like that.
Occasionally he’d gotten the sense that they might have some common interests. Or at least, they were both social outcasts and would potentially both be into the kinds of things that social outcasts were into. Nevertheless, building bridges across social gulfs wasn’t his strong suit, and he’d never made an attempt to, in her case.
Now he was expected to trust her, and whoever else he had the good fortune to be teamed up with. Trust in the system, the process, the hope that he’d survive and possibly even profit off of his involvement in this farce. Larry sighed, pulling himself back up again from the steel floor. Dying, naturally, didn’t appeal to him. Killing, less so. Saving people, perhaps, if he really had it in himself to do so. Judging from how he’d wept openly at the feeling of shackles on his wrists and ankles, he wasn’t so sure. He felt bad for judging Emmy’s reaction so quickly.
“I serve my Gods, and they only demand I draw my sword in defense of the innocent.”
“They do not govern our lands. The Sovereign’s word is law - ‘Sir’ Laurence must fight! For glory, for his Gods, or for himself. It does not matter. He will fight, or he will perish.”
The daypack was anything but a comfortable rest for his head, given the semi-rigid nature of its contents. The flashlight was mercifully packed last, and easy enough to find after a few frustrating attempts at unzipping the cheap material.
Switching it on, Larry found himself in what wasn’t a room, so much as a section of a hallway. Two bulkheads a short distance apart separated the small, cramped space from what he assumed to be the rest of the vessel. One of the ships they’d been shown - the lower decks, it looked like. Larry shone the flashlight on himself, noting the white bandana tied around his wrist. He thought back to Emmy, to her message to the team. They all had a little white flag to wave in surrender.
“I stand proudly abreast the banner of peace.”
Not surrender. Not if Larry had anything to say about it.
He shone the light down towards the daypack, which seemed replete with all kinds of supplies, as well as team-coloured clothing. A small metal disc lay next to the pack. Larry adjusted his glasses, before reaching down to examine it. Turning it over in his hand, he realized it had a handle on the back.
“A buckler! A fine auxiliary weapon, and often underestimated. A knight cannot merely focus on his offensive capabilities, after all.”
Larry smirked, happy at least to have received something he had some idea how to use. Typically his HEMA group sparred with small shields, and this was only slightly heavier. A sword would’ve been more useful, if he was intent on using lethal force.
I am not.
So the buckler would do; it fit how he’d try to approach all of this - defensively. Fight to protect his teammates. Save whoever he could. Larry tested the weight of it in his hand, adopting the stance he was familiar with, the flashlight in place of a practice sword. Made a practice jab at the open air.
“Woe to those who would do harm to those I’ve sworn to protect.”
Bucklers were often used the same way one might use brass knuckles. Blunt instruments were important when your adversaries were wearing plate armor. For a moment, Larry thought of bruises he’d received from glancing blows, an unavoidable mistake when sparring with such things. He thought about what this heavy, metal disc would do to exposed skin. What the impact would sound like.
The air suddenly felt clammy. His hands dropped limply to his sides.
“Ugh, crap. Who am I kidding?”
Larry swallowed the bile in his throat, and took a deep breath. The air even tasted of metal. The more he thought about how it smelled and tasted, how it looked in the dim light, the more it seemed like a tomb. He'd never been anywhere like this before. Not in real life. The image of it, though? That much was familiar.
“On me, my comrades-in-arms! We have nothing to fear from the darkness!"
Gathering his things, Larry switched the flashlight to the same hand holding the buckler, so as to have a hand free. There were two bulkhead doors on either side of him. Didn’t much matter which one he picked, he supposed. Approaching one of the heavy steel doors, he gripped the wheel in the center and turned it. It didn't budge at first, though it did make an awful creaking noise. Attempting to turn it in the other direction, he felt the mechanism give and the door slowly, loudly swung open.
There were voices not far ahead of him; he switched off the flashlight and slowly approached, buckler at the ready.
SOTF: U
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 375
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
((MM06: CRISTOBAL VELAZQUEZ - Begin.))
The sun was the first thing Cristobal was aware of. A hazy orange-red orb burning through his eyelids and demanding he look away. It took a few more seconds for everything else to come into focus. The dryness in his mouth, the feel of wood underneath his back, the smell of salt in the air - Enough wrong to jolt him from rolling over onto his side to scrambling to his feet.
Shaking hands met a numb face. He had memories of being there for the introductions. He remembered faces talking at him. His hands ran back through his hair. He couldn't remember a fucking thing they'd said. He dug the heels of his palms into the side of his head. Tears welled in his eyes. A foot lashed out and came in contact with something that gave underneath it.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
An angry glare registered it as his bag a few moments later, 06 written clearly on the side of it. A few moments of laboured breathing, and blinking the tears out of his eyes later, he kneeled down beside it and unzipped the top. Something black lay oblique atop a myriad of items packed neatly at right angles, and his hand immediately reached in for it. He could tell what it was before he even got it out into the sunlight as his hand fit around the metal grip, index finger gingerly sticking out and away from the trigger. It was a tiny pistol, smaller than his hand, and light enough that it felt like a toy. He couldn't believe something like this could kill someone.
Maybe it couldn't.
It went into his pocket either way, and he zipped the bag back together, hoisting it up with him as he stood up and scanned the horizon nervously. If he'd gotten that, chances were, someone else could have something better. And if he was waking up, other people would be as well. Suddenly, the cool breeze of the wind didn't remind him of lazy days at the beach any more, it reminded him of how terribly exposed he was lying on the top of the submarine. He got the feeling that someone was watching him, although no matter how hard he squinted into the distance, he couldn't make out the silhouettes of anyone.
And if they were hiding, well - He probably should, too, right?
He walked over to the hatch, nervously testing the ladder to make sure it wasn't going to give way under his weight, before beginning his descent into the thing.
The sun was the first thing Cristobal was aware of. A hazy orange-red orb burning through his eyelids and demanding he look away. It took a few more seconds for everything else to come into focus. The dryness in his mouth, the feel of wood underneath his back, the smell of salt in the air - Enough wrong to jolt him from rolling over onto his side to scrambling to his feet.
Shaking hands met a numb face. He had memories of being there for the introductions. He remembered faces talking at him. His hands ran back through his hair. He couldn't remember a fucking thing they'd said. He dug the heels of his palms into the side of his head. Tears welled in his eyes. A foot lashed out and came in contact with something that gave underneath it.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
An angry glare registered it as his bag a few moments later, 06 written clearly on the side of it. A few moments of laboured breathing, and blinking the tears out of his eyes later, he kneeled down beside it and unzipped the top. Something black lay oblique atop a myriad of items packed neatly at right angles, and his hand immediately reached in for it. He could tell what it was before he even got it out into the sunlight as his hand fit around the metal grip, index finger gingerly sticking out and away from the trigger. It was a tiny pistol, smaller than his hand, and light enough that it felt like a toy. He couldn't believe something like this could kill someone.
Maybe it couldn't.
It went into his pocket either way, and he zipped the bag back together, hoisting it up with him as he stood up and scanned the horizon nervously. If he'd gotten that, chances were, someone else could have something better. And if he was waking up, other people would be as well. Suddenly, the cool breeze of the wind didn't remind him of lazy days at the beach any more, it reminded him of how terribly exposed he was lying on the top of the submarine. He got the feeling that someone was watching him, although no matter how hard he squinted into the distance, he couldn't make out the silhouettes of anyone.
And if they were hiding, well - He probably should, too, right?
He walked over to the hatch, nervously testing the ladder to make sure it wasn't going to give way under his weight, before beginning his descent into the thing.
Aww yeah baby, she was gathering intel like a pro. It turned out that the periscope was already set up to see out at what she guessed was the entrance to the sub, and as it turned out there was a boy up there gathering up his belongings. He also was carrying what appeared to be a gun. If Alaska had to guess—and she did—it looked like Cristobel Velaquez? Yeah, she was pretty sure that was the right surname. He took stock of his weapon and his stuff then made his way over to the ladder she assumed led down to the bowels of the sub with the rest of them and began his descent.
That was useful information! Look at her Survival of the Fittest pro over here.
Meanwhile, as Alaska was patting herself on the back for her good work someone called out to her from nearby, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin.
"Jesus Christ!" She yelped, smacking the back of her wrist on part of the periscope as she visibly jumped. "Holy shit dude! You can't just creep up on people like that, goddamn."
Oh great, it was Dale. She remembered him from that time in the bubble tea shop where Laura had posted on Alaska's Twitter about how she loved to suck toes. Good times. The part about Dale that stuck in her memory, besides Laura knocking his bubble tea over, was that he was rude to them for no real reason.
"Uh..." Alaska began, rubbing the back of her right wrist with her other hand. That was gonna bruise for sure. "We're on a submarine and uh...no?"
She was definitely not on Team Claudia.
That was useful information! Look at her Survival of the Fittest pro over here.
Meanwhile, as Alaska was patting herself on the back for her good work someone called out to her from nearby, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin.
"Jesus Christ!" She yelped, smacking the back of her wrist on part of the periscope as she visibly jumped. "Holy shit dude! You can't just creep up on people like that, goddamn."
Oh great, it was Dale. She remembered him from that time in the bubble tea shop where Laura had posted on Alaska's Twitter about how she loved to suck toes. Good times. The part about Dale that stuck in her memory, besides Laura knocking his bubble tea over, was that he was rude to them for no real reason.
"Uh..." Alaska began, rubbing the back of her right wrist with her other hand. That was gonna bruise for sure. "We're on a submarine and uh...no?"
She was definitely not on Team Claudia.
Dale's face fell as soon as he heard who it was who was at the periscope. "Baked" Alaska Ferguson. She and her dumbass friend had annoyed him at Alli's that one time, and he quite frankly never found his opinion of either girl going up after that. Of course she'd be the first person to see here. He was already in the barrel's scrapings of the entertainment industry, so why not run into that stupid-ass girl first?
"Ok, thanks," Dale said in reply to Alaska answering his questions.
Dale made his way over to where Alaska was standing. He walked up some steps and found himself at the periscope. Alaska had said they were in a submarine. He had to admit that that was pretty nuts. He knew SOTF was set in some pretty weird places, but an entire game in a submarine? How big was this submarine?
Wait, no. It probably wasn't the whole arena. That would be stupid.
Even stupider was telling this unpredictable girl what team he was on and discovering that she was not on it. Especially since he basically only had hankies and sequins to fight with if things got rough. Still, best thing to do would be to put on that camera-ready smile and charm of his to at least get off this sub without being Alaska's first victim.
"Well, this really sucks. Have you seen anyone else since waking up? I'm hoping to find some friends."
Who were those friends? Dale was quickly coming up with a list of names in his mind so he could dispense them when asked, because he sure as hell didn't have many to choose from and didn't know if any of them would be people who disliked Alaska as much as he did.
"Ok, thanks," Dale said in reply to Alaska answering his questions.
Dale made his way over to where Alaska was standing. He walked up some steps and found himself at the periscope. Alaska had said they were in a submarine. He had to admit that that was pretty nuts. He knew SOTF was set in some pretty weird places, but an entire game in a submarine? How big was this submarine?
Wait, no. It probably wasn't the whole arena. That would be stupid.
Even stupider was telling this unpredictable girl what team he was on and discovering that she was not on it. Especially since he basically only had hankies and sequins to fight with if things got rough. Still, best thing to do would be to put on that camera-ready smile and charm of his to at least get off this sub without being Alaska's first victim.
"Well, this really sucks. Have you seen anyone else since waking up? I'm hoping to find some friends."
Who were those friends? Dale was quickly coming up with a list of names in his mind so he could dispense them when asked, because he sure as hell didn't have many to choose from and didn't know if any of them would be people who disliked Alaska as much as he did.
G014: Mayumi Tendou
Imagining he'd be able to approach the others in the – submarine, it turned out – to think he'd be able to approach them silently was perhaps a little bit ambitious. Larry wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to try and be sneaky, other than that it seemed like the thing one ought to do in a situation like this. The last thing he wanted to do was stumble into a situation he couldn't at least try to stumble out of.
Pausing for a moment, he listened to what was being said. Making friends here wasn't a bad idea, even if it was too late. He straightened up, moving to approach what looked like the command center of the submarine.
Briefly, Larry's eyes fell to the white bandana wrapped around his free wrist.
"Which standard do they carry, I wonder?"
"Hey, are you-"
He had gotten no more than a few steps onto the bridge before being quite soundly interrupted by the feeling of his head striking metal. This place was not built for someone his size.
"Ow! God – damnit."
Pressing his free hand against the top of his head, Larry was relieved at least to find it wasn't bleeding. Larry looked to the others, realizing their names barely registered to him – the guy was Dave, or Dale, or some other kind of D name - the girl he knew was named after a state but couldn't quite remember.
Dakota?
That didn't seem right. Introductions were in order, lest he made even more of an ass of himself. Larry waved with the hand he carried the buckler in, before stopping as he realized it could be construed as brandishing it.
"Uhh, hi. Sorry. It's Larry Clifford. Not into this – this game. Never was. Ow, Christ that hurt. Makin' friends, are we?"
Pausing for a moment, he listened to what was being said. Making friends here wasn't a bad idea, even if it was too late. He straightened up, moving to approach what looked like the command center of the submarine.
Briefly, Larry's eyes fell to the white bandana wrapped around his free wrist.
"Which standard do they carry, I wonder?"
"Hey, are you-"
He had gotten no more than a few steps onto the bridge before being quite soundly interrupted by the feeling of his head striking metal. This place was not built for someone his size.
"Ow! God – damnit."
Pressing his free hand against the top of his head, Larry was relieved at least to find it wasn't bleeding. Larry looked to the others, realizing their names barely registered to him – the guy was Dave, or Dale, or some other kind of D name - the girl he knew was named after a state but couldn't quite remember.
Dakota?
That didn't seem right. Introductions were in order, lest he made even more of an ass of himself. Larry waved with the hand he carried the buckler in, before stopping as he realized it could be construed as brandishing it.
"Uhh, hi. Sorry. It's Larry Clifford. Not into this – this game. Never was. Ow, Christ that hurt. Makin' friends, are we?"
SOTF: U
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 375
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
The sound of his trainers clanking with every step on the metal floor rattled as much through his head as it did through the hallway, with every echo bouncing off of a weird angle making him come to a half stop, his breathing pausing and eyes darting around as he thought he heard something else - someone else - before pushing onwards after a moment of cautious silence. He wasn't entirely sure who he was worried he'd run into. Or where he was going. Or what he'd do if he did find someone. A look back over his shoulder at the low doorway ridden, long corridor that he'd just walked down, confirmed that running probably wasn't going to be an option.
Then again, how bad could it really be? Sure, some of the contestants decided to just start cutting open throats the second they had the option - Mari would gush about them endlessly - but that was only like, one or two, right? He couldn't even think of anyone in the class who could do something that awful. Even if they were all on different teams, he'd probably have a day or two to find some people he t-
Mari
Cristobal's eyes widened a little.
A pang of guilt almost felt like it was stabbing him in the side as he realised it had taken him so long to think about her. It should have been right on the front of his mind. She was here, too. In as much danger as he was. Maybe even more if she didn't have a gun. And she wouldn't even have the sense to realise it. She loved SOTF, this was something that she would probably be excited about, right up until she got in over her head and- and-
He'd always looked away at the really gory bits, or stared at the corner of the screen if Mari had insisted he watch it, but that wasn't close to enough to stay away from having seen the results of SOTF. People liked to post those pictures everywhere. Even on the soccer forums, people would throw poorly edited versions of them wearing their opponents jerseys after losses, or spam them to force mods to close threads. Caves skulled in. Intenstines ripped out. Eyeballs gouged. Fingers cut off. Bodies burnt.
Cristobal stumbled his way to a stop as the hallway began to branch off, supporting himself with both arms against a wall as he suddenly found himself very aware of the slight rocking back and forth of the ship he was inside. He felt the insides of his cheeks tingle, and his mouth feel full of spit, and he pressed his forehead against the metal as well. The cool of it calmed him for a fraction of a moment. He could swear he heard faint voices, but he couldn't focus his attention on them. He lifted his head slightly, feeling momentarily better for a second, and looking around as he tried to figure out where the voices were coming from.
And then the world came tumbling out of his mouth, and splattered in layers of chunky yellow and orange all over the floor, accompanied with a sound to rival Gjallarhorn in it's pained, discordant cacophony.
Then again, how bad could it really be? Sure, some of the contestants decided to just start cutting open throats the second they had the option - Mari would gush about them endlessly - but that was only like, one or two, right? He couldn't even think of anyone in the class who could do something that awful. Even if they were all on different teams, he'd probably have a day or two to find some people he t-
Mari
Cristobal's eyes widened a little.
A pang of guilt almost felt like it was stabbing him in the side as he realised it had taken him so long to think about her. It should have been right on the front of his mind. She was here, too. In as much danger as he was. Maybe even more if she didn't have a gun. And she wouldn't even have the sense to realise it. She loved SOTF, this was something that she would probably be excited about, right up until she got in over her head and- and-
He'd always looked away at the really gory bits, or stared at the corner of the screen if Mari had insisted he watch it, but that wasn't close to enough to stay away from having seen the results of SOTF. People liked to post those pictures everywhere. Even on the soccer forums, people would throw poorly edited versions of them wearing their opponents jerseys after losses, or spam them to force mods to close threads. Caves skulled in. Intenstines ripped out. Eyeballs gouged. Fingers cut off. Bodies burnt.
Cristobal stumbled his way to a stop as the hallway began to branch off, supporting himself with both arms against a wall as he suddenly found himself very aware of the slight rocking back and forth of the ship he was inside. He felt the insides of his cheeks tingle, and his mouth feel full of spit, and he pressed his forehead against the metal as well. The cool of it calmed him for a fraction of a moment. He could swear he heard faint voices, but he couldn't focus his attention on them. He lifted his head slightly, feeling momentarily better for a second, and looking around as he tried to figure out where the voices were coming from.
And then the world came tumbling out of his mouth, and splattered in layers of chunky yellow and orange all over the floor, accompanied with a sound to rival Gjallarhorn in it's pained, discordant cacophony.
Okay so! To take stock, she and Dale were not on the same team, which worked out fine she supposed since he hadn't tried to murder her. At least, he hadn't tried to murder her in the three minutes they had been within each other's orbit—orbit, planets, Laura probably had a joke for that—but it didn't mean he wouldn't try, he had days to work with. He then asked her if she had seen anyone else since she had woken up, which seemed like a stupid question to her.
Typically on the first day of Survival of the Fittest, you saw two main behaviors. The first was that people would form loose groups until the tension, stress, violence, and death tore those groups apart, while the second was you had people who went it alone either by murder or avoiding everyone else. The fact that she was even talking to Dale should have been a giveaway that she had slotted into group one but she supposed not everyone had watched every season. Heck, if you wanted to simplify even more your groups were non-violent and violent but that was a different theory and she was already off track given he had asked her a question.
"Yeah, that's a no on that one too," She began, "I haven't seen any-"
Her follow-up statement was cut short but a loud metal clang and a frustrated sounding voice. Turning towards the noise Alaska saw the tall figure of Larry Clifford who surely suffered through many dog-related jokes. Regardless he was tall, had a shield, technically a buckler she guessed, and a wristband that matched her team color, aww baby.
That was the good shit alright.
Move over Dale, you were already replaced.
Time to turn on the charm.
"Hey there bud, good to s-"
But once again Alaska was interrupted by another loud noise. This one very recognizable in its makeup and the general splashing and sloshing sound.
"Well, someone just blew chunks." She announced, trying hard to keep a grin from her face.
Typically on the first day of Survival of the Fittest, you saw two main behaviors. The first was that people would form loose groups until the tension, stress, violence, and death tore those groups apart, while the second was you had people who went it alone either by murder or avoiding everyone else. The fact that she was even talking to Dale should have been a giveaway that she had slotted into group one but she supposed not everyone had watched every season. Heck, if you wanted to simplify even more your groups were non-violent and violent but that was a different theory and she was already off track given he had asked her a question.
"Yeah, that's a no on that one too," She began, "I haven't seen any-"
Her follow-up statement was cut short but a loud metal clang and a frustrated sounding voice. Turning towards the noise Alaska saw the tall figure of Larry Clifford who surely suffered through many dog-related jokes. Regardless he was tall, had a shield, technically a buckler she guessed, and a wristband that matched her team color, aww baby.
That was the good shit alright.
Move over Dale, you were already replaced.
Time to turn on the charm.
"Hey there bud, good to s-"
But once again Alaska was interrupted by another loud noise. This one very recognizable in its makeup and the general splashing and sloshing sound.
"Well, someone just blew chunks." She announced, trying hard to keep a grin from her face.
Dumbasska hadn't seen anyone else, which meant her usefulness towards Dale was rapidly diminishing. She could remain here pretending to be Sean Connery in Hunt for Red October while Dale got outside and tried to find someone who wouldn't make him want to jump into the ocean. They'd probably both be better off without one another in the long run, especially since there was a very good chance this would be the last time they'd ever see one another.
Before she could tell him more, Dale heard another voice. Well, briefly. They were then followed by the sound of something hitting metal and some random exclamations. Dale groaned. Already, he was starting to realize this submarine was a tomb of fools.
The guy identified himself as Larry Clifford. Who the fuck was Larry Clifford? Dale barely recognized the name, especially since he didn't know any Zoomer who would willingly call themselves "Larry" in 2021. From the sounds of it, Larry was only harmful to himself, so Dale could at least respond to him.
"Well, yeah, friends would be nice, but there aren't any-"
Before Dale could add more, there was another sound. Alaska confirmed it to be the sound of vomiting. Dale covered his eyes with his hand.
"Oh god, someone vomited inside an underwater metal coffin. The fumes will kill us all before the psychos do," Dale remarked to himself.
Dale turned to the direction the vomiting sound.
"Hey, I don't know if you're seasick or not, but can you talk between fits of botulism? What team are you on? Red?"
Dale turned to Larry. He needed to figure out what teams these suckers were on before he climbed out of this elaborate lobster trap.
"You red or not?"
Before she could tell him more, Dale heard another voice. Well, briefly. They were then followed by the sound of something hitting metal and some random exclamations. Dale groaned. Already, he was starting to realize this submarine was a tomb of fools.
The guy identified himself as Larry Clifford. Who the fuck was Larry Clifford? Dale barely recognized the name, especially since he didn't know any Zoomer who would willingly call themselves "Larry" in 2021. From the sounds of it, Larry was only harmful to himself, so Dale could at least respond to him.
"Well, yeah, friends would be nice, but there aren't any-"
Before Dale could add more, there was another sound. Alaska confirmed it to be the sound of vomiting. Dale covered his eyes with his hand.
"Oh god, someone vomited inside an underwater metal coffin. The fumes will kill us all before the psychos do," Dale remarked to himself.
Dale turned to the direction the vomiting sound.
"Hey, I don't know if you're seasick or not, but can you talk between fits of botulism? What team are you on? Red?"
Dale turned to Larry. He needed to figure out what teams these suckers were on before he climbed out of this elaborate lobster trap.
"You red or not?"
G014: Mayumi Tendou
Larry smiled, happy at least that the interaction continued to be civil. The smile immediately fell from his face when the sound of someone spewing their guts echoed through the bowels of the submarine. It seemed to echo through his own insides as well, and Larry found himself feeling slightly queasy.
Sir Laurence wiped the edge of his sword on his cloak, leaving crimson stains on the white fabric. He cared little for the sight of blood, but it rarely fazed him. He stepped over the bodies of the slain goblins, and reached out towards his fallen companion. She rose unsteadily to her feet, eyes locked on the mutilated bodies of their foes.
'I'm sorry. I suppose I don't have the stomach for places like this.'
He reached down, and picked up the scimitar which had fallen from her grasp, moments before. It was a fine weapon, but not one she was familiar with. Her father's, perhaps? Sir Laurence knew him well.
"It's a lot to expect someone would be unfazed by this." Larry said, snapping out of his momentary stupor.
They still hadn't offered their names, though he was pretty sure about Dale. The other one was still unfamiliar to him, though he'd gotten a good enough look at her to know that she was wearing the same colour bandana he was. A teammate.
And Dale?
Distracted, Larry first thought Dale's question might've been another quip on his surname. A quick glance to the other boy's bandana made the situation clear enough; Dale was being very forward about his own affiliation. By the standards of the game, it was foolish to be just calling it out like that. There hadn't been enough time for them to adapt to what Larry assumed to be a baseline of duplicitousness, at least for him. The others, the fans of the show, no doubt found that kind of behaviour tempting to try on. As the days wore on, it would be clear enough who fit well into this place, and who didn't.
I know where I stand.
In response to Dale's question, Larry sidestepped him and stood next to the girl.
"No. We're on the white team."
Sir Laurence wiped the edge of his sword on his cloak, leaving crimson stains on the white fabric. He cared little for the sight of blood, but it rarely fazed him. He stepped over the bodies of the slain goblins, and reached out towards his fallen companion. She rose unsteadily to her feet, eyes locked on the mutilated bodies of their foes.
'I'm sorry. I suppose I don't have the stomach for places like this.'
He reached down, and picked up the scimitar which had fallen from her grasp, moments before. It was a fine weapon, but not one she was familiar with. Her father's, perhaps? Sir Laurence knew him well.
"It's a lot to expect someone would be unfazed by this." Larry said, snapping out of his momentary stupor.
They still hadn't offered their names, though he was pretty sure about Dale. The other one was still unfamiliar to him, though he'd gotten a good enough look at her to know that she was wearing the same colour bandana he was. A teammate.
And Dale?
Distracted, Larry first thought Dale's question might've been another quip on his surname. A quick glance to the other boy's bandana made the situation clear enough; Dale was being very forward about his own affiliation. By the standards of the game, it was foolish to be just calling it out like that. There hadn't been enough time for them to adapt to what Larry assumed to be a baseline of duplicitousness, at least for him. The others, the fans of the show, no doubt found that kind of behaviour tempting to try on. As the days wore on, it would be clear enough who fit well into this place, and who didn't.
I know where I stand.
In response to Dale's question, Larry sidestepped him and stood next to the girl.
"No. We're on the white team."
SOTF: U
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 375
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
ptuah
No matter how emphatically he tried to spit it out, the taste of bile clung to his mouth, forming a thin yet disgusting film that he could feel as he ran his tongue across his teeth. Equally disgusting was the pool of vomit that was forming on the floor in front of him as it slid down the wall, the thin liquid sloshing from side to side with every little motion of the boat, whilst more recognisable chunks of food obstinately clung to where they'd landed. His mouth stretched into a grimace as he tilted his head back up, and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm.
At least the nausea was gone as quickly as it had came.
If only the feeling of dread that was boring it's way through the bottom of his recently emptied stomach would go away as easily.
Cristobal forced his legs into action, and took a few shaky steps away from the mess he'd made. Mari had to be nearby. That's what they'd have wanted, right? - The people running this thing - they'd want them to be together. That was what would make the best TV, rather than the two of them spending the whole time looking for one another. He just had to keep moving. Keep looking.
The voices he'd thought he'd heard were clearer now, too, no longer drowned out by the screaming of his own thoughts. He couldn't quite put faces to them, but they sounded familiar. Friendly, too. No shouting. No screaming. No ranting. Just muffled conversation, like he was sitting a few tables away from them in the cafeteria. It was almost normal. He could make out the word team a few times, and his brow furrowed for a moment, before the memory of his second briefing surfaced. Someone who wasn't a presenter, a person with about as much conviction and confidence as a wet flannel, drinking as he talked to them.
It hadn't felt real, and it still didn't, but a glance down towards the bandana loosely tied around his left bicep told him that he was on the... Blue, green and silver team. Not quite as easy to come out with as the simple colours the others seemed to have. He tried his best to hide it as he finally found the room where they had coalesced, leaning awkwardly in through the doorway whilst he braced himself against the frame of it with his left arm.
He forced a smile to his mouth as he looked over the three of them quickly.
"'Laska" he greeted simply, almost reflexively as his eyes met hers, his smile widening in a brief moment of sincerity.
"Larry" he added a moment later with a quick node in his direction, the tall, chunky figure being hard not to recognise.
He opened his mouth for a half-moment as his eyes met the other boy's, trying to continue the polite acknowledgement of everyone, a strangled noise emanating from him as his brain failed to provide him with the name to say.
Fuck.
Maybe if he just continued, no-one would notice?
"I... Uh... I don't suppose you..."
His throat felt tight all of a sudden.
"You've seen Mari anywhere right?"
No matter how emphatically he tried to spit it out, the taste of bile clung to his mouth, forming a thin yet disgusting film that he could feel as he ran his tongue across his teeth. Equally disgusting was the pool of vomit that was forming on the floor in front of him as it slid down the wall, the thin liquid sloshing from side to side with every little motion of the boat, whilst more recognisable chunks of food obstinately clung to where they'd landed. His mouth stretched into a grimace as he tilted his head back up, and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm.
At least the nausea was gone as quickly as it had came.
If only the feeling of dread that was boring it's way through the bottom of his recently emptied stomach would go away as easily.
Cristobal forced his legs into action, and took a few shaky steps away from the mess he'd made. Mari had to be nearby. That's what they'd have wanted, right? - The people running this thing - they'd want them to be together. That was what would make the best TV, rather than the two of them spending the whole time looking for one another. He just had to keep moving. Keep looking.
The voices he'd thought he'd heard were clearer now, too, no longer drowned out by the screaming of his own thoughts. He couldn't quite put faces to them, but they sounded familiar. Friendly, too. No shouting. No screaming. No ranting. Just muffled conversation, like he was sitting a few tables away from them in the cafeteria. It was almost normal. He could make out the word team a few times, and his brow furrowed for a moment, before the memory of his second briefing surfaced. Someone who wasn't a presenter, a person with about as much conviction and confidence as a wet flannel, drinking as he talked to them.
It hadn't felt real, and it still didn't, but a glance down towards the bandana loosely tied around his left bicep told him that he was on the... Blue, green and silver team. Not quite as easy to come out with as the simple colours the others seemed to have. He tried his best to hide it as he finally found the room where they had coalesced, leaning awkwardly in through the doorway whilst he braced himself against the frame of it with his left arm.
He forced a smile to his mouth as he looked over the three of them quickly.
"'Laska" he greeted simply, almost reflexively as his eyes met hers, his smile widening in a brief moment of sincerity.
"Larry" he added a moment later with a quick node in his direction, the tall, chunky figure being hard not to recognise.
He opened his mouth for a half-moment as his eyes met the other boy's, trying to continue the polite acknowledgement of everyone, a strangled noise emanating from him as his brain failed to provide him with the name to say.
Fuck.
Maybe if he just continued, no-one would notice?
"I... Uh... I don't suppose you..."
His throat felt tight all of a sudden.
"You've seen Mari anywhere right?"
Aw yeah, baby. Clifford the big white teammate didn't waste any time showing his allegiance as he immediately told Dale that they were both on the white team. White team represent.
Selkies are a G҉ A҉ N҉ G҉.
It was really good to start in the same place as someone on the same team as she was. It was a massive time saver and it meant, thanks to the fact Clifford was big. that she had some muscle to look after her. It also meant that they could ditch Dale post-haste because what did he really offer them?
"Hell yeah we are," Alaska said with a grin as she hopped down from the periscope and made her way over to Clifford with one hand raised. "High-fi-"
Once again though Alaska was interrupted by the appearance of another person. The phantom vomiter had made his presence known. As it turned out Cristobal had been the one to empty his guts in some other part of the sub. He greeted her and Larry then seemed to forget Dale's name—lol—and asked if they'd seen Mari something something.
It didn't look like Cristobal was doing too well which she couldn't blame him about. Some people woke up and were good to go, others didn't take to things straight away, some would pretend they were fine and it was all good until they couldn't keep up the act and others would be super-nervous and vomit. It happened.
With that in mind, she decided that she'd help him out a bit.
"I haven't seen Mari sorry, also because Dale over there, is going to ask you, what team are you on?"
Selkies are a G҉ A҉ N҉ G҉.
It was really good to start in the same place as someone on the same team as she was. It was a massive time saver and it meant, thanks to the fact Clifford was big. that she had some muscle to look after her. It also meant that they could ditch Dale post-haste because what did he really offer them?
"Hell yeah we are," Alaska said with a grin as she hopped down from the periscope and made her way over to Clifford with one hand raised. "High-fi-"
Once again though Alaska was interrupted by the appearance of another person. The phantom vomiter had made his presence known. As it turned out Cristobal had been the one to empty his guts in some other part of the sub. He greeted her and Larry then seemed to forget Dale's name—lol—and asked if they'd seen Mari something something.
It didn't look like Cristobal was doing too well which she couldn't blame him about. Some people woke up and were good to go, others didn't take to things straight away, some would pretend they were fine and it was all good until they couldn't keep up the act and others would be super-nervous and vomit. It happened.
With that in mind, she decided that she'd help him out a bit.
"I haven't seen Mari sorry, also because Dale over there, is going to ask you, what team are you on?"
So Larry was on Alaska's team and the puker was Cristobal. Dale didn't really know him all that well or who Mari was. But he could glance and see the bandanna tied around Cristobal's arm and could see it wasn't the same color.
Damn. Well, this tomb is full of nothing but scarab beetles instead of treasure. Guess that's good reason to bail.
Dale shook his head.
"Sorry, don't know who Mari is," Dale told Cristobal.
He glanced back at the others around him.
"But, anyways, I guess there's not much else keeping me here. I'm gonna get out before I choke to death on the fumes. Best of luck to y'all."
Dale adjusted his bag and made his way past Cristobal. He could see a heavenly beam of sunlight pouring in from a ladder nearby. Good. Maybe God could assume him someplace better than this hellscape.
Dale began to climb the ladder out of the submarine. He really wasn't sure of where he was or where to go. He was stuck in this stupid show with nothing but bandannas and this was likely to be the end of his promising career and promising life. So far, he hadn't found anything or anyone of value, so he'd really have to prowl this place to find something to ensure he could actually make it home in time for the start of the Invitacion al amor shooting schedule.
He reached the top of the ladder and peered out. All around him was nothing but water, boats scattered in the distance, and gangplanks connecting them altogether.
"Fuck me," was all he muttered before he stepped out and began his trek.
((Dale Hawthorne continued in I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner))
Damn. Well, this tomb is full of nothing but scarab beetles instead of treasure. Guess that's good reason to bail.
Dale shook his head.
"Sorry, don't know who Mari is," Dale told Cristobal.
He glanced back at the others around him.
"But, anyways, I guess there's not much else keeping me here. I'm gonna get out before I choke to death on the fumes. Best of luck to y'all."
Dale adjusted his bag and made his way past Cristobal. He could see a heavenly beam of sunlight pouring in from a ladder nearby. Good. Maybe God could assume him someplace better than this hellscape.
Dale began to climb the ladder out of the submarine. He really wasn't sure of where he was or where to go. He was stuck in this stupid show with nothing but bandannas and this was likely to be the end of his promising career and promising life. So far, he hadn't found anything or anyone of value, so he'd really have to prowl this place to find something to ensure he could actually make it home in time for the start of the Invitacion al amor shooting schedule.
He reached the top of the ladder and peered out. All around him was nothing but water, boats scattered in the distance, and gangplanks connecting them altogether.
"Fuck me," was all he muttered before he stepped out and began his trek.
((Dale Hawthorne continued in I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner))
G014: Mayumi Tendou
Laurence had just barely cracked a smile at his teammate when he noted Cristobal's arrival. He looked terrible; Larry knew his name only because they'd sat near to one another in biology, where he did surprisingly well.
Along with a sputtering of whatever might've been left in his throat, he revealed the name of his teammate to Larry. Alaska! He was glad he hadn't decided to guess, and didn't have to ask, as he was nowhere close to that name in his mind. Now that he heard it once, he'd remember. Cristobal seemed to be looking for someone, himself. Alaska took the lead on addressing him, which was fine enough by Larry. Saying little, he watched as Dale slowly moved towards the exit of the submarine, the ray of sunlight beaming down a long metal ladder.
"Let them go." Sir Laurence whispered, eyes still transfixed on the rival group of adventurers plundering the tomb. "There's no need to resort to arms, here."
Wordlessly, Larry slowly followed as Dale made for the exit, moving in a surprisingly deliberate way for someone his size. As Dale scaled the ladder, Larry watched. He waited once Dale disappeared from view, listening intently.
No gunshots. No sounds of struggle, yet. No sign anyone was waiting to strike.
He sauntered back to the others, offering a slight shrug. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the bandana around Cristobal's arm. Not like theirs.
"Many have flown false banners in the past; the fabric alone is no guarantee of honour or loyalty."
"Alright. It doesn't sound like anyone was waiting up there, but I've got no idea like - what is up there. I know I'm uh - I guess we've gotta stick with our teammates, and uh - well, shit."
Larry idly kicked at the steel floor beneath them, as if there was dirt he could crush beneath his shoe.
"You're like, not on our team, but I'm not gonna like - like you can stick around I guess, I'm not really-"
Words escaped him.
Knave.
Along with a sputtering of whatever might've been left in his throat, he revealed the name of his teammate to Larry. Alaska! He was glad he hadn't decided to guess, and didn't have to ask, as he was nowhere close to that name in his mind. Now that he heard it once, he'd remember. Cristobal seemed to be looking for someone, himself. Alaska took the lead on addressing him, which was fine enough by Larry. Saying little, he watched as Dale slowly moved towards the exit of the submarine, the ray of sunlight beaming down a long metal ladder.
"Let them go." Sir Laurence whispered, eyes still transfixed on the rival group of adventurers plundering the tomb. "There's no need to resort to arms, here."
Wordlessly, Larry slowly followed as Dale made for the exit, moving in a surprisingly deliberate way for someone his size. As Dale scaled the ladder, Larry watched. He waited once Dale disappeared from view, listening intently.
No gunshots. No sounds of struggle, yet. No sign anyone was waiting to strike.
He sauntered back to the others, offering a slight shrug. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the bandana around Cristobal's arm. Not like theirs.
"Many have flown false banners in the past; the fabric alone is no guarantee of honour or loyalty."
"Alright. It doesn't sound like anyone was waiting up there, but I've got no idea like - what is up there. I know I'm uh - I guess we've gotta stick with our teammates, and uh - well, shit."
Larry idly kicked at the steel floor beneath them, as if there was dirt he could crush beneath his shoe.
"You're like, not on our team, but I'm not gonna like - like you can stick around I guess, I'm not really-"
Words escaped him.
Knave.
SOTF: U
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."
Evan Keane: "I guess my world was always gonna end, somehow."
SOTF Supers:
August Hanlon - "This never felt like much of a Gift."