Whoever made oyster crackers deserved to be punched in the face.
[[RJ Blackburn continued from A Heartbreak In Hell]]
The only reason RJ had finished them off was because he hadn't eaten anything all day, and if the sooner he got rid of something he disliked, the better. It still didn't change the fact that he wanted to wash out the inside of his mouth.
He still wasn't sure what to do at this point, when it came to the bigger picture anyway. He didn't want to die, he knew that much. But...killing...just the thought of it made his stomach do somersaults and cartwheels. Some people may have been able to do it immediately, almost like flipping a light switch, but him? He wasn't built like that in the slightest. He cared too much, sometimes.
Jesus, empathy was just bullshit sometimes.
He'd read what the manual said. How the gun worked. Figured out as much as he could without actually shooting it. Yeah, it was supposed to be silent every time it shot, so he wouldn't get anyone's attention by shooting, but why waste the bullet? He didn't even need to bring out an obscure slasher movie example of why it's important to be safe with guns; Scream showed an amazing example alone, even if it was different from these circumstances.
Despite the comfort the couch provided, as well as the fact that he was in a place that was generally well-secured, RJ couldn't sleep as he laid on his side, hugging the gun close, but making sure the barrel wasn't pointed at him. Trying to close his eyes just brought him back to the ferry, and who was still there. He'd probably seen a thousand corpses from slasher movies at this point, but the real thing? The sight of someone you actually know, fatally injured, with the most horrified look on their face?
To put it bluntly, it wasn't exactly the same.
And, of course, everything with Xander wasn't helping. Yes, RJ didn't see his corpse, and he tried to get over it as much as he could in the short time span since he'd heard the announcement, but trying was completely different from doing, and even what he had done was basically putting a band-aid over a missing appendage. The mental trauma was free to flow where ever it wanted in his mind.
But RJ needed to sleep. Without sleep, people started to lose their marbles. See things that weren't there, get super paranoid, and generally be even more miserable. He'd already become paranoid and miserable, he didn't need hallucinations added to the mix.
A part of him suggested to sing. Either he'd tire out and eventually fall asleep, or he'd succeed in serenading himself to sleep. A win-win.
Until you factor in the potential that someone heard, decided to surprise attack the idiot singing in the middle of the night, and suddenly, he got several holes put in him courtesy of someone that had no morals.
RJ hugged the gun tighter as he scrunched his eyes shut, his mouth forming into a tight frown.
Please just let him sleep...and let it not be nightmares...
Sleepless in SEA-ttle
Funny Joke Man Ha Ha (Open)
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Catche Jagger
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Night came and night went.
With the break of day came the sun, shining down on the unappealing boxy home that rested upon the water. The tranquility of the early morning rubbed up against the ugliness of the house boat in a way that was rather off putting. At least, that’s how Gabriela felt about it.
Though perhaps that’s what drew her here.
((Gabriela Garcia-Campos continued from And They Called It a Disaster))
By Gabriela’s decision, she and Elliott had only slept briefly during the night. It was hard on Elliott, she knew, but they needed the early start on the day. The second announcement was already fast approaching and she had still failed to get a single kill.
How the hell was that? Gabriela knew SOTF. She’d watched so many seasons, been in hundreds of arguments about what made a good killer on the show. She’d even gotten fucking advice from Ben fucking Cuntner! And yet there she fucking was with absolutely nothing.
She was actually rather glad that Elliott was lagging behind a bit. Gabriela didn’t want to think about him, about how he was following her orders around and she was proving over and over again to be no better a guide than a fucking chicken with its head cut off.
Moving towards the building, Gabriela hesitated for a moment, pulling out her pistol once again as she slowly began to open the door. She hoped to slip in unnoticed by anyone sleeping or hiding out inside inside, but her gun remained at the ready should she need it.
With the break of day came the sun, shining down on the unappealing boxy home that rested upon the water. The tranquility of the early morning rubbed up against the ugliness of the house boat in a way that was rather off putting. At least, that’s how Gabriela felt about it.
Though perhaps that’s what drew her here.
((Gabriela Garcia-Campos continued from And They Called It a Disaster))
By Gabriela’s decision, she and Elliott had only slept briefly during the night. It was hard on Elliott, she knew, but they needed the early start on the day. The second announcement was already fast approaching and she had still failed to get a single kill.
How the hell was that? Gabriela knew SOTF. She’d watched so many seasons, been in hundreds of arguments about what made a good killer on the show. She’d even gotten fucking advice from Ben fucking Cuntner! And yet there she fucking was with absolutely nothing.
She was actually rather glad that Elliott was lagging behind a bit. Gabriela didn’t want to think about him, about how he was following her orders around and she was proving over and over again to be no better a guide than a fucking chicken with its head cut off.
Moving towards the building, Gabriela hesitated for a moment, pulling out her pistol once again as she slowly began to open the door. She hoped to slip in unnoticed by anyone sleeping or hiding out inside inside, but her gun remained at the ready should she need it.
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AnimeNerd
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Air.
He needed air.
He couldn't get air.
Something around his neck.
Can't breathe.
Claw it, get it off.
It doesn't work.
Helpless.
No one's coming to save him.
Shirt's getting died crimson.
Can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe CAN'T BREATHE-
RJ's body tensed completely as his eyelids shot open. He didn't move, but his breathing had quickened, and each breath was as deep as possible without hyperventilating. He wanted all the air he could get. He needed it.
He understood the You don't know what you've got until it's gone phrase just a bit better now.
RJ rose to a sitting position, the gun-his riffle-kept in his right hand, finger behind the trigger, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the left.
"'m gonna need therapy af'er this," he mumbled to himself, still somewhat drowsy. Hopefully there was some sort of SOTF survivor discount or something...
He needed air.
He couldn't get air.
Something around his neck.
Can't breathe.
Claw it, get it off.
It doesn't work.
Helpless.
No one's coming to save him.
Shirt's getting died crimson.
Can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe CAN'T BREATHE-
RJ's body tensed completely as his eyelids shot open. He didn't move, but his breathing had quickened, and each breath was as deep as possible without hyperventilating. He wanted all the air he could get. He needed it.
He understood the You don't know what you've got until it's gone phrase just a bit better now.
RJ rose to a sitting position, the gun-his riffle-kept in his right hand, finger behind the trigger, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the left.
"'m gonna need therapy af'er this," he mumbled to himself, still somewhat drowsy. Hopefully there was some sort of SOTF survivor discount or something...
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RetroVenus
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((Elliott-Blair Østergaard continued from And They Called It a Disaster))
It had been Gabriela's decision to sleep for only a few hours.
The logic was sound; they were in SOTF, after all. At any point in time you could have a gun pointed at your face. Or a knife. Or any other item used to harm, whether that was it's original purpose or not.
Of course, the entire goal of the duo was to be the ones pointing the gun at someone else's face. The other point in getting up early was that — since the adrenaline of being on the show could only last for so long — everyone would crash at around the same time. What better time to earn his freedom than when everybody else is asleep?
It made sense. Gabriela knew what she was doing, and so Elliott-Blair would follow.
Maybe it was the whole act of getting up at dawn, maybe it was the long walks upon unsteady jetty after unsteady jetty, but suddenly Elliott-Blair couldn't breathe.
No, that was a lie. His chest had felt tighter than usual the night before. But he had thought — had hoped — that was just from stress. But after making his way down a particularly steep gangplank onto another boxy ship, he knew exactly what was going on.
Gabriela marched on, pausing only to pull out her pistol before slipping inside the ship. Elliott-Blair tried to follow, but he lagged behind. By the time he set foot onto the house boat, she was already inside, leaving him—
Elliott-Blair all but allowed himself to collapse on the roof deck. The wheezing he had done his best to control were coming out in full force now, loud and clear to anyone within earshot.
He needed his inhaler.
Placing his shiv to his side, Elliott-Blair swung his backpack in front of him, shaky hands unzipping it.
He needed his inhaler.
He frantically rummaged through it's contents, pushing past the half-eaten pack of dried squid and his spyglass.
He needed it he needed it he needed it
Buried under a flashlight was a white box with a red cross.
needitneeditNEEDIT—
Inside the box was a green inhaler, ready for use.
Elliott-Blair snatched up the hard plastic device, dropping the first aid kit in the process. He went through the routine motions to inhale the medicine. There was immediate relief, but it would take a couple of seconds before the wheezing would fully subside.
Sitting out in the open like this, it was as if he were back in Miami, sitting on the curbside after a roller skating session had gone for too long. Certainly not on SOTF.
It had been Gabriela's decision to sleep for only a few hours.
The logic was sound; they were in SOTF, after all. At any point in time you could have a gun pointed at your face. Or a knife. Or any other item used to harm, whether that was it's original purpose or not.
Of course, the entire goal of the duo was to be the ones pointing the gun at someone else's face. The other point in getting up early was that — since the adrenaline of being on the show could only last for so long — everyone would crash at around the same time. What better time to earn his freedom than when everybody else is asleep?
It made sense. Gabriela knew what she was doing, and so Elliott-Blair would follow.
Maybe it was the whole act of getting up at dawn, maybe it was the long walks upon unsteady jetty after unsteady jetty, but suddenly Elliott-Blair couldn't breathe.
No, that was a lie. His chest had felt tighter than usual the night before. But he had thought — had hoped — that was just from stress. But after making his way down a particularly steep gangplank onto another boxy ship, he knew exactly what was going on.
Gabriela marched on, pausing only to pull out her pistol before slipping inside the ship. Elliott-Blair tried to follow, but he lagged behind. By the time he set foot onto the house boat, she was already inside, leaving him—
Elliott-Blair all but allowed himself to collapse on the roof deck. The wheezing he had done his best to control were coming out in full force now, loud and clear to anyone within earshot.
He needed his inhaler.
Placing his shiv to his side, Elliott-Blair swung his backpack in front of him, shaky hands unzipping it.
He needed his inhaler.
He frantically rummaged through it's contents, pushing past the half-eaten pack of dried squid and his spyglass.
He needed it he needed it he needed it
Buried under a flashlight was a white box with a red cross.
needitneeditNEEDIT—
Inside the box was a green inhaler, ready for use.
Elliott-Blair snatched up the hard plastic device, dropping the first aid kit in the process. He went through the routine motions to inhale the medicine. There was immediate relief, but it would take a couple of seconds before the wheezing would fully subside.
Sitting out in the open like this, it was as if he were back in Miami, sitting on the curbside after a roller skating session had gone for too long. Certainly not on SOTF.
avatar by pan, sprite by the wonderful Yugikun
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Catche Jagger
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Gabriela’s grip on the door faltered as she heard something crash to the ground behind her, followed by some intense wheezing. She whirled around quickly, eyes wide, gun lowered.
Before she saw him, Gabriela knew that it was Elliott, that he was having a goddamn asthma attack, and she was of course right about that. She took a step back away from the doorway, only to freeze up in her tracks.
What could she do? Gabriela didn’t have an inhaler or an epipen or whatever the fuck you needed to actually deal with an asthma attack.
So what did Gabriela do? Well, the same thing she’d been doing since she woke up on this show. She fucking choked, just staring in terror as her friend started to suffocate before her eyes.
And it was her fault.
“Elliott-” She started to say something, but Gabriela wasn’t quite sure what it was. But then Elliot produced some device from his bag. An inhaler, thank fuck.
Her friend was still wheezing a bit after using it, but Gabriela was already walking back towards him.
“Come on. We’ve gotta- Look, I’ll move slower alright?” She muttered, placing a hand on Elliott’s shoulder.
Before she saw him, Gabriela knew that it was Elliott, that he was having a goddamn asthma attack, and she was of course right about that. She took a step back away from the doorway, only to freeze up in her tracks.
What could she do? Gabriela didn’t have an inhaler or an epipen or whatever the fuck you needed to actually deal with an asthma attack.
So what did Gabriela do? Well, the same thing she’d been doing since she woke up on this show. She fucking choked, just staring in terror as her friend started to suffocate before her eyes.
And it was her fault.
“Elliott-” She started to say something, but Gabriela wasn’t quite sure what it was. But then Elliot produced some device from his bag. An inhaler, thank fuck.
Her friend was still wheezing a bit after using it, but Gabriela was already walking back towards him.
“Come on. We’ve gotta- Look, I’ll move slower alright?” She muttered, placing a hand on Elliott’s shoulder.
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AnimeNerd
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RJ moved faster than he thought he could when he heard sounds coming from outside.
Something-someone-had collapsed outside.
Wheezing.
They-they needed to breathe.
A part of him was yelling at him-screaming RJ, get the Hell out there and help that person! They could be dying out there!
But another part of him was thinking of Maxine again. Bloodied. Horrified. How clear it was that her last moments were spent in pain. The worst pain she would ever experience.
I don't want to die like that.
He threw one pack strap over his shoulder before grabbing the hood of his sweatshirt-should've just put it on normally, but he thought using it as pillow would be a good idea. Newsflash! It sucked!
Before he ran to a different door, though, another thought came. A new idea that had some form of merit, however small it was.
He didn't have much time. Whoever was out there could barge in at any second, ready to kill him.
But...fuck it. His morality would despise him if he did nothing.
Quickly placing the sweatshirt's hood over his head, leaving the rest of the garment awkwardly hanging behind him, RJ readied his gun against his shoulder to prevent kickback.
The De Lisle Carbine was meant to be a quiet gun. It was built well enough that it should be one of the quietest guns on the flotilla.
RJ took aim, staring down the sight as he controlled his breathing, thinking to techniques to help with stage fright.
Just because the gun was quiet didn't mean the bullets were when they hit something, though.
With one movement of his finger, the sound of glass shattering filled the air.
Something-someone-had collapsed outside.
Wheezing.
They-they needed to breathe.
A part of him was yelling at him-screaming RJ, get the Hell out there and help that person! They could be dying out there!
But another part of him was thinking of Maxine again. Bloodied. Horrified. How clear it was that her last moments were spent in pain. The worst pain she would ever experience.
I don't want to die like that.
He threw one pack strap over his shoulder before grabbing the hood of his sweatshirt-should've just put it on normally, but he thought using it as pillow would be a good idea. Newsflash! It sucked!
Before he ran to a different door, though, another thought came. A new idea that had some form of merit, however small it was.
He didn't have much time. Whoever was out there could barge in at any second, ready to kill him.
But...fuck it. His morality would despise him if he did nothing.
Quickly placing the sweatshirt's hood over his head, leaving the rest of the garment awkwardly hanging behind him, RJ readied his gun against his shoulder to prevent kickback.
The De Lisle Carbine was meant to be a quiet gun. It was built well enough that it should be one of the quietest guns on the flotilla.
RJ took aim, staring down the sight as he controlled his breathing, thinking to techniques to help with stage fright.
Just because the gun was quiet didn't mean the bullets were when they hit something, though.
With one movement of his finger, the sound of glass shattering filled the air.
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Catche Jagger
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Gabriela didn’t even have the chance to wait for a response from Elliott before she heard the sudden sound of glass shattering and what seemed like a muffled gunshot.
Fuck.
Any chance she might’ve had of sneaking up on whoever was in there was spoiled the moment she ran back for Elliott and with just the handgun and a struggling Elliott in tow, she knew they really couldn’t afford a firefight right now.
“Motherfu-!” She cut herself off, gritting her teeth and grabbing Elliott’s hand.
“Come on. We’ve got to go now. We can- We’ll figure out resting later.” She commanded. Gabriela didn’t wait for a response as she began to move out, dragging Elliott along behind her.
((Gabriela and Elliott continued in Chapter 1: Prelude))
Fuck.
Any chance she might’ve had of sneaking up on whoever was in there was spoiled the moment she ran back for Elliott and with just the handgun and a struggling Elliott in tow, she knew they really couldn’t afford a firefight right now.
“Motherfu-!” She cut herself off, gritting her teeth and grabbing Elliott’s hand.
“Come on. We’ve got to go now. We can- We’ll figure out resting later.” She commanded. Gabriela didn’t wait for a response as she began to move out, dragging Elliott along behind her.
((Gabriela and Elliott continued in Chapter 1: Prelude))
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AnimeNerd
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That
That didn't sound right, what he heard come out the window.
Don't get him wrong, he definitely expected the cursing, but the latter part...were they just trying to help the person they were trying to kill? Trying to help them get away from him?
Had RJ misjudged the situation somehow?
He didn't know. Likely never would know for sure.
What he did know? That glass shattering just might draw someone to where he was, and he wasn't exactly keen on seeing anyone.
He moved the lever-bolt, whatever it was to show the chamber with the spent shell casing.
He pushed the casing out, letting it clatter onto the floor.
RJ put the the bolt back in it's place, doing it just as the instructions had outlined to make sure the next bullet was in the chamber.
He just hoped he wouldn't have to fire that next bullet at any living targets.
[[RJ Blackburn continued Gene Hackman had it easier in The Poseidon Adventure]]
That didn't sound right, what he heard come out the window.
Don't get him wrong, he definitely expected the cursing, but the latter part...were they just trying to help the person they were trying to kill? Trying to help them get away from him?
Had RJ misjudged the situation somehow?
He didn't know. Likely never would know for sure.
What he did know? That glass shattering just might draw someone to where he was, and he wasn't exactly keen on seeing anyone.
He moved the lever-bolt, whatever it was to show the chamber with the spent shell casing.
He pushed the casing out, letting it clatter onto the floor.
RJ put the the bolt back in it's place, doing it just as the instructions had outlined to make sure the next bullet was in the chamber.
He just hoped he wouldn't have to fire that next bullet at any living targets.
[[RJ Blackburn continued Gene Hackman had it easier in The Poseidon Adventure]]