It was supposed to be a normal day.
It was supposed to be a normal day.
It had started off like any other say: she woke up, grumbled about waking up a little late and then preparing for school. Sure, her parents were whispering to each other during breakfast and Catherine seemed a little more exited than usual, though Leah didn't think it was strange enough to warrant investigation. She simply said goodbye to her parents and made her way to school.
When she saw her classmates chattering as she approached school, though, she knew that something was up. Leah didn't know the exact details, but whatever it was, it was big. Gossip traveled quickly in Whittree, and sadly Leah was low on the grapevine. So she asked the nearest kid (a small, Hispanic freshman) what was going on, and he told her that SOTF-TV was here. She almost brushed him off when a large man with a gun began walking towards them, asking if she was Leah Bissard.
She was petrified. Leah stood there, silent, before another guy walked over and confirmed that she was, in fact, Leah Bissard. They told her to come with them. When she didn't respond, they simply dragged her away as the boy waved halfheartedly in her direction.
After the gassing, her initial instinct was to scream, which she did promptly after waking up tied to a chair. A feeling of dread and total despair creeped up on her as a drum roll called, and soon enough she was crying her eyes out. While not paying attention to the man on stage that much, she caught enough important information through her tears. Before she knew it, the gas came on again and everything went dark.
EW2: Leah Bissard: START
When she awoke, Leah was still crying.
Sure, she had been sensible. Her bandanna was tied around her left wrist (the whale insignia sparked some unpleasant memories from middle school, though they paled in comparison to her current situation) and the assault rifle she was assigned was strapped on her back. But as soon as she had woken up, Leah had crawled off somewhere. At the moment she was couching behind a gift shop counter, head in her knees and daypack leaning on her torso.
It was a nice area, certainly a place Leah wouldn't have minded vacationing at over the summer. The winter air chilled her to the bone, and Leah was glad that they had left her hoodie with her. Her headphones, on the other hand, were gone. The man said that they were sent back to her parents as a sort of memento. She began tearing up again. Please cherish it, she thought to herself quietly.
Leah had exhausted all of her manic screaming and bawling during the opening ceremony and a few short minutes after waking up. Now only whimpers came with the tears. Her panic and initial despair were gone, replaced by the dead feeling of hopelessness in the pit of her stomach. Leah was going to die here, there was no doubt about that. Even if she began killing her classmates and innocent strangers (though she couldn't imagine herself doing that in the first place), she wouldn't be able to make it too far. Someone would shoot her down eventually, and Leah would be too weak to fight back. Survival of the fittest is the name of the show and the motto it follows.
She wanted to be optimistic; to believe that nobody would kill and that everyone was all sunshine and rainbows and kindness. But this show had been running for over 60 seasons. 60 different batches of kids who all began killing. Countless kids, in their hopeless situation, decided that they had nothing to lose and all to gain. Countless more kids who were blissfully ignorant and hoped like she hoped to. However, she knew that the fandom had a word for those sort of people: easy outs.
So instead of hoping, Leah despaired. No use shooting for the stars when all it will do is get you killed faster. There was no way she was getting out of the game, and every second spent was just another contribution to the countdown to her inevitable death.
That gave her reason enough to cry.
Countdown
EW2: START (Open!)
CJ5: Jaxon Street: START
"So, I am totally not wearing this as a headband. This," Jaxon motioned up to his hair, now without a cap given the cap was chucked into the wild somewhere, "Is a piece of art that tooks years in the making and I'm not covering it up with the worst shade of blue in existance."
In any other circumstance, Jaxon would have been talking to himself. Which was fine, he did that a lot. But he knew that he was talking to all of America that bothered to tune in, given that they weren't as apathetic towards watching it as he used to be. He might even be talking to people tuning in from Paris, or Milan, or even some dingy litte floating home in the middle of Cambodia. He might not even be talking to people at all, the camera he was standing under might not even be on television.
"And I'm not, I repeat NOT, wearing it as an armband, a legband, or any kind of band. I ain't mourning anybody yet, and this ain't a three-legged race."
Jaxon held out a single extended digit to the cameras.
"BUT. Since if I don't wear it, my head is going to blow off, I'll do what I can."
A few minutes later, the dark blue bandana was tied around his neck and draped downward into a necktie. If he had glue and scissors he could have made a bowtie, but for now this is what he had to work with. Who knows, they might have even given him a Chippendales outfit so he could prance around the resort in a bowtie anyway. Although wearing two ties at once? In this weather? With these people? Ick.
The bandana was the first thing he had stumbled on when he opened his bag, and it was a welcome distraction lecturing to the cameras on why every other way of wearing a bandana was trite and cliched. For now, he knew the bag contained everything he'd need if he wanted to get out of here alive should he be so inclined. He didn't want to look at any of that yet. He didn't really think most of what he was saying but for now, that bandana gave him a several minute reprieve.
Because once he tightened up his tie and looked back at the camera, he wanted to start crying.
This was it, huh? All these years, all that suffering, all those trips to the fashion capitals of America, all those promises of big things to come for Jaxon, and he was going to get his ass handed to him on a show that appealed to the lowest common denominator. This wasn't fair at all. You know how hard Jaxon had worked in his life to set himself up well enough that he could enjoy himself? Do you know how easy it would have been to simply start hating the world at a young age because so many people and other kids hated him back for daring to be different? Do you know how much he had to remind himself that reacting to anything with anger would get him nowhere? Too much. Too goddamn much. And it was all for nothing.
He looked at himself in the reflection of the shop window he'd woken up slumped against. Apart from the tint of red eyes, he looked just as he did when he was taken from school. Jaxon glanced down at his shirt, and an idea to distract himself some more came to mind. Turning back to the camera he cleared his throat, which was beginning to feel tight.
"Okay, one more thing before I get started. I'm only here, probably going to get my head smashed in or blown up or something, because I was unlucky enough to get chosen. But I wasn't unlucky enough to put on these clothes. This," Jaxon motioned towards everything he was wearing from head to toe, "Was a result of waking up at 6am and spending, like, two hours deciding what worked good with what."
"This fantastic denim vest is from Charlotte Russe. I haven't met whoever made them yet, but I'm sure she's a stunning bitch with fantastic taste because I chose it. These jeans are from my sister Honey's company she works at, and since they're so rich they own a lot of brand names I'm not even going to bother mentioning their name here, they can get advertising elsewhere. If you don't know where these shoes are from, there's no hope for you. And this shirt, which is currently being desecrated by the world's ugliest bandana, is from a little-known L.A. designer called Brett Clouser. I met him when I went to L.A. Fashion Week last year - he's probably the world's most attractive 34-year-old and I let him know it, even though he's a Mormon with a long-time girlfriend. He was flattered. Anyway, he still doesn't get enough recognition for what he designs. So here you go, Brett. The Monument of Our Hearts is finally getting the advertising it deserves. Go out and buy his stuff. Good luck. Oh, and good luck on the engagement."
"So with that out of the way..." Jaxon started, before he felt something trickle down his cheek. He held his hand up to his face and realized that at some point during his fashion monologue he'd started to actually cry. The talking had prevented the sobbing, but the tears spoke louder than any soliloquy. Jaxon wasn't ready to die, but he had no idea what he was going to do to stop that. He wasn't about to go killing his friends. He had so many of them at Davison that he wasn't about to lay a finger on, and sooner or later they'd all be dead, him among them. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He wasn't one of those braniacs who tried to lead an escape every year. He wasn't a ruthless psycho waiting to happen. He had too many to care about at this resort to even think of raising a hand or a gun against them.
He shook his head of the tears and went back to his bag. He pulled everything out and noted the discrepancies from what little he'd seen last year. The only three things that were different were the clothes he was given in the same hideous shade of blue, a basketball with a silver signature signed by some guy he'd never heard of before, and a large bag containing what he guessed was his costume. He'd open it later. He guessed by the size it wasn't a Chippendales bow tie and cuffs, though.
With the stocktaking finished, he collected everything and put it clumsily back inside his bag. Breathing in, he took the opportunity to expand his world and see exactly where he was. He was on the end of a boardwalk overlooking the beach. The closest shop he'd recognized thanks to his glance at the map during stocktake was a Museum, but Jaxon didn't want to go in there. He felt like walking.
So he'd walked a fair distance down the boardwalk, passing a variety of shops and locales with a surprising lack of life. For now this was fine. He hated when people saw him cry. He was meant to be strong and sobbing was kind of counter-productive to that. He could cry on his own when things were just all too fucked up to handle or when he had every right to cry, but not in front of his friends. Hell, not even in front of strangers. The whimpering he heard while passing by a small gift shop only confirmed his theory, people shouldn't like crying in front of other-
Wait, someone else was crying here. Jaxon stopped his stroll down the boardwalk to listen closely. Yes, that was definitely real, he wasn't catching up with his own echo from several minutes ago. He wasn't half-dreaming. That was someone else, the first person he'd be talking with on the show. Shit, were his eyes still red? Who cares, they'd probably look even worse. That's an accomplishment whichever way you spin it.
Jaxon walked over to where it sounded like the crying was coming from, a gift shop, and had a look inside. Scattered with useless trinkets and souvenirs he probably could get from better resorts for even more ridiculous prices, he saw nobody else at first glance. Another cursory glance around saw some potential hiding spots, like behind one of the shelves out of view from the entrance or behind the counter, so he took another look.
Upon checking the counter, he finally found the source of the crying and fulfilled his Nancy Drew fantasy for the day. It was a girl curled up on her own, a really unfamiliar girl which was a big statement given he knew basically everyone at Davison. But then he remembered Davison wasn't the only school who got abducted to Hell in Paradise, so it was probably one of those other kids. One he was going to have to make a good impression on in order to keep afloat. Ignoring the potentially lethal rifle strapped to her back, Jaxon leaned on the counter and smiled painfully.
"Honey, I hear crying gives you wrinkles, and you're too pretty to age that fast on TV," Jaxon said, quickly wiping off the sides of his eyes. Hopefully she wouldn't call him out on being the huge flaming hypocrite that he was right now.
"So, I am totally not wearing this as a headband. This," Jaxon motioned up to his hair, now without a cap given the cap was chucked into the wild somewhere, "Is a piece of art that tooks years in the making and I'm not covering it up with the worst shade of blue in existance."
In any other circumstance, Jaxon would have been talking to himself. Which was fine, he did that a lot. But he knew that he was talking to all of America that bothered to tune in, given that they weren't as apathetic towards watching it as he used to be. He might even be talking to people tuning in from Paris, or Milan, or even some dingy litte floating home in the middle of Cambodia. He might not even be talking to people at all, the camera he was standing under might not even be on television.
"And I'm not, I repeat NOT, wearing it as an armband, a legband, or any kind of band. I ain't mourning anybody yet, and this ain't a three-legged race."
Jaxon held out a single extended digit to the cameras.
"BUT. Since if I don't wear it, my head is going to blow off, I'll do what I can."
A few minutes later, the dark blue bandana was tied around his neck and draped downward into a necktie. If he had glue and scissors he could have made a bowtie, but for now this is what he had to work with. Who knows, they might have even given him a Chippendales outfit so he could prance around the resort in a bowtie anyway. Although wearing two ties at once? In this weather? With these people? Ick.
The bandana was the first thing he had stumbled on when he opened his bag, and it was a welcome distraction lecturing to the cameras on why every other way of wearing a bandana was trite and cliched. For now, he knew the bag contained everything he'd need if he wanted to get out of here alive should he be so inclined. He didn't want to look at any of that yet. He didn't really think most of what he was saying but for now, that bandana gave him a several minute reprieve.
Because once he tightened up his tie and looked back at the camera, he wanted to start crying.
This was it, huh? All these years, all that suffering, all those trips to the fashion capitals of America, all those promises of big things to come for Jaxon, and he was going to get his ass handed to him on a show that appealed to the lowest common denominator. This wasn't fair at all. You know how hard Jaxon had worked in his life to set himself up well enough that he could enjoy himself? Do you know how easy it would have been to simply start hating the world at a young age because so many people and other kids hated him back for daring to be different? Do you know how much he had to remind himself that reacting to anything with anger would get him nowhere? Too much. Too goddamn much. And it was all for nothing.
He looked at himself in the reflection of the shop window he'd woken up slumped against. Apart from the tint of red eyes, he looked just as he did when he was taken from school. Jaxon glanced down at his shirt, and an idea to distract himself some more came to mind. Turning back to the camera he cleared his throat, which was beginning to feel tight.
"Okay, one more thing before I get started. I'm only here, probably going to get my head smashed in or blown up or something, because I was unlucky enough to get chosen. But I wasn't unlucky enough to put on these clothes. This," Jaxon motioned towards everything he was wearing from head to toe, "Was a result of waking up at 6am and spending, like, two hours deciding what worked good with what."
"This fantastic denim vest is from Charlotte Russe. I haven't met whoever made them yet, but I'm sure she's a stunning bitch with fantastic taste because I chose it. These jeans are from my sister Honey's company she works at, and since they're so rich they own a lot of brand names I'm not even going to bother mentioning their name here, they can get advertising elsewhere. If you don't know where these shoes are from, there's no hope for you. And this shirt, which is currently being desecrated by the world's ugliest bandana, is from a little-known L.A. designer called Brett Clouser. I met him when I went to L.A. Fashion Week last year - he's probably the world's most attractive 34-year-old and I let him know it, even though he's a Mormon with a long-time girlfriend. He was flattered. Anyway, he still doesn't get enough recognition for what he designs. So here you go, Brett. The Monument of Our Hearts is finally getting the advertising it deserves. Go out and buy his stuff. Good luck. Oh, and good luck on the engagement."
"So with that out of the way..." Jaxon started, before he felt something trickle down his cheek. He held his hand up to his face and realized that at some point during his fashion monologue he'd started to actually cry. The talking had prevented the sobbing, but the tears spoke louder than any soliloquy. Jaxon wasn't ready to die, but he had no idea what he was going to do to stop that. He wasn't about to go killing his friends. He had so many of them at Davison that he wasn't about to lay a finger on, and sooner or later they'd all be dead, him among them. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He wasn't one of those braniacs who tried to lead an escape every year. He wasn't a ruthless psycho waiting to happen. He had too many to care about at this resort to even think of raising a hand or a gun against them.
He shook his head of the tears and went back to his bag. He pulled everything out and noted the discrepancies from what little he'd seen last year. The only three things that were different were the clothes he was given in the same hideous shade of blue, a basketball with a silver signature signed by some guy he'd never heard of before, and a large bag containing what he guessed was his costume. He'd open it later. He guessed by the size it wasn't a Chippendales bow tie and cuffs, though.
With the stocktaking finished, he collected everything and put it clumsily back inside his bag. Breathing in, he took the opportunity to expand his world and see exactly where he was. He was on the end of a boardwalk overlooking the beach. The closest shop he'd recognized thanks to his glance at the map during stocktake was a Museum, but Jaxon didn't want to go in there. He felt like walking.
So he'd walked a fair distance down the boardwalk, passing a variety of shops and locales with a surprising lack of life. For now this was fine. He hated when people saw him cry. He was meant to be strong and sobbing was kind of counter-productive to that. He could cry on his own when things were just all too fucked up to handle or when he had every right to cry, but not in front of his friends. Hell, not even in front of strangers. The whimpering he heard while passing by a small gift shop only confirmed his theory, people shouldn't like crying in front of other-
Wait, someone else was crying here. Jaxon stopped his stroll down the boardwalk to listen closely. Yes, that was definitely real, he wasn't catching up with his own echo from several minutes ago. He wasn't half-dreaming. That was someone else, the first person he'd be talking with on the show. Shit, were his eyes still red? Who cares, they'd probably look even worse. That's an accomplishment whichever way you spin it.
Jaxon walked over to where it sounded like the crying was coming from, a gift shop, and had a look inside. Scattered with useless trinkets and souvenirs he probably could get from better resorts for even more ridiculous prices, he saw nobody else at first glance. Another cursory glance around saw some potential hiding spots, like behind one of the shelves out of view from the entrance or behind the counter, so he took another look.
Upon checking the counter, he finally found the source of the crying and fulfilled his Nancy Drew fantasy for the day. It was a girl curled up on her own, a really unfamiliar girl which was a big statement given he knew basically everyone at Davison. But then he remembered Davison wasn't the only school who got abducted to Hell in Paradise, so it was probably one of those other kids. One he was going to have to make a good impression on in order to keep afloat. Ignoring the potentially lethal rifle strapped to her back, Jaxon leaned on the counter and smiled painfully.
"Honey, I hear crying gives you wrinkles, and you're too pretty to age that fast on TV," Jaxon said, quickly wiping off the sides of his eyes. Hopefully she wouldn't call him out on being the huge flaming hypocrite that he was right now.
-
Un-Persona*
- Posts: 189
- Joined: Mon Sep 17, 2018 4:55 am
A voice quietly whispers from Leah's collar.
"Oh deary. I know you're scared, and that you think everyone is going to try to hurt you, and that you're all alone. I just to want to let you know that you're absolutely right. No one but me is going to help you till the end, not even your teammates. But at least we gave you a big gun to protect yourself, right?"
"Oh deary. I know you're scared, and that you think everyone is going to try to hurt you, and that you're all alone. I just to want to let you know that you're absolutely right. No one but me is going to help you till the end, not even your teammates. But at least we gave you a big gun to protect yourself, right?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Un-Persona. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Leah did not hear the boy coming.
Whether or not it was because she was crying was up for debate.
Either way, she yelped and jumped as she suddenly heard the voice only feet away from her. Leah winced as she hit her head on the bottom of the counter, one hand gingerly rubbing the sore spot. She was clutching her bag to her chest with the other hand as Leah looked up at the boy, head spinning.
She didn’t recognize him, but did it really matter? Anyone could be a killer in this game, whether it was someone she knew or a complete stranger. Leah vaguely remembered something the man said about teams, though the dark blue bandanna around the boy’s neck quickly dismissed that possibility. Besides, the girl last season didn’t work with her team anyway. Teammate or not, there was a consistent possibility of him gunning her down.
Another voice spoke, though this one was more quieter and closer to her. Again, Leah’s mind drifted to the man on stage. He said that there was one mentor per team, and she figured that there was some sort of speaker in their collars. She fingered it uncomfortably as the woman spoke.
...well she wasn’t a very useful or helpful mentor. She had initially sounded nice, but all Leah’s mentor did in general was reaffirm her suspicions: that nobody was to be trusted and everyone was out for her. She had assumed that they were supposed to be supportive, though hers certainly wasn’t, despite her claim that only she could help her.
But at least we gave you a big gun to protect yourself, right?
That was true, at least. She had the assault rifle, and Leah had found an instruction manual for it when she was fishing her bandanna out. But the boy clearly had the advantage here; he was standing over her, and she was cornered. To take out the rifle in this position was impossible, since her back was to the counter. She’d have to crawl out, and that would take enough time for the boy to whip out his own weapon and wound her. Sure, he seemed unarmed, but for all Leah knew he was hiding a weapon somewhere.
So Leah simply clutched her daypack to her chest as she worriedly looked up at the boy, trying to say something. She tried to mask the fear in her voice, but Leah failed miserably. She didn’t even say anything.
“Um...”
Whether or not it was because she was crying was up for debate.
Either way, she yelped and jumped as she suddenly heard the voice only feet away from her. Leah winced as she hit her head on the bottom of the counter, one hand gingerly rubbing the sore spot. She was clutching her bag to her chest with the other hand as Leah looked up at the boy, head spinning.
She didn’t recognize him, but did it really matter? Anyone could be a killer in this game, whether it was someone she knew or a complete stranger. Leah vaguely remembered something the man said about teams, though the dark blue bandanna around the boy’s neck quickly dismissed that possibility. Besides, the girl last season didn’t work with her team anyway. Teammate or not, there was a consistent possibility of him gunning her down.
Another voice spoke, though this one was more quieter and closer to her. Again, Leah’s mind drifted to the man on stage. He said that there was one mentor per team, and she figured that there was some sort of speaker in their collars. She fingered it uncomfortably as the woman spoke.
...well she wasn’t a very useful or helpful mentor. She had initially sounded nice, but all Leah’s mentor did in general was reaffirm her suspicions: that nobody was to be trusted and everyone was out for her. She had assumed that they were supposed to be supportive, though hers certainly wasn’t, despite her claim that only she could help her.
But at least we gave you a big gun to protect yourself, right?
That was true, at least. She had the assault rifle, and Leah had found an instruction manual for it when she was fishing her bandanna out. But the boy clearly had the advantage here; he was standing over her, and she was cornered. To take out the rifle in this position was impossible, since her back was to the counter. She’d have to crawl out, and that would take enough time for the boy to whip out his own weapon and wound her. Sure, he seemed unarmed, but for all Leah knew he was hiding a weapon somewhere.
So Leah simply clutched her daypack to her chest as she worriedly looked up at the boy, trying to say something. She tried to mask the fear in her voice, but Leah failed miserably. She didn’t even say anything.
“Um...”
-
crabCaptain*
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 9:02 am
((Contnued from Germ Infested Bed))
Isabel was careful to breathe slowly. If she started breathing quickly she would have an asthma attack, and if she had an asthma attack, she was as good as dead.
"No fucking emergency inhaler in the emergency first aid kit. Real nice whoever you are. Real nice."
She kept her pace to a fast walk. First priority was shelter. Or was it food? No, she had food. Maybe it was allies. Yeah, that was good, allies. She didn't know, she couldn't care less about this fucked up show.
Hustling away from the daycare, she made her way towards the beach. It would be easier to get a sense of direction there.
She pulled her sleeves over her hands and clutched them. Okay, maybe it was a bit too cold to be running around outside. Shelter first. Her team could wait for her a bit longer.
That's what the bandana was for she assumed. Teams. She hadn't really listened during the point in which she had been tied up and put in a room with a talking dude she didn't recognize. That's when she had done all her crying.
Her bandana wasn't doing much to keep out the cold. She needed a place to warm up. And hopefully meet someone who didn't run the risk of killing her on sight.
She came up to a gift shop and tried to get the frost off the window. Better safe than sorry. The thin coating of ice wouldn't rub off easily.
I guess I'm trying my luck here.
She tried to open the butterfly sword with one hand, and almost took her thumb off. Finally getting it open with two, she leaned into the shop door.
There were two people. One standing and one under a counter. Neither had a bandana her color.
Mentally pissing her pants, she mumbled out a few sounds and a single, fear-laden word."
"Uh... Hi?"
Isabel was careful to breathe slowly. If she started breathing quickly she would have an asthma attack, and if she had an asthma attack, she was as good as dead.
"No fucking emergency inhaler in the emergency first aid kit. Real nice whoever you are. Real nice."
She kept her pace to a fast walk. First priority was shelter. Or was it food? No, she had food. Maybe it was allies. Yeah, that was good, allies. She didn't know, she couldn't care less about this fucked up show.
Hustling away from the daycare, she made her way towards the beach. It would be easier to get a sense of direction there.
She pulled her sleeves over her hands and clutched them. Okay, maybe it was a bit too cold to be running around outside. Shelter first. Her team could wait for her a bit longer.
That's what the bandana was for she assumed. Teams. She hadn't really listened during the point in which she had been tied up and put in a room with a talking dude she didn't recognize. That's when she had done all her crying.
Her bandana wasn't doing much to keep out the cold. She needed a place to warm up. And hopefully meet someone who didn't run the risk of killing her on sight.
She came up to a gift shop and tried to get the frost off the window. Better safe than sorry. The thin coating of ice wouldn't rub off easily.
I guess I'm trying my luck here.
She tried to open the butterfly sword with one hand, and almost took her thumb off. Finally getting it open with two, she leaned into the shop door.
There were two people. One standing and one under a counter. Neither had a bandana her color.
Mentally pissing her pants, she mumbled out a few sounds and a single, fear-laden word."
"Uh... Hi?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler crabCaptain. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
When they took him from the class and walked him down the halls, he didn't make a sound. When he woke up in the arena and found himself tied to a chair, in front of hundreds of spectators, he didn't move a finger. He didn't want to be known as that kid who spazzed out at the opening ceremonies, even though plenty of other kids were doing just that.
Why was it then, when Damion woke up in one of many, many gift shops on the boardwalk, when it mattered the most, he couldn't stop laughing and crying?
((TB3: Damion Castillo: START))
He wasn't doing so at the same time. He kept on oscillating between the two activities, because he was on SOTF. Oh god, he was on SOTF. The feeling of being on his favorite show, of becoming a celebrity, of entering the world's most famous competition, underscored by the feeling of impending doom, of knowing that he's screwed, of wondering whether he'll be stabbed or decapitated, whether he'll be a fan favorite or a laughingstock.
Whether he'd be a hero or a villain.
He took stock of the stuff inside his bag and hoped that his personal belongings were still there, but to no avail. They even took his watch. In place of that, he seemed to have gotten the usual supplies, plus a soccer outfit. Was this his fan service outfit? Damion was almost disappointed. He expected something like a Borat onesie or a Speedo, but hey, he wasn't complaining.
He was almost done checking his bag when his finger was pricked by a sharp object in the bag. He reflexively yanked his arm back and found that it drew blood. Sucking off the blood, he used his other hand and carefully grabbed the object and pulled the... sharp boomerang-like thing. A paper attached to it called it a 'gunstock war club'. Whatever it was, it was clearly very sharp.
And it could kill.
Once he realized that, he buried the weapon under clothes and food. He had a chance to live, but he wasn't ready. Maybe he'd never be ready.
Damion ran out of the gift shop, sprinting down the boardwalk, because there was so much to do. In the few minutes after he woke up, he decided to find his teammates. It could barely be considered a plan, but it was the best Damion's barely-awake mind could think of. The more, the better, right?
He ran a few meters or so before noticing three people in another gift shop. Jackpot. One of them was wearing a tan bandanna. Damion guessed that it was Isabel, but he wasn't sure yet. He was tempted to just grab her and go, but then he noticed the girl sitting down. Eyes red, bag clutched to her chest. There was already someone there, probably trying to comfort her. But could he leave them, just like that? Was he going to start trying to compete right now?
Maybe being nice for now wouldn't hurt.
Damion asked, to no one in particular, "Hey, is she alright?"
Why was it then, when Damion woke up in one of many, many gift shops on the boardwalk, when it mattered the most, he couldn't stop laughing and crying?
((TB3: Damion Castillo: START))
He wasn't doing so at the same time. He kept on oscillating between the two activities, because he was on SOTF. Oh god, he was on SOTF. The feeling of being on his favorite show, of becoming a celebrity, of entering the world's most famous competition, underscored by the feeling of impending doom, of knowing that he's screwed, of wondering whether he'll be stabbed or decapitated, whether he'll be a fan favorite or a laughingstock.
Whether he'd be a hero or a villain.
He took stock of the stuff inside his bag and hoped that his personal belongings were still there, but to no avail. They even took his watch. In place of that, he seemed to have gotten the usual supplies, plus a soccer outfit. Was this his fan service outfit? Damion was almost disappointed. He expected something like a Borat onesie or a Speedo, but hey, he wasn't complaining.
He was almost done checking his bag when his finger was pricked by a sharp object in the bag. He reflexively yanked his arm back and found that it drew blood. Sucking off the blood, he used his other hand and carefully grabbed the object and pulled the... sharp boomerang-like thing. A paper attached to it called it a 'gunstock war club'. Whatever it was, it was clearly very sharp.
And it could kill.
Once he realized that, he buried the weapon under clothes and food. He had a chance to live, but he wasn't ready. Maybe he'd never be ready.
Damion ran out of the gift shop, sprinting down the boardwalk, because there was so much to do. In the few minutes after he woke up, he decided to find his teammates. It could barely be considered a plan, but it was the best Damion's barely-awake mind could think of. The more, the better, right?
He ran a few meters or so before noticing three people in another gift shop. Jackpot. One of them was wearing a tan bandanna. Damion guessed that it was Isabel, but he wasn't sure yet. He was tempted to just grab her and go, but then he noticed the girl sitting down. Eyes red, bag clutched to her chest. There was already someone there, probably trying to comfort her. But could he leave them, just like that? Was he going to start trying to compete right now?
Maybe being nice for now wouldn't hurt.
Damion asked, to no one in particular, "Hey, is she alright?"
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
It was like the chimney sweep scene from Mary Poppins, and him giving a compliment was the "cheroo". Everyone was coming in to lend their two cents to the situation at hand here, which was just Jaxon trying to calm this girl down from crying. Which she'd been doing a lot of. Him too. But they didn't need to know that right now.
The first girl was Isabel, now the first person he'd met from his school. He wasn't exactly close friends with her, but he definitely knew her - there wasn't many people who could match their insult power with Jaxon, espcially since Jaxon was a force to be reckoned with if you got him riled up enough, but Isabel was one of the only people at Davison who could go toe-to-toe with him on that level. Apart from that though they had little in common so there wasn't any reason to put her in his elite group of fantastic people he called his friends. And even less reason to put her in the elite group of people he'd from here on in refer to as "Safety Net Bitches", also known as the people who he trusted enough not to blow his head off at a moments notice.
The next kid seemed to have x-ray vision and somehow noticed the girl sitting under the shop counter from outside. Bitch. Why couldn't Jaxon have x-ray vision? Was there another twist to this season, one person each team gets a superpower? Well, no, duh, that was just ridiculous. Anyway, the kid was a spaz with anger problems he knew from middle school and had no intention of ever interacting with on a daily basis, or hell even a weekly basis. Here was no exception. Leaving would be the best option right now, since none of these people were Safety Net Bitches-worthy, but Jaxon wanted to see what they were planning. Yes, even the last kid.
"Oh hi there, long time no see. Good to see some friendly faces," Jaxon said with another pained smile.
Even if one of those friendly faces needs a long hard look at a shotgun. Oops, pardon me.
Either way, he resisted the urge to wipe his eyes. Were they still a bit red?
"She's, uh, look I dunno how she is, really. She's not from Davison, 'cause I know basically everyone from Davison and I've never seen her before, but that's not really important right now, y'know? She has a big-ass gun, though, so don't try anything, 'kay?"
Jaxon looked down at the girl on the floor he was just rudely refering to in the third person.
"Hun, don't worry, I was just joking before. This is a pretty fucked up situation, so you take as long as you need."
The first girl was Isabel, now the first person he'd met from his school. He wasn't exactly close friends with her, but he definitely knew her - there wasn't many people who could match their insult power with Jaxon, espcially since Jaxon was a force to be reckoned with if you got him riled up enough, but Isabel was one of the only people at Davison who could go toe-to-toe with him on that level. Apart from that though they had little in common so there wasn't any reason to put her in his elite group of fantastic people he called his friends. And even less reason to put her in the elite group of people he'd from here on in refer to as "Safety Net Bitches", also known as the people who he trusted enough not to blow his head off at a moments notice.
The next kid seemed to have x-ray vision and somehow noticed the girl sitting under the shop counter from outside. Bitch. Why couldn't Jaxon have x-ray vision? Was there another twist to this season, one person each team gets a superpower? Well, no, duh, that was just ridiculous. Anyway, the kid was a spaz with anger problems he knew from middle school and had no intention of ever interacting with on a daily basis, or hell even a weekly basis. Here was no exception. Leaving would be the best option right now, since none of these people were Safety Net Bitches-worthy, but Jaxon wanted to see what they were planning. Yes, even the last kid.
"Oh hi there, long time no see. Good to see some friendly faces," Jaxon said with another pained smile.
Even if one of those friendly faces needs a long hard look at a shotgun. Oops, pardon me.
Either way, he resisted the urge to wipe his eyes. Were they still a bit red?
"She's, uh, look I dunno how she is, really. She's not from Davison, 'cause I know basically everyone from Davison and I've never seen her before, but that's not really important right now, y'know? She has a big-ass gun, though, so don't try anything, 'kay?"
Jaxon looked down at the girl on the floor he was just rudely refering to in the third person.
"Hun, don't worry, I was just joking before. This is a pretty fucked up situation, so you take as long as you need."
More people. Leah wasn't sure what attracted them here, but from the sound of it the other boy knew them. Everyone she'd met so far had been from that other school, though again it didn't really matter. They seemed friendly, or at the least concerned for the girl crying under the counter. For the most part Leah had stopped crying, so at the moment she was just sitting there as the other boy did all the talking.
He told them that she had a gun, which was never a good thing to tell a group of teenagers forced to kill each other. That made her a target, in case the others had set their sights on winning the game. The other boy then told her that she could take her time collecting herself, which was time she didn't need.
"No, uh, I'm fine, really." She meekly assured him, crawling out from under the counter. There was no point in hiding now, was there?
Leah stood up and held her bag loosely by her side, glancing at the other people in the room. Two Hispanic kids, neither of which were too intimidating. Leah noted that they were on the same team, although it wasn't hers. All attention seemed to be on her, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted. Those two were on the same team, which definitely wasn't a good sign for her and Mr. Dark Blue Bandanna over there.
All she wanted was some peace and quiet.
He told them that she had a gun, which was never a good thing to tell a group of teenagers forced to kill each other. That made her a target, in case the others had set their sights on winning the game. The other boy then told her that she could take her time collecting herself, which was time she didn't need.
"No, uh, I'm fine, really." She meekly assured him, crawling out from under the counter. There was no point in hiding now, was there?
Leah stood up and held her bag loosely by her side, glancing at the other people in the room. Two Hispanic kids, neither of which were too intimidating. Leah noted that they were on the same team, although it wasn't hers. All attention seemed to be on her, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted. Those two were on the same team, which definitely wasn't a good sign for her and Mr. Dark Blue Bandanna over there.
All she wanted was some peace and quiet.
-
crabCaptain*
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 9:02 am
She'd been there less than 60 seconds and already she was feeling more crowded than she needed to.
Stunned, Isabel swiveled around to look the kid who had just walked in dead in the eye. The first thing to catch her attention was the tan bandana.
Thank god.
Upon closer inspection it was Damion. A kid she knew well enough to call a friendly acquaintance. A little touchy, but an okay guy.
Looking back at the other boy, she knew straight away who it was. Jaxon Street, fashionista extraordinaire and snappy gay guy. She'd crossed him a few times in the past, and he knew how to hold his own in an argument. She wasn't really in the mood to have her fashion sense insulted. Isabel didn't think he looked like he was in the mood to get called tacky.
She'd never met the girl before, who was now standing with bag in hand. She spoke with a tiny voice.
"No, uh, I'm fine, really."
Composing herself, Isabel regained the confidence that no one here was trying to kill her at the moment. She spoke calmly.
"You sure you're ok?" Isabel said in a slow voice.
She pushed past Jaxon and extended her hand outward with a nervous grin. Damned if she wasn't going to make someone reluctant to kill her on sight. Minus Jaxon but she didn't think he could do much to her.
"If you don't shoot me, I promise nerd-boy over there won't club you with his thing." She said, gesturing towards Damion. Not exactly the nicest thing to say, but what the hell, she was screwed anyway.
"I can't promise anything about the primadona though, he's not exactly with me." She smirked
God please don't fill me with holes.
Stunned, Isabel swiveled around to look the kid who had just walked in dead in the eye. The first thing to catch her attention was the tan bandana.
Thank god.
Upon closer inspection it was Damion. A kid she knew well enough to call a friendly acquaintance. A little touchy, but an okay guy.
Looking back at the other boy, she knew straight away who it was. Jaxon Street, fashionista extraordinaire and snappy gay guy. She'd crossed him a few times in the past, and he knew how to hold his own in an argument. She wasn't really in the mood to have her fashion sense insulted. Isabel didn't think he looked like he was in the mood to get called tacky.
She'd never met the girl before, who was now standing with bag in hand. She spoke with a tiny voice.
"No, uh, I'm fine, really."
Composing herself, Isabel regained the confidence that no one here was trying to kill her at the moment. She spoke calmly.
"You sure you're ok?" Isabel said in a slow voice.
She pushed past Jaxon and extended her hand outward with a nervous grin. Damned if she wasn't going to make someone reluctant to kill her on sight. Minus Jaxon but she didn't think he could do much to her.
"If you don't shoot me, I promise nerd-boy over there won't club you with his thing." She said, gesturing towards Damion. Not exactly the nicest thing to say, but what the hell, she was screwed anyway.
"I can't promise anything about the primadona though, he's not exactly with me." She smirked
God please don't fill me with holes.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler crabCaptain. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Damion examined the group before his eyes. He was right, his teammate was Isabel. Pretty nice. She was definitely tolerant also since she could still put up with him after going to middle school with him. That was not a good time for Damion. Anyways, she seemed like an OK person, and right now, OK was perfect.
He recognized the other person as Jaxon. Somewhat nice as well, although not someone you wanted to get on the bad side of. Not now. Anyways, he wasn't part of Damion's circle of friends, and all he knew of him was that he was a gay guy that loved fashion and could cut you open with a few words. Not literally, thankfully.
The other girl, he still didn't know even though he could see her face clearly now. Maybe she was from the other school? Didn't seem like any of the faces he'd see around Davison. Anyways, she sure as hell wasn't OK, no matter what she said. None of them were at the moment. Anyone who was doing fine at the moment was either a sociopath, or they don't know that they're on SOTF and probably think that they're on vacation or something. What he wouldn't give for ignorance on that scale.
It seemed like the girl was getting help already from Isabel and Jaxon, but it's not like too much help is a bad thing, is it? After all, the girl was crying and she had some AK-47 thing with her. The last thing they wanted to do was make her too nervous. He added to Isabel's statement, "Yeah, I won't bite. At least, not right now." He punctuated that with a slight nervous laugh. Laughs would help cool everything down, right?
He recognized the other person as Jaxon. Somewhat nice as well, although not someone you wanted to get on the bad side of. Not now. Anyways, he wasn't part of Damion's circle of friends, and all he knew of him was that he was a gay guy that loved fashion and could cut you open with a few words. Not literally, thankfully.
The other girl, he still didn't know even though he could see her face clearly now. Maybe she was from the other school? Didn't seem like any of the faces he'd see around Davison. Anyways, she sure as hell wasn't OK, no matter what she said. None of them were at the moment. Anyone who was doing fine at the moment was either a sociopath, or they don't know that they're on SOTF and probably think that they're on vacation or something. What he wouldn't give for ignorance on that scale.
It seemed like the girl was getting help already from Isabel and Jaxon, but it's not like too much help is a bad thing, is it? After all, the girl was crying and she had some AK-47 thing with her. The last thing they wanted to do was make her too nervous. He added to Isabel's statement, "Yeah, I won't bite. At least, not right now." He punctuated that with a slight nervous laugh. Laughs would help cool everything down, right?
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Oh she really came that way?
Jaxon pursed his lips when Isabel threw her shade, and the temptation was there to throw it right back and send the room into pitch black. First of all, primadonna? Really? Jaxon was a hot beaucoup mess right now with a shitty bandana tie, ugly eyes and a piss-poor attempt at being calm and collected and all she could read him for was the fact he was prissy? Hun please, you're on television, practice your lines.
But no, Jaxon wasn't in the mood to be outright making enemies right now. For the moment, he had a solid group of people that weren't hostile towards him despite his somewhat ill thoughts towards them, not going the cliched player route of blowing away half the room, and not robbing him of his belongings or dignity. That alone put them ahead of a good half of the interactions he'd had at Davison with people he didn't know.
And it must have been in the bottom half for Isabel because for some reason her first instinct upon meeting a crying girl with a gun was to passive-aggressively threaten her. And then Damion thought the best thing to add to this already awkward scene was an awkward sex joke. Charming. Suddenly the idea of hanging with these two seemed less appealing, even if they weren't his enemies at the moment. For starters, going back to the whole game of death going on, they were on the same team and those colours didn't match Jaxon's tie at all. Neither did their attitudes towards this mystery chick. Jaxon wanted to help her. The stars weren't aligned in that same way for Isabel and Damion.
Well I should at least let her know I'm not one of the two weirdest people in the room.
Jaxon cleared his throat as he leaned on the counter.
"Yeah, I'm...definitely, definitely not with these two. At all."
He wondered if Isabel caught the massive side-eye thrown at her at that very moment.
Jaxon pursed his lips when Isabel threw her shade, and the temptation was there to throw it right back and send the room into pitch black. First of all, primadonna? Really? Jaxon was a hot beaucoup mess right now with a shitty bandana tie, ugly eyes and a piss-poor attempt at being calm and collected and all she could read him for was the fact he was prissy? Hun please, you're on television, practice your lines.
But no, Jaxon wasn't in the mood to be outright making enemies right now. For the moment, he had a solid group of people that weren't hostile towards him despite his somewhat ill thoughts towards them, not going the cliched player route of blowing away half the room, and not robbing him of his belongings or dignity. That alone put them ahead of a good half of the interactions he'd had at Davison with people he didn't know.
And it must have been in the bottom half for Isabel because for some reason her first instinct upon meeting a crying girl with a gun was to passive-aggressively threaten her. And then Damion thought the best thing to add to this already awkward scene was an awkward sex joke. Charming. Suddenly the idea of hanging with these two seemed less appealing, even if they weren't his enemies at the moment. For starters, going back to the whole game of death going on, they were on the same team and those colours didn't match Jaxon's tie at all. Neither did their attitudes towards this mystery chick. Jaxon wanted to help her. The stars weren't aligned in that same way for Isabel and Damion.
Well I should at least let her know I'm not one of the two weirdest people in the room.
Jaxon cleared his throat as he leaned on the counter.
"Yeah, I'm...definitely, definitely not with these two. At all."
He wondered if Isabel caught the massive side-eye thrown at her at that very moment.
Everything was going fine until the other girl threatened her.
Leah tensed up as she told her not to shoot or else she'd sic the other boy on her. The other boy confirmed his teammate's threat, adding a joke and an awkward laugh. To lighten up the mood, maybe? Whatever it was, it didn't help.
Mr. Dark Blue took offense to the girl's comment, and passive aggressively affirmed her statement. Leah guessed that they didn't get along at whatever school they went to. Passive aggression easily turned into aggression in this game, and that gave way to violence.
Things weren't looking too good. The other two were teaming up on her and the other boy, and there was already distrust between them all. When Leah found herself in these situations at school, she'd simply slip out of the room. But the two were standing near the door, with her and Dark Blue against the wall. She'd have to get through them to leave.
Leah sighed nervously. Scared as she was, she knew that she had to leave. To get away from this potentially lethal encounter. She didn't know much about SOTF, though she knew that people killed this early. Or at least attempted to. As far as Leah was concerned, an attempted murder was still to be avoided.
"Oh, er, I'm fine..." She answered the other girl sheepishly, tentatively taking a step towards her. "I think I'm gonna go now." Leah added, straining a smile and nodding towards the door behind her. She hoped that she'd let her though.
Leah tensed up as she told her not to shoot or else she'd sic the other boy on her. The other boy confirmed his teammate's threat, adding a joke and an awkward laugh. To lighten up the mood, maybe? Whatever it was, it didn't help.
Mr. Dark Blue took offense to the girl's comment, and passive aggressively affirmed her statement. Leah guessed that they didn't get along at whatever school they went to. Passive aggression easily turned into aggression in this game, and that gave way to violence.
Things weren't looking too good. The other two were teaming up on her and the other boy, and there was already distrust between them all. When Leah found herself in these situations at school, she'd simply slip out of the room. But the two were standing near the door, with her and Dark Blue against the wall. She'd have to get through them to leave.
Leah sighed nervously. Scared as she was, she knew that she had to leave. To get away from this potentially lethal encounter. She didn't know much about SOTF, though she knew that people killed this early. Or at least attempted to. As far as Leah was concerned, an attempted murder was still to be avoided.
"Oh, er, I'm fine..." She answered the other girl sheepishly, tentatively taking a step towards her. "I think I'm gonna go now." Leah added, straining a smile and nodding towards the door behind her. She hoped that she'd let her though.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3462
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
A voice echoes loudly from Damion's collar.
"Howdy, team. I'm Randall Rochester—from TV, you know—and I'm your mentor for the season. And since this degenerate's making it real clear he's not with you, I think it's about time you treat him like the dangerous obstacle to progress he is."
"Howdy, team. I'm Randall Rochester—from TV, you know—and I'm your mentor for the season. And since this degenerate's making it real clear he's not with you, I think it's about time you treat him like the dangerous obstacle to progress he is."
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crabCaptain*
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 9:02 am
The loud, unfamiliar voice that seemed to come from Damion made her jump. If that wasn't enough the girl started moving towards her. Isabel's insides were trembling with fear and she shrank back away from the equally nervous girl. The voice from what she assumed was her mentor, though not really talking to her, was cautioning Damion, telling him to treat Jaxon like a "dangerous obstacle".
Nice try, but I'm not touching him buddy.
She let the girl with the gun pass and glanced back at her teammate for a little guidance. She could see Jaxon eyeing her with contempt just inside her peripheral vision. She hoped this encounter wouldn't turn deadly. The odds of making friends with these people were slim at best.
She wanted to get out of there soon. Preferably within the next 60 seconds.
"So uh... What now?"
Nice try, but I'm not touching him buddy.
She let the girl with the gun pass and glanced back at her teammate for a little guidance. She could see Jaxon eyeing her with contempt just inside her peripheral vision. She hoped this encounter wouldn't turn deadly. The odds of making friends with these people were slim at best.
She wanted to get out of there soon. Preferably within the next 60 seconds.
"So uh... What now?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler crabCaptain. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Skipping to get a few things in motion))
The girl didn't seem to mind, much to Leah's relief. If she was lucky, she wouldn't have to see the girl ever again; if she remembered correctly, there was an awful lot of people in that room, and maybe she'd get eliminated before she'd be able to find Leah again. It worried her that she was legitimately wishing death on someone, though now that didn't matter. Others threw their morals out the window the second the game started, and Leah just never wanted to see her again, dead or not.
Suddenly, a loud voice boomed from the other boy's collar. Leah nearly jumped in surprise as she swiveled around to look at him. It was an older, Southern-sounding voice that she distinctly remembered wasn't the boy's at all. Probably their mentor, Leah assumed. She remembered her's and her not-too-kind words.
Theirs wasn't too friendly either, apparently. Whoever he was, they were egging them on to attack the dark blue bandanna boy, calling him a 'degenerate' and telling the kids to "treat him like the dangerous obstacle to progress he is."
Leah didn't want to stick around to see them do so. Mumbling a quiet "Bye," and glancing back at the 'degenerate' in question, she quickly left the building.
((Leah Bissard continued in Lifdoff))
The girl didn't seem to mind, much to Leah's relief. If she was lucky, she wouldn't have to see the girl ever again; if she remembered correctly, there was an awful lot of people in that room, and maybe she'd get eliminated before she'd be able to find Leah again. It worried her that she was legitimately wishing death on someone, though now that didn't matter. Others threw their morals out the window the second the game started, and Leah just never wanted to see her again, dead or not.
Suddenly, a loud voice boomed from the other boy's collar. Leah nearly jumped in surprise as she swiveled around to look at him. It was an older, Southern-sounding voice that she distinctly remembered wasn't the boy's at all. Probably their mentor, Leah assumed. She remembered her's and her not-too-kind words.
Theirs wasn't too friendly either, apparently. Whoever he was, they were egging them on to attack the dark blue bandanna boy, calling him a 'degenerate' and telling the kids to "treat him like the dangerous obstacle to progress he is."
Leah didn't want to stick around to see them do so. Mumbling a quiet "Bye," and glancing back at the 'degenerate' in question, she quickly left the building.
((Leah Bissard continued in Lifdoff))