((BRN 5- Brenda Hernandez - START))
Brenda sat cross legged on the sand, staring at the brown bandana in her hands. The rest of her bag remained untouched, tossed slightly to the side of where she was sitting. She didn't want to look at the rest of it yet. Weapons, rations, all of that was about ten steps ahead of where she was mentally right now. Brenda had done pretty well these first few minutes, actually. She'd gotten past the initial groggy feeling of waking up in a strange place, the odd realization that she was on a beach in a place miles away from her home in Detroit, and the shock and panic of her actually being on SOTF-TV rather quickly.
After all of that had passed, she'd spent another minute or so simply staring at the bag they'd given her before remembering the thing about the bandanas. She didn't want to risk a death by stupidity, so in a panic she'd flung the bag open and pulled the bandana out, holding it tightly in her hands.
And then she got stuck.
Brenda hated SOTF-TV. She hated it more than pretty much anything else on the planet. It was cruel and vile and inhuman, and against everything Brenda had believed. And yet this hatred also required that she enough about SOTF-TV to make valid arguments, to justify her hatred.
But teams? The teams made everything Brenda thought messy.
Brenda had no idea where the other members of team brown were, who they were, or what they were like. And yet she was bound to them by a color and producer, led by a faceless mentor. These were people who owed Brenda nothing, people who Brenda owed nothing, and yet...and yet she was tied to them.
She sighed, staring at the bandana. Brenda had a choice to make, and she knew that it was made long before she'd even realized that she'd ever have to make it. She wasn't someone who abandoned people, not even strangers. Brenda was on the Brown Team, and she was going to find them. She was going to help them. That's what was right.
Brenda paused for a second before tying the bandana around her right bicep.
She reached out and grabbed her bag, taking the items in it out slowly. At first it was all normal- rations, map, flashlight, compass- nothing Brenda would question. And then it got...weird.
There was a Nerf gun. Brenda stared at it for a moment before it clicked in her head. This was her weapon. A nerf gun? Mierda. Useless for defense. So much for helping my team. Looks like they'll need to help me.
The next thing Brenda pulled out was a condom. She held it for a few long minutes, simply staring at it as a slight blush creeped up into her cheeks. "...Well...won't be needing that." She shoved it back into her bag quickly, reaching for the next thing.
Of all the things she was expecting to be in the bag, a rainbow striped bikini top was probably not even on the list. Brenda stared at it, before looking in the bag again. A few seconds later she'd located the bottoms. She was already blushing furiously. Brenda didn't have problems with her body, but bikini's on national TV? No. God no.
She looked at the tag. "Oh god...they even got the right size." She shoved it back into the bag, her face feeling like it was on fire.
Finally, she pulled out a brown tank top. Brenda studied it for a second. Barring the color, it was very similar to the tank she was wearing now. She was on the Brown Team, right? And the tank was her style.
But that meant taking her shirt off on TV. National TV. With pretty much everyone in the entire country watching, including her parents and siblings. Brenda sighed, before tugging her gray tank over her head. She pulled the brown one on as quickly as possible. It was only a second or two of bra. Fine, really. Flashing the entire nation. God will forgive me, but what about Daddy? She figured that stripping would probably not help patch up her relationship with her father.
Brenda redid her ponytail, making sure to get as much hair as possible out of her face. She grabbed the map again, scanning it over. The island seemed pretty big, and her teammates could be pretty much anywhere.
"Okay," she said out loud, mostly to end the crushing silence she was in. She didn't want to be reminded that she was, currently, completely alone. It allowed too many spaces for her to start freaking out, and freaking out was entirely against the plan. "Okay...I'll stay here ten minutes. See if anyone shows up. Failing that, I'll head to the resort. There's got to be someone there, right?"
She nodded to herself, tucking the map away. She grabbed her useless weapon, putting it on her lap.
Time to play the waiting game. I guess I've just got to hope that the people I meet haven't lost their humanity yet.
A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
A Truck Stop Instead of St. Peter's
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
((RD3: Jhamel Thompson - START))
Everything was a blur. A vivid blur, none the less, but a blur all the same. His head was throbbing, and his skin felt like it was on fire. There was something uncomfortable about where ever the fuck he was la- Holy fuck I'm on TV.
His eyes snapped open, only to be greeted by annoying and painful grit. But that was an aside, he could deal with that. In the brief window, the brief moment it took Jhamel Thompson to roll his face out of the sand of that sunny beach, it all came flooding back to him. Sitting in World History... Being forced to follow this suit mother fucker and his entourage of walking machine guns. He remembered being a little excited at first. I mean, holy shit. If he won this, he'd be famous, fuck that gang load of bullshit! But then they just had to go and tie his ass down, didn't they?
"Sorry about that; it's just too much of a bother to deal with picking out every little thing that could cause trouble."
His arms shakily slid over the grains of drab, polished stone, washed in over the past millennium by the sea.
"Hey, fuck you! You'd better gimme my hat!"
In retrospect, that probably hadn't been the most intelligent thing to scream out to a room full of armed guards and lunatic fans. Then again, all it had done was earn him a dirty look from the jacked fucker in the corner. No one else even flinched. He'd seen a game or two, he knew they had his record. He knew they knew about those damn fights. They weren't scared one fucking bit of him, and he knew it. But he had yelled it anyways. Oh well, what's done is done.
Stopping in a kneeling position, his hands ran along his pants, letting the remnants of the beach that just wanted to cling roll back to the ground where they game from. Content, they next traveled up to his eyes, doing the same thing. As the little grains and bits slowly fell by the wayside, his vision began to clear.
"Naw man... You gotta be shitting me. Fuck yeah!"
Well, that was an awesome start. He was in pretty much the same shit he was wearing before. Bright red T-Shirt, baggy down to his knees, and a pair of blue jean shorts which were cut off mid calve. His hand instinctively reached up to his head, and much to his dismay, slid through short, stubbly hair. But, on his arm was a red bandanna, with a little drop of blood embroidered into it. It took Jhamel all of a half of a second to accept this as a suitable replacement for the lost cap, with the stiff flat brim and Detroit Lions logo on it. He was still pissed, sure. You have no idea how hard it is to find a red Detroit Lions cap. But whatever, that really wasn't a big deal yet. Sliding the bandanna from his arm and making quick work of tying it around his head, he tucked the flap in the back under the knot, quickly fashioning the symbol of his team's allegiance into a makeshift do-rag. He didn't like the things, but oh well.
Next order of business, look the hell around. He was on the beach, that much was obvious from Mr. Pebble that decided he wanted to clog Jhamel's tear duct. But as he looked around, the first thing he spotted was a massive hotel not that far off. Maybe a 10 minute's walk. Alright, cool. In the sand, much much closer was a dark blue backpack. Reflexively, he cringed at the color. It wasn't any gay interior design shit, that shit was a matter of allegiance. But fuck it, that was important enough to grab. As an arm slowly reached for the handle, still apparently weak and groggy from whateverthehell those producer fucks used to knock his ass out, his eyes finally came to rest on a figure maybe a minute up the beach. The sun was right in his eyes, but he could still make out the girl was, well, a girl. Had a ponytail or something, but nowhere near enough to recognize whether or not she was from Detroit.
...And it had taken her all of what, five minutes to take off her top? Yeah, definitely from Detroit, not that prissy ass private school. At least that's some kind of common ground. He shook his head, still trying to get his bearings back. Being dropped somewhere in what felt like the god damned Bahamas was a far fucking throw from Detroit, MI. But seriously, how the hell do you approach someone like that? Yo, what team you on? Not red? Well shit, we gotta kill each other. SotF had never done anything team based before, but he still figured it was most likely not the best idea in the world to buddy buddy up with someone that had to die for you to get the hell home.
Oh fuck, my head...
Instead of doing the smart thing though, and contemplating what to do in this situation, he put his now throbbing head in his hands, and wondered where the hell everyone else was? Or shit, how many people that he knew were on the island. Was that recruiter dude he hung with on Saturdays here? Fuck, probably not. Devonte, Mariva? Fuck, that annoying kid Shamel? That weird... What the fuck was his name? Pezzetti kid? There were hundreds upon hundreds of students in Detroit, probably not a single fucking one of them were here. He was probably alone, and they were all probably watching. Or, would be.
"Shiiit." He mumbled under his breath. Anyone who could hear him would think he had lost it already, incoherently spouting random comments and thoughts out of his mouth as they came to his head. But that chick was most likely too far down the beach to hear him anyways, so he shook it off with no more thought to the matter. There was more to deal with. None of which he was... well, dealing with. Why the fuck couldn't he make himself move?
Whatever, give it a minute. That girl ain't noticed you anyways. Reassurance. Sure, that'll save you for all of ten seconds. People lose their shit in this game, she might not care enough to figure out who you are before blowing a cap in your ass.
Everything was a blur. A vivid blur, none the less, but a blur all the same. His head was throbbing, and his skin felt like it was on fire. There was something uncomfortable about where ever the fuck he was la- Holy fuck I'm on TV.
His eyes snapped open, only to be greeted by annoying and painful grit. But that was an aside, he could deal with that. In the brief window, the brief moment it took Jhamel Thompson to roll his face out of the sand of that sunny beach, it all came flooding back to him. Sitting in World History... Being forced to follow this suit mother fucker and his entourage of walking machine guns. He remembered being a little excited at first. I mean, holy shit. If he won this, he'd be famous, fuck that gang load of bullshit! But then they just had to go and tie his ass down, didn't they?
"Sorry about that; it's just too much of a bother to deal with picking out every little thing that could cause trouble."
His arms shakily slid over the grains of drab, polished stone, washed in over the past millennium by the sea.
"Hey, fuck you! You'd better gimme my hat!"
In retrospect, that probably hadn't been the most intelligent thing to scream out to a room full of armed guards and lunatic fans. Then again, all it had done was earn him a dirty look from the jacked fucker in the corner. No one else even flinched. He'd seen a game or two, he knew they had his record. He knew they knew about those damn fights. They weren't scared one fucking bit of him, and he knew it. But he had yelled it anyways. Oh well, what's done is done.
Stopping in a kneeling position, his hands ran along his pants, letting the remnants of the beach that just wanted to cling roll back to the ground where they game from. Content, they next traveled up to his eyes, doing the same thing. As the little grains and bits slowly fell by the wayside, his vision began to clear.
"Naw man... You gotta be shitting me. Fuck yeah!"
Well, that was an awesome start. He was in pretty much the same shit he was wearing before. Bright red T-Shirt, baggy down to his knees, and a pair of blue jean shorts which were cut off mid calve. His hand instinctively reached up to his head, and much to his dismay, slid through short, stubbly hair. But, on his arm was a red bandanna, with a little drop of blood embroidered into it. It took Jhamel all of a half of a second to accept this as a suitable replacement for the lost cap, with the stiff flat brim and Detroit Lions logo on it. He was still pissed, sure. You have no idea how hard it is to find a red Detroit Lions cap. But whatever, that really wasn't a big deal yet. Sliding the bandanna from his arm and making quick work of tying it around his head, he tucked the flap in the back under the knot, quickly fashioning the symbol of his team's allegiance into a makeshift do-rag. He didn't like the things, but oh well.
Next order of business, look the hell around. He was on the beach, that much was obvious from Mr. Pebble that decided he wanted to clog Jhamel's tear duct. But as he looked around, the first thing he spotted was a massive hotel not that far off. Maybe a 10 minute's walk. Alright, cool. In the sand, much much closer was a dark blue backpack. Reflexively, he cringed at the color. It wasn't any gay interior design shit, that shit was a matter of allegiance. But fuck it, that was important enough to grab. As an arm slowly reached for the handle, still apparently weak and groggy from whateverthehell those producer fucks used to knock his ass out, his eyes finally came to rest on a figure maybe a minute up the beach. The sun was right in his eyes, but he could still make out the girl was, well, a girl. Had a ponytail or something, but nowhere near enough to recognize whether or not she was from Detroit.
...And it had taken her all of what, five minutes to take off her top? Yeah, definitely from Detroit, not that prissy ass private school. At least that's some kind of common ground. He shook his head, still trying to get his bearings back. Being dropped somewhere in what felt like the god damned Bahamas was a far fucking throw from Detroit, MI. But seriously, how the hell do you approach someone like that? Yo, what team you on? Not red? Well shit, we gotta kill each other. SotF had never done anything team based before, but he still figured it was most likely not the best idea in the world to buddy buddy up with someone that had to die for you to get the hell home.
Oh fuck, my head...
Instead of doing the smart thing though, and contemplating what to do in this situation, he put his now throbbing head in his hands, and wondered where the hell everyone else was? Or shit, how many people that he knew were on the island. Was that recruiter dude he hung with on Saturdays here? Fuck, probably not. Devonte, Mariva? Fuck, that annoying kid Shamel? That weird... What the fuck was his name? Pezzetti kid? There were hundreds upon hundreds of students in Detroit, probably not a single fucking one of them were here. He was probably alone, and they were all probably watching. Or, would be.
"Shiiit." He mumbled under his breath. Anyone who could hear him would think he had lost it already, incoherently spouting random comments and thoughts out of his mouth as they came to his head. But that chick was most likely too far down the beach to hear him anyways, so he shook it off with no more thought to the matter. There was more to deal with. None of which he was... well, dealing with. Why the fuck couldn't he make himself move?
Whatever, give it a minute. That girl ain't noticed you anyways. Reassurance. Sure, that'll save you for all of ten seconds. People lose their shit in this game, she might not care enough to figure out who you are before blowing a cap in your ass.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
[GLD5: John Benson START]
“The sand feels nice...” were John's first thoughts after what felt like eternities just lying on the sand and staring at the sky. He couldn't believe it, he was on an island where everyone was out to murder you... well, almost everyone, hopefully your teammates won't show too much hostility. For once, John knew he had to get off his ass and do something productive, and what could be more productive than shuffling through the contents of the daypack set beside him?
“Let's see...”
The standard supplies were provided: rations, a map, a compass, your team's bandanna, a flashlight, a... condom... a first aid kit and some clothes. Up against the side of the bag was a fire axe, “Oh god yes!” he said to himself, a bit too loud. He didn't get a joke weapon, he might actually stand a chance here! He reached into the bag, and tried pulling it out but FUCK IT WAS HEAVY. He wouldn't be able to lug this axe around, “Perfect, just perfect.” A joke weapon would actually be preferable compared to this, why couldn't he have gotten something he could use, like a gun or something?
Frustration was building up in John's head, How the hell am I expected to survive like this? But then he remembered something, he had an exploding collar, one that would go off if he didn't have his bandana on his person. Tying it to his arm, just to relive himself of any stress regarding the matter, he glared at his daypack. The change of clothes were at the top of the pack after he shuffled through it, and the contents looked reasonable enough at first glance, a gold t-shirt, an American Eagle brand t-shirt and... great... They gave him a flashy golden sundress. HOW THE FUCK WILL THAT BE USEFUL AT ALL? He let out a sigh and stuffed the dress into the bag. Turning his grimace to the fire axe, he tried lifting it back into the bag, and he succeeded. It was heavy, too heavy to be used usefully, but it's not like John was struggling to lift it off the ground.
He started walking, the heavy bag weighing down on his back more and more every second. This wasn't going to work. He placed the bag down and started dragging it in the sand, easier, he guessed. He wandered around for what felt like hours, and then he found his first bit of human contact. He saw what looked like a girl a long ways away. ”Maybe she's on my team!” “Maybe she won't try to kill me!” “Maybe she will!...” were all thoughts that ran through his head, but he might as well. Normally he'd hate even socializing with another person, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he rushed over bag in hand.
He stopped short when he realized... the girl was changing. She stripped off her shirt and put on another one in about two seconds, but John saw what he saw. He blushed, hoping the girl wouldn't notice him there, looking at her. ”Maybe making human contact for once wasn't such a good idea,” he thought to himself, taking a few steps back, but he couldn't turn back now, so he just kind of stood there like an idiot.
“The sand feels nice...” were John's first thoughts after what felt like eternities just lying on the sand and staring at the sky. He couldn't believe it, he was on an island where everyone was out to murder you... well, almost everyone, hopefully your teammates won't show too much hostility. For once, John knew he had to get off his ass and do something productive, and what could be more productive than shuffling through the contents of the daypack set beside him?
“Let's see...”
The standard supplies were provided: rations, a map, a compass, your team's bandanna, a flashlight, a... condom... a first aid kit and some clothes. Up against the side of the bag was a fire axe, “Oh god yes!” he said to himself, a bit too loud. He didn't get a joke weapon, he might actually stand a chance here! He reached into the bag, and tried pulling it out but FUCK IT WAS HEAVY. He wouldn't be able to lug this axe around, “Perfect, just perfect.” A joke weapon would actually be preferable compared to this, why couldn't he have gotten something he could use, like a gun or something?
Frustration was building up in John's head, How the hell am I expected to survive like this? But then he remembered something, he had an exploding collar, one that would go off if he didn't have his bandana on his person. Tying it to his arm, just to relive himself of any stress regarding the matter, he glared at his daypack. The change of clothes were at the top of the pack after he shuffled through it, and the contents looked reasonable enough at first glance, a gold t-shirt, an American Eagle brand t-shirt and... great... They gave him a flashy golden sundress. HOW THE FUCK WILL THAT BE USEFUL AT ALL? He let out a sigh and stuffed the dress into the bag. Turning his grimace to the fire axe, he tried lifting it back into the bag, and he succeeded. It was heavy, too heavy to be used usefully, but it's not like John was struggling to lift it off the ground.
He started walking, the heavy bag weighing down on his back more and more every second. This wasn't going to work. He placed the bag down and started dragging it in the sand, easier, he guessed. He wandered around for what felt like hours, and then he found his first bit of human contact. He saw what looked like a girl a long ways away. ”Maybe she's on my team!” “Maybe she won't try to kill me!” “Maybe she will!...” were all thoughts that ran through his head, but he might as well. Normally he'd hate even socializing with another person, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he rushed over bag in hand.
He stopped short when he realized... the girl was changing. She stripped off her shirt and put on another one in about two seconds, but John saw what he saw. He blushed, hoping the girl wouldn't notice him there, looking at her. ”Maybe making human contact for once wasn't such a good idea,” he thought to himself, taking a few steps back, but he couldn't turn back now, so he just kind of stood there like an idiot.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Omnis. 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.
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Brenda sighed, propping her elbow on her knee, and her chin on her hand. Waiting was boring, and Brenda was a sitting duck. She drummed her fingers lazily against her cheek, wondering how long it had been. I should probably just leave. At this rate no one will show...
A noise drew her attention. Brenda wondered if she'd imagined it for a moment. She turned to see where it had came from, and wound up looking at a boy standing behind her. She shot up onto her feet, turning and looking at him for a moment. He went to Detroit, she knew that much. His face looked familiar, but his name was escaping her. Something generic. He was a generic kid. James or...John, or something like that. She waved, awkwardly.
"Hi! You're from Detroit, aren't you? I recognize you...I mean, kinda. It's, uh...John, right? I'm Brenda. I don't think you know me, but, well...I try to get to know everyone, you know?" She sounded chipper as always, but inside she felt very out of place. This kid wasn't on her team. There was a gold bandana tired around his arm. But did that really mean anything? Brenda wasn't going to turn this kid away just because fate had put them on different teams. Fate had put them in the same starting location, and that was enough for Brenda.
"Well...gold team, yeah? I'm looking for Brown myself. So...I guess we could look together? I mean, I need all the help I can get. I think everyone probably does." She laughed lightly, some of the pressure being lifted off of her chest. This was her mission. This was fate, God's choice. She was going to help people, to stop them from falling victim to this horrendous game.
"I-" Another noise distracted her, this time off to the side. Brenda looked towards it, frowning. Someone else? But I don't see anyone...
"I swear I'm hearing things! Did you...see anyone else with you? Or has my imagination run wild?" She laughed again, silently praying that if there was someone there, he was friendly. She couldn't deal with someone attacking her this early.
I have a mission, and I must complete it. Es la voluntad de Dios.
A noise drew her attention. Brenda wondered if she'd imagined it for a moment. She turned to see where it had came from, and wound up looking at a boy standing behind her. She shot up onto her feet, turning and looking at him for a moment. He went to Detroit, she knew that much. His face looked familiar, but his name was escaping her. Something generic. He was a generic kid. James or...John, or something like that. She waved, awkwardly.
"Hi! You're from Detroit, aren't you? I recognize you...I mean, kinda. It's, uh...John, right? I'm Brenda. I don't think you know me, but, well...I try to get to know everyone, you know?" She sounded chipper as always, but inside she felt very out of place. This kid wasn't on her team. There was a gold bandana tired around his arm. But did that really mean anything? Brenda wasn't going to turn this kid away just because fate had put them on different teams. Fate had put them in the same starting location, and that was enough for Brenda.
"Well...gold team, yeah? I'm looking for Brown myself. So...I guess we could look together? I mean, I need all the help I can get. I think everyone probably does." She laughed lightly, some of the pressure being lifted off of her chest. This was her mission. This was fate, God's choice. She was going to help people, to stop them from falling victim to this horrendous game.
"I-" Another noise distracted her, this time off to the side. Brenda looked towards it, frowning. Someone else? But I don't see anyone...
"I swear I'm hearing things! Did you...see anyone else with you? Or has my imagination run wild?" She laughed again, silently praying that if there was someone there, he was friendly. She couldn't deal with someone attacking her this early.
I have a mission, and I must complete it. Es la voluntad de Dios.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
He watched, shocked that she hadn't noticed him yet. She had, however, noticed some schmuck that popped his head up between the pair though.
Great, more people. As if trying to be friendly with just one wasn't enough.
He mentally berated himself. He didn't know who these kids were. They could be on his team, or from Detroit for all he knew. After all, homies gotta stick together, don't they? Either way, Jhamel finally stood as he heard her exclaim something to the other kid. All he could make out was a high pitched "Hi!", but it sure as she didn't sound like she was all that dangerous. Good, she wasn't one of the bangers. As much as he wanted to be one, as much as he had fought to be one back home, that was the last thing he wanted to see. Especially one that would be flashing blue if they had a gawd-damned choice in the matter.
...If they did pick anyone else like that though, no one else probably got as lucky as he did color wise though. The thought made him grin again.
He stared down the beach, into the distance a little. There was no one else for miles, or at least no one else he could see. Then again, the other guy had seemingly appeared from no where. He wouldn't put trap doors past these producers, with some of the outlandish shit they had tried in previous versions.
And suddenly, the pair stopped talking. A sweaty palm rubbed his forehead, still trying to shake off that ever so distracting headache. As she looked over in his direction, he debated whether it would be more prudent to take a step forward or backwards. Well, if he knew her allegiance, it would be a much easier decision, but as it stood he didn't. However, he didn't want to miss a one time shot to pair up with a guaranteed ally right off the bat. So he took a step forward. And another. In earnest, he started walking down the beach, getting more than annoyed at the little bits of sand that decided they wanted in his shoe.
He swore she had to have noticed him by the time he was close enough to give her a shout out, but whatever.
"Hey, yo! Where you guys from?"
Probably again not the smartest thing to do. Scream on an island where only at most five would survive. But it was better than the alternative of getting capped. There was something in the chick's lap, and it almost looked like a rifle, but she didn't seem exactly poised to use it. Black girl. Yeah, most definitely from Detroit. No way a black girl was even heard of down at that rich bitch school. Hell, it's a high school that called itself an academy.
Whatever. He shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. Asking where someone was from was probably a better way of going about this than asking about teams. That was bound to bring some weapons up. Come to think of it, he hadn't even checked his yet. Probably should get on that as soon as he had a chance. These two might not have been looking to get a kill anytime soon, but that didn't mean that everyone felt the same way.
Great, more people. As if trying to be friendly with just one wasn't enough.
He mentally berated himself. He didn't know who these kids were. They could be on his team, or from Detroit for all he knew. After all, homies gotta stick together, don't they? Either way, Jhamel finally stood as he heard her exclaim something to the other kid. All he could make out was a high pitched "Hi!", but it sure as she didn't sound like she was all that dangerous. Good, she wasn't one of the bangers. As much as he wanted to be one, as much as he had fought to be one back home, that was the last thing he wanted to see. Especially one that would be flashing blue if they had a gawd-damned choice in the matter.
...If they did pick anyone else like that though, no one else probably got as lucky as he did color wise though. The thought made him grin again.
He stared down the beach, into the distance a little. There was no one else for miles, or at least no one else he could see. Then again, the other guy had seemingly appeared from no where. He wouldn't put trap doors past these producers, with some of the outlandish shit they had tried in previous versions.
And suddenly, the pair stopped talking. A sweaty palm rubbed his forehead, still trying to shake off that ever so distracting headache. As she looked over in his direction, he debated whether it would be more prudent to take a step forward or backwards. Well, if he knew her allegiance, it would be a much easier decision, but as it stood he didn't. However, he didn't want to miss a one time shot to pair up with a guaranteed ally right off the bat. So he took a step forward. And another. In earnest, he started walking down the beach, getting more than annoyed at the little bits of sand that decided they wanted in his shoe.
He swore she had to have noticed him by the time he was close enough to give her a shout out, but whatever.
"Hey, yo! Where you guys from?"
Probably again not the smartest thing to do. Scream on an island where only at most five would survive. But it was better than the alternative of getting capped. There was something in the chick's lap, and it almost looked like a rifle, but she didn't seem exactly poised to use it. Black girl. Yeah, most definitely from Detroit. No way a black girl was even heard of down at that rich bitch school. Hell, it's a high school that called itself an academy.
Whatever. He shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. Asking where someone was from was probably a better way of going about this than asking about teams. That was bound to bring some weapons up. Come to think of it, he hadn't even checked his yet. Probably should get on that as soon as he had a chance. These two might not have been looking to get a kill anytime soon, but that didn't mean that everyone felt the same way.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
John stood still as Brenda went up to him, hoping that she wouldn't hit him or something for seeing her quickly strip, but luck was on his side.
"Hi! You're from Detroit, aren't you? I recognize you...I mean, kinda. It's, uh...John, right?”
It was obvious that she didn't remember his name, and he was okay with this... it happened a lot... He never stood out to anyone. Jesus, even after exchanging a few sentences with her, he was already getting annoyed, but he had to keep it together, “H- Hey there.” he spoke with a mix of a nervous and annoyed tone... ”SO FAR SO GOOD HUH?”
His eyes glanced over to her armband, which was tied around her right arm. She was an enemy. John tensed up as he saw this, ”She could kill me at any time... shit...” She seemed nice enough, but anyone could hide something with a mask.
"Well...gold team, yeah? I'm looking for Brown myself. So...I guess we could look together? I mean, I need all the help I can get. I think everyone probably does."
Alright, she was pretty nice, but John didn't think that helping her find the people trying to kill him and everyone else on his team was such a good idea, so he said nothing. He looked at her weapon, a Nerf gun, ”Nice weapon she's got there... I should be safe for now, thank god.”
When she turned her head to look at a noise she heard, John did the same. He heard the noise as well. When questioned about it, he just nodded and said, “I heard it too.” Dropping his heavy bag to the ground, he turned to a figure approaching them, “Seems we have a visitor... great...” He said, uttering that last word from under his breath. Talking with one person was bearable enough, but two people? Fuck that.
"Hey, yo! Where you guys from?"
Not the most subtle fruit on the tree, but a fruit nonetheless. Maybe this one was on John's team, he hoped, but the odds weren't exactly tilting towards that probability. He recognized the girl from Detroit, as well as the guy. Well, it could be worse, he could have run into people from the SDA. Either way, he should stay on his toes.
"Hi! You're from Detroit, aren't you? I recognize you...I mean, kinda. It's, uh...John, right?”
It was obvious that she didn't remember his name, and he was okay with this... it happened a lot... He never stood out to anyone. Jesus, even after exchanging a few sentences with her, he was already getting annoyed, but he had to keep it together, “H- Hey there.” he spoke with a mix of a nervous and annoyed tone... ”SO FAR SO GOOD HUH?”
His eyes glanced over to her armband, which was tied around her right arm. She was an enemy. John tensed up as he saw this, ”She could kill me at any time... shit...” She seemed nice enough, but anyone could hide something with a mask.
"Well...gold team, yeah? I'm looking for Brown myself. So...I guess we could look together? I mean, I need all the help I can get. I think everyone probably does."
Alright, she was pretty nice, but John didn't think that helping her find the people trying to kill him and everyone else on his team was such a good idea, so he said nothing. He looked at her weapon, a Nerf gun, ”Nice weapon she's got there... I should be safe for now, thank god.”
When she turned her head to look at a noise she heard, John did the same. He heard the noise as well. When questioned about it, he just nodded and said, “I heard it too.” Dropping his heavy bag to the ground, he turned to a figure approaching them, “Seems we have a visitor... great...” He said, uttering that last word from under his breath. Talking with one person was bearable enough, but two people? Fuck that.
"Hey, yo! Where you guys from?"
Not the most subtle fruit on the tree, but a fruit nonetheless. Maybe this one was on John's team, he hoped, but the odds weren't exactly tilting towards that probability. He recognized the girl from Detroit, as well as the guy. Well, it could be worse, he could have run into people from the SDA. Either way, he should stay on his toes.
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Brenda quirked an eyebrow at the boy approaching her. Oh, she knew him. He was pretty hard not to know, really. A kid as loud as Jhamel Thompson didn't slip under the radar very easily, especially with the people he was associated with. But he wasn't a real banger, not yet anyways, and he hadn't started out attacking them, so they were off to an okay foot, she figured.
"Hey Jhamel. Looks like we're having a bit of a Detroit party here!" She paused, realizing that if he had to ask where she was from, he probably had no idea who she was. "It's Brenda, by the way. Brenda Hernandez."
She glanced him up and down, noting the bandana he was sporting. "Red, huh? Well, it looks like we're all flying solo team wise here." She sighed, pushing one of her bangs behind her ear. "That doesn't mean much, though. We don't have to be enemies, at least. There's not much I can do from stopping you two but...I don't plan on hurting anyone. I just want to find my team and get as many of us home as possible."
Which means that both of you will have to die. She disliked that thought. It was bitter and nasty, and it sent a chill down her spine, yet was certain that both of them fully understood that rule, and were probably thinking the same thing. Now was the opportunity to get rid of the competition, and she couldn't stop them from taking her out early.
"Look, I know that this is SOTF, and I know that..most people don't make it out alive, but it's too early to start losing people in the game. I'm not a killer. I don't believe in this game or what it stands for, so I'm not going to hurt either of you." She held out her nerf gun. "Not that I could if I wanted too..."
"All I want is to find my team. If you want me to help you find yours, I'm more than willing. If you want to...I don't know, make some sort of alliance, then we can take our three teams as far as possible. If not...then I hope you both make the right decision."
She nodded, smiling. "But I am willing to help you. Both of you. As much as I can."
"Hey Jhamel. Looks like we're having a bit of a Detroit party here!" She paused, realizing that if he had to ask where she was from, he probably had no idea who she was. "It's Brenda, by the way. Brenda Hernandez."
She glanced him up and down, noting the bandana he was sporting. "Red, huh? Well, it looks like we're all flying solo team wise here." She sighed, pushing one of her bangs behind her ear. "That doesn't mean much, though. We don't have to be enemies, at least. There's not much I can do from stopping you two but...I don't plan on hurting anyone. I just want to find my team and get as many of us home as possible."
Which means that both of you will have to die. She disliked that thought. It was bitter and nasty, and it sent a chill down her spine, yet was certain that both of them fully understood that rule, and were probably thinking the same thing. Now was the opportunity to get rid of the competition, and she couldn't stop them from taking her out early.
"Look, I know that this is SOTF, and I know that..most people don't make it out alive, but it's too early to start losing people in the game. I'm not a killer. I don't believe in this game or what it stands for, so I'm not going to hurt either of you." She held out her nerf gun. "Not that I could if I wanted too..."
"All I want is to find my team. If you want me to help you find yours, I'm more than willing. If you want to...I don't know, make some sort of alliance, then we can take our three teams as far as possible. If not...then I hope you both make the right decision."
She nodded, smiling. "But I am willing to help you. Both of you. As much as I can."
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Oh, shit, he woke up next to Brenda? Word, that works. He knew her, but it was just the damn light, all he saw was a blob, just a figure... Silhouette, yeah, that's the word. Either way, the pair definitely weren't hostile, and he knew her at the very least, so it was a pretty good start.
"Yeah, I know who you are girl." Taking his spot near the other pair, he glanced between the two, noting the color of their bandannas. Brown, and Gold. He shook his head a little bit. There was no way he was gonna start in with this kill your classmates shit already. He knew these people, he saw them every god damned day. Didn't matter that he wasn't tight with them personally, they were still as close to homies as he had down here in the fucking tropics. Well, other than his team, but that remained to be seen. For all he knew he was stuck with a bunch of those rich ass white kids. If that was the case, Jhamel might be going home alone. There just wasn't any way any of those fuckers had what it took to make it out here. Sure, they'd probably be smarter than the kids from his class, but good luck figuring out how to fight out here.
Not that he was worth a shit either, but those were bangers he was fuckin' with before. Not some scrawny ass science nerd. Naw, he had what it took.
"Look, I know that this is SOTF, and I know that..most people don't make it out alive, but it's too early to start losing people in the game. I'm not a killer. I don't believe in this game or what it stands for, so I'm not going to hurt either of you. Not that I could if I wanted too..."
"Hey, y'aint gotta worry girl. I ain't playing. At least yet, I dunno what I'm gonna do. But yeah, it's way too early in the game for that load'a bullshit. Don't gimme wrong if I'm getting attacked I'll fight back, I'm plannin' on making it home. But naw, I couldn't hurt you guys. We're Detroit, we gotta stick together."
That really wasn't the best way of putting it, but it got the point across.
"All I want is to find my team. If you want me to help you find yours, I'm more than willing. If you want to...I don't know, make some sort of alliance, then we can take our three teams as far as possible. If not...then I hope you both make the right decision. But I am willing to help you. Both of you. As much as I can."
That most likely wasn't the best idea. He took a deep breath and exchanged glances with whitey, running his fingers quickly over his mouth and chin. "Hey trust me, I'd love to. And I hope we can, but I ain't know who's on my team yet. It could be some fuckers that are plannin' to light up every motherfucker flashing a different color out here. I ain't want that shit on my conscience, you know?"
It was everything he could do to suppress a grin. So, this is what gang life was like. Well, obviously not the natural beauty and intolerable heat, but... Yeah. Allegiance, colors, teams, gangs all the same deal. Issue was he didn't get to pick his guys, some dumb motherfucker in a suit did. But fuck, he really didn't wanna shoot Brenda. She wasn't a part of his scene, no denying that, but she was a pretty cool girl.
"...What the fuck do we do though? I don't see that much of a better option."
He glanced from Brenda over to John. He didn't know much about John, but word goes around Detroit fast. One of those nerdy kids he'd more expect to see in something middle class, not poor old Central. Most of the kids up in Detroit either were like him, were rockers or some shit, or were jocky. There weren't that many smart kids running around. Most smart kids came from smart parents, and smart parents usually had pretty damn good jobs.
Usually.
"Yo, so how bout' you brains? You got an idea?" He flicked his head, indicating to the smaller boy, waiting for his response, if he even had one.
"Yeah, I know who you are girl." Taking his spot near the other pair, he glanced between the two, noting the color of their bandannas. Brown, and Gold. He shook his head a little bit. There was no way he was gonna start in with this kill your classmates shit already. He knew these people, he saw them every god damned day. Didn't matter that he wasn't tight with them personally, they were still as close to homies as he had down here in the fucking tropics. Well, other than his team, but that remained to be seen. For all he knew he was stuck with a bunch of those rich ass white kids. If that was the case, Jhamel might be going home alone. There just wasn't any way any of those fuckers had what it took to make it out here. Sure, they'd probably be smarter than the kids from his class, but good luck figuring out how to fight out here.
Not that he was worth a shit either, but those were bangers he was fuckin' with before. Not some scrawny ass science nerd. Naw, he had what it took.
"Look, I know that this is SOTF, and I know that..most people don't make it out alive, but it's too early to start losing people in the game. I'm not a killer. I don't believe in this game or what it stands for, so I'm not going to hurt either of you. Not that I could if I wanted too..."
"Hey, y'aint gotta worry girl. I ain't playing. At least yet, I dunno what I'm gonna do. But yeah, it's way too early in the game for that load'a bullshit. Don't gimme wrong if I'm getting attacked I'll fight back, I'm plannin' on making it home. But naw, I couldn't hurt you guys. We're Detroit, we gotta stick together."
That really wasn't the best way of putting it, but it got the point across.
"All I want is to find my team. If you want me to help you find yours, I'm more than willing. If you want to...I don't know, make some sort of alliance, then we can take our three teams as far as possible. If not...then I hope you both make the right decision. But I am willing to help you. Both of you. As much as I can."
That most likely wasn't the best idea. He took a deep breath and exchanged glances with whitey, running his fingers quickly over his mouth and chin. "Hey trust me, I'd love to. And I hope we can, but I ain't know who's on my team yet. It could be some fuckers that are plannin' to light up every motherfucker flashing a different color out here. I ain't want that shit on my conscience, you know?"
It was everything he could do to suppress a grin. So, this is what gang life was like. Well, obviously not the natural beauty and intolerable heat, but... Yeah. Allegiance, colors, teams, gangs all the same deal. Issue was he didn't get to pick his guys, some dumb motherfucker in a suit did. But fuck, he really didn't wanna shoot Brenda. She wasn't a part of his scene, no denying that, but she was a pretty cool girl.
"...What the fuck do we do though? I don't see that much of a better option."
He glanced from Brenda over to John. He didn't know much about John, but word goes around Detroit fast. One of those nerdy kids he'd more expect to see in something middle class, not poor old Central. Most of the kids up in Detroit either were like him, were rockers or some shit, or were jocky. There weren't that many smart kids running around. Most smart kids came from smart parents, and smart parents usually had pretty damn good jobs.
Usually.
"Yo, so how bout' you brains? You got an idea?" He flicked his head, indicating to the smaller boy, waiting for his response, if he even had one.
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[BROWN #2 -April Stone, Debut.]
Well, this was new.
That was all she could say, really. Since waking up, April had just wandered on the beach, not really sure what to think any more. What happened to Jeanie and Peter? Were they okay? Should she go out looking for them?
She’d figure that out later, for now, she resolved that she just needed time. She just needed time to think. Time to get back to being the April that her friends remembered her as. Even if she was feeling pants herself, she couldn’t let her friends feel down, even in this situation.
Problem was, not only were they probably on different teams- which created a problem in and of itself- they were probably also on opposite sides of the island, which was a much larger problem.
See, though April had no intentions of playing the game, she did want to at least meet up with her team. For one thing, awesome though her rubber band launching pen was, she decided that she needed the backup of what was inevitably a team of twenty muscle-bound bodyguards who would provide a big fleshy raft for her to get off of the island on.
…Wait, that made no sense.
April shook her head, remembering something Jeanie had told her once about something like that. It probably wasn’t true, but it was weird, and April really did doubt Jeanette’s sobriety when she said something like that. April smiled. When she met up with Jeanie and Peter, things would be just fine. Unless April listened to Jeanie again. That was the worst idea.
Well, there was the silver lining. Being away from her friends made April appreciate them more. Though the feelings of appreciation were just a little overshadowed by the swirling mass of emotions that April was desperately trying to suppress, it was nice to have something to focus on, she supposed.
Also, she needed to find a satellite phone or a laptop computer or something. No way was she letting Peter win the poke war.
April stepped along the beach, her new brown shirt hanging loosely over her small frame, her hoodie around her waist. Her team bandanna was tied around her leg- she'd put it on her head once it sunk in that she’d need it- and her bag hung low on her shoulders.
She noticed a girl, stood on the beach, Surrounded by two boys April had never seen before. They must have been from the other school, or else April would've known them. They were all from different teams, talking, probably cutting a back-room deal to get themselves further.
That wasn't what April noticed. April noticed the girl. She looked just a bit taller than her, a fair bit heavier. A brown checked bandanna on her arm.
That either made her a member of her team or a lumberjack in disguise, and she didn't look like a lumberjack.
A wide, genuinely happy smile on her face, April made a slow approach to her new team-mate.
Well, this was new.
That was all she could say, really. Since waking up, April had just wandered on the beach, not really sure what to think any more. What happened to Jeanie and Peter? Were they okay? Should she go out looking for them?
She’d figure that out later, for now, she resolved that she just needed time. She just needed time to think. Time to get back to being the April that her friends remembered her as. Even if she was feeling pants herself, she couldn’t let her friends feel down, even in this situation.
Problem was, not only were they probably on different teams- which created a problem in and of itself- they were probably also on opposite sides of the island, which was a much larger problem.
See, though April had no intentions of playing the game, she did want to at least meet up with her team. For one thing, awesome though her rubber band launching pen was, she decided that she needed the backup of what was inevitably a team of twenty muscle-bound bodyguards who would provide a big fleshy raft for her to get off of the island on.
…Wait, that made no sense.
April shook her head, remembering something Jeanie had told her once about something like that. It probably wasn’t true, but it was weird, and April really did doubt Jeanette’s sobriety when she said something like that. April smiled. When she met up with Jeanie and Peter, things would be just fine. Unless April listened to Jeanie again. That was the worst idea.
Well, there was the silver lining. Being away from her friends made April appreciate them more. Though the feelings of appreciation were just a little overshadowed by the swirling mass of emotions that April was desperately trying to suppress, it was nice to have something to focus on, she supposed.
Also, she needed to find a satellite phone or a laptop computer or something. No way was she letting Peter win the poke war.
April stepped along the beach, her new brown shirt hanging loosely over her small frame, her hoodie around her waist. Her team bandanna was tied around her leg- she'd put it on her head once it sunk in that she’d need it- and her bag hung low on her shoulders.
She noticed a girl, stood on the beach, Surrounded by two boys April had never seen before. They must have been from the other school, or else April would've known them. They were all from different teams, talking, probably cutting a back-room deal to get themselves further.
That wasn't what April noticed. April noticed the girl. She looked just a bit taller than her, a fair bit heavier. A brown checked bandanna on her arm.
That either made her a member of her team or a lumberjack in disguise, and she didn't look like a lumberjack.
A wide, genuinely happy smile on her face, April made a slow approach to her new team-mate.
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The second Jhamel opened his mouth, John only thought one thing, ”Hate him.” He came off as all kinds of wannabe gangster arrogant, a lot like every other guy at his school, just without the wannabe part. Between nodding every time Brenda said something he agreed with, he didn't do much or say anything.
”God they're annoying,” he thought to himself, ”The guy especially. He hated people like him, just the way they spoke and acted. Brenda was nice enough, but he thought anyone who so much as spoke to him was annoying, and she was no exception... eh, he may warm up eventually.
It was then Jhamel looked down to John, to which John returned the coldest glance he could give. He knew what he was doing, he was wondering why someone short and nerdy was here representing Detroit. He could tell when people scanned him over that way. He let out a sigh while he did this, but did nothing more... then he opened that mouth of his.
"Yo, so how bout' you brains? You got an idea?"
John looked towards the boy's bag, then to Brenda's. Between the three of them, they have enough supplies to last a while, but god knows that that won't last long with this team segregation shit. It was then he had an idea. Their weapons. He knew that he had something useful to anyone else other than him, and that Brenda had a gag weapon, but the boy had Schrödinger's Arms in that bag of his, so maybe it could be something he could use. If he got lucky, maybe a gun. This boy didn't seem like the type who could hold a gun, let alone shoot it, he just gave off the vibe that he was trying too hard.
“Alright, well until we stumble across our other teammates, we're stuck with each other, might as well make use of it.”
He pointed towards Brenda's Nerf gun, “You see this? Trash it, it's a waste of space.” He bent down to open his bag and pulled out his Fire Axe, holding it by the handle so the rest of the axe dug itself into the sand.
“This thing isn't exactly for me, I can barely lift it.” He looked towards Jhamel with a cold stare, “You look like you could make better use of this thing than I could, so if you're willing to trade whatever you have, I'd be happy to oblige.”
It's a gamble, he could end up with an even more useless weapon, but this game was all about gambles, so he might as well take it.
”God they're annoying,” he thought to himself, ”The guy especially. He hated people like him, just the way they spoke and acted. Brenda was nice enough, but he thought anyone who so much as spoke to him was annoying, and she was no exception... eh, he may warm up eventually.
It was then Jhamel looked down to John, to which John returned the coldest glance he could give. He knew what he was doing, he was wondering why someone short and nerdy was here representing Detroit. He could tell when people scanned him over that way. He let out a sigh while he did this, but did nothing more... then he opened that mouth of his.
"Yo, so how bout' you brains? You got an idea?"
John looked towards the boy's bag, then to Brenda's. Between the three of them, they have enough supplies to last a while, but god knows that that won't last long with this team segregation shit. It was then he had an idea. Their weapons. He knew that he had something useful to anyone else other than him, and that Brenda had a gag weapon, but the boy had Schrödinger's Arms in that bag of his, so maybe it could be something he could use. If he got lucky, maybe a gun. This boy didn't seem like the type who could hold a gun, let alone shoot it, he just gave off the vibe that he was trying too hard.
“Alright, well until we stumble across our other teammates, we're stuck with each other, might as well make use of it.”
He pointed towards Brenda's Nerf gun, “You see this? Trash it, it's a waste of space.” He bent down to open his bag and pulled out his Fire Axe, holding it by the handle so the rest of the axe dug itself into the sand.
“This thing isn't exactly for me, I can barely lift it.” He looked towards Jhamel with a cold stare, “You look like you could make better use of this thing than I could, so if you're willing to trade whatever you have, I'd be happy to oblige.”
It's a gamble, he could end up with an even more useless weapon, but this game was all about gambles, so he might as well take it.
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Brenda nodded at Jhamel's answer, still smiling. "Fair enough. I have no idea who my teammates are either, or how to find them."
As it was though, luck was on Brenda's side, because at that very moment one of her teammates strolled up. Brenda looked her up and down quickly, noting the shirt and the bandana. She waved. "Hi! You're Brown too then? Guess we're teammates then."
She looked at the girl again. Small. Very small- barely any meat on her at all. Also very white. "I take it you're not from Detroit, huh?" Brenda laughed lightly.
"I'm Brenda, by the way. And this is Jhamel and John." She gestured to the boys as she said their names.
John pointed to Brenda's nerf gun, telling her trash it. Brenda pursed her lips slightly. He was also initiating a trade with Jhamel. "Woah there John, one step at a time. You haven't even said hi to our new friend.
"And while I appreciate the thought of dumping my weapon it is my weapon, and I don't really have anything else. It's not even heavy. I can carry it. Besides, I could always use it to knock someone over the head. Fighting is something I happen to be good at, actually."
Was that a threat? Did I just threaten him?
Brenda looked John over. She never hated anyone, that wasn't her deal, but there was something...off about John. She could tell he didn't like either her or Jhamel, but then why not just leave?
Must keep an eye out for this one.
Brenda quickly readjusted the smile on her face, turning back to Jhamel. "It sounds like a plan if you want to go for it."
She then switched back to the new girl. "So, teammate, I guess I should ask if you've seen any other...Browns walking around, huh? I was hoping to find as many of them as possible."
As it was though, luck was on Brenda's side, because at that very moment one of her teammates strolled up. Brenda looked her up and down quickly, noting the shirt and the bandana. She waved. "Hi! You're Brown too then? Guess we're teammates then."
She looked at the girl again. Small. Very small- barely any meat on her at all. Also very white. "I take it you're not from Detroit, huh?" Brenda laughed lightly.
"I'm Brenda, by the way. And this is Jhamel and John." She gestured to the boys as she said their names.
John pointed to Brenda's nerf gun, telling her trash it. Brenda pursed her lips slightly. He was also initiating a trade with Jhamel. "Woah there John, one step at a time. You haven't even said hi to our new friend.
"And while I appreciate the thought of dumping my weapon it is my weapon, and I don't really have anything else. It's not even heavy. I can carry it. Besides, I could always use it to knock someone over the head. Fighting is something I happen to be good at, actually."
Was that a threat? Did I just threaten him?
Brenda looked John over. She never hated anyone, that wasn't her deal, but there was something...off about John. She could tell he didn't like either her or Jhamel, but then why not just leave?
Must keep an eye out for this one.
Brenda quickly readjusted the smile on her face, turning back to Jhamel. "It sounds like a plan if you want to go for it."
She then switched back to the new girl. "So, teammate, I guess I should ask if you've seen any other...Browns walking around, huh? I was hoping to find as many of them as possible."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
John knew that there was another guest, but it was someone on Brenda's team. Another enemy. ”Great, I can't catch a break, can I? One person was fine. Two was pushing it. Three? Dear god, thank god he doesn't have a gun right now. He turned to the new challenger and gave her a slight nod, and went back to Brenda.
“Brenda, I know you're trying to stay armed at all times, but look,” He picked her Nerf gun up off the ground, and then bonked her on the head lightly, “It's plastic, and we're up against swords, bullets and an island of murderers. Unless you're ready to take this game seriously and survive, you better get your head in the game.”
He looked back to the new girl, not thinking there'd be much of a problem if Brenda was here, but still... “You found a teammate, I'd suggest staying with her for a while, even if it means she has to tag along with us.” He gave the Nerf gun to Brenda, “I know it may seem like I hate you, but I don't... I just don't like dealing with other people.” He sighed, “And there more and more piling in, it seems.”
He turned back to Jhamel, “Now about my offer, what's your weapon and how can we make use of a trade?” Considering his luck ever since he got dropped off on this island, he though the boy might pull a chainsaw out of his bag, which would have been wonderful. “If you don't have anything, that's fine, but it would help us find our teammates and win this game faster.”
“Brenda, I know you're trying to stay armed at all times, but look,” He picked her Nerf gun up off the ground, and then bonked her on the head lightly, “It's plastic, and we're up against swords, bullets and an island of murderers. Unless you're ready to take this game seriously and survive, you better get your head in the game.”
He looked back to the new girl, not thinking there'd be much of a problem if Brenda was here, but still... “You found a teammate, I'd suggest staying with her for a while, even if it means she has to tag along with us.” He gave the Nerf gun to Brenda, “I know it may seem like I hate you, but I don't... I just don't like dealing with other people.” He sighed, “And there more and more piling in, it seems.”
He turned back to Jhamel, “Now about my offer, what's your weapon and how can we make use of a trade?” Considering his luck ever since he got dropped off on this island, he though the boy might pull a chainsaw out of his bag, which would have been wonderful. “If you don't have anything, that's fine, but it would help us find our teammates and win this game faster.”
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Omnis. 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.
((Can we please adhere to post order? It's only been 22 minutes since Casey's post.))
The kid made an offer, and had a Fire Axe in his hands. He glanced to his own bag, and had absolutely no idea what was in there. The thought had of course crossed his mind, but... Dealing with the people seemed a little more important in his mind. However, now that he knew that they weren't hostile, and he wasn't going to eat a bullet for his efforts, he tugged the blue bag off his shoulder and crouched down with it, tugging it open with a quick, loud zip.
Before he had a chance to look though, Brenda spoke up again.
"Hi! You're Brown too then? Guess we're teammates then."
He glanced over his shoulder, the other people again taking precedence over the contents of his bag. He had days on this island, if someone else was looking to start killing he had seconds to react.
Brown team, huh? Lucky Brenda. He listened quietly as Brenda introduced the pair of them. One of the Dragon kids, but this one didn't really look that bad. Oh well, every school had to have one or two oddballs in them. Cool.
Seemingly distracted though, John went on to tell Brenda to dump her... Nerf... Gun... And she responded by rejecting. He pressed forward with his recommendation, and immediately afterwards, without giving her a chance to respond, reminded Jhamel of the deal he was proposing. His head swiveled back to the bag, and dug through. Some clothes and a little plastic box... But then, the glint of metal caught his eye. Digging a big blue shirt out of the way, he broke into a massive smile, realizing that his weapon pull was absolutely gorgeous.
"No deal man." His hand dipped into his bag, gripping the handle of the pistol, watching a few rounds of ammunition roll back to fill the gap left as it was pulled. Colt 1911. Used by the military, this was a dependable weapon hands down. As it finally broke the barrier of the open mouth of the bag, it's silver finish glinted in the mid day sun. The rosewood handle felt cool on his skin, and his eyes went wide as he finally got to examine the weapon up close.
"I think I'm keeping this brains, sorry." He looked at the bottom of the weapon, and it was indeed loaded. He had no idea how many bullets it had, and made a mental note to check the manual as to how exactly to operate the thing later. For now, he could just marvel. And exactly that he did, just gawking at the cold steel, the instrument of death in his hands. Just examining it he could spot the safety, and it appeared to be on, given the fact that the slide wouldn't move when he tugged back on it lightly. Guns needed the slide to move to fire, right?
He glanced back over to the other girl, who had gotten considerably closer by now. Making a point to stick the muzzle of the pistol pointing at the sand, he stood, pushing the fabric of the opening over itself to kind of pinch it closed.
"As for sticking together for a little while, yea. I just hope people don't light our asses up as soon as we find 'em. I don't wanna watch you fuckers die when we find someone from the red team, and I don't wanna die if we find more dudes from the Brown team, ya know?"
He shook his head. As much as that worry stuck in his mind, it was most likely the best option. Just because they weren't on the same team didn't mean there wasn't strength in numbers. And who knew? Maybe all three teams would become a fifteen person death squad, and make their way to the finals. Hell, he might not have to be responsible for these two's deaths.
...Damn, that was a cold fucking thought.
The kid made an offer, and had a Fire Axe in his hands. He glanced to his own bag, and had absolutely no idea what was in there. The thought had of course crossed his mind, but... Dealing with the people seemed a little more important in his mind. However, now that he knew that they weren't hostile, and he wasn't going to eat a bullet for his efforts, he tugged the blue bag off his shoulder and crouched down with it, tugging it open with a quick, loud zip.
Before he had a chance to look though, Brenda spoke up again.
"Hi! You're Brown too then? Guess we're teammates then."
He glanced over his shoulder, the other people again taking precedence over the contents of his bag. He had days on this island, if someone else was looking to start killing he had seconds to react.
Brown team, huh? Lucky Brenda. He listened quietly as Brenda introduced the pair of them. One of the Dragon kids, but this one didn't really look that bad. Oh well, every school had to have one or two oddballs in them. Cool.
Seemingly distracted though, John went on to tell Brenda to dump her... Nerf... Gun... And she responded by rejecting. He pressed forward with his recommendation, and immediately afterwards, without giving her a chance to respond, reminded Jhamel of the deal he was proposing. His head swiveled back to the bag, and dug through. Some clothes and a little plastic box... But then, the glint of metal caught his eye. Digging a big blue shirt out of the way, he broke into a massive smile, realizing that his weapon pull was absolutely gorgeous.
"No deal man." His hand dipped into his bag, gripping the handle of the pistol, watching a few rounds of ammunition roll back to fill the gap left as it was pulled. Colt 1911. Used by the military, this was a dependable weapon hands down. As it finally broke the barrier of the open mouth of the bag, it's silver finish glinted in the mid day sun. The rosewood handle felt cool on his skin, and his eyes went wide as he finally got to examine the weapon up close.
"I think I'm keeping this brains, sorry." He looked at the bottom of the weapon, and it was indeed loaded. He had no idea how many bullets it had, and made a mental note to check the manual as to how exactly to operate the thing later. For now, he could just marvel. And exactly that he did, just gawking at the cold steel, the instrument of death in his hands. Just examining it he could spot the safety, and it appeared to be on, given the fact that the slide wouldn't move when he tugged back on it lightly. Guns needed the slide to move to fire, right?
He glanced back over to the other girl, who had gotten considerably closer by now. Making a point to stick the muzzle of the pistol pointing at the sand, he stood, pushing the fabric of the opening over itself to kind of pinch it closed.
"As for sticking together for a little while, yea. I just hope people don't light our asses up as soon as we find 'em. I don't wanna watch you fuckers die when we find someone from the red team, and I don't wanna die if we find more dudes from the Brown team, ya know?"
He shook his head. As much as that worry stuck in his mind, it was most likely the best option. Just because they weren't on the same team didn't mean there wasn't strength in numbers. And who knew? Maybe all three teams would become a fifteen person death squad, and make their way to the finals. Hell, he might not have to be responsible for these two's deaths.
...Damn, that was a cold fucking thought.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
((How do you people post so fast ;~;))
"No," April shook her head. "I'm SDA. From Texas."
There was a round of introductions. The girl was Brenda, which April tried to learn, seeing as they were team-mates now and everything, the one boy was Jamal? -That'd do- and the other was ...a bit of a dick.
"Thanks!" She turned to ...Brenda? "I'm April."
She had gained the grudging nod of respect from the person she now felt the urge to call "ranting dick", which was probably about as friendly a welcome as he could give, seeing as his first reaction wasn't "Hey!", "Hi!" or even "Greetings and Salutations!" but "You found a team-mate." Nice coldness, there. April was almost surprised he wasn't pointing the Nerf Gun at her.
No, he just hit Brenda over the head with it. Which, frankly, was a no-no at the best of times. These weren't the best of times. More and more piling in? Who did he think he was? At this point, all the emotions that April was trying to suppress hit their peak.
To put it plainly: she mad.
"Do you have a problem with me being here, or something?" April stood as tall as she could in the boy's face before thinking better of it and backing down. No need to start a fight right now. Especially not with Ranting Dick. She shook her head, not particularly wanting to apologise, but whatever. She put her hand in her pocket and curled it around the rubber band launching pen.
She looked to Jamal and Ranting Dick. To be entirely honest, besides Jeanie and Peter, she wasn't too up for inter-team alliances or whatever they called them. Plus Ranting Dick had annoyed April. That was probably a really bad thing for their team work.
Jhamel pulled a gun out of his bag. That was probably a worse thing for their teamwork.
April was seriously calling it, now. They weren’t going to be a team for long. If Jeanie was here the bet would've been a done deal, $20 on whoever was the first to try and stab the others in the back. Unfortunately, Jeanie was MIA, and April didn't know if any of these people were the betting types.
Brenda asked if she’d seen any other members of their team, and April shook her head.
“Non,” She put on her worst French accent to say it, before turning to Brenda. “Haven’t seen any others. You’re actually the first people I’ve found!”
"No," April shook her head. "I'm SDA. From Texas."
There was a round of introductions. The girl was Brenda, which April tried to learn, seeing as they were team-mates now and everything, the one boy was Jamal? -That'd do- and the other was ...a bit of a dick.
"Thanks!" She turned to ...Brenda? "I'm April."
She had gained the grudging nod of respect from the person she now felt the urge to call "ranting dick", which was probably about as friendly a welcome as he could give, seeing as his first reaction wasn't "Hey!", "Hi!" or even "Greetings and Salutations!" but "You found a team-mate." Nice coldness, there. April was almost surprised he wasn't pointing the Nerf Gun at her.
No, he just hit Brenda over the head with it. Which, frankly, was a no-no at the best of times. These weren't the best of times. More and more piling in? Who did he think he was? At this point, all the emotions that April was trying to suppress hit their peak.
To put it plainly: she mad.
"Do you have a problem with me being here, or something?" April stood as tall as she could in the boy's face before thinking better of it and backing down. No need to start a fight right now. Especially not with Ranting Dick. She shook her head, not particularly wanting to apologise, but whatever. She put her hand in her pocket and curled it around the rubber band launching pen.
She looked to Jamal and Ranting Dick. To be entirely honest, besides Jeanie and Peter, she wasn't too up for inter-team alliances or whatever they called them. Plus Ranting Dick had annoyed April. That was probably a really bad thing for their team work.
Jhamel pulled a gun out of his bag. That was probably a worse thing for their teamwork.
April was seriously calling it, now. They weren’t going to be a team for long. If Jeanie was here the bet would've been a done deal, $20 on whoever was the first to try and stab the others in the back. Unfortunately, Jeanie was MIA, and April didn't know if any of these people were the betting types.
Brenda asked if she’d seen any other members of their team, and April shook her head.
“Non,” She put on her worst French accent to say it, before turning to Brenda. “Haven’t seen any others. You’re actually the first people I’ve found!”
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-
Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Before Brenda even really understood what was happening, John had taken her nerf gun and smacked her over the head with it. "Uh, ow! That actually does hurt burro! It's plastic, hit hard enough and it'll sting, like anything else you get hit with. Clearly you've never had siblings. And did you miss the fighting part? I can carry my own weight, thank you. I know how to survive, my father was a cop." I know more than you do listillo, but you really want to play this game? It takes a lot to piss me off, and you're treading a very dangerous line.
Brenda shook her head, snatching the gun back from him. "I'll be keeping this. My weapon, my choice. Sorry." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. People usually didn't make her this upset, but this kid was not doing a very good job at first impressions.
Brenda looked at Jhamel's gun, shocked by it. She could only hope that he didn't decide to turn on her early, but it was a good draw for him, and she was glad that he had given their makeshift group a small chance of survival.
April ranted a bit at John, mentioning the somewhat obvious hostility John was holding towards the new girl. Brenda put a hand on her shoulder. "Shh, Sinsonte. Everything's okay, we're all friends here."
I'm not actually entirely sure about that.
"If you're willing, I'd like to go look for the others. I want to make sure that everyone's alright."
She turned to Jhamel and John. "You two don't have to come if you don't want too, of course. We're not your team, after all."
Brenda shook her head, snatching the gun back from him. "I'll be keeping this. My weapon, my choice. Sorry." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. People usually didn't make her this upset, but this kid was not doing a very good job at first impressions.
Brenda looked at Jhamel's gun, shocked by it. She could only hope that he didn't decide to turn on her early, but it was a good draw for him, and she was glad that he had given their makeshift group a small chance of survival.
April ranted a bit at John, mentioning the somewhat obvious hostility John was holding towards the new girl. Brenda put a hand on her shoulder. "Shh, Sinsonte. Everything's okay, we're all friends here."
I'm not actually entirely sure about that.
"If you're willing, I'd like to go look for the others. I want to make sure that everyone's alright."
She turned to Jhamel and John. "You two don't have to come if you don't want too, of course. We're not your team, after all."
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