Still sitting on the ground, Carly's eyes flicked back and forth between the various screaming teenage boys. Yes. YES. Everyone else was scared too, but that didn't mean she could trust any of them. They would all just turn on her anyway. They'd go crazy, nuts, turn into those psychos, she knew that there were always kids who went psycho on this show and Marty Lovett and Jimmy Brennan and Keith Whatever were all just obviously going to go psycho... who was she kidding? Jimmy Brennan was already completely psycho! Why was he still screaming?
Marty Lovett took off and ran. That helped to break her temporary paralysis, because if Marty Lovett could get off his ass and run away then SHE certainly could. She would run, and wherever she ran to would definitely be better than here. Carly tried to will her legs to get themselves up, but - OH GOD WAS THAT A SNIPER OR SOMETHING?! - but instead saw Jimmy fall down and let out a terrified little yelp, before seeing him get back up and start screaming again. WHY WAS HE STILL SCREAMING?!
But he was screaming at the other two guys, and Carly had never been more thankful to be a weak little girl than she was right now.
She managed to get to her feet just as Jimmy had left the area, still raving like a mental patient. He sounded like her crazy great-aunt, who would always freak her out at Christmas as a kid. She wasn't like that. She wasn't crazy, sure she got scared, but she wasn't like Jimmy Brennan or Auntie Dolores. Not her.
But she wasn't out of the woods yet. Keith was still there. And now she was alone with him, and she didn't even know his last name.
Keep him away. She just had to keep people like him and Jimmy and Marty away from her. She wouldn't trust anyone she didn't know. And she wouldn't EVER be alone with anyone unless she really really trusted them. Then they couldn't kill her.
Holding her pack in front of her, Carly backpedaled in the direction from which she had come. The trees were thicker there. There were places to hide.
"Stay away!" she said. "Stay away or..."
How could she keep him from coming after her? All she remembered seeing in her bag before she started running was some stupid jug or something! But he didn't know that...
"or I'll shoot you! With..."
Wait. What if she said she had a machine gun and then he decided he wanted it? No, it had to be something like...
"With my speargun! So stay away!"
She ran.
(Carly Jean Dooley continued in Pearl and Destiny)
Woods of Paranoia
Maeve Exley
Jace Perlmutter
Elias Valdivia
Always Remembered:
v8!
G123 - Fey Zelenka-Morrison - DECEASED Well So Could Anyone
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
Jace Perlmutter
Elias Valdivia
Always Remembered:
v8!
G123 - Fey Zelenka-Morrison - DECEASED Well So Could Anyone
v7!
G080 - Nikki Nelson-Kelly - DECEASED Castles Fall in the Sand
v6!
B029: Aiden Slattery - DECEASED Get Off the Floor
G058: Kaitlyn Greene - DECEASED She Knew She'd Found Freedom
v5!
G038: Deanna Hull - DECEASED From Sea to Sky
B023: Jesse Jennings - DECEASED From Vision to Glory
v4!
G077: Andrea Raymer - ALIVE
B022: Imraan Al-Hariq - DECEASED
B006: Ricky Fortino - DECEASED
G036: Carly Jean Dooley - DECEASED
v3!
G045 - Eris Marquis - DECEASED
B104 - Jonathan Lancer - DECEASED
((Marybeth Witherspoon continued from Resolve))
That Julian Avery was a sneaky fellow.
He must have done some crazy turns to throw Marybeth off his trail. She'd managed to follow him for about fifteen minutes. What could be passed as "following" somebody at least. After a while, she lost the trail and just gave up trying to figure out where he had gone. In a few days, she would find him again, and they could continue on with their love story. Assuming they were both still alive then, of course.
Also assuming Marybeth figured out how to not get lost in the forest.
Marybeth hadn't grown up with much exposure to the outdoors. She preferred to stay in and write her stories after all. The main reason she had even agreed to go on the trip was because her sisters told her there would be juicy happenings on the senior trip, and Marybeth wasn't one to miss drama unfolding. Not that this Survival of the Fittest game was her idea of drama, but she couldn't deny that there was drama to be had here. Like with her and Julian.
She could hear people screaming and yelling not too far away. That sounded like fun. For some definitions of fun anyway. Currently, it meant "something interesting happening" to Marybeth. She approached the source of the sound, pausing occasionally to make sure nobody was trying to sneak up behind her to stab her with sharp objects. She couldn't write a story if she were dead after all.
Marybeth kept walking past the trees, but the sounds didn't seem to be getting closer. In fact, it sounded more like they were getting farther away, and in different directions to boot. No way she was heading the wrong way though. Her ears were well trained from having to eavesdrop on conversations. Which meant everybody was.... leaving? What a killjoy.
Then she saw signs of life. One Keith Cristoph, world's most boring nihilist, and one Phillip Ward, the dumb hockey jock (in comparison to the dumb football jocks and the dumb basketball jocks). Marybeth couldn't imagine much of interest to come up between these two. Well, unless that blood splattered on Phil was any indication of what he'd been doing in the past few hours. Plus, he had those cool looking claws.
"Hey, Ward!" Marybeth called out from her position, a safe distance of about twenty feet from the other boy. "Who'd you kill for the blood?" Phillip was definitely not looking particularly calm at the moment. Riling him up could end in more blood, and Marybeth wasn't keen on seeing her own blood just yet. "We can just talk about it if you stay far away or put those bloody and pointy things away." Marybeth tried to keep her voice cheerful, to keep Phillip from getting the wrong idea. She wasn't going to get a good story if the person she interviewed was bent on violence after all.
That Julian Avery was a sneaky fellow.
He must have done some crazy turns to throw Marybeth off his trail. She'd managed to follow him for about fifteen minutes. What could be passed as "following" somebody at least. After a while, she lost the trail and just gave up trying to figure out where he had gone. In a few days, she would find him again, and they could continue on with their love story. Assuming they were both still alive then, of course.
Also assuming Marybeth figured out how to not get lost in the forest.
Marybeth hadn't grown up with much exposure to the outdoors. She preferred to stay in and write her stories after all. The main reason she had even agreed to go on the trip was because her sisters told her there would be juicy happenings on the senior trip, and Marybeth wasn't one to miss drama unfolding. Not that this Survival of the Fittest game was her idea of drama, but she couldn't deny that there was drama to be had here. Like with her and Julian.
She could hear people screaming and yelling not too far away. That sounded like fun. For some definitions of fun anyway. Currently, it meant "something interesting happening" to Marybeth. She approached the source of the sound, pausing occasionally to make sure nobody was trying to sneak up behind her to stab her with sharp objects. She couldn't write a story if she were dead after all.
Marybeth kept walking past the trees, but the sounds didn't seem to be getting closer. In fact, it sounded more like they were getting farther away, and in different directions to boot. No way she was heading the wrong way though. Her ears were well trained from having to eavesdrop on conversations. Which meant everybody was.... leaving? What a killjoy.
Then she saw signs of life. One Keith Cristoph, world's most boring nihilist, and one Phillip Ward, the dumb hockey jock (in comparison to the dumb football jocks and the dumb basketball jocks). Marybeth couldn't imagine much of interest to come up between these two. Well, unless that blood splattered on Phil was any indication of what he'd been doing in the past few hours. Plus, he had those cool looking claws.
"Hey, Ward!" Marybeth called out from her position, a safe distance of about twenty feet from the other boy. "Who'd you kill for the blood?" Phillip was definitely not looking particularly calm at the moment. Riling him up could end in more blood, and Marybeth wasn't keen on seeing her own blood just yet. "We can just talk about it if you stay far away or put those bloody and pointy things away." Marybeth tried to keep her voice cheerful, to keep Phillip from getting the wrong idea. She wasn't going to get a good story if the person she interviewed was bent on violence after all.
He wasn't stupid like Jimmy.
He certainly wasn't batshit insane like Jimmy, either.
If Keith knew what was good for him (and he could trust the fact that he DID), he knew that his best chance of survival was to get the hell out of here. His lack of a desirable weapon meant that, in order to get anything good that could keep him at a distance from anybody else, he'd have to fight. Fighting was not something he wanted to do. Maybe if he could happen upon a discarded gun, somebody who might be disgusted, or maybe somebody who just up and killed themselves with it and left the rest of the bullets there for him to find...
It was wishful thinking, but in a situation like this, what else could you be hoped to do? Keith clung to those hopes as he snuck away from the madness, slinking through the bushes towards a shape looming in the distance. That mountain... there shouldn't be a lot of kids up there.
((Keith Christoph continued in Haven't You Got Eyes In Your Head?))
He certainly wasn't batshit insane like Jimmy, either.
If Keith knew what was good for him (and he could trust the fact that he DID), he knew that his best chance of survival was to get the hell out of here. His lack of a desirable weapon meant that, in order to get anything good that could keep him at a distance from anybody else, he'd have to fight. Fighting was not something he wanted to do. Maybe if he could happen upon a discarded gun, somebody who might be disgusted, or maybe somebody who just up and killed themselves with it and left the rest of the bullets there for him to find...
It was wishful thinking, but in a situation like this, what else could you be hoped to do? Keith clung to those hopes as he snuck away from the madness, slinking through the bushes towards a shape looming in the distance. That mountain... there shouldn't be a lot of kids up there.
((Keith Christoph continued in Haven't You Got Eyes In Your Head?))
Phil watched as the last of the group sprinted away in terror. He wasn't sure whether it was from the sight of him half covered in blood or just the fact that each of those in the group had completely lost it. Still, when Marybeth called out to him asking whose blood was on his claws he couldn't help but turn in anger. He was tired, confused and aggravated and Marybeth's line of questioning didn't help him out at all.
"I didn't kill nobody!" He yelled out at the girl standing in the trees. "I didn't kill nobody."
This repetition had lost all of it's venom and Phil slumped down on the tree nearby. Exhaustion and the reality of the situation had finally got the better of him and he lowered his arms, letting them droop to the side without a care in the world. "Everyone's running, it don't make sense."
Pulling out another loaf of bread Phil began to devour the food, keeping and eye on Marybeth expectantly. He didn't know what she had in her bag in terms of weapon, but he knew that she had more food and more water and he was beginning to see how this game was played. Phil wasn't the smartest of the people he knew but he certainly had his wits about him. He should really find someone he could trust, someone on the hockey team. That was his plan all along away, he had just gotten a little sidetracked and now he was in these woods with Marybeth, the gossip of the school standing right in front of him.
That reminded him of something. The two boys who had saw him attack Charlotte - self defense though it was. Looking at the girl with a furrowed brow Phil spoke up again. "You ain't seen Owen or Bobby Baron have you? I need to... uh... talk to them bout something."
Phil wasn't a good liar, it went against his character. He might be physical, aggressive and seemingly uncaring when others get hurt but within that he had a strange sense of loyalty and honour. If you could see past the bully you would find a friend for life. Still he tried the best he could. "They left some of their stuff and I put it in my bag. I need to give it to them." He paused and added a addendium. "Or Staffan or Nik?"
If Marybeth knew anything it could help him. Worst case he thought he might be able to at least take whatever she was carrying around with her if need be. For some reason he was convinced she didn't have a gun - or if she did she wouldn't know how to use it. Hell he was so tired right now he didn't really care.
The day was getting on and either way he knew he was going to have to find shelter. It wasn't a smart idea to stay out in the woods.
"I didn't kill nobody!" He yelled out at the girl standing in the trees. "I didn't kill nobody."
This repetition had lost all of it's venom and Phil slumped down on the tree nearby. Exhaustion and the reality of the situation had finally got the better of him and he lowered his arms, letting them droop to the side without a care in the world. "Everyone's running, it don't make sense."
Pulling out another loaf of bread Phil began to devour the food, keeping and eye on Marybeth expectantly. He didn't know what she had in her bag in terms of weapon, but he knew that she had more food and more water and he was beginning to see how this game was played. Phil wasn't the smartest of the people he knew but he certainly had his wits about him. He should really find someone he could trust, someone on the hockey team. That was his plan all along away, he had just gotten a little sidetracked and now he was in these woods with Marybeth, the gossip of the school standing right in front of him.
That reminded him of something. The two boys who had saw him attack Charlotte - self defense though it was. Looking at the girl with a furrowed brow Phil spoke up again. "You ain't seen Owen or Bobby Baron have you? I need to... uh... talk to them bout something."
Phil wasn't a good liar, it went against his character. He might be physical, aggressive and seemingly uncaring when others get hurt but within that he had a strange sense of loyalty and honour. If you could see past the bully you would find a friend for life. Still he tried the best he could. "They left some of their stuff and I put it in my bag. I need to give it to them." He paused and added a addendium. "Or Staffan or Nik?"
If Marybeth knew anything it could help him. Worst case he thought he might be able to at least take whatever she was carrying around with her if need be. For some reason he was convinced she didn't have a gun - or if she did she wouldn't know how to use it. Hell he was so tired right now he didn't really care.
The day was getting on and either way he knew he was going to have to find shelter. It wasn't a smart idea to stay out in the woods.
-
chitoryu12*
- Posts: 96
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:07 am
((Christopher Carlson continued from Don't Go Breaking My Heart...))
Chris was deep in the woods, so deep that he could no longer see any sign of civilization. He lost the path quite some time ago, and the sun was starting to dip below the tallest trees. He didn't want to travel in the woods at night, as his daypack prevented any stealthy movement over the multitude of broken branches and dead leaves that scattered the ground.
Beams of light shot through the branches and illuminated his path. He was going in as straight a line as possible to try and head to the town north of him. There, he could find shelter, possibly supplies, and friends. He figured that soon, everyone would be heading for town.
Of course, the possibility hit him that he could be walking into a bloodbath; if everyone's there, then everyone who went nuts or had a score to settle would be duking it out on the streets. But it was certainly a better chance than he had out here. Chris was no outdoorsman, and he would more than likely end up falling and hurting himself or getting snuck up on while sleeping out in the woods. The urban hotspot had more hiding places and more familiar territory.
As he leaned against a tree to take a breather, Chris heard conversation in the distance. He froze, his stomach getting the familiar feeling of dropping that hit him whenever he was worried or scared. He had made it off the beach and away from the mansion without getting spotted, and he didn't want to go up to anyone that he didn't definitely know.
He dropped prone, balancing his daypack on his back and pressing it as flat as he could, and began to slowly shuffle forward into a patch of shrub. Through the leaves he could see a very short boy, about a foot shorter than him, covered in blood and sitting against a tree. He was saying something about some kids named Owen and Bobby Barron. Bobby was that religious blond dude from Chris' English class. They got along fairly well. Owen sounded familiar, too. The midget? Hell, everyone seems like a midget to someone as tall as Chris.
Either way, Chris wasn't moving from that bush until he thought it was safe. He didn't like the look of Count Blud and had no idea what could be hiding in his pocket. He couldn't even see the other person from his position. So he sat in the bush, a good 5 yards from him, and waited.
Chris was deep in the woods, so deep that he could no longer see any sign of civilization. He lost the path quite some time ago, and the sun was starting to dip below the tallest trees. He didn't want to travel in the woods at night, as his daypack prevented any stealthy movement over the multitude of broken branches and dead leaves that scattered the ground.
Beams of light shot through the branches and illuminated his path. He was going in as straight a line as possible to try and head to the town north of him. There, he could find shelter, possibly supplies, and friends. He figured that soon, everyone would be heading for town.
Of course, the possibility hit him that he could be walking into a bloodbath; if everyone's there, then everyone who went nuts or had a score to settle would be duking it out on the streets. But it was certainly a better chance than he had out here. Chris was no outdoorsman, and he would more than likely end up falling and hurting himself or getting snuck up on while sleeping out in the woods. The urban hotspot had more hiding places and more familiar territory.
As he leaned against a tree to take a breather, Chris heard conversation in the distance. He froze, his stomach getting the familiar feeling of dropping that hit him whenever he was worried or scared. He had made it off the beach and away from the mansion without getting spotted, and he didn't want to go up to anyone that he didn't definitely know.
He dropped prone, balancing his daypack on his back and pressing it as flat as he could, and began to slowly shuffle forward into a patch of shrub. Through the leaves he could see a very short boy, about a foot shorter than him, covered in blood and sitting against a tree. He was saying something about some kids named Owen and Bobby Barron. Bobby was that religious blond dude from Chris' English class. They got along fairly well. Owen sounded familiar, too. The midget? Hell, everyone seems like a midget to someone as tall as Chris.
Either way, Chris wasn't moving from that bush until he thought it was safe. He didn't like the look of Count Blud and had no idea what could be hiding in his pocket. He couldn't even see the other person from his position. So he sat in the bush, a good 5 yards from him, and waited.
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Super Llama*
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
{{continued from Ten Shades of Gray}}
Maria felt better now.
Well, as better as she could feel right now, given the circumstances. Warren was still dead, and she and a bunch of her friends were still trapped in this game of death (kick-ass jumpsuit not included.) But at least she got to let out all those negative feelings she had built up. She yelled, she screamed, she cursed, she cried; Oh, how she cried. She didn't even notice or care that people all across the US had seen her epic breakdown, or the breakdown she had back at Warren's grave. Right now, all she cared about was taking care of the other thing she'd came out here to do.
Making her way over to a collection of foilage, she reached for her pants and <CONTENT CENSORED> rebuttoned her pants. She'd never even realized there were so many monkeys.
Having relieved herself, Maria felt even better. Maybe good enough to stop all this negative crap and start positive thinking. Maybe there WAS a way off this rock? She couldn't for the life of her figure out a way herself, but surely there was someone else out there with the smarts and the know-how to do it. All she had to do was gather everybody else and then latch onto their savior like one of those clip monkey things that really hurt when you tried to clip them to your finger.
She couldn't do anything for Warren, but at least she could do this, right? Maybe she wouldn't be so worthless after all.
...
Maria was silent for a moment before deciding to head back, looking over at the...wait, where was the town center building? Come to think of it, she'd gone pretty far, hadn't she? And what direction WAS the town center building, anyway. She couldn't even see it from here. Well, no problem. She just had to pull the map and compass out of her daypack and she could find the way ba-OOOOOOOOOOH CRAP SHE LEFT HER DAYPACK THERE.
Maria was in deep shit, no doubt about it. Separated from her group, and from all her stuff, with no way to know how to get back. Luckily, her flare gun was with her, still tucked into the back of her jeans, but it only had one flare, and if she had to use it, then all she had was an orange plastic bludgeon to defend herself with.
Paranoia began to set in. She may have wanted to be by herself to vent all the bad feelings she had over Warren's death, but she definitely didn't want to STAY by herself. She felt much safer with a group, with her friends, then out by herself, with only a flare gun with a single shot to fend off a potential killer that could be hiding JUST BEHIND THAT TRE-no, that was a squirrel WAIT WHAT ABOUT OVER THERE oh it was just a bear WAIT A MINUTE A BEAR oh no, it was just another squirrel.
One thing was for sure. She had to get out of here. To get somewhere in the open, where there wasn't a million and one places for a guy to be hiding to jump out and stab her in the neck, and another, bigger guy to jump out and liberate her organs from her body with a chainsaw. Her hurried pace turned into a full out run for a few seconds before her foot snagged on a tree root, causing her to stumble and almost fall right onto her face. It was a miracle she didn't do just that, but her sense of balance won that battle and she stood up straight...to catch sight of two more familiar faces, one of them...
"Uh...hey there, Phil. I see you're covered in blood there...that's nice..."
Maria felt better now.
Well, as better as she could feel right now, given the circumstances. Warren was still dead, and she and a bunch of her friends were still trapped in this game of death (kick-ass jumpsuit not included.) But at least she got to let out all those negative feelings she had built up. She yelled, she screamed, she cursed, she cried; Oh, how she cried. She didn't even notice or care that people all across the US had seen her epic breakdown, or the breakdown she had back at Warren's grave. Right now, all she cared about was taking care of the other thing she'd came out here to do.
Making her way over to a collection of foilage, she reached for her pants and <CONTENT CENSORED> rebuttoned her pants. She'd never even realized there were so many monkeys.
Having relieved herself, Maria felt even better. Maybe good enough to stop all this negative crap and start positive thinking. Maybe there WAS a way off this rock? She couldn't for the life of her figure out a way herself, but surely there was someone else out there with the smarts and the know-how to do it. All she had to do was gather everybody else and then latch onto their savior like one of those clip monkey things that really hurt when you tried to clip them to your finger.
She couldn't do anything for Warren, but at least she could do this, right? Maybe she wouldn't be so worthless after all.
...
Maria was silent for a moment before deciding to head back, looking over at the...wait, where was the town center building? Come to think of it, she'd gone pretty far, hadn't she? And what direction WAS the town center building, anyway. She couldn't even see it from here. Well, no problem. She just had to pull the map and compass out of her daypack and she could find the way ba-OOOOOOOOOOH CRAP SHE LEFT HER DAYPACK THERE.
Maria was in deep shit, no doubt about it. Separated from her group, and from all her stuff, with no way to know how to get back. Luckily, her flare gun was with her, still tucked into the back of her jeans, but it only had one flare, and if she had to use it, then all she had was an orange plastic bludgeon to defend herself with.
Paranoia began to set in. She may have wanted to be by herself to vent all the bad feelings she had over Warren's death, but she definitely didn't want to STAY by herself. She felt much safer with a group, with her friends, then out by herself, with only a flare gun with a single shot to fend off a potential killer that could be hiding JUST BEHIND THAT TRE-no, that was a squirrel WAIT WHAT ABOUT OVER THERE oh it was just a bear WAIT A MINUTE A BEAR oh no, it was just another squirrel.
One thing was for sure. She had to get out of here. To get somewhere in the open, where there wasn't a million and one places for a guy to be hiding to jump out and stab her in the neck, and another, bigger guy to jump out and liberate her organs from her body with a chainsaw. Her hurried pace turned into a full out run for a few seconds before her foot snagged on a tree root, causing her to stumble and almost fall right onto her face. It was a miracle she didn't do just that, but her sense of balance won that battle and she stood up straight...to catch sight of two more familiar faces, one of them...
"Uh...hey there, Phil. I see you're covered in blood there...that's nice..."
-
chitoryu12*
- Posts: 96
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:07 am
((Breaking post order to avoid inactivity. I'm two days away from Chris being adopted.))
Maria Graham had no clue, but in her flailing and tripping, she had come within two feet of stepping on Chris.
Chris happened to be frozen in fear and surprise as she stared up at the bloody young man; he was almost as close as humanly possible to getting discovered and possibly jumped by someone playing the game. His stomach jumped, then dropped again under gravity. He didn't blink. At all.
He was torn between trying to escape and sitting and watching the scene unfold in front of him. Would the crazy-looking chick he knew from the hallways of Bayview get attacked? And would Chris try to save her?
Chris decided to make a compromise: he slowly inched backwards, making a half-hearted escape attempt while still staying close enough to see what would happen.
Maria Graham had no clue, but in her flailing and tripping, she had come within two feet of stepping on Chris.
Chris happened to be frozen in fear and surprise as she stared up at the bloody young man; he was almost as close as humanly possible to getting discovered and possibly jumped by someone playing the game. His stomach jumped, then dropped again under gravity. He didn't blink. At all.
He was torn between trying to escape and sitting and watching the scene unfold in front of him. Would the crazy-looking chick he knew from the hallways of Bayview get attacked? And would Chris try to save her?
Chris decided to make a compromise: he slowly inched backwards, making a half-hearted escape attempt while still staying close enough to see what would happen.
From the corner of her eye, Marybeth spied Keith running off into the woods, toward the mountain. If it was because he was afraid of being killed by Phil, then that was quite ironic for the so-called nihilist. She had thought that nihilists were people who just complained about life and said that people should all just die. It seemed kinda boring to Marybeth. If people didn't care, then there'd never be a good story to tell.
Phil was yelling something back at her. At least she wasn't getting ignored or brushed off, like some other people had done back at the church. At least, according to him, he hadn't killed anyone. Of course, he could be lying. It would explain why he had blood all over him. Marybeth kept her distance; no sense getting sliced to bits being careless. For all she knew, that was how Phil had gotten all that blood, by pretending to not be a killer.
Phil fell against the tree with a tired thump, which was a good enough signal for Marybeth to drop some paranoia. If he was sitting against the tree, he wouldn't be able to quickly kill her. Actually, any method of killing with those claws probably wouldn't be quick, but that was beside the point. In any case, it was probably safe enough to get a few steps closer. Interviews were hard to do when yelling through a thicket of trees after all.
Marybeth was about to start pelting him with questions, but Phil preempted her. She wasn't sure why Phil was asking her about Bobby Barron or Owen Rothschild. Just because she was the person who knew all the gossip didn't mean that she knew everything about everyone. If she did, that would make every day just plain boring. It also made no sense why Phil was asking about those two, of all people. He usually hung around with his teammates from the hockey team.
Marybeth started to shake her head in response, but then caught the next part of his question. Something? Sounds awefully vague. "What about Bobby or Owen? Did you hurt them? Is that where the blood is from?" Marybeth could see Phil's expression darken from her probing questions. Whatever the case was, it was something that Phil would probably not be very cooperative about. She took a wary step back, just in case things got violent.
Phil took a bite out of the bread he had retrieved from his backpack. After a brief moment of silence, he regained his composure and began retelling why he was looking for the two boys. It was a valiant effort, but Marybeth was anything but fooled by his lies. She didn't need to study microexpressions or analyze slight anomalies in his voice, Phil was just a terrible and inexperienced liar. "I don't buy it. What happened between you and Bobby and Owen?"
Whatever Phil was thinking about saying was neatly interrupted by the arrival of a not particularly new face. Maria Graham was a drummer for a band or something. Marybeth wasn't one to care about bands to begin with, and the drummers were the least interesting people in the band anyway. And now this drummer was interrupting her info gathering session by stating the visually obvious. Could this get any more stupid?
Phil was yelling something back at her. At least she wasn't getting ignored or brushed off, like some other people had done back at the church. At least, according to him, he hadn't killed anyone. Of course, he could be lying. It would explain why he had blood all over him. Marybeth kept her distance; no sense getting sliced to bits being careless. For all she knew, that was how Phil had gotten all that blood, by pretending to not be a killer.
Phil fell against the tree with a tired thump, which was a good enough signal for Marybeth to drop some paranoia. If he was sitting against the tree, he wouldn't be able to quickly kill her. Actually, any method of killing with those claws probably wouldn't be quick, but that was beside the point. In any case, it was probably safe enough to get a few steps closer. Interviews were hard to do when yelling through a thicket of trees after all.
Marybeth was about to start pelting him with questions, but Phil preempted her. She wasn't sure why Phil was asking her about Bobby Barron or Owen Rothschild. Just because she was the person who knew all the gossip didn't mean that she knew everything about everyone. If she did, that would make every day just plain boring. It also made no sense why Phil was asking about those two, of all people. He usually hung around with his teammates from the hockey team.
Marybeth started to shake her head in response, but then caught the next part of his question. Something? Sounds awefully vague. "What about Bobby or Owen? Did you hurt them? Is that where the blood is from?" Marybeth could see Phil's expression darken from her probing questions. Whatever the case was, it was something that Phil would probably not be very cooperative about. She took a wary step back, just in case things got violent.
Phil took a bite out of the bread he had retrieved from his backpack. After a brief moment of silence, he regained his composure and began retelling why he was looking for the two boys. It was a valiant effort, but Marybeth was anything but fooled by his lies. She didn't need to study microexpressions or analyze slight anomalies in his voice, Phil was just a terrible and inexperienced liar. "I don't buy it. What happened between you and Bobby and Owen?"
Whatever Phil was thinking about saying was neatly interrupted by the arrival of a not particularly new face. Maria Graham was a drummer for a band or something. Marybeth wasn't one to care about bands to begin with, and the drummers were the least interesting people in the band anyway. And now this drummer was interrupting her info gathering session by stating the visually obvious. Could this get any more stupid?
Phil shot a glance at Marybeth, furious.
"I didn't kill nobody. This blood... ain't anyones. Just cut myself is all..."
As Maria stood up, Phil turned his head to look at her. He wasn't really that concerned, the punk girl was small and didn't look like she was carrying anything dangerous; well not out in the open anyway. Sliding off the claws he grimaced. "Yeah? So what Maria? I got blood on me. You got a problem with that?"
Standing up Phil brushed the grass from his shirt. Shooting a venomous glance at Marybeth he stalked towards Maria intently.
"You know what Maria, I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of talking and I'm tired of the inconsequential idiocy that every single one of you fucks I come across seems to be exhibiting."
Closing the distance between the two students at a rapid rate Phil raised his voice once more. "But most of all I am tired of this God DAMN ISLAND!"
Grabbing Maria by the collar Phil yanked her head inches from his own and he scowled. "So why don't you just fuck off?"
Maria's eyes widened slightly as Phil stared her down. Raising one hand she moved her arm ever so slowly, fight clenched. Phil watched in agonising slow motion as her hand manoeuvred between the two and gently tapped Phil on the nose. As she did this Maria uttered a single word.
"Boop."
Phil let her go. He was completely and utterly confused. Maria just stood there blankly like she had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
"What. The. FUCK."
He could feel it building up inside him. The rage that he had, for a moment managed to contain came spilling out of him. Hundreds of thousands of people had just seen him get popped on the nose by a punk girl and he would be damned if they saw him back down.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaah!" Phil yelled as he lunged towards her, knocking Maria off her legs and sending the two tumbling across the ground. Within seconds Maria was on the ground and Phil started to punch her again and again, a blind fury overtaking him as he heard the thick smacking noise of his fists contacting flesh and through that, bone. He was oblivious to all else as he continued his assault, his mind struggling to regain a small semblance of rational.
The voice cried out to him. She's just a girl! Stop, Stop it! but it was so small, so far away and the rage coursed through his veins and he pushed it down. Another swing back as his fist smashed in to Maria's nose, a thin mist of blood spraying outwards and to the left, the impact reverberating down his arm.
You are not a bad person, just stop, just stop! The voice again, this time just that little louder, just that little clearer, as if heard from afar, a lone beggar making their way through the red mist that Phil was enveloped in.
Still he ignored it. The anger clenched him in its grip, refusing to surrender the boy to his conscience that tugged desperately away at him, pleading with him to stop before he did something he would forever regret.
One again, his fists pumped up and down, smashing in to the fragile girl, again and again without remorse.
STOP IT! A moment of clarity. The voice had yelled, almost a physical presence, as if someone was lending their own to its call. For the briefest of moments Phil paused his onslaught and felt fear at what he was about to do.
And then the red rage enveloped him one more.
(GMing Approved btw)
"I didn't kill nobody. This blood... ain't anyones. Just cut myself is all..."
As Maria stood up, Phil turned his head to look at her. He wasn't really that concerned, the punk girl was small and didn't look like she was carrying anything dangerous; well not out in the open anyway. Sliding off the claws he grimaced. "Yeah? So what Maria? I got blood on me. You got a problem with that?"
Standing up Phil brushed the grass from his shirt. Shooting a venomous glance at Marybeth he stalked towards Maria intently.
"You know what Maria, I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of talking and I'm tired of the inconsequential idiocy that every single one of you fucks I come across seems to be exhibiting."
Closing the distance between the two students at a rapid rate Phil raised his voice once more. "But most of all I am tired of this God DAMN ISLAND!"
Grabbing Maria by the collar Phil yanked her head inches from his own and he scowled. "So why don't you just fuck off?"
Maria's eyes widened slightly as Phil stared her down. Raising one hand she moved her arm ever so slowly, fight clenched. Phil watched in agonising slow motion as her hand manoeuvred between the two and gently tapped Phil on the nose. As she did this Maria uttered a single word.
"Boop."
Phil let her go. He was completely and utterly confused. Maria just stood there blankly like she had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
"What. The. FUCK."
He could feel it building up inside him. The rage that he had, for a moment managed to contain came spilling out of him. Hundreds of thousands of people had just seen him get popped on the nose by a punk girl and he would be damned if they saw him back down.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaah!" Phil yelled as he lunged towards her, knocking Maria off her legs and sending the two tumbling across the ground. Within seconds Maria was on the ground and Phil started to punch her again and again, a blind fury overtaking him as he heard the thick smacking noise of his fists contacting flesh and through that, bone. He was oblivious to all else as he continued his assault, his mind struggling to regain a small semblance of rational.
The voice cried out to him. She's just a girl! Stop, Stop it! but it was so small, so far away and the rage coursed through his veins and he pushed it down. Another swing back as his fist smashed in to Maria's nose, a thin mist of blood spraying outwards and to the left, the impact reverberating down his arm.
You are not a bad person, just stop, just stop! The voice again, this time just that little louder, just that little clearer, as if heard from afar, a lone beggar making their way through the red mist that Phil was enveloped in.
Still he ignored it. The anger clenched him in its grip, refusing to surrender the boy to his conscience that tugged desperately away at him, pleading with him to stop before he did something he would forever regret.
One again, his fists pumped up and down, smashing in to the fragile girl, again and again without remorse.
STOP IT! A moment of clarity. The voice had yelled, almost a physical presence, as if someone was lending their own to its call. For the briefest of moments Phil paused his onslaught and felt fear at what he was about to do.
And then the red rage enveloped him one more.
(GMing Approved btw)
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Super Llama*
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
Phil was one of the members of the hockey team, if Maria recalled. Kind of a jerk, too, and looking especially dangerous with all that blood all over him.
Marybeth, on the other hand, Maria knew a lot better as the school gossip. Though she typically wasn't the kind of person one should trust, she had a good point. Where DID all that blood come from? She kind of doubted that it came from getting cut as Phil claimed.
Chris, Maria didn't know, but that didn't really matter, because she couldn't see him at the moment.
Instead, Maria was more focused on the blood covered guy who was becoming more and more pissed off because of her stating the obvious, and as he grabbed her by the collar suddenly she felt one could cut the ensuing tension with a knife. Or a claw. Like a cat's claw or something, which Phil was gracious enough to leave behind when he approached her. She felt like she had to do something, ANYTHING, to ease the tension on this potential power keg.
Upon retrospect, nose booping probably wasn't the best of ideas.
As she was let go, Maria took a few steps back, watching to see what her actions accomplished, only to get tackled to the ground a second later, before she could react.
Some people think they're always ri-
A sudden punch to the face, and Maria was seeing stars, putting an end to any kind of mood-setting songs. And the punches just kept coming, blow after blow, each feeling like a baseball bat to the face. Any attempts at struggling were quickly lost in the daze; hell, even lifting her head only got the back of it slammed back down against the ground.
She'd never really gotten in any real fights before. Sure, she'd thrown a punch or two at the local bully in grade school, but in reality he was just a spineless wimp who never even tried to fight back, suddenly claiming he didn't hit girls. For her first real fight, though, this was turning out horribly. Her head was spinning so hard she had to shut her eyes. The blows were wild, some of them missing their mark entirely and hitting her chest and shoulders instead, but still with enough force that after just a few of them the pain was excruciating, as if he had broken something. Suddenly, there was a crunch as one of the punches hit her square on the nose, blood pouring from it to join up with the bloody taste in her mouth and the blood coming from the newly opened cut just above her eye.
She could barely think at this point, but what thoughts she DID think tended towards how worthless she turned out to be after all. She could feel unconsciousness creeping up on her, and soon she wouldn't be able to feel any of this horrid pain. But the punches would keep on coming, wouldn't they? Until her face was ground into paste she was added to the list of the dead. But there was nothing she could do about it. And meanwhile Cass, Max and Duncan would move on and die somewhere else, and she wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to help them, because she couldn't even hold off one single attacker.
The pain started to numb, and her thoughts, and what was going on outside her mind seemed further and further away. Before she slipped away, her last thoughts were of how useless she had been after all.
G17: MARIA GRAHAM: DE-
...wait a minute. The punching stopped.
The sudden realization brought her back from the brink of unconciousness, and she even opened one eye. Though she couldn't really focus right now, that vague shape above her that was Phil had definitely stopped attacking. And in that brief moment of peace, she suddenly began to feel a strong resolve building up inside her. Cass. Max. Duncan. They could all end up dead, and it could all be her fault, because she wasn't there to help them when they needed her.
She couldn't let that happen.
I can't die here.
I can't die here.
I CAN'T DIE HERE.
Before Phil could resume his onslaught of punches, Maria let out a loud, almost primal yell before shifting her weight to one side and throwing the hardest falcon punch she could muster in the direction of the blurry blob thing she presumed was his face, her bruised shoulder crying out in protest.
Marybeth, on the other hand, Maria knew a lot better as the school gossip. Though she typically wasn't the kind of person one should trust, she had a good point. Where DID all that blood come from? She kind of doubted that it came from getting cut as Phil claimed.
Chris, Maria didn't know, but that didn't really matter, because she couldn't see him at the moment.
Instead, Maria was more focused on the blood covered guy who was becoming more and more pissed off because of her stating the obvious, and as he grabbed her by the collar suddenly she felt one could cut the ensuing tension with a knife. Or a claw. Like a cat's claw or something, which Phil was gracious enough to leave behind when he approached her. She felt like she had to do something, ANYTHING, to ease the tension on this potential power keg.
Upon retrospect, nose booping probably wasn't the best of ideas.
As she was let go, Maria took a few steps back, watching to see what her actions accomplished, only to get tackled to the ground a second later, before she could react.
Some people think they're always ri-
A sudden punch to the face, and Maria was seeing stars, putting an end to any kind of mood-setting songs. And the punches just kept coming, blow after blow, each feeling like a baseball bat to the face. Any attempts at struggling were quickly lost in the daze; hell, even lifting her head only got the back of it slammed back down against the ground.
She'd never really gotten in any real fights before. Sure, she'd thrown a punch or two at the local bully in grade school, but in reality he was just a spineless wimp who never even tried to fight back, suddenly claiming he didn't hit girls. For her first real fight, though, this was turning out horribly. Her head was spinning so hard she had to shut her eyes. The blows were wild, some of them missing their mark entirely and hitting her chest and shoulders instead, but still with enough force that after just a few of them the pain was excruciating, as if he had broken something. Suddenly, there was a crunch as one of the punches hit her square on the nose, blood pouring from it to join up with the bloody taste in her mouth and the blood coming from the newly opened cut just above her eye.
She could barely think at this point, but what thoughts she DID think tended towards how worthless she turned out to be after all. She could feel unconsciousness creeping up on her, and soon she wouldn't be able to feel any of this horrid pain. But the punches would keep on coming, wouldn't they? Until her face was ground into paste she was added to the list of the dead. But there was nothing she could do about it. And meanwhile Cass, Max and Duncan would move on and die somewhere else, and she wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to help them, because she couldn't even hold off one single attacker.
The pain started to numb, and her thoughts, and what was going on outside her mind seemed further and further away. Before she slipped away, her last thoughts were of how useless she had been after all.
G17: MARIA GRAHAM: DE-
...wait a minute. The punching stopped.
The sudden realization brought her back from the brink of unconciousness, and she even opened one eye. Though she couldn't really focus right now, that vague shape above her that was Phil had definitely stopped attacking. And in that brief moment of peace, she suddenly began to feel a strong resolve building up inside her. Cass. Max. Duncan. They could all end up dead, and it could all be her fault, because she wasn't there to help them when they needed her.
She couldn't let that happen.
I can't die here.
I can't die here.
I CAN'T DIE HERE.
Before Phil could resume his onslaught of punches, Maria let out a loud, almost primal yell before shifting her weight to one side and throwing the hardest falcon punch she could muster in the direction of the blurry blob thing she presumed was his face, her bruised shoulder crying out in protest.
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chitoryu12*
- Posts: 96
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:07 am
As Chris inched backwards on his belly, he slowly started to hear less and less of the incident going on. The only thing he could hear was the bloody boy screaming "I am tired of this God DAMN ISLAND!"
And then, it happened. He grabbed Maria by the collar, and she moved. Chris didn't know if she said something or touched him or what, but suddenly the guy was on top of her, beating the ever-loving shit out of a girl he barely knew.
Chris tried to do two things at once, his brain essentially splitting in half as he tried to figure out what to do. His survival instinct conflicted with his desire to save the girl in front of him from a brutal death. He started to jump up, his daypack spilling off his shoulders and thumping to the ground, and as he started running tried to stop himself before he got into more trouble than he wanted to be in.
This resulted in him stumbling to a halt, nearly losing his balance and falling over. He was still about 4 yards away when he flailed his way to his feet, and now he was totally exposed for the first time in the whole game. He also got a good look at Mr. Violence, recognizing him as Phil Ward, a fellow gamer and not-fellow Sega fan. He also saw the other girl among them, one Marybeth Witherspoon. Gossiphound of the universe. She, in turn, was standing off to the side and looking shocked.
Save her or hide? Save her or hide? Save her or hide? SAVE HER or hide?
It took a few seconds of deliberation, but Chris finally made up his mind; he couldn't let her die. He would be left feeling responsible for the rest of his life, always asking himself "Why didn't I save her life when I had the chance?"
So, without a roar or scream or cry of "Eat steel!" but rather a flaming, serious look of determination, Chris started sprinting straight at the melee. Just as Maria took a swing at Phil, he sprung off his back foot and sent himself flying straight at the douchebag, right arm swinging forward to deliver a full-force brass knuckle beatdown.
He figured that the force of his punch, combined with his momentum, would be enough to put a nice dent in Phil's skull, maybe break his jaw or blind an eye. Now he just had to make it connect.
And then, it happened. He grabbed Maria by the collar, and she moved. Chris didn't know if she said something or touched him or what, but suddenly the guy was on top of her, beating the ever-loving shit out of a girl he barely knew.
Chris tried to do two things at once, his brain essentially splitting in half as he tried to figure out what to do. His survival instinct conflicted with his desire to save the girl in front of him from a brutal death. He started to jump up, his daypack spilling off his shoulders and thumping to the ground, and as he started running tried to stop himself before he got into more trouble than he wanted to be in.
This resulted in him stumbling to a halt, nearly losing his balance and falling over. He was still about 4 yards away when he flailed his way to his feet, and now he was totally exposed for the first time in the whole game. He also got a good look at Mr. Violence, recognizing him as Phil Ward, a fellow gamer and not-fellow Sega fan. He also saw the other girl among them, one Marybeth Witherspoon. Gossiphound of the universe. She, in turn, was standing off to the side and looking shocked.
Save her or hide? Save her or hide? Save her or hide? SAVE HER or hide?
It took a few seconds of deliberation, but Chris finally made up his mind; he couldn't let her die. He would be left feeling responsible for the rest of his life, always asking himself "Why didn't I save her life when I had the chance?"
So, without a roar or scream or cry of "Eat steel!" but rather a flaming, serious look of determination, Chris started sprinting straight at the melee. Just as Maria took a swing at Phil, he sprung off his back foot and sent himself flying straight at the douchebag, right arm swinging forward to deliver a full-force brass knuckle beatdown.
He figured that the force of his punch, combined with his momentum, would be enough to put a nice dent in Phil's skull, maybe break his jaw or blind an eye. Now he just had to make it connect.
((Francine Moreau continued from Death is not a Game))
It was evening, and Francine was tired. She had tried to follow Aaron's group, but had lost them somewhere along the way. She'd lost track of Lily and Rekka, too, and found herself unable to double back and reconnect with them. So now, she was wondering aimlessly, throughout the woods where she figured they had to be. Assuming, of course, that they hadn't moved on. At least it had been peaceful and quiet. She was a bit bored, true. She'd been drawing up an escape agenda in her planner, trying to figure out what steps they should take. It seemed like electing a leader was an obvious first move. Then delegating roles. Making sure they functioned properly and civilly.
The screaming took her by surprise. Blinking, Francine took off, in the exact opposite direction. No point getting killed. Then she stopped. What if that person yelling was one of her allies? What if they had been drawn to the sound too, so she'd be able to find them, even if they weren't there yet? This could be her chance to find the others again. She couldn't run away. So she turned, and ran back towards the sound.
She emerged into a somewhat open area, to discover that she had been gravely mistaken. It was not her allies. It was Phillip Ward, school bully, beating some girl to a pulp. While someone else (she couldn't quite tell who) looked on. The girl was struggling, fighting back. It was horrible. Terrifying. Just way too much. She couldn't believe it. People weren't like this. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Just couldn't.
She was walking forward, into plain sight, without a thought of stealth. Shocked. Eyes glazed. How could this be going on? It just wasn't real.
She didn't want it to be real.
It was evening, and Francine was tired. She had tried to follow Aaron's group, but had lost them somewhere along the way. She'd lost track of Lily and Rekka, too, and found herself unable to double back and reconnect with them. So now, she was wondering aimlessly, throughout the woods where she figured they had to be. Assuming, of course, that they hadn't moved on. At least it had been peaceful and quiet. She was a bit bored, true. She'd been drawing up an escape agenda in her planner, trying to figure out what steps they should take. It seemed like electing a leader was an obvious first move. Then delegating roles. Making sure they functioned properly and civilly.
The screaming took her by surprise. Blinking, Francine took off, in the exact opposite direction. No point getting killed. Then she stopped. What if that person yelling was one of her allies? What if they had been drawn to the sound too, so she'd be able to find them, even if they weren't there yet? This could be her chance to find the others again. She couldn't run away. So she turned, and ran back towards the sound.
She emerged into a somewhat open area, to discover that she had been gravely mistaken. It was not her allies. It was Phillip Ward, school bully, beating some girl to a pulp. While someone else (she couldn't quite tell who) looked on. The girl was struggling, fighting back. It was horrible. Terrifying. Just way too much. She couldn't believe it. People weren't like this. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Just couldn't.
She was walking forward, into plain sight, without a thought of stealth. Shocked. Eyes glazed. How could this be going on? It just wasn't real.
She didn't want it to be real.
Clearly, Phil was no less annoyed by Maria's intrusion than Marybeth. Of course, being a model bully, his reaction was far more entertaining than Marybeth's glare and smolder. His irritation translated into the classic bully's collar grab and lift, although this was the first time Marybeth had seen it done to a girl. Most guys had the decency to not hit girls.
Apparently this idea went out the window right after Maria planted a light tap on Phil's nose. Punctuated by a "boop" sound effect. Marybeth had to hand it to her, the girl knew how to make comedy out of a tense scene. Marybeth had little talent for writing comedy pieces. She usually just did it by pointing out storytelling inconsistencies or or by making thin-veiled jabs at other stories.
Phil, on the other hand, was evidently somebody who did not enjoy comedy, or at least not when the laughs came at his expense. For a brief moment, he just stood there and Marybeth could almost see the steam shooting out his ears. If she had popcorn, now would be the perfect time to start popping it. This was definitely going to be a good watch.
With a roar that echoed through the trees, Phil pounced on Maria. His bulky frame made taking down the girl a simple task, and in moments, he was raining down rage-fueled punches on the little drummer girl. It was definitely weird, watching the boy beat mercilessly on a girl. Movies and television would never show anything this brutal (except for on Survival of the Fittest). Still, it was entertaining and Marybeth just had that urge to contribute. "Yeah Phil! Show her who's boss!"
Maybe it was because of her yelling. Maybe it was because Phil was getting tired of punching Maria. Or maybe it was just because Phil knew that the best fights weren't entirely one sided. Whatever the reason might be, Maria suddenly somehow found an opening and opened with a big punch that hit Phil with a satisfying thwack.
Out of nowhere, somebody burst out of the bushes nearby and launched himself at the tussling pair. Marybeth couldn't make out who the new fighter was; he was running pretty fast. As she turned her head to try to get a better look at his face, she saw yet another person standing pretty close beside her. Francine Moreau, boring bookworm and mediocre gymnast, was utilizing her skills of boringness and watching the fight slack-jawed. Marybeth couldn't have people just standing around and watching. People needed to get involved in the story. People besides Marybeth of course: she was the storyteller and she needed to watch everything to get the most objective view of the story after all.
Of course, if Francine wasn't going to join in, then Marybeth would have to "convince" her to participate. Francine's attention was wholly focused on Maria and Phil and the mysterious running boy's fight, and didn't seem to notice Marybeth's slinking at all. In moments, Marybeth was right behind Francine. "If you don't like them fighting, you should get in there and break it up," Marybeth whispered in Francine's ear. Then, with a thrust of her arms, Marybeth shoved Francine into the fray with the others.
Too bad she didn't have any popcorn.
Apparently this idea went out the window right after Maria planted a light tap on Phil's nose. Punctuated by a "boop" sound effect. Marybeth had to hand it to her, the girl knew how to make comedy out of a tense scene. Marybeth had little talent for writing comedy pieces. She usually just did it by pointing out storytelling inconsistencies or or by making thin-veiled jabs at other stories.
Phil, on the other hand, was evidently somebody who did not enjoy comedy, or at least not when the laughs came at his expense. For a brief moment, he just stood there and Marybeth could almost see the steam shooting out his ears. If she had popcorn, now would be the perfect time to start popping it. This was definitely going to be a good watch.
With a roar that echoed through the trees, Phil pounced on Maria. His bulky frame made taking down the girl a simple task, and in moments, he was raining down rage-fueled punches on the little drummer girl. It was definitely weird, watching the boy beat mercilessly on a girl. Movies and television would never show anything this brutal (except for on Survival of the Fittest). Still, it was entertaining and Marybeth just had that urge to contribute. "Yeah Phil! Show her who's boss!"
Maybe it was because of her yelling. Maybe it was because Phil was getting tired of punching Maria. Or maybe it was just because Phil knew that the best fights weren't entirely one sided. Whatever the reason might be, Maria suddenly somehow found an opening and opened with a big punch that hit Phil with a satisfying thwack.
Out of nowhere, somebody burst out of the bushes nearby and launched himself at the tussling pair. Marybeth couldn't make out who the new fighter was; he was running pretty fast. As she turned her head to try to get a better look at his face, she saw yet another person standing pretty close beside her. Francine Moreau, boring bookworm and mediocre gymnast, was utilizing her skills of boringness and watching the fight slack-jawed. Marybeth couldn't have people just standing around and watching. People needed to get involved in the story. People besides Marybeth of course: she was the storyteller and she needed to watch everything to get the most objective view of the story after all.
Of course, if Francine wasn't going to join in, then Marybeth would have to "convince" her to participate. Francine's attention was wholly focused on Maria and Phil and the mysterious running boy's fight, and didn't seem to notice Marybeth's slinking at all. In moments, Marybeth was right behind Francine. "If you don't like them fighting, you should get in there and break it up," Marybeth whispered in Francine's ear. Then, with a thrust of her arms, Marybeth shoved Francine into the fray with the others.
Too bad she didn't have any popcorn.
((GMing approved, all round!))
Phil didn't expect the sucker punch from Maria. He certainly didn't expect to be sidelined by Chris at the very same time. His vision grew faint for a second as he reeled back from the combined force of the two punches. He felt another force smash in to his side and he swung wildly at the stumbling figure. His fist connected with something. He wasn't sure what but he felt rather than saw someone go down for the count. He was well in to his 'hockey brawl mode' now and he continued to swing, heedless of his surroundings or the blows of the others.
Still reeling from the double fists to his head he couldn't quite make out the fumbling Maria drawing the concealed weapon from her hiding place. Still he saw movement and that meant that there was was danger or at least another combat. Stepping towards the blurry figure of Maria Phil felt his foot bump in to something.
The rage cleared for a moment. Before him lay the dazed form of Francine Moreau. He must of hit her earlier without realising it. Normally Phil would never hit a girl. His thoughts immediately jarred as he realised he had hit at least three girls, four if you included how whiny Dominic was, since his stay on the island. Things were changing for him and he didn't even notice it. Momentarily confused Phil looked back up, his eyes widening as Maria shakily pointed something at him.
A gun? She had a gun! Phil froze as Maria squeezed the trigger.
Phil didn't expect the sucker punch from Maria. He certainly didn't expect to be sidelined by Chris at the very same time. His vision grew faint for a second as he reeled back from the combined force of the two punches. He felt another force smash in to his side and he swung wildly at the stumbling figure. His fist connected with something. He wasn't sure what but he felt rather than saw someone go down for the count. He was well in to his 'hockey brawl mode' now and he continued to swing, heedless of his surroundings or the blows of the others.
Still reeling from the double fists to his head he couldn't quite make out the fumbling Maria drawing the concealed weapon from her hiding place. Still he saw movement and that meant that there was was danger or at least another combat. Stepping towards the blurry figure of Maria Phil felt his foot bump in to something.
The rage cleared for a moment. Before him lay the dazed form of Francine Moreau. He must of hit her earlier without realising it. Normally Phil would never hit a girl. His thoughts immediately jarred as he realised he had hit at least three girls, four if you included how whiny Dominic was, since his stay on the island. Things were changing for him and he didn't even notice it. Momentarily confused Phil looked back up, his eyes widening as Maria shakily pointed something at him.
A gun? She had a gun! Phil froze as Maria squeezed the trigger.
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Super Llama*
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
[Moar GMing approved]
It seemed Maria had a guardian angel. As soon as her punch hit, a punch from someone else who had apparently just shown up out of nowhere connected at the same time, the two punches combining into some kind of badass Voltron punch that sent Phil reeling back before ANOTHER person stumbled into him, causing him to retaliate, knocking the girl to the ground with a wild punch. But the identities of these new people wasn't exactly in the forefront of her mind right now, her thoughts instead occupied with variations on "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE."
Her head was still spinning, every action seeming much harder to pull off than it should as she tried to get to her feet. She didn't want to be here, with this jerkface and the crazy gossip girl and whoever the hell these other two people were. She wanted to be back with Cass, and Duncan. The fact that they were probably still by Warren's grave didn't even matter now. She just wanted to be with people who wouldn't beat the living hell out of her for nose booping them.
Maria reached back and fumbled for her gun, pulling it from her hiding place (which, unfortunately for the people at home and anyone else who might be watching or reading, wasn't her cleavage) and pointing vaguely in Phil's direction, her aim wavering. It was just then that she realized what she was doing. Oh God, was she really going to shoot somebody? Granted, Phil was a colossal jerkface and deserved to be, like, hugged to death by a bear or something, but could she really risk killing someone? She could barely think straight, and she started to wobble as she got to her feet, her ribs hurting intensely as she tried to hold the gun steadily.
Oh God, was he moving again? He's gonna come back to finish the job! Panic began to set in as Maria suddenly pulled the trigger, the fiery projectile shooting out, still in the early stages of igniting, and hitting Phil square in the chest...before bouncing right off, instead falling right onto an unintended target.
Oh...oh shit...
It seemed Maria had a guardian angel. As soon as her punch hit, a punch from someone else who had apparently just shown up out of nowhere connected at the same time, the two punches combining into some kind of badass Voltron punch that sent Phil reeling back before ANOTHER person stumbled into him, causing him to retaliate, knocking the girl to the ground with a wild punch. But the identities of these new people wasn't exactly in the forefront of her mind right now, her thoughts instead occupied with variations on "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE."
Her head was still spinning, every action seeming much harder to pull off than it should as she tried to get to her feet. She didn't want to be here, with this jerkface and the crazy gossip girl and whoever the hell these other two people were. She wanted to be back with Cass, and Duncan. The fact that they were probably still by Warren's grave didn't even matter now. She just wanted to be with people who wouldn't beat the living hell out of her for nose booping them.
Maria reached back and fumbled for her gun, pulling it from her hiding place (which, unfortunately for the people at home and anyone else who might be watching or reading, wasn't her cleavage) and pointing vaguely in Phil's direction, her aim wavering. It was just then that she realized what she was doing. Oh God, was she really going to shoot somebody? Granted, Phil was a colossal jerkface and deserved to be, like, hugged to death by a bear or something, but could she really risk killing someone? She could barely think straight, and she started to wobble as she got to her feet, her ribs hurting intensely as she tried to hold the gun steadily.
Oh God, was he moving again? He's gonna come back to finish the job! Panic began to set in as Maria suddenly pulled the trigger, the fiery projectile shooting out, still in the early stages of igniting, and hitting Phil square in the chest...before bouncing right off, instead falling right onto an unintended target.
Oh...oh shit...