Jeremy Frasier was going to die on this island.
((B003: Begin))
That was what he had figured out the moment he woke up. Well, okay, you got him there. Not actually moment one. Probably about
five minutes? He didn't have a watch on him (and likely never would, at this rate) but five minutes staring at the sky seemed right. Really, the fact that he felt he could keep time in his head was honestly a little surprising to him. He was on Survival of the Fittest, an event which, quoth him, was "a giant publicised thunderdome in which a high school class fought tooth and nail until only one was left standing." Really, considering where he was right now he expected himself to be screaming, crying, destroying the environment around him or something like that. Instead, he was on his back, hands behind his head and staring at the sky. Getting a little bit of a tan too, considering the heat on the right side of his face. It was odd. He felt nice, in a way, laying down like this. Warm. Comfortable. Slightly homey.
Not exactly the feeling he imagined that one would have when they learned that their days were numbered.
Still, probably not the position that Jeremy should really be in, considering he was the aforementioned one who had just learned that his days were numbered. He sat up, turned his head to look around. Felt the sand fall off his back onto the ground. He was on a beach of some sort, empty and trailing from what seemed like side to side with an empty blue ocean in front of him. Scenic, in a way. Not that he really cared about art or the beach but he imagined that there was a certain angle you could look at this that'd make a good painting. Not really something he cared about honestly but hey, maybe some asshole back in the real world could get rich by selling art of dead kids. Maybe then Jeremy would be remembered after he died. He took his hands off of his head and put them onto the ground, so that he could lean back while he was seated like this. He could feel something where he placed his left. He looked, checking to see what it was. A bag, with the name B003: Frasier, Jeremy on it. Given that someone had put his name on it he assumed that it was his. He brought it onto his lap, fumbling with the zipper as he opened it...
...to find a giant revolver just sitting there. Ready to be taken.
He grabbed it. Well, slowly, not as sudden or fast as he had made it sound. Although this was the first time he had seen an actual gun it wasn't really that special, considering the events and milestones now in Jeremy's life through the minutes prior. Seeing a gun for the first time was a little interesting, though, at least compared to the other events happening right now (i.e: nothing). He placed his hand around the hold and trigger, resisting the temptation to swing it around on his finger given that the little thing that you had to press to actually fire the gun was right there and would probably trigger at the slightest pressure.It didn't really seem take much to pull it, which sucked. Maybe he could have looked badass or something swinging the gun around like a cowboy. Couldn't really complain though. He had a gun. That was probably a better weapon than about what 50% of his class got.
Probably wouldn't help him that much at all, though.
Because sure, he had a gun. As cool as that was, it didn't discount the fact that he was overweight and unathletic. And really, considering that this was Survival of the Fittest, that just kinda gave him poor chances from the offset. As powerful as the gun probably was, it wouldn't really help him that much at all if one of the wrestlers or one of the athletes got in range of him. He was basically dead. If there were people back in the real world running a ring on who would win the lone person who bet on the unathletic kinda smart kinda savvy gamer would get the full payout. Because in all honestly? Nobody would be betting on him. He was dead in the water and it was only a matter of time until some aspiring psychopath decided to make him their next artform.
Jeremy Frasier, 0% chance of winning the game.
And really, Jeremy was inclined to believe those odds. $100 said that someone other than Jeremy would win this thing. He was so faithful in his odds that he was betting far above his actual bank. He didn't even have $100 to lose. He was dead in the water; no matter how hard he tried Jeremy Frasier would not be the one crowned the fittest at the end.
So in that case, why bother? His days were numbered, better to spend them doing something of actual worth rather than spend them chasing the horizon. Everyone was going to do that, may as well be that one hipster or emo or whatever. Really, if he had to guess what the other 100 or so people who picked the wrong trip were planning on doing he'd probably guess something like:
1. Figure out a way to survive.
2. Find friends, maybe join up with them..
That
wasn't really the way Jeremy would do it. It was Survival of the Fittest, not Survival of the Best Friends or Survival of the Fitter. Maybe if he switched and removed a couple things, though...
1. Find Friends?
Yeah, okay, he had nothing. Sue him. Actually don't because it'd be kinda hard to sue a corpse but you get the meaning. And really, just give him a break. It probably hadn't even been ten minutes since he had woken up and at the very least he was probably going to survive at least another half hour or so. He had time. Maybe he could figure out something in that half hour or so. Probably not a clear cut actual plan but even if he couldn't think up of one he could at least improvise something. He could do that.
Standing up did seem like a good idea, though. He got up - sand from his butt and legs again falling down onto the ground - and looked around, revolver held casually in his right hand, eyes looking around and trying to see if anyone else had woken up near where he was.
He didn't really know who it was going to be if it was someone, but regardless of who it was he figured it'd be at least interesting to see how people were reacting to this.
I Say You Kill Your Heroes And Fly, Fly, Baby Don't Cry
All Irene could recall clearly upon wakening were the bindings they'd lashed her down with. Was making them so tight on the joints really called for?
G032 : Irene Djezari
Start
She had to move, and fast! Haul ass, like all up and toss posterior onto a cart and lug it behind her like she was a husky sled dog. No furry intended. But yeah. She'd figured it out the seconds she'd woken. She had to stop something really bad from happening, lest something really bad happen.
Okay, maybe she'd needed a bit after she'd come to, sprawled out jumping jacks over a tiny, calm beach where the waves only lightly prodded at the shore. Sand was rough, coarse, irritating. Got everywhere, which had mandated Irene's dancing awkwardly in place for about a minute to shake the shower of grainy particles free from the intimate folds of her skirt's bell. Noah would have been proud if he'd been around to bear witness. Oh shit, Noah. He'd been on the trip too? At least as much as Irene could recall from the attempts to pointedly ignore him on the bus. Maybe, maybe it had been a kid who had just looked like broad shoulders and pretty blonde hair and regret.
Anyways. She'd stood around for a few seconds, rifled around the bag to touch at all the meaningless knick-knacks stuffed within. It had taken her a few moments to reach a conclusion. But she'd quickly stumbled out a plan for from the old two-engine chugger brain was figuring out her w's and her solitary h: Who, where, what, when, why, how.
Who, well. That was Irene. Standing stock still and pretty with a harsh little zephyr of wind caressing her face for a poignantly irrelevant Hallmark moment.
Where? Irene glanced at the cloud choked sun at a harsh angle before realizing the sun hurt head on- applied directly to the forehead- seeing if she could figure out her east and west. She worked it out then promptly realized that was irrelevant information. Some kinda beach on some kinda shoreline. That was it.
What? A bag full of crap and a gun. The gun, frankly, was also crap.
Why? Well, Irene's thesis was one she formulated with her arms crossed under her chest and a tisk curling her lip. They were being had. Duped. Bamboozled. Schmekle-dorfed. They were right up there on the periphery, a camera or two chilling on the treeline, suspended from rocks and such. This was all just way too easy. Kids go out on a school trip and just happen to get pulled into the historical antiquity that was an old edgelord series documenting the weakness and cowardice of humanity or whatever. Just a bunch of hashtags and censored stills. Who the hell wrote this script? No wait, fuck, who' had already been answered as a rhetorical question.
But Irene didn't buy into it. Within the day people would be shouting it out. Just a prank!' Gone sexual'! You won't believe what happens next'! It almost made her feel smug, that she could so handily call the douchebags out on their farce. Puffed up her chest a bit, cold-welded a steel smile right onto her face. But that's when the realization hit her, like a punch right to that douchey grin. Others might buy into it, just through pure statistics. How many kids had gotten onto that bus? Hundred, seven, give or take, she'd done a headcount out of boredom while the wheels on the bus had been revving. The warm up for going round-and-round.
And the weapons were definitely just plastic fakes, but people could still get hurt. Maybe some dork would engage another in fisticuffs to avenge their girl or some other bullshit machismo thing.
So that was the how'. Get out there and tell the others her revelations, handed from on high like the Ten Commandments. Built of stone, like Irene's brain.
The bag was heavy, it rattled a lot with the thick and still totally fake gun half-hanging out of the sloppily half-open zipper. She toted it over her shoulder as best she could, resisting the omnipresent urge to awkwardly stumble due to the uneven footing. Again, sand was loathsome. The barrel of the gun shyly nuzzled into her hip, icy metallic presence heavy even at a gentle touch. Man. Realistic piece they had here.
She kept her eyes peeled, on the ball, other metaphors. A boy melted into the horizon after she cleared a kink in line of sight. The beach already seemed to end right past him. That was a small amount of more grains in this beach of sand than stars in the universe'. He stood up, and she recognized from a distance.
Jeremy Frasier, sometimes smart, sometimes annoying, but always sort of a friend at the very least. One of those faces you smiled at, if only because you didn't really know how else to respond. A smile to respond, when he'd say those things that would rile her up, something straight out of the mouths of old dead white people that she couldn't bear to acknowledge even though they were smart. On impulse her trigger finger stuck itself into the air, along with the rest of her hand and attached arm, for a violent wave.
"Jeremy!" She shouted. She rapidly trudged the rest of the distance between them, nearly stumbling into a face-wards fall at least a few times. "Jeremy, Jeremy!" A few more times for good measure. Irene liked being sure, at least about things that mattered.
"Jeremy." She arrived in his airspace, only a bit tired out. Her honed body heaved a bit, for maybe a second, then smoothed itself out into poise and grace. Well, maybe just poise. Her periphery vision caught the vague polygons of a distant camera swiveling. "Looks like someone's watching us. Whatever. Okay." She held up her hands, pulsing them back and forth in an attempt to make her body language work on her behalf.
"It is important, very important, that we don't do anything stupid. This is all just a misunderstanding."
G032 : Irene Djezari
Start
She had to move, and fast! Haul ass, like all up and toss posterior onto a cart and lug it behind her like she was a husky sled dog. No furry intended. But yeah. She'd figured it out the seconds she'd woken. She had to stop something really bad from happening, lest something really bad happen.
Okay, maybe she'd needed a bit after she'd come to, sprawled out jumping jacks over a tiny, calm beach where the waves only lightly prodded at the shore. Sand was rough, coarse, irritating. Got everywhere, which had mandated Irene's dancing awkwardly in place for about a minute to shake the shower of grainy particles free from the intimate folds of her skirt's bell. Noah would have been proud if he'd been around to bear witness. Oh shit, Noah. He'd been on the trip too? At least as much as Irene could recall from the attempts to pointedly ignore him on the bus. Maybe, maybe it had been a kid who had just looked like broad shoulders and pretty blonde hair and regret.
Anyways. She'd stood around for a few seconds, rifled around the bag to touch at all the meaningless knick-knacks stuffed within. It had taken her a few moments to reach a conclusion. But she'd quickly stumbled out a plan for from the old two-engine chugger brain was figuring out her w's and her solitary h: Who, where, what, when, why, how.
Who, well. That was Irene. Standing stock still and pretty with a harsh little zephyr of wind caressing her face for a poignantly irrelevant Hallmark moment.
Where? Irene glanced at the cloud choked sun at a harsh angle before realizing the sun hurt head on- applied directly to the forehead- seeing if she could figure out her east and west. She worked it out then promptly realized that was irrelevant information. Some kinda beach on some kinda shoreline. That was it.
What? A bag full of crap and a gun. The gun, frankly, was also crap.
Why? Well, Irene's thesis was one she formulated with her arms crossed under her chest and a tisk curling her lip. They were being had. Duped. Bamboozled. Schmekle-dorfed. They were right up there on the periphery, a camera or two chilling on the treeline, suspended from rocks and such. This was all just way too easy. Kids go out on a school trip and just happen to get pulled into the historical antiquity that was an old edgelord series documenting the weakness and cowardice of humanity or whatever. Just a bunch of hashtags and censored stills. Who the hell wrote this script? No wait, fuck, who' had already been answered as a rhetorical question.
But Irene didn't buy into it. Within the day people would be shouting it out. Just a prank!' Gone sexual'! You won't believe what happens next'! It almost made her feel smug, that she could so handily call the douchebags out on their farce. Puffed up her chest a bit, cold-welded a steel smile right onto her face. But that's when the realization hit her, like a punch right to that douchey grin. Others might buy into it, just through pure statistics. How many kids had gotten onto that bus? Hundred, seven, give or take, she'd done a headcount out of boredom while the wheels on the bus had been revving. The warm up for going round-and-round.
And the weapons were definitely just plastic fakes, but people could still get hurt. Maybe some dork would engage another in fisticuffs to avenge their girl or some other bullshit machismo thing.
So that was the how'. Get out there and tell the others her revelations, handed from on high like the Ten Commandments. Built of stone, like Irene's brain.
The bag was heavy, it rattled a lot with the thick and still totally fake gun half-hanging out of the sloppily half-open zipper. She toted it over her shoulder as best she could, resisting the omnipresent urge to awkwardly stumble due to the uneven footing. Again, sand was loathsome. The barrel of the gun shyly nuzzled into her hip, icy metallic presence heavy even at a gentle touch. Man. Realistic piece they had here.
She kept her eyes peeled, on the ball, other metaphors. A boy melted into the horizon after she cleared a kink in line of sight. The beach already seemed to end right past him. That was a small amount of more grains in this beach of sand than stars in the universe'. He stood up, and she recognized from a distance.
Jeremy Frasier, sometimes smart, sometimes annoying, but always sort of a friend at the very least. One of those faces you smiled at, if only because you didn't really know how else to respond. A smile to respond, when he'd say those things that would rile her up, something straight out of the mouths of old dead white people that she couldn't bear to acknowledge even though they were smart. On impulse her trigger finger stuck itself into the air, along with the rest of her hand and attached arm, for a violent wave.
"Jeremy!" She shouted. She rapidly trudged the rest of the distance between them, nearly stumbling into a face-wards fall at least a few times. "Jeremy, Jeremy!" A few more times for good measure. Irene liked being sure, at least about things that mattered.
"Jeremy." She arrived in his airspace, only a bit tired out. Her honed body heaved a bit, for maybe a second, then smoothed itself out into poise and grace. Well, maybe just poise. Her periphery vision caught the vague polygons of a distant camera swiveling. "Looks like someone's watching us. Whatever. Okay." She held up her hands, pulsing them back and forth in an attempt to make her body language work on her behalf.
"It is important, very important, that we don't do anything stupid. This is all just a misunderstanding."
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1444
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
"AaaaahhhHGHHHH."
That was not precisely a cry of distress at the overarching circumstances, so much as the fact that Danny had woken up in a large, tangly pile of seaweed that had washed up in the little cove. And it felt really gross.
((B020: Daniel 'Danny' Brooks: START))
Danny flailed ineffectually, but only got more tangled up in the seaweed. Ew. Ew, ew, ew. This was the worst. This was the literal worst thing.
Because everything else? So obviously a joke. A really bad, in poor taste joke, but like this shit just didn't happen. Not to him. Not to some kids from way in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere. It always happened in, like crowded places, like Seattle. On big school trips to fun places, not to sciency shit. Who the fuck would go all the way to Kingsman to kidnap a bunch of kids going to learn about science?
So. Clearly a joke. Besides, who is so petty as to dump a kid in a pile of seaweed? Probably Bradley. Come to think of it, this was such a Bradley-style joke. Poor taste was his jam. Man, this was a little far, even for him
Danny struggled to his feet, still weighed down by all the seaweed. Ew. He found his bag tossed nearby—fucking rude—next to a bigger bag with 'B020' stamped on it. Jesus, really going the extra mile, isn't he?
The image of Mr. Graham being shot, of blood splattering the dark ground, of that man explaining the rules in that horribly calm way, of the video, it all flitted through his head. Danny pushed it away.
Everything was fine. Bad dream. That's all.
He trudged along, still trying to squirm his way out of the seaweed, when he saw two other figures nearby. Jeremy—okay guy, occasionally uncomfortable jokes—and Irene—pretty cool girl, little weird but Danny was okay with that.
"Check it out!" Danny called out before stretching his arms out, seaweed dangling off them. "I'm the swamp monster from that film about a swamp monster! Rrragh."
That works.
That was not precisely a cry of distress at the overarching circumstances, so much as the fact that Danny had woken up in a large, tangly pile of seaweed that had washed up in the little cove. And it felt really gross.
((B020: Daniel 'Danny' Brooks: START))
Danny flailed ineffectually, but only got more tangled up in the seaweed. Ew. Ew, ew, ew. This was the worst. This was the literal worst thing.
Because everything else? So obviously a joke. A really bad, in poor taste joke, but like this shit just didn't happen. Not to him. Not to some kids from way in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere. It always happened in, like crowded places, like Seattle. On big school trips to fun places, not to sciency shit. Who the fuck would go all the way to Kingsman to kidnap a bunch of kids going to learn about science?
So. Clearly a joke. Besides, who is so petty as to dump a kid in a pile of seaweed? Probably Bradley. Come to think of it, this was such a Bradley-style joke. Poor taste was his jam. Man, this was a little far, even for him
Danny struggled to his feet, still weighed down by all the seaweed. Ew. He found his bag tossed nearby—fucking rude—next to a bigger bag with 'B020' stamped on it. Jesus, really going the extra mile, isn't he?
The image of Mr. Graham being shot, of blood splattering the dark ground, of that man explaining the rules in that horribly calm way, of the video, it all flitted through his head. Danny pushed it away.
Everything was fine. Bad dream. That's all.
He trudged along, still trying to squirm his way out of the seaweed, when he saw two other figures nearby. Jeremy—okay guy, occasionally uncomfortable jokes—and Irene—pretty cool girl, little weird but Danny was okay with that.
"Check it out!" Danny called out before stretching his arms out, seaweed dangling off them. "I'm the swamp monster from that film about a swamp monster! Rrragh."
That works.
-
Yugikun
- Posts: 985
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:48 am
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Contact:
A voice frantically called out his name, and Jeremy turned, gun held down low with his fingers kept away from the trigger.
Irene Djezari barrelled towards him, her run not unlike her demeanour. She was a friend, sorta. She was too popular to really have the time to be able to talk to him, which tended to suck, but whenever she didn't have anyone to talk to besides him he had a little fun with her. Mostly through mocking and riling her up but ultimately she didn't really seem to mind it after the fact, given that she kept coming back and talking to him. Ultimately not really a bad result for the "first person he met here" distinction, given that the two were friendly with each other and she wasn't really an asshole. At the very least she was better than like, Cadeyn or Adelaide or Jane or someone else he didn't really like.
But anyway, she came up towards him, stopping and resting for a bit before she started speaking again. Her voice was cautious, more serious than it normally was. He listened to her, as she told him that this was a misunderstanding.
And then he shook his head.
"No, I don't think it is. This is way too elaborate for it to just be a joke."
His mind flashed back to when he first woke up. Not on the beach, but in the dark room. He watched the teacher get shot, just like everyone else did, and as much as he wanted to scream and shout back then when it happened he knew that it wouldn't achieve anything. He listened as the man explained the rules for the game, and he watched the little demonstration on the screen. As much as he wanted to believe what Irene was saying there was no way that this could be a joke, given what he had seen.
He just hoped that the other teachers were okay. As much as he learned to fear some of them over the last few years, they didn't deserve this. No-one did.
"You saw what happened to the teacher, right?" The sentence was strained, forced. He didn't realise what was coming out of his mouth until halfway through. Poor impulse control as always, Mr. Frasier. Right now you're coming off as a massive jackass right in front of everyone watching from that camera Irene pointed out to you. At least have the gall to finish what you said. You started it, and now it's your responsibility to finish it.
"I don't think you could really fake-
And then another voice called out to the both of them. He turned his head again, this time towards the boy covered in seaweed. Couldn't recognise who it was from here, but according to what they said they were a swamp monster.
"I-"
Honestly, considering what was right in front of him right now he was kinda tempted to start believing what Irene was saying. Well, not really. There was still the fact that the teacher was shot in front of him and the fact that this was way too large scale to replicate, but considering the situation he was in honestly he'd prefer that this be a joke than it be real.
The form came a little closer, and at this point Jeremy could see that it was just someone covered in seaweed. He smirked, slightly. Probably not fake then. Well, sadly probably not fake, the smile was more for the dude covered in seaweed than of the inevitable fact of his death. He would rather not die on this island, but he supposed that that was just how the cookie ended up crumbling for him.
He might as well have a little fun with this, though. At least while the mood was still as light as it possibly could be.
"Why hello, swamp monster!" He shouted. "How are you doing on this fine day?"
It was good to know that Jeremy at least had his amazing natural sense of humour back. He was probably the only one who actually found it funny, but eh, whatever. He could work on it later. Assuming that he was still alive later of course, but details were details and if he was dead he probably wouldn't be able to complain about it too much.
Irene Djezari barrelled towards him, her run not unlike her demeanour. She was a friend, sorta. She was too popular to really have the time to be able to talk to him, which tended to suck, but whenever she didn't have anyone to talk to besides him he had a little fun with her. Mostly through mocking and riling her up but ultimately she didn't really seem to mind it after the fact, given that she kept coming back and talking to him. Ultimately not really a bad result for the "first person he met here" distinction, given that the two were friendly with each other and she wasn't really an asshole. At the very least she was better than like, Cadeyn or Adelaide or Jane or someone else he didn't really like.
But anyway, she came up towards him, stopping and resting for a bit before she started speaking again. Her voice was cautious, more serious than it normally was. He listened to her, as she told him that this was a misunderstanding.
And then he shook his head.
"No, I don't think it is. This is way too elaborate for it to just be a joke."
His mind flashed back to when he first woke up. Not on the beach, but in the dark room. He watched the teacher get shot, just like everyone else did, and as much as he wanted to scream and shout back then when it happened he knew that it wouldn't achieve anything. He listened as the man explained the rules for the game, and he watched the little demonstration on the screen. As much as he wanted to believe what Irene was saying there was no way that this could be a joke, given what he had seen.
He just hoped that the other teachers were okay. As much as he learned to fear some of them over the last few years, they didn't deserve this. No-one did.
"You saw what happened to the teacher, right?" The sentence was strained, forced. He didn't realise what was coming out of his mouth until halfway through. Poor impulse control as always, Mr. Frasier. Right now you're coming off as a massive jackass right in front of everyone watching from that camera Irene pointed out to you. At least have the gall to finish what you said. You started it, and now it's your responsibility to finish it.
"I don't think you could really fake-
And then another voice called out to the both of them. He turned his head again, this time towards the boy covered in seaweed. Couldn't recognise who it was from here, but according to what they said they were a swamp monster.
"I-"
Honestly, considering what was right in front of him right now he was kinda tempted to start believing what Irene was saying. Well, not really. There was still the fact that the teacher was shot in front of him and the fact that this was way too large scale to replicate, but considering the situation he was in honestly he'd prefer that this be a joke than it be real.
The form came a little closer, and at this point Jeremy could see that it was just someone covered in seaweed. He smirked, slightly. Probably not fake then. Well, sadly probably not fake, the smile was more for the dude covered in seaweed than of the inevitable fact of his death. He would rather not die on this island, but he supposed that that was just how the cookie ended up crumbling for him.
He might as well have a little fun with this, though. At least while the mood was still as light as it possibly could be.
"Why hello, swamp monster!" He shouted. "How are you doing on this fine day?"
It was good to know that Jeremy at least had his amazing natural sense of humour back. He was probably the only one who actually found it funny, but eh, whatever. He could work on it later. Assuming that he was still alive later of course, but details were details and if he was dead he probably wouldn't be able to complain about it too much.
Irene saw another fake on Jeremy's finger. They could have been fighting there and then, making those triggers click hollow, if Irene had been any less intelligent. And Jeremy, obviously. He was also fairly good with the thing in his skull. Wrap the two of them up and call them smarties.
His face seemed to set into something firm, rigid around the bone. Weird. She had this picture already extant, of talking over crappy school lunches and textbooks split on the spine. The faces never looked so granite, stoically chiseled, as they did now. She paused, hesitated. Jeremy didn't even seem to want to agree, which seemed totally illogical. Like, seriously? Too obvious for you, Mr. I'm Smart Enough To Quote Dead People In Togas With Oppressive Societies'? It wasn't quite the picturesque scene of genesis and eureka Irene had anticipated. Not enough you're right!" or how could I have been so foolish?', with hang wringing and facepalming being optional but welcome.
"Uh " Had taken Irene a second to come up with that one. She followed up with a hesitant swivel of the eye towards the ocean. Great strides towards proving her thesis, indeed. FInally, she found her voice, somewhere buried under the slop of her own primordial drool. Her eyes rotated back to find his at discomforting speed:
"I didn't see anything. I was looking around when I heard the gun, then Mr. Graham looked pretty dead but you know. Pyrotechnics." However she had actually meant that, whatever she had been envisioning that had made the erupted head wound of man fake, she failed to further elaborate. "I wasn't even really paying attention to the guy talking." She'd been glancing at the ponytail dude packing the my penis isn't big enough' firepower.
Yawn, though. They really needed to work on their staging if they were going to convince anyone. Even Irene could have hazarded something better with a few minutes and the theater room. Of course, Jeremy didn't believe, so Irene would have to explain, bear false witness.
True witness though. Irene was commanded, therefore she checked that out. Whose voice was that?
"See, this is totally lame! They can't even get the setting right!" She exclaimed, loud enough for Danny to hear, too loud for Jeremy to hear comfortably. "Survival of the fittest didn't have swamp monsters, real or Scooby Doo level villains in sushi wrap and stripey sneakers and "
She trailed off, giggling. It really was like another school day. Jeremy was cute- not in the awkward sense- there was some dude she barely knew in the distance and everything somehow seemed fine. As it was supposed to be, and would be when Irene got everyone to stop assuming the world was going to end because of some dude with a gas mask and a gun.
His face seemed to set into something firm, rigid around the bone. Weird. She had this picture already extant, of talking over crappy school lunches and textbooks split on the spine. The faces never looked so granite, stoically chiseled, as they did now. She paused, hesitated. Jeremy didn't even seem to want to agree, which seemed totally illogical. Like, seriously? Too obvious for you, Mr. I'm Smart Enough To Quote Dead People In Togas With Oppressive Societies'? It wasn't quite the picturesque scene of genesis and eureka Irene had anticipated. Not enough you're right!" or how could I have been so foolish?', with hang wringing and facepalming being optional but welcome.
"Uh " Had taken Irene a second to come up with that one. She followed up with a hesitant swivel of the eye towards the ocean. Great strides towards proving her thesis, indeed. FInally, she found her voice, somewhere buried under the slop of her own primordial drool. Her eyes rotated back to find his at discomforting speed:
"I didn't see anything. I was looking around when I heard the gun, then Mr. Graham looked pretty dead but you know. Pyrotechnics." However she had actually meant that, whatever she had been envisioning that had made the erupted head wound of man fake, she failed to further elaborate. "I wasn't even really paying attention to the guy talking." She'd been glancing at the ponytail dude packing the my penis isn't big enough' firepower.
Yawn, though. They really needed to work on their staging if they were going to convince anyone. Even Irene could have hazarded something better with a few minutes and the theater room. Of course, Jeremy didn't believe, so Irene would have to explain, bear false witness.
True witness though. Irene was commanded, therefore she checked that out. Whose voice was that?
"See, this is totally lame! They can't even get the setting right!" She exclaimed, loud enough for Danny to hear, too loud for Jeremy to hear comfortably. "Survival of the fittest didn't have swamp monsters, real or Scooby Doo level villains in sushi wrap and stripey sneakers and "
She trailed off, giggling. It really was like another school day. Jeremy was cute- not in the awkward sense- there was some dude she barely knew in the distance and everything somehow seemed fine. As it was supposed to be, and would be when Irene got everyone to stop assuming the world was going to end because of some dude with a gas mask and a gun.
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ViolentMedic
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See, if this was a real game—which it totally wasn't—they probably would have screamed and tried to murder him. They didn't. They made jokes back, which meant it was all fine.
"I am doing quite well, uh good sir? Top of the morning to ye." Danny wasn't exactly sure why he was putting on an exaggerated Irish accent—swamp monsters weren't from there, they were like from Florida or some shit. Danny flapped his arm a little, and some of the seaweed flopped onto the ground. "Agh but seriously. Bradley or whoever set this up's getting y'know strong words." He pulled some seaweed off his head.
"But hey! Scooby Doo level villain? I take offence to that, swamp monster's a fucking movie class ic..."
Danny trailed off when he finally noticed that both Jeremy and Irene were carrying guns. Very scary-looking guns. Instinctively, his hands went in the air.
"Oh shit," he muttered.
And now, perhaps he was a tiny bit less convinced this was a joke.
Even so, he laughed nervously. Because well, he had to make some kind of noise, and the absurdity of all this was kind of funny.
"I am doing quite well, uh good sir? Top of the morning to ye." Danny wasn't exactly sure why he was putting on an exaggerated Irish accent—swamp monsters weren't from there, they were like from Florida or some shit. Danny flapped his arm a little, and some of the seaweed flopped onto the ground. "Agh but seriously. Bradley or whoever set this up's getting y'know strong words." He pulled some seaweed off his head.
"But hey! Scooby Doo level villain? I take offence to that, swamp monster's a fucking movie class ic..."
Danny trailed off when he finally noticed that both Jeremy and Irene were carrying guns. Very scary-looking guns. Instinctively, his hands went in the air.
"Oh shit," he muttered.
And now, perhaps he was a tiny bit less convinced this was a joke.
Even so, he laughed nervously. Because well, he had to make some kind of noise, and the absurdity of all this was kind of funny.
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Yugikun
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((Thread is open now. Sorry about that.))
"Aaaaaaagh."
That was in response to Irene, who had just shouted way too loud at him. At the general area too, but he was the one who would have heard it the loudest. He breathed out through his nose. At least he knew that his hearing still worked. It probably didn't now that Irene had likely deafened him, but honestly not really. As much as he wanted to say that he could still hear the waves coming up and back from the shore, so unless being able to hear waves was some hidden sixth sense or something he was pretty sure that he didn't go deaf. He was still in the running for ear damage, though, and he would probably prefer that he be deaf than have an ear infection. They sucked. Hurt like hell and made him unable to sleep.
...Though considering the situation he was in, maybe being totally unable to sleep was an advantage. Danger could be around any corner, after all.
Well, not like he really cared about that but if he was able to live long enough to do whatever it was he was going to do, still hadn't thought of anything yet, that would be sweet. It'd make his own death likely even worse given the rising amount of hope but hey, details.
The swamp monster came forward, dropping his gear or his foreskin or whatever the appropriate term would be and showing that it was another one of his fellow classmates. Danny Brooks. Flirt, occasional lab partner whenever they had science. Sometimes funny, mostly a killjoy. He remembered back to 10th grade sex ed where he ruined it for literally everybody. Literally everybody meaning only Jeremy, but the previous statement sounded so much more better than "ruined it for only Jeremy." That one made him sound a little bitter. But anyway, he was here, and he seemed to be taking it as a joke as well, giving a worse explanation than what Irene gave him.
As he was wrong, he supposed that it was Jeremy's duty to correct him. That was something he did back then, right?
"I personally was never too much of a victim of Bradley's self-called jokes," Jeremy replied. For what it was worth they were jokes but considering what people were thinking here it was better to side with them, "but I don't think that he's capable of pulling off something so large scale."
And goddammit, couldn't they at least give him some good evidence to suggest that this wasn't real? Believe him, he really didn't want to actually be on SotF but considering Irene gave him nothing and Danny gave him a bad reason he was forced to go with his own opinion. He wanted to believe so hard but they absolutely wasn't going to cut it for him.
Then Danny got weird for some reason, looking at the two of them with his hands in the air. Jeremy was slightly confus-
Oh, right.
"Whoops, sorry," he said as he placed the barrel of the gun in his pocket. Probably a demonstration for poor gun safety, but he didn't know where else to put it and he didn't think the trigger would go off when it was there. Hopefully he was right about that. Accidently shooting himself sounded painful.
"Aaaaaaagh."
That was in response to Irene, who had just shouted way too loud at him. At the general area too, but he was the one who would have heard it the loudest. He breathed out through his nose. At least he knew that his hearing still worked. It probably didn't now that Irene had likely deafened him, but honestly not really. As much as he wanted to say that he could still hear the waves coming up and back from the shore, so unless being able to hear waves was some hidden sixth sense or something he was pretty sure that he didn't go deaf. He was still in the running for ear damage, though, and he would probably prefer that he be deaf than have an ear infection. They sucked. Hurt like hell and made him unable to sleep.
...Though considering the situation he was in, maybe being totally unable to sleep was an advantage. Danger could be around any corner, after all.
Well, not like he really cared about that but if he was able to live long enough to do whatever it was he was going to do, still hadn't thought of anything yet, that would be sweet. It'd make his own death likely even worse given the rising amount of hope but hey, details.
The swamp monster came forward, dropping his gear or his foreskin or whatever the appropriate term would be and showing that it was another one of his fellow classmates. Danny Brooks. Flirt, occasional lab partner whenever they had science. Sometimes funny, mostly a killjoy. He remembered back to 10th grade sex ed where he ruined it for literally everybody. Literally everybody meaning only Jeremy, but the previous statement sounded so much more better than "ruined it for only Jeremy." That one made him sound a little bitter. But anyway, he was here, and he seemed to be taking it as a joke as well, giving a worse explanation than what Irene gave him.
As he was wrong, he supposed that it was Jeremy's duty to correct him. That was something he did back then, right?
"I personally was never too much of a victim of Bradley's self-called jokes," Jeremy replied. For what it was worth they were jokes but considering what people were thinking here it was better to side with them, "but I don't think that he's capable of pulling off something so large scale."
And goddammit, couldn't they at least give him some good evidence to suggest that this wasn't real? Believe him, he really didn't want to actually be on SotF but considering Irene gave him nothing and Danny gave him a bad reason he was forced to go with his own opinion. He wanted to believe so hard but they absolutely wasn't going to cut it for him.
Then Danny got weird for some reason, looking at the two of them with his hands in the air. Jeremy was slightly confus-
Oh, right.
"Whoops, sorry," he said as he placed the barrel of the gun in his pocket. Probably a demonstration for poor gun safety, but he didn't know where else to put it and he didn't think the trigger would go off when it was there. Hopefully he was right about that. Accidently shooting himself sounded painful.
Sheesh. Jeremy was loud all of a sudden.
Really was another school day, just one awkwardly situated on the beach that didn't exist in Kingman. Next thing Bradley would burst in and make an unwelcome yet painfully funny joke or Darius would get his other gaming devices stolen. Hm. Sounded like good follow up for the day after this one. Irene stored it away into her mental to-do list, just fast enough to promptly lose it again. She'd be dredging it up to forget again when it was relevant.
Wait! Irene recognized that face under the globules of dripping fern and grass. Figures she'd also be stereotypical failing the whole facial and vocal recognition thing. In her defense, there had been a bunch of stuff in the way. Some of that stuff was busy splattering over sand now, so Irene knew, and promptly felt a bit of heat rise to her cheeks in spite of herself.
Danny Brooks. He was cute, in a different connotation of the word cute where the hormones got all jumpy and persnickety and tried to signal biological pathways that screamed 'release the ovum' louder than Poseidon had ever dared call for his minions. Man, this one was a blast from the past that punched her in the gut hard enough to distract from the crick on her spine where she'd been laid on a rocky beach for what felt like hours. Danny had hit on her a few times back when she'd still not known the Cochise halls like the back of her hand. Uh, implying she knew them now. Anyways, she'd promptly rejected him, though not really on purpose. Vocal chords did weird things under duress, they were brittle.
"Doesn't seem like Bradley's kinda deal. There would be more inappropriately scantly clad girls if it were his doing."
Like that. Vocal chords did things like that.
Everyone was staring at the guns. Putting hands up in the air. Wasn't even a sweet tune to get those palms facing skyward for. Irene rolled her eyes, and suddenly was smacking the unyielding steel broadside of her assigned prop like it was the posterior she was supposed to be hauling. Flesh on metal sounded so weird. Like someone was overclocking a computer, but wetter. She continued to wear a healthy bit of blush, made itchy by the ocean breeze, as she insisted with all the whiny charisma she could fail to muster:
"Guns are fake. Dunno what the two of you are on, unless we wanna just pretend any of this is actually real in which case I'd rather pretend I was a princess and y'all were my subjects, thanks and thank you. First royal edict, get those hands down and stuff." Irene glanced away a bit nervously as she tried to command Danny, her lips suddenly a bit pressed together. Clang clang clang went her gun. And whatever heavy thing was bouncing around in her head.
Really was another school day, just one awkwardly situated on the beach that didn't exist in Kingman. Next thing Bradley would burst in and make an unwelcome yet painfully funny joke or Darius would get his other gaming devices stolen. Hm. Sounded like good follow up for the day after this one. Irene stored it away into her mental to-do list, just fast enough to promptly lose it again. She'd be dredging it up to forget again when it was relevant.
Wait! Irene recognized that face under the globules of dripping fern and grass. Figures she'd also be stereotypical failing the whole facial and vocal recognition thing. In her defense, there had been a bunch of stuff in the way. Some of that stuff was busy splattering over sand now, so Irene knew, and promptly felt a bit of heat rise to her cheeks in spite of herself.
Danny Brooks. He was cute, in a different connotation of the word cute where the hormones got all jumpy and persnickety and tried to signal biological pathways that screamed 'release the ovum' louder than Poseidon had ever dared call for his minions. Man, this one was a blast from the past that punched her in the gut hard enough to distract from the crick on her spine where she'd been laid on a rocky beach for what felt like hours. Danny had hit on her a few times back when she'd still not known the Cochise halls like the back of her hand. Uh, implying she knew them now. Anyways, she'd promptly rejected him, though not really on purpose. Vocal chords did weird things under duress, they were brittle.
"Doesn't seem like Bradley's kinda deal. There would be more inappropriately scantly clad girls if it were his doing."
Like that. Vocal chords did things like that.
Everyone was staring at the guns. Putting hands up in the air. Wasn't even a sweet tune to get those palms facing skyward for. Irene rolled her eyes, and suddenly was smacking the unyielding steel broadside of her assigned prop like it was the posterior she was supposed to be hauling. Flesh on metal sounded so weird. Like someone was overclocking a computer, but wetter. She continued to wear a healthy bit of blush, made itchy by the ocean breeze, as she insisted with all the whiny charisma she could fail to muster:
"Guns are fake. Dunno what the two of you are on, unless we wanna just pretend any of this is actually real in which case I'd rather pretend I was a princess and y'all were my subjects, thanks and thank you. First royal edict, get those hands down and stuff." Irene glanced away a bit nervously as she tried to command Danny, her lips suddenly a bit pressed together. Clang clang clang went her gun. And whatever heavy thing was bouncing around in her head.
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ViolentMedic
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- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
"Yeah, I'll bet," Danny replied to Jeremy's mention of not being the subject of most of those jokes. Of course he wouldn't be, Jeremy was a plain white dude, far as Danny could tell. Much harder to grasp for offensive jokes there. "But this is totally Bradley's thing. Big, yeah, but
maybe he had accomplices. Y'know, like, um
someone. Who's on Bradley's level of, uh
y'know?" Danny said timidly. He didn't want to outright call Bradley's jokes inappropriate, but they totally were. Sometimes they were kinda funny, but sometimes it was like 'Bradley, could you maybe chill?'
Upon Irene's royal command, Danny uneasily saluted her and lowered his hands. "Yes, your royal, uh queenliness? Queenship?" Queenship worked. There were worse queens than Irene. Danny recalled having a crush on her way back when. He couldn't really recall why. He'd had crushes for a lot of reasons. He just remembered getting rejected, moping a little and getting over it.
Jeremy put his gun away pretty fast, which made Danny a lot more comfortable. But Irene still had hers out, and hers was bigger. Really, he was kind of impressed the guns varied. And they looked so real.
Yeah, this was this was too elaborate. Maybe it wasn't Bradley. Maybe it was a super elaborate game show that would be cancelled immediately because of how poor taste it was. Wait, that literally was what the real Survival of the Fittest was, apart from the big about getting cancelled. Game show where the only prize was living if you made it to 1st place.
Okay, there was no way to tell this from the real thing, as far as he knew. (Again, Mr. Graham flitted through his head, but he shook that off. That could be faked.)
The only thing that really couldn't be faked was bullets. That'd just be irresponsible for a prank.
"Okay, okay, so I got it. Y'know how we prove this is fake?" He gestured at the other two, and the gun that Irene was still holding. "Just, y'know, aim at something far off. And non-living. It'll do the, y'know fake noise or whatever. No damage. And then we can go and I don't know, there's probably, like..."
Danny trailed off for a moment, looking around.
"...Where are we, again?"
Upon Irene's royal command, Danny uneasily saluted her and lowered his hands. "Yes, your royal, uh queenliness? Queenship?" Queenship worked. There were worse queens than Irene. Danny recalled having a crush on her way back when. He couldn't really recall why. He'd had crushes for a lot of reasons. He just remembered getting rejected, moping a little and getting over it.
Jeremy put his gun away pretty fast, which made Danny a lot more comfortable. But Irene still had hers out, and hers was bigger. Really, he was kind of impressed the guns varied. And they looked so real.
Yeah, this was this was too elaborate. Maybe it wasn't Bradley. Maybe it was a super elaborate game show that would be cancelled immediately because of how poor taste it was. Wait, that literally was what the real Survival of the Fittest was, apart from the big about getting cancelled. Game show where the only prize was living if you made it to 1st place.
Okay, there was no way to tell this from the real thing, as far as he knew. (Again, Mr. Graham flitted through his head, but he shook that off. That could be faked.)
The only thing that really couldn't be faked was bullets. That'd just be irresponsible for a prank.
"Okay, okay, so I got it. Y'know how we prove this is fake?" He gestured at the other two, and the gun that Irene was still holding. "Just, y'know, aim at something far off. And non-living. It'll do the, y'know fake noise or whatever. No damage. And then we can go and I don't know, there's probably, like..."
Danny trailed off for a moment, looking around.
"...Where are we, again?"
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Yugikun
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Jeremy frowned, slightly.
"You're not doing that great of a job at convincing me, here."
That was directed at both of them, because really, they weren't doing that great of a job at trying to get him to believe that this wasn't real. Irene was just making statements with no evidence or reason behind them, which if he remembered correctly from his brief stint of debating in 7th grade wasn't really a good way at convincing people that your statement was fact. Danny still held onto the belief that it was Bradley, and gave something uncharacteristic of him as reason to believe that this was all an elaborate joke on Bradley's part. Bradley worked alone, and his humour tended to lie with riling people up and making them angry enough to do things that he found enjoyable. Kinda like what Jeremy did, sometimes, but he was much more mild about it. Ask Irene, she knew all about it.
"Because really, as much as I'd like to hope and believe that I'm not going to die horribly within the next few days, neither of you have succeeded in making me believe that the opposite is true."
Wait, whoops, he forgot tact there. Whatever, he just kinda needed to get that out.
"Sorry about that, but it's true. This is totally impossible for Bradley to do on his own and it's uncharacteristic for him to have accomplices. And I have no real evidence pointing to the contrary that these " He tapped the gun in his pocket. "Aren't real."
"Like, I don't want to come off as tactless or tacky here but "
Okay, he wasn't really sure of how to finish that sentence but oh well, he got the point out. Maybe he could think of happier things. Or at the very least better things. Like he didn't know. A pretty good idea came out of Danny's mouth, so maybe he'd focus on that. Maybe it'd help his case a little.
"I can test what you're saying out, if you like. I don't think I'm going to end up using this much. Also, um " He looked around. Danny had asked another question so he figured that he could answer it as well.
"We seem to be on some sort of beach. There's probably a way off of this, I'm guessing."
"You're not doing that great of a job at convincing me, here."
That was directed at both of them, because really, they weren't doing that great of a job at trying to get him to believe that this wasn't real. Irene was just making statements with no evidence or reason behind them, which if he remembered correctly from his brief stint of debating in 7th grade wasn't really a good way at convincing people that your statement was fact. Danny still held onto the belief that it was Bradley, and gave something uncharacteristic of him as reason to believe that this was all an elaborate joke on Bradley's part. Bradley worked alone, and his humour tended to lie with riling people up and making them angry enough to do things that he found enjoyable. Kinda like what Jeremy did, sometimes, but he was much more mild about it. Ask Irene, she knew all about it.
"Because really, as much as I'd like to hope and believe that I'm not going to die horribly within the next few days, neither of you have succeeded in making me believe that the opposite is true."
Wait, whoops, he forgot tact there. Whatever, he just kinda needed to get that out.
"Sorry about that, but it's true. This is totally impossible for Bradley to do on his own and it's uncharacteristic for him to have accomplices. And I have no real evidence pointing to the contrary that these " He tapped the gun in his pocket. "Aren't real."
"Like, I don't want to come off as tactless or tacky here but "
Okay, he wasn't really sure of how to finish that sentence but oh well, he got the point out. Maybe he could think of happier things. Or at the very least better things. Like he didn't know. A pretty good idea came out of Danny's mouth, so maybe he'd focus on that. Maybe it'd help his case a little.
"I can test what you're saying out, if you like. I don't think I'm going to end up using this much. Also, um " He looked around. Danny had asked another question so he figured that he could answer it as well.
"We seem to be on some sort of beach. There's probably a way off of this, I'm guessing."
Uh wow, he'd actually done it. The purr of a swiveling camera even seemed to mark the occasion, record it for posterity. The princess and her subject. What was that old dead wise but decidedly white person saying? First time for everything?
Like a first time to make Jeremy eat his words.
"You're not doing that great of a job at convincing me, here." And here Irene thought their discussion was back lockerside for a second. That was how Jeremy always rebutted her when they'd joust philosophies in the hallways. Heaven forbid the times he'd actually bring evidence up!
"C'mon man, even Danny' agrees with me. Or I agree with him, either way. That's a two out of three, you're the inferior side of the ratio yo." How was that evidence for ya? One didn't argue with math, except in the form of pleading and entreating the textbook when all hope, all calculator battery power was lost. "I mean maybe it's not Bradley, as smart as he is with words he might be too stupid otherwise. But would you put it past, like, some unholy amalgamation of Darius Fiyori and Isabel?" Man. Even trying to envision that aborted DBZ throwback was a hell of a case of vertigo and nausea. As quasi sort-of lovable as they all were they were terrible problematic people. They were probably on this island right now, as Irene spared a second to think about them probably being on this island right now. Were probably still terrible problematic, in that order.
Note to self. Find those people fast. That meant moving away from this spot fast, because no amount of craning and pulling at the neck was going to make the faces attached to those names make their debut in Irene's field of vision. If only life were that easy.
"We seem to be on some sort of beach..."
"Uh, duh? And they call me the derp." 'They' being the aggregate population of Kingman, give or take the population of Vegas. Irene tisked and suddenly clenched her fist around her little scale-model prop of a legwarmer. With a single pump of the arm, a single pump of the pump, and a self-admittedly badass display of her own 'I am Irene hear me rawr in fluent dinosaur', the Mossberg was suddenly saluting the sea. Barrel staring down the shore, and some unfortunate scavenging seagull who quickly fluttered away. Sorry little guy! Didn't mean to scare ya! You were just on the only cardinal axis that didn't involve a Cochise High School student's entrails. Now, normally this was the part where Irene explained what she was doing. Presented her hypothesis and the intended methodology of testing in awkwardly gratuitous detail and poor attempts at jokes. But. Eh. She was happy to maintain her thesis of insulting Jeremy. After he saw how right she was that'd be another person to capitulate to the prince-
A gun was fired. If you asked Irene she'd say that shit was pretty loud.
Reaction was sort of a moot point. She sort of just toppled, the rigid force of the shotgun erupting throwing the butt of the handle into her chest like a club. She didn't have time to make an ass of herself with additional pointless flailing and gesticulating. She just fell onto her behind with the definite crunch of sand, one she couldn't hear when the world to her was silent as she was.
Her thoughts on the other hand were loud, but mostly in the form of 'ouch'.
Like a first time to make Jeremy eat his words.
"You're not doing that great of a job at convincing me, here." And here Irene thought their discussion was back lockerside for a second. That was how Jeremy always rebutted her when they'd joust philosophies in the hallways. Heaven forbid the times he'd actually bring evidence up!
"C'mon man, even Danny' agrees with me. Or I agree with him, either way. That's a two out of three, you're the inferior side of the ratio yo." How was that evidence for ya? One didn't argue with math, except in the form of pleading and entreating the textbook when all hope, all calculator battery power was lost. "I mean maybe it's not Bradley, as smart as he is with words he might be too stupid otherwise. But would you put it past, like, some unholy amalgamation of Darius Fiyori and Isabel?" Man. Even trying to envision that aborted DBZ throwback was a hell of a case of vertigo and nausea. As quasi sort-of lovable as they all were they were terrible problematic people. They were probably on this island right now, as Irene spared a second to think about them probably being on this island right now. Were probably still terrible problematic, in that order.
Note to self. Find those people fast. That meant moving away from this spot fast, because no amount of craning and pulling at the neck was going to make the faces attached to those names make their debut in Irene's field of vision. If only life were that easy.
"We seem to be on some sort of beach..."
"Uh, duh? And they call me the derp." 'They' being the aggregate population of Kingman, give or take the population of Vegas. Irene tisked and suddenly clenched her fist around her little scale-model prop of a legwarmer. With a single pump of the arm, a single pump of the pump, and a self-admittedly badass display of her own 'I am Irene hear me rawr in fluent dinosaur', the Mossberg was suddenly saluting the sea. Barrel staring down the shore, and some unfortunate scavenging seagull who quickly fluttered away. Sorry little guy! Didn't mean to scare ya! You were just on the only cardinal axis that didn't involve a Cochise High School student's entrails. Now, normally this was the part where Irene explained what she was doing. Presented her hypothesis and the intended methodology of testing in awkwardly gratuitous detail and poor attempts at jokes. But. Eh. She was happy to maintain her thesis of insulting Jeremy. After he saw how right she was that'd be another person to capitulate to the prince-
A gun was fired. If you asked Irene she'd say that shit was pretty loud.
Reaction was sort of a moot point. She sort of just toppled, the rigid force of the shotgun erupting throwing the butt of the handle into her chest like a club. She didn't have time to make an ass of herself with additional pointless flailing and gesticulating. She just fell onto her behind with the definite crunch of sand, one she couldn't hear when the world to her was silent as she was.
Her thoughts on the other hand were loud, but mostly in the form of 'ouch'.
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ViolentMedic
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Irene was on his side for it. Accomplices? Totally the answer. Hell, Danny wouldn't have put it past Fiyori. Maybe a bit harsh to bring classmates into it, but it could be delayed revenge for the whole dumping thing. Even if they'd somewhat made up (okay, Danny had made up, Fiyori hadn't had anything to apologise for in that case.)
But then the gun went off. Irene toppled back. There was a horrible ringing in Danny's ears.
Danny toppled over as well from sheer shock, fists raised like he was going to challenge the gunshot to a fight. Staring at the little puff of sand that had been thrown into the air where the shot had landed.
There were a few seconds of dead silence. Dead silence for all that Danny could tell, anyway, as the ringing sound in his ears faded. Danny got to his feet, but with his fists still raised.
Then he flipped his shit.
"No. No, no, no, no. That's that's gotta be no, come on, this can't be real. We cannot be it's wrong, the it's supposed to happen on school trips to fun places, to kids in big cities, it's not supposed to happen to us! You're in on it! The both of you gotta be in on this!" He laughed. High-pitched and not amused in the least. "It's fake! It's fake! It's fake " He shook his head, and as he did so felt the ring of metal around his neck. Suddenly it seemed so very heavy. He grabbed it with both hands.
"It's not real! This isn't real! I can just it'll come off and I'll be fine, and—"
He yanked. Nothing.
"It'll come off!"
Another pull. Nothing.
"It'll it'll..."
He trailed off, staring at the other two with wide eyes, fingers still wrapped around the collar. At the guns they both had. At his own bag, which probably had a gun in it as well. A gun he was expected to use.
"Oh god," he whimpered.
But then the gun went off. Irene toppled back. There was a horrible ringing in Danny's ears.
Danny toppled over as well from sheer shock, fists raised like he was going to challenge the gunshot to a fight. Staring at the little puff of sand that had been thrown into the air where the shot had landed.
There were a few seconds of dead silence. Dead silence for all that Danny could tell, anyway, as the ringing sound in his ears faded. Danny got to his feet, but with his fists still raised.
Then he flipped his shit.
"No. No, no, no, no. That's that's gotta be no, come on, this can't be real. We cannot be it's wrong, the it's supposed to happen on school trips to fun places, to kids in big cities, it's not supposed to happen to us! You're in on it! The both of you gotta be in on this!" He laughed. High-pitched and not amused in the least. "It's fake! It's fake! It's fake " He shook his head, and as he did so felt the ring of metal around his neck. Suddenly it seemed so very heavy. He grabbed it with both hands.
"It's not real! This isn't real! I can just it'll come off and I'll be fine, and—"
He yanked. Nothing.
"It'll come off!"
Another pull. Nothing.
"It'll it'll..."
He trailed off, staring at the other two with wide eyes, fingers still wrapped around the collar. At the guns they both had. At his own bag, which probably had a gun in it as well. A gun he was expected to use.
"Oh god," he whimpered.
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Yugikun
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"One out of three ain't- isn't bad."
There was a shrug before that sentence. There was a small smile after. This sorta reminded him of the way they occasionally argued during school. She'd say something stupid, he'd try to give her a reason for why it was stupid, she'd keep being stupid, he would get a rise because he was getting annoyed with her stupidness, and then she'd say something that'd lighten the mood and make him realise how kinda stupid he was being for trying to argue with her. Those talks were fun, other than the part where he'd get slightly actually angry but ultimately that was a part he had the capability to forget. He was in that phase now. Irene was still trying to argue with him but he was trying to change it to something else because he saw now that nothing was going to end up with him convincing her.
There was something in what he said that he could work off of. Probably not something Irene actually meant, but still something he found a little funny. Enough to mention, at the very least.
"Wait, do you seriously think that Darius is capable of doing-"
A gunshot rang out. Jeremy closed his eyes, and for a moment, all that existed was noise.
He opened his eyes.
His ears were ringing.
His heart was thumping.
He looked around and tried to see what was happening, light from the sun refusing to leave his eyes creating the outline of the initial image every way he turned his head. Danny was shouting something, Jeremy didn't know what. He could hear the words coming out of his mouth but they weren't words, they were sounds. Blocks of ice sitting there on the table waiting for a sculptor to give them shape. He was also doing something. Pulling the collar around his neck and trying to get it off. Wait, hang on, wouldn't that cause it to explode? The ringing was still most of what he could hear and the words of his mind weren't connecting together but he remembered the presenter saying something like that so it would probably be best if he said something.
"Wait, don't do that. Calm down," Jeremy said. The sounds were better coming from him, but not by much. The blocks were slightly chiselled, each syllable was unique from the others but they were still only sounds. Nothing he could really tell. He hoped that Danny got it, at the very least.
Wait, where was Irene?
He looked around frantically for a bit trying to see where she was but then he saw her on the ground. Okay. Good. He wasn't really sure what could have happened to her but it was okay that she was okay. Apparently she had knocked herself to the ground, but she didn't seem to be that much injured. His heartbeat felt a little bit less intense and he realised that it was sorta typical for this to happen of her to fall onto the ground like that.
He had to resist the urge to smile, even if it was only slight. Even if she was okay smiling after what just happened probably wasn't the appropriate thing for him to do. She had likely just figured it out. The least he could do was give her a little courtesy.
He reached his hand down to her.
"You okay?"
There was a shrug before that sentence. There was a small smile after. This sorta reminded him of the way they occasionally argued during school. She'd say something stupid, he'd try to give her a reason for why it was stupid, she'd keep being stupid, he would get a rise because he was getting annoyed with her stupidness, and then she'd say something that'd lighten the mood and make him realise how kinda stupid he was being for trying to argue with her. Those talks were fun, other than the part where he'd get slightly actually angry but ultimately that was a part he had the capability to forget. He was in that phase now. Irene was still trying to argue with him but he was trying to change it to something else because he saw now that nothing was going to end up with him convincing her.
There was something in what he said that he could work off of. Probably not something Irene actually meant, but still something he found a little funny. Enough to mention, at the very least.
"Wait, do you seriously think that Darius is capable of doing-"
A gunshot rang out. Jeremy closed his eyes, and for a moment, all that existed was noise.
He opened his eyes.
His ears were ringing.
His heart was thumping.
He looked around and tried to see what was happening, light from the sun refusing to leave his eyes creating the outline of the initial image every way he turned his head. Danny was shouting something, Jeremy didn't know what. He could hear the words coming out of his mouth but they weren't words, they were sounds. Blocks of ice sitting there on the table waiting for a sculptor to give them shape. He was also doing something. Pulling the collar around his neck and trying to get it off. Wait, hang on, wouldn't that cause it to explode? The ringing was still most of what he could hear and the words of his mind weren't connecting together but he remembered the presenter saying something like that so it would probably be best if he said something.
"Wait, don't do that. Calm down," Jeremy said. The sounds were better coming from him, but not by much. The blocks were slightly chiselled, each syllable was unique from the others but they were still only sounds. Nothing he could really tell. He hoped that Danny got it, at the very least.
Wait, where was Irene?
He looked around frantically for a bit trying to see where she was but then he saw her on the ground. Okay. Good. He wasn't really sure what could have happened to her but it was okay that she was okay. Apparently she had knocked herself to the ground, but she didn't seem to be that much injured. His heartbeat felt a little bit less intense and he realised that it was sorta typical for this to happen of her to fall onto the ground like that.
He had to resist the urge to smile, even if it was only slight. Even if she was okay smiling after what just happened probably wasn't the appropriate thing for him to do. She had likely just figured it out. The least he could do was give her a little courtesy.
He reached his hand down to her.
"You okay?"
Everything was still really super loud. All she could hear of the outside world was the warbling motion of lips she dazedly stared at.
Meanwhile back then, like a minute ago. The sound of beach surf had been pouring bubbly over sandstone and lime. What had it been? Some arbitrary amount of w's and h's. She'd forgotten that she'd had an extra w', an extra h' at hand. Literally, her hands. And a weapon, fingers non indicatively trembling as she'd stuffed some kind of mini traffic cone into the big slot on top of the gun. It had been a perfect fit, somehow that had seemed rewardingly pleasant. Like a job well done, a pat on the back, and a game of League to unwind after a long day.
And then she'd done everything else. The dancing, the tisk-ing, the genius-ing, the walking. The shooting.
With twenty something hindsight loading a fake gun and firing it was one of those things she shouldn't have done or allowed herself to have thought of getting done but she had ultimately done because, well. She was Irene. And Jeremy was Jeremy, Danny was Danny. When their lips moved all she assumed she heard were the things they usually liked to say. Jeremy would say something annoyingly true and Danny would say something annoyingly seductive. Only part that seemed off was that she'd never been deafened like this she'd post something stupid. Some close calls with screaming teachers, maybe. But no, the mushy, squishy, when did I jump into a pool in the last five seconds?' feels here were alien. But like any other consequence it at least had the decency to go away fast when Irene decided she didn't like it.
"... You okay?" Where had the rest of what he'd said gone? Had he even said anything else? The noise only seemed to come in at a trickle, like Irene had been turning up that bass, etc.
"I mean yeah, totes." She rose up, with his hand, in spite of it, either way. Almost immediately there was a spring in her step. The tresses of her ponytail flippantly bounced behind her as she began to chase down whatever was left of the thing she'd just shot.
"Surprised a shotty blank could sound that loud." Wait that was a shotgun she'd fired, right? Hell if Irene knew anymore about guns than she needed to to insist blanket ban them and chase the NRA out of the country' to any friend that would listen. Envision the dusty old rifles and bayonets just sitting there, snuggly tucked into blankets and cots. "I mean I get it though, you have to pour a lot of extra effort into really selling it. Sure they've left a ton of holes in the premise alone, but at least the mechanics were on point." Each syllable was truncated with a brisk slap of her soles. She knelt into the scarring her gun had left on the earth and began to dig. Had to find the evidence that would have em all saying and I would have gotten away with if it wasn't for you meddling kids!'. It was just a few fingertips away.
"So it's probably not a Cochise kid, or they were just plants or something. Literally plants, the way some of em-..." Her fingers closed over metal. Little pellets. Stung like nettles against the skin.
You know.
If that seagull had still been there, Irene suddenly realized it would have been gone. On the molecular level. The swollen bruise on her breast she only now felt the dull throb of said everything else that didn't really need to be said.
"..."
Irene glanced back, her neck swiveling so fast she was looking at them before she saw them.
Danny looked like he'd seen a ghost. Had a hand on that thing on his neck. Irene suddenly felt something pressing a bit insistently on her own paper mache collar bones. And Jeremy had that look in his eyes that people liked to have when Irene had done something she'd later regret. Like a smile, but they weren't just up and putting it on their face where it belonged. For some whatever reason. Her eyebrow furrowed, her lips began to bulb into a pout.
She needed to hear something.
"Yo," the princess commanded rather impetuously. Her golden curls had set themselves into a singular mass, unmoved by the ever prevailing breeze rushing by. "Jeremy, say something smart. Danny, say something cute."
Meanwhile back then, like a minute ago. The sound of beach surf had been pouring bubbly over sandstone and lime. What had it been? Some arbitrary amount of w's and h's. She'd forgotten that she'd had an extra w', an extra h' at hand. Literally, her hands. And a weapon, fingers non indicatively trembling as she'd stuffed some kind of mini traffic cone into the big slot on top of the gun. It had been a perfect fit, somehow that had seemed rewardingly pleasant. Like a job well done, a pat on the back, and a game of League to unwind after a long day.
And then she'd done everything else. The dancing, the tisk-ing, the genius-ing, the walking. The shooting.
With twenty something hindsight loading a fake gun and firing it was one of those things she shouldn't have done or allowed herself to have thought of getting done but she had ultimately done because, well. She was Irene. And Jeremy was Jeremy, Danny was Danny. When their lips moved all she assumed she heard were the things they usually liked to say. Jeremy would say something annoyingly true and Danny would say something annoyingly seductive. Only part that seemed off was that she'd never been deafened like this she'd post something stupid. Some close calls with screaming teachers, maybe. But no, the mushy, squishy, when did I jump into a pool in the last five seconds?' feels here were alien. But like any other consequence it at least had the decency to go away fast when Irene decided she didn't like it.
"... You okay?" Where had the rest of what he'd said gone? Had he even said anything else? The noise only seemed to come in at a trickle, like Irene had been turning up that bass, etc.
"I mean yeah, totes." She rose up, with his hand, in spite of it, either way. Almost immediately there was a spring in her step. The tresses of her ponytail flippantly bounced behind her as she began to chase down whatever was left of the thing she'd just shot.
"Surprised a shotty blank could sound that loud." Wait that was a shotgun she'd fired, right? Hell if Irene knew anymore about guns than she needed to to insist blanket ban them and chase the NRA out of the country' to any friend that would listen. Envision the dusty old rifles and bayonets just sitting there, snuggly tucked into blankets and cots. "I mean I get it though, you have to pour a lot of extra effort into really selling it. Sure they've left a ton of holes in the premise alone, but at least the mechanics were on point." Each syllable was truncated with a brisk slap of her soles. She knelt into the scarring her gun had left on the earth and began to dig. Had to find the evidence that would have em all saying and I would have gotten away with if it wasn't for you meddling kids!'. It was just a few fingertips away.
"So it's probably not a Cochise kid, or they were just plants or something. Literally plants, the way some of em-..." Her fingers closed over metal. Little pellets. Stung like nettles against the skin.
You know.
If that seagull had still been there, Irene suddenly realized it would have been gone. On the molecular level. The swollen bruise on her breast she only now felt the dull throb of said everything else that didn't really need to be said.
"..."
Irene glanced back, her neck swiveling so fast she was looking at them before she saw them.
Danny looked like he'd seen a ghost. Had a hand on that thing on his neck. Irene suddenly felt something pressing a bit insistently on her own paper mache collar bones. And Jeremy had that look in his eyes that people liked to have when Irene had done something she'd later regret. Like a smile, but they weren't just up and putting it on their face where it belonged. For some whatever reason. Her eyebrow furrowed, her lips began to bulb into a pout.
She needed to hear something.
"Yo," the princess commanded rather impetuously. Her golden curls had set themselves into a singular mass, unmoved by the ever prevailing breeze rushing by. "Jeremy, say something smart. Danny, say something cute."
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1444
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
Danny had nothing cute to say. He didn't even have a little side thought about how apparently Irene thought that was his 'thing.'
His mind felt like it was being hit by a train. This train that was barrelling towards him while he was tied to the tracks. Probably with that Danya guy twirling the evil moustache he probably had nearby. Only there would be no heroic guy on a horse to ride in and save the damsel—which, in this scenario, was apparently him—because well, fuck, why would there be? And he'd never really liked guns all that much—swords were cooler and made him less nervous, particularly in the hands of the sort of people who owned shotguns—but now he saw guns in the hands of people who might choose to kill him at any moment. He might encounter guns in the hands of ex-girlfriends who figured if they should kill anyone, it might as well be the guy who broke up with them via text message.
Danny lowered his hands from his collar—because damn was it not coming off—and reached down to unzip his own bag to get the gun that was inside. He wasn't going to shoot Irene or Jeremy. He wasn't. He was, like, 70% sure he wasn't going to do that. But but if everyone else had guns, he wanted a gun, too. That was fair, wasn't it?
He didn't have a gun. He didn't even have a sword. Instead, he pulled out a portable CD player.
This was not fair at all.
Danny looked at the portable CD player, clunky despite said portability—oh, look, it came with batteries, that was nice of them—before holding it out with the air of a tired but dedicated jester juggling for the executioner while they tried to tie a rope around his neck. A grin—not a happy one, instead looking like his face had a sudden onset of rigor mortis—appeared.
"Well." His voice was quiet, strained but he tried to put as much cheer into it as possible. "Clearly, I have this game won. Every children's show knows the power of music and love and stuff is stronger than guns. Especially if this is a 4kids dub."
Probably not cute, but it's all he had for now. And maybe if he tried cute or some cheap store-brand attempt at it, then Irene would be less likely to shoot him.
His mind felt like it was being hit by a train. This train that was barrelling towards him while he was tied to the tracks. Probably with that Danya guy twirling the evil moustache he probably had nearby. Only there would be no heroic guy on a horse to ride in and save the damsel—which, in this scenario, was apparently him—because well, fuck, why would there be? And he'd never really liked guns all that much—swords were cooler and made him less nervous, particularly in the hands of the sort of people who owned shotguns—but now he saw guns in the hands of people who might choose to kill him at any moment. He might encounter guns in the hands of ex-girlfriends who figured if they should kill anyone, it might as well be the guy who broke up with them via text message.
Danny lowered his hands from his collar—because damn was it not coming off—and reached down to unzip his own bag to get the gun that was inside. He wasn't going to shoot Irene or Jeremy. He wasn't. He was, like, 70% sure he wasn't going to do that. But but if everyone else had guns, he wanted a gun, too. That was fair, wasn't it?
He didn't have a gun. He didn't even have a sword. Instead, he pulled out a portable CD player.
This was not fair at all.
Danny looked at the portable CD player, clunky despite said portability—oh, look, it came with batteries, that was nice of them—before holding it out with the air of a tired but dedicated jester juggling for the executioner while they tried to tie a rope around his neck. A grin—not a happy one, instead looking like his face had a sudden onset of rigor mortis—appeared.
"Well." His voice was quiet, strained but he tried to put as much cheer into it as possible. "Clearly, I have this game won. Every children's show knows the power of music and love and stuff is stronger than guns. Especially if this is a 4kids dub."
Probably not cute, but it's all he had for now. And maybe if he tried cute or some cheap store-brand attempt at it, then Irene would be less likely to shoot him.