“Not bad, kid,” Jeff admitted. “You’ve got some skills.” He wasn’t upset or angry that someone was better than him in the sport of stone skipping. That’d be ridiculous. He’d stepped freshly into this activity not even a minute ago. He WAS angry that he’d given such an embarrassing showing of himself, but after observing Johnny’s technique, he realized that he was doomed from the start. He’d not even come close to throwing his stone correctly.
He’d especially paid attention to the hand and the wrist, at the almost frisbee-like way in which the stone was sent flying. The idea wasn’t to throw the stone at the water, but instead to skim the surface with it, almost horizontally. He did something with his fingers too, giving the stone a bit of spin, once again like a frisbee. Maybe that’s why the stone was flattish as well, so it’d have an even rotation instead of going end over end.
Yeah...he could work with this.
“Right, my turn,” he said, his brow unfurrowing and his eyes lighting up as he laid the shield aside again. He had a plan, and he was going to execute it. Johnny might have had experience, but Jeff wasn’t going to be beaten, no matter what. Now he just needed...darn, all the good ones were taken already. Well, this one was flat enough.
Okay, wind up, proper stance, aaaannnnnnnndddd...
It bounced once and splatted into the river.
Didn’t matter, one was better than zero. He was getting somewhere.
“Alright! Tied for second!” he shouted, pumping his arm. “Let’s go!”
To his surprise, Jeff realized that learning a new sport was...shit, his brain was working and going at high gear for the first time in what had to be years! Sure, this was stupid and childish, and sure, it was raining and miserable, but dangit, he was having fun again. And for as long as that lasted, he was content to keep going.
Screw football. It had screwed HIM up and down for his entire life. Before this day was done, he was going to be the stone skipping king!
The Erika Vendetta
[Day 3 Post-Anouncement: Open]
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The splashes of rocks skipping and falling were not particularly loud, but they might as well have been gunfire to one attuned to the ambiance of this place. They fell heavier than raindrops, and in rapid succession.
Sven, or something that looked very much like him, crouched in the bushes on the opposite side of the river and watched. Three strange boys, skipping rocks. Weapons on them, but not brandished. Neither fighting nor killing, for now at least. Whether or not it would last was uncertain, always. That encounter he remembered observing back at the aviary, that had begun in a relaxed enough fashion, notwithstanding the presence of an unaccounted-for corpse. And how had that gone?
But it didn't particularly matter right now. It mattered, in fact, even less than it ever had, which was saying something since the conclusion to this whole sorry affair was predestined. It didn't have much to do with him.
His body was garbed in soaked denim and flannel, heavy and thick and clammy, but it wasn't cold. Everything was hot, humid even aside from the rainfall. At least there was no sweat.
It was quite difficult, on account of the fabric swollen with captured water, to dig his hand into his hip pocket. Sven's pockets had always had this way of accumulating various contents, often without his conscious awareness. The most inexplicable incident had been the manifestation of a single red bead, the origin of which he could not divine, which he had set upon a shelf back in his room the day he'd found it. It had been over a year before, shifting through his belongings, he'd found a necklace he'd been given to hold, one with a leather tie, adorned with two beads, one red and one blue. Except, when he found it, only the blue bead remained. He had carried that necklace in his pocket for a long time, and the red bead had fallen off and become a mystery. It was a disappointingly mundane conclusion.
Now, once again jewelry conspired to thwart and impede him. The hemp bracelet upon his wrist had also taken on some water, snagging on the rim of the pocket, and his fingers were not nimble, but he managed at last to shift through the contents of his pocket and find what he was looking for. It was smooth against his touch, round, cool somehow, and he slid it free, pressed it briefly to his lips.
It was a Go stone, black, thin and circular. He wasn't sure if he had more in his bag. He couldn't remember. It would be a shame to never see one again, maybe, but everything ended eventually and attachments bled away one by one. He wound up his wrist in a motion that was surprisingly familiar from some long-lost summer trip, and then snapped and released, and the stone skimmed out long, hit the water and skipped four times, disappearing from view in the middle of the stream.
A moment later he stood up, reasoning it might be a little impolite to stay here concealed within the bushes, and that such discourtesy could be easily discouraged with the use of that shotgun.
"Morning," he called, a little louder than he liked because the crash of rain and waterfall was rather loud. He rested on hand on the plastic lightsaber at his belt, which had come to feel very familiar.
Sven, or something that looked very much like him, crouched in the bushes on the opposite side of the river and watched. Three strange boys, skipping rocks. Weapons on them, but not brandished. Neither fighting nor killing, for now at least. Whether or not it would last was uncertain, always. That encounter he remembered observing back at the aviary, that had begun in a relaxed enough fashion, notwithstanding the presence of an unaccounted-for corpse. And how had that gone?
But it didn't particularly matter right now. It mattered, in fact, even less than it ever had, which was saying something since the conclusion to this whole sorry affair was predestined. It didn't have much to do with him.
His body was garbed in soaked denim and flannel, heavy and thick and clammy, but it wasn't cold. Everything was hot, humid even aside from the rainfall. At least there was no sweat.
It was quite difficult, on account of the fabric swollen with captured water, to dig his hand into his hip pocket. Sven's pockets had always had this way of accumulating various contents, often without his conscious awareness. The most inexplicable incident had been the manifestation of a single red bead, the origin of which he could not divine, which he had set upon a shelf back in his room the day he'd found it. It had been over a year before, shifting through his belongings, he'd found a necklace he'd been given to hold, one with a leather tie, adorned with two beads, one red and one blue. Except, when he found it, only the blue bead remained. He had carried that necklace in his pocket for a long time, and the red bead had fallen off and become a mystery. It was a disappointingly mundane conclusion.
Now, once again jewelry conspired to thwart and impede him. The hemp bracelet upon his wrist had also taken on some water, snagging on the rim of the pocket, and his fingers were not nimble, but he managed at last to shift through the contents of his pocket and find what he was looking for. It was smooth against his touch, round, cool somehow, and he slid it free, pressed it briefly to his lips.
It was a Go stone, black, thin and circular. He wasn't sure if he had more in his bag. He couldn't remember. It would be a shame to never see one again, maybe, but everything ended eventually and attachments bled away one by one. He wound up his wrist in a motion that was surprisingly familiar from some long-lost summer trip, and then snapped and released, and the stone skimmed out long, hit the water and skipped four times, disappearing from view in the middle of the stream.
A moment later he stood up, reasoning it might be a little impolite to stay here concealed within the bushes, and that such discourtesy could be easily discouraged with the use of that shotgun.
"Morning," he called, a little louder than he liked because the crash of rain and waterfall was rather loud. He rested on hand on the plastic lightsaber at his belt, which had come to feel very familiar.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1284
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: The Black Lodge
- Contact:
Welp, looked like Lucas was trash at this. Johnny kind of fucking destroyed him, and Jeff proved that he was at least as good, on only his second attempt. It probably wasn't even worth it to attempt to go a second time, because in all likelihood he'd fuck it up even more. He'd pick a cool looking rock that seemed perfect for the job, walk over to the water, skip it across and then it would just fall in. No bounce. And then Jeff would surpass him and Johnny would continue to do well and Lucas would wonder why the hell he was even still here other than the cover from the rain. With these people. But if he wasn't going to play along he may as well move because it wasn't like he was going to get rid of these two any time soon, right?
With a sigh, Lucas rooted around in the dirt for a rock to pick up. He found one that was more evenly smooth than the one he got the first time, but less smooth overall. It'd probably go maybe one bounce further assuming the universe wasn't in prime let's-shit-on-Lucas mood, but the chances of that happening were pretty slim, all told. It was always in let's-shit-on-Lucas headspace. He felt tired.
"Alright, second try, here we go," he muttered to himself, stepping back over to the water and winding up his shot.
He was interrupted, however.
A rock, small and black and perfectly circular, came bouncing all the way from the other side of the water and fwipped into the water at the midpoint between the two shores. Lucas looked up, rock still in hand, over and across at the other end of the water. Was that Sven? Holy shit, he looked sorta worse for wear, a little mucked up and grimy and wet with rain like everyone else, but Sven it still was. Lucas had only really Sven around and heard about the whole thing with Sven but he hadn't actually come to know the thing known as Sven. He called out to Lucas and the others from across the way.
Wait.
Was that a light-saber on his belt?
Lucas took a step back to his stuff, picked up his Minecraft sword, and waved it around in the air.
"Good morning!" Lucas called out, smiling, "Hello, fellow fucktoy of the universe!"
With a sigh, Lucas rooted around in the dirt for a rock to pick up. He found one that was more evenly smooth than the one he got the first time, but less smooth overall. It'd probably go maybe one bounce further assuming the universe wasn't in prime let's-shit-on-Lucas mood, but the chances of that happening were pretty slim, all told. It was always in let's-shit-on-Lucas headspace. He felt tired.
"Alright, second try, here we go," he muttered to himself, stepping back over to the water and winding up his shot.
He was interrupted, however.
A rock, small and black and perfectly circular, came bouncing all the way from the other side of the water and fwipped into the water at the midpoint between the two shores. Lucas looked up, rock still in hand, over and across at the other end of the water. Was that Sven? Holy shit, he looked sorta worse for wear, a little mucked up and grimy and wet with rain like everyone else, but Sven it still was. Lucas had only really Sven around and heard about the whole thing with Sven but he hadn't actually come to know the thing known as Sven. He called out to Lucas and the others from across the way.
Wait.
Was that a light-saber on his belt?
Lucas took a step back to his stuff, picked up his Minecraft sword, and waved it around in the air.
"Good morning!" Lucas called out, smiling, "Hello, fellow fucktoy of the universe!"
Heh. Maybe Jeff wasn't just a shit for brains meathead after all.
Johnny watched Lucas wind up his next shot, only to get cut off by something skidding on the water.
A black stone, travelling from the other side of the bank before halting about halfway across the water.
Unless one of those fucking monkeys somehow learned to play along, it sure as shit wasn't just the three of them here now.
Johnny's feet skittered slightly, both hands back on the shotgun; one near the trigger and the other on the pump thing. Not close enough to accidentally fire the fucking thing because fuck that's all he really needed, but close enough in case he had to fire the fucking thing.
One of the bushes rustled menacingly, and out popped a boy that looked slightly older than them.
Oh! This was the dude who had that fucking car crash. It was...
...Uh...
...Uh...
...Fuck. Johnny was drawing a complete fucking blank here. But also it didn't fucking matter right now! New dude seemed to not be too murdery right now, but he was gonna get fucking shot jumping out like that.
"Christ, dude!" Johnny shouted back after Lucas's greeting, hands loosening on the shotgun somewhat as it was brought down again. "You're gonna get fucking shot jumping out like that!"
Johnny watched Lucas wind up his next shot, only to get cut off by something skidding on the water.
A black stone, travelling from the other side of the bank before halting about halfway across the water.
Unless one of those fucking monkeys somehow learned to play along, it sure as shit wasn't just the three of them here now.
Johnny's feet skittered slightly, both hands back on the shotgun; one near the trigger and the other on the pump thing. Not close enough to accidentally fire the fucking thing because fuck that's all he really needed, but close enough in case he had to fire the fucking thing.
One of the bushes rustled menacingly, and out popped a boy that looked slightly older than them.
Oh! This was the dude who had that fucking car crash. It was...
...Uh...
...Uh...
...Fuck. Johnny was drawing a complete fucking blank here. But also it didn't fucking matter right now! New dude seemed to not be too murdery right now, but he was gonna get fucking shot jumping out like that.
"Christ, dude!" Johnny shouted back after Lucas's greeting, hands loosening on the shotgun somewhat as it was brought down again. "You're gonna get fucking shot jumping out like that!"
Jeff was standing by, awaiting the results of the second round with anticipation. Maybe if he'd spied on their technique again, he'd have noticed something that he hadn't seen the first time, another little trick that he could use to heighten his performance. Some would have called it cheating, but at the professional level, football players and prizefighters spied on their opponents all the time in order to find the best ways to defeat them. This was basically the same, except they weren't professional sportsmen, as far as he knew.
But before the round could continue, they were interrupted by the presence of a new challenger. Jeff didn't count the number of skips, but it was definitely more than one, which put his respectable second to a much-less-prestigious third.
Jeff snapped his eyes to the other side of the river, at the individual who dared to set him back this far. He was calling a greeting out to them, which probably meant that he wasn't trying to kill them. The rain wasn't thick enough to hide what he was holding at his side: some kind of plastic toy Jeff'd seen geeks waving around at school. Star Wars was the name of the movie, but he couldn't name the weapon. He'd just seen the trailers and occasionally he'd get a recommended video about some nasally geek reacting to whatever. Far as he could tell, they were movies about people in robes flipping around and flailing with fake swords like they were in the world's worst martial arts film.
Whatever the case may be, the point was that unless they'd somehow given this guy a REAL laser sword, he wasn't a threat to them on that side of the river. All for the best, since Jeff wasn't going to wade out and try to punch him in the face. Not the best solution if it came down to that, but what else could he do with the tools at hand? If only he had some kind of...long range...weapon...
Call it an epiphany or some bullshit word like that, but the rocks around the shoreline set Jeff's mind to work again. He'd been too rigid in his thinking, assuming that the only thing he was allowed to use were the weapons provided, when in fact, the rules of the game had been defined at the start, and they didn't say anything about improvising.
How far was the other end of the shoreline? 20 feet? 30, maybe? That was 10 yards, at any rate. He reached down, hefted a rock about the size of his fist. It was a bit heavier than a football, but he still estimated that he could chuck this sucker fast enough to brain someone, even at this distance. This one especially was nice and craggy, plenty of little points all over it. A specimen of this sort could do some serious damage, especially since nobody had helmets. Yeah, he had some plans for this.
Later though. This was stone-skipping time. No point in mixing relaxation with business. He just stowed the rock in his bag for the moment, zipping it quickly to keep as much water out as possible, though considering he'd just thrown a wet rock in there, that was probably a losing battle.
"Still your turn," he said to Lucas. He wasn't expecting much from the guy who managed only one skip, but hey, he could learn something.
But before the round could continue, they were interrupted by the presence of a new challenger. Jeff didn't count the number of skips, but it was definitely more than one, which put his respectable second to a much-less-prestigious third.
Jeff snapped his eyes to the other side of the river, at the individual who dared to set him back this far. He was calling a greeting out to them, which probably meant that he wasn't trying to kill them. The rain wasn't thick enough to hide what he was holding at his side: some kind of plastic toy Jeff'd seen geeks waving around at school. Star Wars was the name of the movie, but he couldn't name the weapon. He'd just seen the trailers and occasionally he'd get a recommended video about some nasally geek reacting to whatever. Far as he could tell, they were movies about people in robes flipping around and flailing with fake swords like they were in the world's worst martial arts film.
Whatever the case may be, the point was that unless they'd somehow given this guy a REAL laser sword, he wasn't a threat to them on that side of the river. All for the best, since Jeff wasn't going to wade out and try to punch him in the face. Not the best solution if it came down to that, but what else could he do with the tools at hand? If only he had some kind of...long range...weapon...
Call it an epiphany or some bullshit word like that, but the rocks around the shoreline set Jeff's mind to work again. He'd been too rigid in his thinking, assuming that the only thing he was allowed to use were the weapons provided, when in fact, the rules of the game had been defined at the start, and they didn't say anything about improvising.
How far was the other end of the shoreline? 20 feet? 30, maybe? That was 10 yards, at any rate. He reached down, hefted a rock about the size of his fist. It was a bit heavier than a football, but he still estimated that he could chuck this sucker fast enough to brain someone, even at this distance. This one especially was nice and craggy, plenty of little points all over it. A specimen of this sort could do some serious damage, especially since nobody had helmets. Yeah, he had some plans for this.
Later though. This was stone-skipping time. No point in mixing relaxation with business. He just stowed the rock in his bag for the moment, zipping it quickly to keep as much water out as possible, though considering he'd just thrown a wet rock in there, that was probably a losing battle.
"Still your turn," he said to Lucas. He wasn't expecting much from the guy who managed only one skip, but hey, he could learn something.
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"There are worse ways to get shot," Sven said.
He spoke to the boy with the gun who would presumably have done the shooting. It was a quick reply, instinctual almost, smooth and natural in a way that everything that followed it was absolutely not. He could see the three of them more clearly now, at least, could make out their features, but this offered almost no advantage given that Sven did not know any of their names and brought to the interaction only the vague recognition that came with seeing people around the halls day in and day out. Their presence was familiar to him, in much the same way the cars that normally parked outside his neighbors' houses on the street were.
At least one point of reply was fairly obvious, though that did not stop Sven from taking too long to get to it.
"Morning," he said to the boy who had hailed him in more friendly manner, inclining his head. The guy was waving a blocky blue stylized sword, clearly a toy. Sven thought it particularly garish, an aesthetic simultaneously iconic and aggressively reductive. This was not really the time or place for such judgments, but neither was likely to come again, so it would do. He drummed his fingers on the lightsaber.
The third guy, the bulkiest of them, seemed more interested in conferring with the others than in talking to Sven at all, which he could appreciate. That was Sven's own default manner. He took no offense, and considered saying as much, but to do so might imply to someone unfamiliar with him (which was everyone here) that he did take offense and was expressing it sarcastically, so he shelved the idea and ignored in return.
The next step was to figure out how to cross the river to reach the others. The terrain, Sven could see, became rockier towards the actual drop, which was not a wise place to be handling the crossing anyways. Elsewhere, the banks were overgrown with vegetation, most of it thick and tangled, lush to the point of being difficult to traverse. There surely were places to ford, but doing so would require either slogging through the river itself (a dicey, potentially dangerous prospect, particularly given Sven's disinclination towards swimming) or else hopping from rock to rock at some suitable spot (possibly even more perilous, given his challenges with depth perception and quick, technical movements).
But then, after further consideration, the answer came clear, as often it did: actually, there really was not any reason to approach the others more directly after all. They were capable of conversing from here, albeit with voices rather uncomfortably raised, and Sven felt no need for physical contact. Indeed, this placement allowed for the greatest safety and security for all parties. Those on the other side were clearly safe from anything Sven could do to them, and he was guarded from everything but the gunfire, which he would've been hard-pressed to respond to even within touching distance.
So, instead of even mentioning his abortive plans, he say down on a relatively clear spot. It was a wide, flat rock that partially protruded into the river, damp all over but that meant little when Sven was himself the same. He sat in a loose cross-legged stance, leaning forward and trailing the fingers of his right hand through the shallows of the water, letting them brush against the rocks there. Soon enough, he found one that seemed suitably flat and smooth, and drew it out to rest it beside him.
"Tell me when it's my turn," he called.
He spoke to the boy with the gun who would presumably have done the shooting. It was a quick reply, instinctual almost, smooth and natural in a way that everything that followed it was absolutely not. He could see the three of them more clearly now, at least, could make out their features, but this offered almost no advantage given that Sven did not know any of their names and brought to the interaction only the vague recognition that came with seeing people around the halls day in and day out. Their presence was familiar to him, in much the same way the cars that normally parked outside his neighbors' houses on the street were.
At least one point of reply was fairly obvious, though that did not stop Sven from taking too long to get to it.
"Morning," he said to the boy who had hailed him in more friendly manner, inclining his head. The guy was waving a blocky blue stylized sword, clearly a toy. Sven thought it particularly garish, an aesthetic simultaneously iconic and aggressively reductive. This was not really the time or place for such judgments, but neither was likely to come again, so it would do. He drummed his fingers on the lightsaber.
The third guy, the bulkiest of them, seemed more interested in conferring with the others than in talking to Sven at all, which he could appreciate. That was Sven's own default manner. He took no offense, and considered saying as much, but to do so might imply to someone unfamiliar with him (which was everyone here) that he did take offense and was expressing it sarcastically, so he shelved the idea and ignored in return.
The next step was to figure out how to cross the river to reach the others. The terrain, Sven could see, became rockier towards the actual drop, which was not a wise place to be handling the crossing anyways. Elsewhere, the banks were overgrown with vegetation, most of it thick and tangled, lush to the point of being difficult to traverse. There surely were places to ford, but doing so would require either slogging through the river itself (a dicey, potentially dangerous prospect, particularly given Sven's disinclination towards swimming) or else hopping from rock to rock at some suitable spot (possibly even more perilous, given his challenges with depth perception and quick, technical movements).
But then, after further consideration, the answer came clear, as often it did: actually, there really was not any reason to approach the others more directly after all. They were capable of conversing from here, albeit with voices rather uncomfortably raised, and Sven felt no need for physical contact. Indeed, this placement allowed for the greatest safety and security for all parties. Those on the other side were clearly safe from anything Sven could do to them, and he was guarded from everything but the gunfire, which he would've been hard-pressed to respond to even within touching distance.
So, instead of even mentioning his abortive plans, he say down on a relatively clear spot. It was a wide, flat rock that partially protruded into the river, damp all over but that meant little when Sven was himself the same. He sat in a loose cross-legged stance, leaning forward and trailing the fingers of his right hand through the shallows of the water, letting them brush against the rocks there. Soon enough, he found one that seemed suitably flat and smooth, and drew it out to rest it beside him.
"Tell me when it's my turn," he called.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1284
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: The Black Lodge
- Contact:
Oh, shit, right. Lucas dropped his sword on the ground and looked once more at his rock. Right. He had to skip this one at least a little better than before, to show that he wasn't absolute trash at this game. Sven just intended on sitting over there and playing the game with them for a while, and that was good, but he couldn't play the game until Lucas took his turn. And the world was waiting, and watching, right now, the stupidest game that anyone could possibly be playing in this moment.
Well, maybe a dick measuring contest would have been more stupid, but fortunately for the viewers at home, the people most likely to do that had already... gotten it out of their systems. Yeah. That sure is a phrase!
Lucas shook the memory from his mind and took aim with the stone. Last time, his aim was fine, but the power he tossed the stone with was a little terrible. A little less, and he'd get at least a couple bounces. The stone was on his side, now, too, the size and shape more perfect than ever. It was the perfect comedic set up for him to make a big show of things and then toss it out and get only one skip, or no skips, or something dumb like that, but Lucas knew there was no trickster god playing jokes on him. Lucas was just that much of a fuck-up on his own, generally, but he wasn't an engineered fuck-up like the kind it would take for something catastrophic to happen. He was a natural born fuck-up and he wouldn't let any non-existent god show him up at the great sport of fuck-uppetry. He'd toss the stone honestly, and whatever cosmic bullshit didn't happen, didn't happen.
He exhaled sharply, reared back, and flung the stone forward.
Skip, skip, skip, skip, plop.
"Four!" Lucas said. "Ha!"
"Johnny's up?" he asked.
Well, maybe a dick measuring contest would have been more stupid, but fortunately for the viewers at home, the people most likely to do that had already... gotten it out of their systems. Yeah. That sure is a phrase!
Lucas shook the memory from his mind and took aim with the stone. Last time, his aim was fine, but the power he tossed the stone with was a little terrible. A little less, and he'd get at least a couple bounces. The stone was on his side, now, too, the size and shape more perfect than ever. It was the perfect comedic set up for him to make a big show of things and then toss it out and get only one skip, or no skips, or something dumb like that, but Lucas knew there was no trickster god playing jokes on him. Lucas was just that much of a fuck-up on his own, generally, but he wasn't an engineered fuck-up like the kind it would take for something catastrophic to happen. He was a natural born fuck-up and he wouldn't let any non-existent god show him up at the great sport of fuck-uppetry. He'd toss the stone honestly, and whatever cosmic bullshit didn't happen, didn't happen.
He exhaled sharply, reared back, and flung the stone forward.
Skip, skip, skip, skip, plop.
"Four!" Lucas said. "Ha!"
"Johnny's up?" he asked.
/ 
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- Yeah, there were worse ways to get shot at.
Johnny grumbled, resisting the primal urge to give some sort of reactionary quip, but Dude just sat down and picked his next rock to throw and that was the end of that. Johnny just waved back; his fingers hung limp in half-acknowledment and half-dismissal.
Anyway, Lucas went and actually threw the rock pretty decent. Johnny chuckled. "Yeah."
The next rock that caught his eye was buried underwater, just a couple of inches past the waterline. Johnny dipped his hand in like an industrial crane and gave the stone a good rubbing before sending it out on its journey.
It skipped 2 times.
Can't win them all.
"You're up," Johnny motioned to Jeff.
Johnny grumbled, resisting the primal urge to give some sort of reactionary quip, but Dude just sat down and picked his next rock to throw and that was the end of that. Johnny just waved back; his fingers hung limp in half-acknowledment and half-dismissal.
Anyway, Lucas went and actually threw the rock pretty decent. Johnny chuckled. "Yeah."
The next rock that caught his eye was buried underwater, just a couple of inches past the waterline. Johnny dipped his hand in like an industrial crane and gave the stone a good rubbing before sending it out on its journey.
It skipped 2 times.
Can't win them all.
"You're up," Johnny motioned to Jeff.
Jeff huffed a little bit as whatever lead he had evaporated further and further. Even the kid who Jeff had tied was now ahead of him, putting him squarely at the back of the pack. Plus they were running out of good rocks. Johnny was having to fish his out of the water itself now.
Well, not to be outdone, Jeff began checking around too, rolling up the sleeve of his football jersey and running a hand through the cold flowing river. He found a rock after a few seconds, raising it for a closer inspection in his frigid palm. The things he was doing to excel at this sport...If his brother could see what he was doing, Jeff would never hear the end of it.
"Right," he said, and chucked it at the water, full-speed.
One bounce. Just one bounce again. Something was off, but he didn't know what. It's likely that he needed to get more practice, but even so, he thought that he had the right idea...so irritating...
Well, if it was any consolation, these three guys would be dead in a few days. Then he'd be the winner by default. Jeff didn't bother correcting that thought, as rude as it might have sounded. It was just a simple fact, albeit one that he wasn't going to share out loud. Whether by his hand or one of those names that kept cropping up in the announcements. Some of those killings could be attributed to an accident or a crime of passion, but when you get a repeat, and another, and another, that's a lot harder to justify. There were folks on the prowl, folks with a game plan, and he'd need every tool if he was going to get ahead of them.
"Well," he said, staring at the place where his rock had unceremoniously sank beneath the current, "that's enough for me, I guess." He gathered up his shield and began to make the march back down the hill, going slowly to avoid slipping. A thought occurred to him a few steps down, and he turned back towards Johnny and...the other kid.
"I had fun with the game. Thanks."
Maybe he'd kill them sometime, but for a brief moment, they weren't enemies. That was...pretty nice, actually.
(Jeff Greene continued elsewhere)
Well, not to be outdone, Jeff began checking around too, rolling up the sleeve of his football jersey and running a hand through the cold flowing river. He found a rock after a few seconds, raising it for a closer inspection in his frigid palm. The things he was doing to excel at this sport...If his brother could see what he was doing, Jeff would never hear the end of it.
"Right," he said, and chucked it at the water, full-speed.
One bounce. Just one bounce again. Something was off, but he didn't know what. It's likely that he needed to get more practice, but even so, he thought that he had the right idea...so irritating...
Well, if it was any consolation, these three guys would be dead in a few days. Then he'd be the winner by default. Jeff didn't bother correcting that thought, as rude as it might have sounded. It was just a simple fact, albeit one that he wasn't going to share out loud. Whether by his hand or one of those names that kept cropping up in the announcements. Some of those killings could be attributed to an accident or a crime of passion, but when you get a repeat, and another, and another, that's a lot harder to justify. There were folks on the prowl, folks with a game plan, and he'd need every tool if he was going to get ahead of them.
"Well," he said, staring at the place where his rock had unceremoniously sank beneath the current, "that's enough for me, I guess." He gathered up his shield and began to make the march back down the hill, going slowly to avoid slipping. A thought occurred to him a few steps down, and he turned back towards Johnny and...the other kid.
"I had fun with the game. Thanks."
Maybe he'd kill them sometime, but for a brief moment, they weren't enemies. That was...pretty nice, actually.
(Jeff Greene continued elsewhere)
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Grand Moff Hissa
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Sven sat for a while after the big guy left, watching the raindrops make little ripples in the surface of the river. He wiped his sunglasses, futilely, with his damp shirt, only the right lens as usual. The motion spread the water around, and momentarily new droplets splattered against the lenses. It didn't matter. There was little worth seeing anyways.
Gradually, it dawned on Sven that, as one of the players had left the game, and everyone else had taken their attempts, it was his turn, but the one responsible for decreeing such was no longer present. Right. Okay. He didn't say anything, just rain his fingers over the smooth, oblong stone, felt its weight, imagined himself becoming one with it, and the river, and the universe.
He had skipped rocks some as a kid, long long ago, but had never been very good at it. Probably the go stone was his record, actually, now that he thought about it for a moment. Had he even skipped rocks? Maybe he had watched someone else do it, cousins or friends. Maybe he was stealing somebody else's experience and staking claim to it as his own. He had done so before, more than once. He could vividly recall sitting on the banks of the Tennessee River, some hot day, uncomfortably aware of the mosquitoes buzzing around as twilight fell. He'd scratched his arms and legs until they bled, because he hadn't yet been good at separating himself from his body. He'd always hated barbecues, which was odd because the food was delicious, but the smoke, the sweat, it was horrible.
Sven pulled his wrist back, flicked and released, just like last time, a quick and crisp and clean motion.
The stone flew long, further than before before it hit the water, but when it did it splashed beneath the surface without a single skip.
Gradually, it dawned on Sven that, as one of the players had left the game, and everyone else had taken their attempts, it was his turn, but the one responsible for decreeing such was no longer present. Right. Okay. He didn't say anything, just rain his fingers over the smooth, oblong stone, felt its weight, imagined himself becoming one with it, and the river, and the universe.
He had skipped rocks some as a kid, long long ago, but had never been very good at it. Probably the go stone was his record, actually, now that he thought about it for a moment. Had he even skipped rocks? Maybe he had watched someone else do it, cousins or friends. Maybe he was stealing somebody else's experience and staking claim to it as his own. He had done so before, more than once. He could vividly recall sitting on the banks of the Tennessee River, some hot day, uncomfortably aware of the mosquitoes buzzing around as twilight fell. He'd scratched his arms and legs until they bled, because he hadn't yet been good at separating himself from his body. He'd always hated barbecues, which was odd because the food was delicious, but the smoke, the sweat, it was horrible.
Sven pulled his wrist back, flicked and released, just like last time, a quick and crisp and clean motion.
The stone flew long, further than before before it hit the water, but when it did it splashed beneath the surface without a single skip.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Lucas tried his hardest to suppress a laugh at the other's failure. He held out for as long as it took Jeff to walk off. He'd never seen someone get so butthurt over losing in a game of stone skipping before. His mind hadn't even considered it a possibility, among other human beings, for someone so petty and idiotic to so much as exist. The laughter didn't come out so much as a full belly laugh, but as more of a chuckle, a jeering jab at Jeff's integrity. Jeff didn't have any integrity, as a person, anymore. Anyone who would let themselves be so thoroughly humiliated by something as trivial as throwing rocks at some water when there was a fucking murderings going on was an idiot, through and through. If Lucas cared what other people thought, and didn't want to seem like a creepy piece of shit, he would have muttered something condemnatory under his breath so it was clear what he was laughing at. He didn't quite have the energy, however. Or the fucks necessary.
And suddenly it was his turn again.
"Alright," he said, "can lightning strike twice? Let's see."
He rooted around in the dirt for a suitable stone. He wasn't counting on something as perfect as what he got last time, but surely there was something else in here that was at least a little bit better suited than what his rivals here had picked up. Sure enough, he foiund something closer to his first stone than the second in no time at all. A little bumpier on one end than the other, but generally still pretty smooth. It'd have to do. As long as he could get a couple skips off of it, he'd still be ahead of the game. Lucas drew his hand back and stepped forward into the toss as he brought his arm forward.
One wet leaf. One wet leaf on the ground in the wrong spot. One wet leaf, right below where his foot fell. He stepped on it and lost all purchase, his leg shooting backwards out from under him. Lucas' eyes went wide as he slipped and fell and spun a little in midair, landing on his back. Mid-fall, his wrist flicked outwards and the rock went sailing in a completely unrelated direction, out and over the edge of the waterfall. As he made impact with the ground, the wind was knocked from his chest; he landed flat, arms splayed out, legs askew. His head fell out of the tree cover, exposed to the rain.
For a moment, Lucas just stayed there, letting the water fall onto his face and eye glasses and such. It was kind of nice, the feeling of the water. Very quickly that feeling lost its nuance, though. He picked himself back up, doing a full sit-up to an upright position. He wasn't really injured. Just covered in dirt. The foot that slipped kind of hurt a bit, but he'd sprained an ankle before and comparing those pains was like apples and really big apples.
Lucas felt like there was a quip to be made. Something he could say to spin everything in a direction where it looked like he was able to laugh what just happened off. That it didn't call into question his baseline competence in the same way that "Clout Gang" or "Stuff My Corpse Ophelia Daddy" did, for an audience.
He couldn't think of it, though.
So he just said, "Fuck."
And suddenly it was his turn again.
"Alright," he said, "can lightning strike twice? Let's see."
He rooted around in the dirt for a suitable stone. He wasn't counting on something as perfect as what he got last time, but surely there was something else in here that was at least a little bit better suited than what his rivals here had picked up. Sure enough, he foiund something closer to his first stone than the second in no time at all. A little bumpier on one end than the other, but generally still pretty smooth. It'd have to do. As long as he could get a couple skips off of it, he'd still be ahead of the game. Lucas drew his hand back and stepped forward into the toss as he brought his arm forward.
One wet leaf. One wet leaf on the ground in the wrong spot. One wet leaf, right below where his foot fell. He stepped on it and lost all purchase, his leg shooting backwards out from under him. Lucas' eyes went wide as he slipped and fell and spun a little in midair, landing on his back. Mid-fall, his wrist flicked outwards and the rock went sailing in a completely unrelated direction, out and over the edge of the waterfall. As he made impact with the ground, the wind was knocked from his chest; he landed flat, arms splayed out, legs askew. His head fell out of the tree cover, exposed to the rain.
For a moment, Lucas just stayed there, letting the water fall onto his face and eye glasses and such. It was kind of nice, the feeling of the water. Very quickly that feeling lost its nuance, though. He picked himself back up, doing a full sit-up to an upright position. He wasn't really injured. Just covered in dirt. The foot that slipped kind of hurt a bit, but he'd sprained an ankle before and comparing those pains was like apples and really big apples.
Lucas felt like there was a quip to be made. Something he could say to spin everything in a direction where it looked like he was able to laugh what just happened off. That it didn't call into question his baseline competence in the same way that "Clout Gang" or "Stuff My Corpse Ophelia Daddy" did, for an audience.
He couldn't think of it, though.
So he just said, "Fuck."
Well Jeff fucked off, Bush Man threw a sinker, and Lucas fell on his goddamn face.
At least Lucas seemed okay. After Johnny opened his eyes from cringing so hard, Lucas sat back up and wasn't screaming in pain so he probably wasn't dead. But after that, Johnny didn't feel like playing anymore.
He probably didn't need medical attention, and consoling him felt weird and gay. So maybe it was time for Johnny to ske-on-daddle the fuck outta here.
"Thanks for the game," he said after some much too awkward silence. And then he took his leave.
Oh right, one more thing.
"Happy birthday, again."
He briefly looked at Bush Man before heading out for reals.
((Johnny didn't wave.))
At least Lucas seemed okay. After Johnny opened his eyes from cringing so hard, Lucas sat back up and wasn't screaming in pain so he probably wasn't dead. But after that, Johnny didn't feel like playing anymore.
He probably didn't need medical attention, and consoling him felt weird and gay. So maybe it was time for Johnny to ske-on-daddle the fuck outta here.
"Thanks for the game," he said after some much too awkward silence. And then he took his leave.
Oh right, one more thing.
"Happy birthday, again."
He briefly looked at Bush Man before heading out for reals.
((Johnny didn't wave.))
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
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Another departure, another set of thanks. It was not, of course, the most dramatic happening—that would be the boy wiping out. He seemed uninjured, and Sven was mildly surprised to feel relieved at that. A truly staggering number of students had apparently lost their lives in SOTF over the years not by being murdered but through improbable, preventable accidents. He had read a few theories as to why. Some posited that it was a result of the stresses of the situation; under constant danger, malnourished and poorly rested, people were prone to slipping up in ways they would not normally, in much the same way that one might crash a car off the road as a consequence of briefly drifting off at the wheel after yet another all-nighter. Others suggested that, in this day and age, teenagers just weren't exposed to outdoorsmanship to the degree seen in years past, and it turned out that being out in the elements for days on end provided myriad opportunities for things to go wrong, and the total lack of competent medical care and opportunities to summon help allowed for what would be mild to moderate injuries in a normal context to snowball into life-ending emergencies. This theory, additionally, suggested that in many cases the official time of death indicated was exaggerated or fudged for dramatic effect; dying took a while, but once someone lapsed into unconsciousness and stirred no more the exact moment of demise was fairly academic. Finally, some held that there were a number of quiet suicides under the guise of accidents, students choosing to end their misery by flinging themselves down slopes or off docks, options with just enough plausible deniability to not feel entirely like giving up.
In any event, Sven could admit to himself that he found the possibility of witnessing that sort of death significantly more distressing than, say, stumbling upon a fricasseed carcass or happening to catch sight of somebody getting gunned down or stabbed to death or something like that. Those things made fairly clear and unambiguous sense in the context of their current surroundings, horrible as they still were.
But the guy had spoken, had cursed quietly, presumably an oath to the heavens and all reality, so he wasn't dead, so it really wasn't Sven's problem. The rain still fell, and he became aware of a trickle rolling from his scalp down the nape of his neck, soaking into his shirt at the collar. He became suddenly quite unsure when he had put the flannel back on, or whether he had actually taken it off at any point or was just imagining it. He blinked, squinted. He only squinted his real eye, now, and that was a nice part about the sunglasses, they made that harder for people to notice. Of course, the river between him and the other boy helped.
Sven lifted another stone from the shallows, and tossed it, but this time his throw was underhand, not even the loosest attempt to land a skip.
"Is it really your birthday?" he asked.
The stone plopped into the water.
In any event, Sven could admit to himself that he found the possibility of witnessing that sort of death significantly more distressing than, say, stumbling upon a fricasseed carcass or happening to catch sight of somebody getting gunned down or stabbed to death or something like that. Those things made fairly clear and unambiguous sense in the context of their current surroundings, horrible as they still were.
But the guy had spoken, had cursed quietly, presumably an oath to the heavens and all reality, so he wasn't dead, so it really wasn't Sven's problem. The rain still fell, and he became aware of a trickle rolling from his scalp down the nape of his neck, soaking into his shirt at the collar. He became suddenly quite unsure when he had put the flannel back on, or whether he had actually taken it off at any point or was just imagining it. He blinked, squinted. He only squinted his real eye, now, and that was a nice part about the sunglasses, they made that harder for people to notice. Of course, the river between him and the other boy helped.
Sven lifted another stone from the shallows, and tossed it, but this time his throw was underhand, not even the loosest attempt to land a skip.
"Is it really your birthday?" he asked.
The stone plopped into the water.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Lucas turned and looked over his shoulder. Johnny got bored and left, making fun of Lucas like Lucas would have done for himself. Totally valid. Lucas was a fuck-up, and fuck-ups were to be ridiculed. Better to make fun of those who deserve it than those that don't. Like the dead. He was a little dead inside, but not that much. Sven, though, Sven stayed, and Sven took some interest. He latched onto something Johnny said that Lucas hadn't even picked up on until Sven pointed it out, asked for elaboration, brought it full circle. The birthday thing.
"Yeah," Lucas said, "yeah, it's my birthday."
He turned his body around to face Sven, on the other side of the water.
"And I got to have some fun, which was nice."
The light-saber caught his attention again. It'd make for a nice addition to his collection of shitty swords. A really fantastic addition. Lucas pointed at it.
"Long shot, I know, but can I have that?" Lucas asked with a sheepish grin, "Y'know, maybe as a birthday present?"
"Yeah," Lucas said, "yeah, it's my birthday."
He turned his body around to face Sven, on the other side of the water.
"And I got to have some fun, which was nice."
The light-saber caught his attention again. It'd make for a nice addition to his collection of shitty swords. A really fantastic addition. Lucas pointed at it.
"Long shot, I know, but can I have that?" Lucas asked with a sheepish grin, "Y'know, maybe as a birthday present?"
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2756
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"Happy birthday," Sven said. What else was there to say?
Well, that wasn't quite right. There was that request, lying on the table. It was odd. The lightsaber hanging on his belt felt comfortable there by now. It was a toy. Useless. Well, that wasn't exactly true either; it let him pull it out and show it off and prove that he didn't have anything more useful, to a more verifiable degree than simply claiming that he'd been given garbage did. It was something. It was his. He'd always been vaguely fond of Star Wars.
That wasn't the start of it. Nowhere close.
He tugged the plastic tube from his belt, ran his fingers slowly around it. He closed his eye and took a deep breath, long and slow, held and then released like he was meditating. The lightsaber was smooth, light, slightly damp in that way plastic got where the water just sat on top of it but was somehow still quite difficult to dry off.
Sven opened his eye again and looked at the guy. He definitely didn't understand what he was asking for. He had no idea what the connotations and implications were. Sven was pretty sure he couldn't tell him, either.
"I... would not quite call it a present," he said, turning the object of their discussion in his hand, again and again, without looking at it. "But if you truly want it, you're welcome to it."
His voice had flattened as he spoke, not getting quieter per se, because he needed to be heard over the rush of the river, but draining of something. It was cold and wet, more so than the world around them.
"But," he continued, "are you sure that you do?"
Well, that wasn't quite right. There was that request, lying on the table. It was odd. The lightsaber hanging on his belt felt comfortable there by now. It was a toy. Useless. Well, that wasn't exactly true either; it let him pull it out and show it off and prove that he didn't have anything more useful, to a more verifiable degree than simply claiming that he'd been given garbage did. It was something. It was his. He'd always been vaguely fond of Star Wars.
That wasn't the start of it. Nowhere close.
He tugged the plastic tube from his belt, ran his fingers slowly around it. He closed his eye and took a deep breath, long and slow, held and then released like he was meditating. The lightsaber was smooth, light, slightly damp in that way plastic got where the water just sat on top of it but was somehow still quite difficult to dry off.
Sven opened his eye again and looked at the guy. He definitely didn't understand what he was asking for. He had no idea what the connotations and implications were. Sven was pretty sure he couldn't tell him, either.
"I... would not quite call it a present," he said, turning the object of their discussion in his hand, again and again, without looking at it. "But if you truly want it, you're welcome to it."
His voice had flattened as he spoke, not getting quieter per se, because he needed to be heard over the rush of the river, but draining of something. It was cold and wet, more so than the world around them.
"But," he continued, "are you sure that you do?"