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Summer King Competition; over - congratulations to all winners!
Topic Started: Aug 21 2010, 03:05 PM (1,030 Views)
Midnight Sleeper ♪
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Mayor
[align=right]Summer 21
Tag: Open, Judges
Round: Epic Talent Extravaganza![/align]


“Charlie! How’s it going out there!? We’re winning, right?”

Ears perking up at the voice, Charlie’s face morphs into a grin as he looks over his shoulder to see his spiky haired cousin, also known to the world as Bucky Kavaledge, grinning right back at him. Even though Bucky had a golden opportunity himself to sign up for Summer King, he went right on ahead and didn’t go through with it. A pity too, as with as chummy as he seems to be getting with Chris, one would think that he’d be falling all over himself for the opportunity to win the competition just to have the right to dance with her. Heck, for all Charlie knows, Bucky’s motivation for helping out is in hopes that Charlie wins and defers a dance or two with Queen Chris to him. Which truthfully wouldn’t bug the blonde too much. Bucky seems rather smitten with Chris and besides, it would give him a chance to see just how good of a dancer Princess Jane is.

“Well I’m not sure if I’m winning or not, but I’m giving it my best, Buck.” Charlie replies with a smile as he takes the offensive tie off from around his neck. “Win, lose, or draw I can hold my head up high knowing that I did my best at this.”

“Oh geez…” Bucky mutters, rolling his eyes as he starts putting the various articles of clothing that Charlie discards back into his suitcase. “You’re going through all of this trouble, so you may as well pick up the win while you’re at it! No football team goes to the Super Bowl just to say ‘eh, it’s good enough.’ Hell no! You’re there to win! At all costs! Well…as long as you win cleanly without cheating!”

Chuckling at Bucky’s assessment, Charlie continues to shed clothes like a dog sheds hair. As much as he hates to admit it, Bucky is right on the money as far as his view on the competition goes. He’s not dead set on getting the win, but hey, as long as he’s here, may as well go for it. Go big or go home, so to speak. And in the worst case scenario, if he does walk away from here without a crown, at least he’ll still have his pride and the knowledge that he went all out. But in order to do that, he’s got to get through the talent portions and bonus round.

“Hey, Bucky. You guys did get it all set up back there, right?” Charlie asks, hoping that the answer is a nice resounding ‘yes.’ This particular talent would be a little tough to pull off otherwise. The blonde could always improv, he supposes, but that would be flat out insane given what he’s planning on doing. Not exactly a activity that he wants volunteers for. “You guys…did get it through?”

“Yeah, no sweat!”

Phew, definitely a good deal there. How embarrassing would it be for Charlie to give a big old epic spiel about his hopefully awesome and impressive talent, only to go behind the manor and see…well, not what they’re supposed to see. Of course, if worse came to worse, he could probably improvise and do handstands, handstand walks, and handstand pushups. Sing a song or play one on the saxophone. Dance a jig. Fall down while dancing a jig. All amusingly tragic ideas, to be sure. Thankfully, none of them having to come into play now.

After sharing a quick high five with his cousin, Charlie quickly continues on with the undressing-to-redress process. Gone is the snazzy suit that everybody hopefully loved, hopefully a certain three people in particular. And in it’s stead? The old reliable outfit of blue jeans, boots, and a white t-shirt. Although Charlie does have to admit that he does feel a little naked right now without his hat on his head. Considering that some lucky audience member got it as a keepsake, Charlie figures it’s all good. Besides, it might be good to let the wind blow through his hair for once. All set to go, Charlie makes his way out to the stage, grinning and patting Ronan on the shoulder as he passes. Quite a fun demo, that. Fella at least deserves props for it.

“Good afternoon-slash-early evening, ladies and gents!” Charlie greets with a smile as he makes his way out onto the stage. “Now, when I heard there was a talent portion to the Summer King pageant, I was torn as to what I wanted to do. Really, there are so many things that can be considered ‘talent’ that it might be hard to choose just a single one. But after many days and many nights of continuous and constant pondering over this dilemma, I’ve come to the conclusion that the best thing that I can do for myself, nay, for you, the awesome denizens of Obsidian is to give you the gift…of vocal music! Well…”

Charlie holds the last word, seemingly ready to break into song. However, instead of following through with a nice little ditty, the blonde instead opts to hold the note and cartwheel off of the stage, landing much like a cat; on his feet. Now chuckling, it seems fairly obvious that any song that Charlie was planning on singing is now a thing of the past. Such a shame too. For all the world knows, Charlie could be the second coming of The Beatles or something. Alas though, it is not meant to be on this day.

“Well, first of all, you’re all welcome.” Charlie says, grin still etched on his face. “I’ve decided not to sing for two reasons. One, you fine folks probably had enough of that last season when the ladies did their thing up here. Plus, who knows how many of us fellas are gonna croon. Secondly, with me not singing, that means that all of you get to keep your eardrums in perfect working order! While that alone is more enjoyable than any talent I can possibly give you, I may as well give it the old college try at least. So! That being said, if you would all be so kind as to follow me to the other side of the estate, we can get this show on the road!”

Placing the microphone on the judges’ table, Charlie leads the way to the back yard of the estate. A charming little piece of land that has undergone a couple of slight changes. Namely, a pair of targets about fifty feet away with a smaller target rigged up on what looks like a clothesline. Deciding to have some fun with the demo, as well as to display his showmanship, the look on Charlie’s face turns to one of shock and pretend horror. Taking a couple of ‘nervous’ steps backwards, the blonde grabs a quiver of arrows and a longbow that are propped up against the side of the estate.

“Oh my Goddess…I don’t know how this happened, but it’s terrible!” Charlie says, trying his best to sound worried instead of sarcastic. “I mean really now! We’re trying to have ourselves a nice little Summer King competition and we get this…this horrible interruption! How are we supposed to do ANYTHING here with these horrible distractions? I’d better do something about this! Don’t worry, folks. I’ve got it under control!”

As he looks over the targets, a slight smile forms on Charlie’s face. Not enough to dismiss the ruse of mock worry and terror, but enough to show that the blonde is taking a relaxed take on his talent. Definitely a good idea as a relaxed, fluid motion is just as important as the actual hand-eye coordination. Hand grasping an arrow from the quiver, Charlie visualizes the targets in front of him, gradually getting bigger until all he can see is the red from the bull’s-eye. Now for the task of making sure this arrow and all of his friends get to that destination. Granted, even on his best day, odds are he’s not going to be dead accurate on all of them, but with any luck, he’ll get most of them bagged.

“Take this, foul fiends!”

Taking in a deep breath, Charlie takes his first shot. A half inch off of the bull’s-eye. Not bad for a first shot. Not bad. Gotta get better. A second arrow zips through the air, this one hitting the second ground target right in the center. Time to close his first round out…shot to the target on the clothesline, this one slightly above the center. Still a good grouping for a first attempt. It went and served it’s purpose as being a warm up for Charlie, at the very least.

“They’re still standing! Oh crud!” Charlie cries, look of worry dominant on his face. “It’s only a matter of time before they spread out and surround me. I gotta get faster somehow. But how can I do that!? I need some help! Only one thing to do…”

After mentioning that he could use some help, Charlie sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. Sure enough, help seems to be coming from the other side of the house in the form of Zero. Charlie Collins’ trusty steed. Probably, anyways. The bond that they had before Charlie went to Peace Corps does seem to be stronger than ever at least. Plus, he did answer the whistle too. Good thing too, otherwise both him and Zero would have been looking rather foolish.

“Let’s get ‘em, buddy!”

Now making a clicking sound, Zero trots towards Charlie a little faster. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, Charlie grabs the reins as the black horse trots past, jumping and using his momentum to mount in one fluid motion. Now in the driver’s saddle, the blonde readies his bow again for a little mounted archery. Whistling in a different pitch this time, the clothesline target begins moving back and forth. As if by magic. If by magic one means that it’s being pulled on ropes by his cousin and uncle, conveniently concealed behind blinds just in case Charlie is slightly off the mark. But back to the shooting! Going down a hundred yards or so, Charlie and Zero turn around and get themselves a running start.

“Alright! Now we’re going!” Charlie says, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. Drawing the arrow back, Charlie opts for the most impressive target out of the batch; the one that’s currently moving. Coupled with the fact that he’s on a horse that’s doing twenty five miles per hour easily, this one should be an impressive shot. If he can make it anyways. Deep breath in, and the arrow is away, sticking in the target about a half inch to the right of the previous shot. Still a bull’s-eye, shocking even Charlie. Wanting to keep the good times rolling, Charlie quickly grabs another arrow and turns his body, firing at one of the stationary targets. The thud brings a smile to the blonde’s face as it looks like that’s another shot dead to center. Probably be an epic scale if he could hit the third one, but it wouldn’t really be too epic if Charlie were to fall off of his mount, so he opts for going down another hundred yards to prepare for another pass.

“I suppose that we’re safe from those targets. But if something came from the sky…” Charlie trails off, noticing as Bucky tosses a clay pigeon in the air. “…guess I jinxed myself!”

Now just flat out grinning, Charlie takes aim as Zero charges down the lane again, exhaling as he sends his shot on it’s way. A satisfying shatter fills the blonde’s ears as the arrow pierces the pigeon just before it hit’s the ground. As if to give Charlie a bonus, the arrow continues on it’s way and sticks in one of the targets. Not even close to the middle of it, but still in it after busting a clay pigeon? He’ll take it. Still galloping away, Charlie notices as Russell throws one as well, a little earlier than he was expecting. Shaking his head, Charlie quickly reaches for the quiver, nocks the bow, and fires away, not breaking the target, but chipping a good portion off of it’s side. Well, a hit is a hit, anyways.

“I think we’re in the clear folks, but that middle target…I still don’t like the looks of it! I’d better make sure it’s down for the count!” Charlie says in a matter most dramatic before sending Zero charging again. “And what better way to do that then with two arrows at once?”

”Moment of truth, Charlie. This one is going to be a tough shot. Heck, I’m going to be lucky to sink even one arrow into the target, let alone the bull’s-eye. Bah, don’t think like that! Positive attitude! This target is dead! Well, technically it could be considered dead as it’s an inanimate object, but I get the gist of it! Do or die time!”

Steeling his resolve, Charlie reaches into his quiver for his last two arrows, being careful in his process of lining them up before drawing back. What the…? They’re moving the target on this one. They weren’t supposed to have the target moving for this one! Certainly makes this already hard stunt even harder. To be fair though, that is the story of life; just a series of ever growing challenges. Kind of fitting, really. Just please hit with one…

*WHOOSH!*

The second the arrows leave the bowstring, Charlie finds himself closing his eyes, not really wanting to see if and where the shots hit. Granted, it’s not a smart idea on horseback to go with one’s eyes closed, but Zero’s a smart enough horse to avoid any immediate obstacles. Truthfully, the man isn’t quite sure why he’s so worried about it. After all, he was in this contest to have fun. True, it’d be nice to win just to live up to what his dad had done, but even then, Charlie wasn’t expecting himself to take this so seriously. Who knows? Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t partaken in any kind of competition in anything for a few years. Well, may as well see how he did. Exhaling, Charlie finally opens his eyes and turns Zero around, trotting over to his grinning cousin.

“Dude! That. Was. Amazing! How the hell did you do that!?”

Well, if Bucky’s excitement is any indication, it seems that Charlie at least grazed the intended target with something. Upon further examination, Charlie notices an arrow in the top of the target. Not close to the bull’s-eye, but at least it’s on the board to where it would score points. The second arrow…right in the middle.

“How’d I do that…?” Charlie quietly ponders before quickly putting on a happy face as he remembers what exactly he’s doing. “Um, I mean, begone you foul targets! Go back to the storage area from whence you came! You have been smited with my arrows of justice! Now, you don’t have to applaud for me if you don’t want to, but could you at least give my three assistants here a hand, seeing how they donated their time and energy? Russell and Bucky Kavaledge, and Zero, ladies and gents!”

Smiling as he hears the crowd’s applause, the blonde feels a twinge of relief about everything. It might not be for him, but at least everyone in this town is nice enough to appreciate the hard work that his family and steed had put into helping him out in this endeavor. The beauty of a small town, truly. But it’s no time for getting all misty eyed. There’s a bonus round to try to knock out of the park yet, after all. Smiling and waving, Charlie dismounts from Zero and hands the reins over to his uncle before making his way back to the competitor’s area to change into something a little easier to run in.
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[align=right]
Outfit: Black t-shirt, blue jeans, and black tennis shoes.<br>
Mood: Ronan: Eager.<br>
TAG: Judges~! || BONUS!<br>
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<br>


All right, here it was going to be! Ronan hurriedly removed the holsters from his narrow hips, tossing it onto the counter in front of his mirror before he decided it probably wasn't smart to leave those knives laying around in case of terrorists or mafia bosses or something like that. He tilted his head to the side, considering them, before he grabbed the knives and took his few remaining minutes to wrap them up in the towels he'd transported them in again and tucked them inside of the bag he'd brought with him. If Patrick was back here with him he'd just shove them over and insist that he do something with them, but Patrick seemed a bit relieved to stay in the audience right now. Fair enough. Nothing he could help. Ronan glanced back up toward the mirror and ran his hands through his soft, fine hair a few more times to ruffle it up a bit before he decided he looked fine.<br>
<br>
What was next? Oh, aye, his last round. Whoo! Ronan turned and leaned back against the little counter, tilting his head to the side as he released a long sigh of contentment. He'd done well today. He knew it. Didn't matter if he won or lost, really, just as long as he'd done his best, right? Pfft. Patrick'll cuff ye upside the head fer talkin' like that. Call ye a fairy, he would. He chuckled again with a little shake of his head. Guess that was a little bit of Ma talking through him, spouting off her sheer optimistic spirit and bright smiles and all that. He tilted his head back a little, fingering the rosary around his neck. Y'proud o' me, right Ma? She was up there somewhere in Heaven smiling down on him, he knew that much. But God, if only he knew if she'd approve of him. We gave ye vengeance, Ma. What else could ye ask fer? He prayed he'd see her again one day, that the vision he and Patrick had received hasn't been a lie. God wanted them to do all of that. ...right?<br>
<br>
He didn't want the solemn thoughts to get him down, but God help him, they were there. He still remembered that first look of terror in the eyes of the first man he'd killed. He remembered the feeling of holding that pistol steady in his hands and aiming right between his eyes, everything moving in slow motion, before he pulled the trigger and felt blood splatter against his forehead. Later, he could swore he'd found a piece of gray matter splattered against his mask as well. He didn't like to think about that part.<br>
<br>
What happened if they couldn't stay here? If they wouldn't be safe? If their past caught up to them? What happened if something...happened to Patrick? Pfft. That was lie. Ronan knew exactly what would happen if Patrick died and Ronan witnessed it. He wouldn't even waste a second before he stuck that barrel in between his own lips and blew out his brains. An eternity in Hell for killing himself was far better than the rest of a lifetime without Patrick.<br>
<br>
"Ronan Brennan?"<br>
<br>
Ronan looked up at the stagehand, the silence of his thoughts clearing in slow motion as the sounds and activity all around him came back to him. Of course, he still had one more round to do. A bunch of riddles that needed answering, at that. He forced a little smile, reminding himself that the here and now was what needed to be focused on, not what might end up coming elsewhere, and Lord knew that he needed all the attention he could spare to answer these little riddles. He absolutely failed at common sense, but when it came down to figuring out little things like this, he actually wasn't too bad. Ronan nodded to the stagehand and slipped past him, making his way to the stage where the Mayor waited with a collection of cards as he announced Ronan's name and the round that he was beginning.<br>
<br>
"I'm ready whenever ye are, sir!" he chirped, hoping that no one caught the slightly nervous lilt in his voice. Nervous about the riddles? No, not him. Merely nervous about the night before him, about Patrick reading the worry in his eyes and pushing him to talk. He didn't want to talk about such sad and worrisome things tonight when they could very well have seventy more years ahead of them.<br>
<br>
The mayor spoke again, reminding Ronan to focus. "All right, Mr. Brennan, here's your first riddle! 'A man was to be sentenced, and the judge told him, "You may make a statement. If it is true, I'll sentence you to four years in prison. If it is false, I'll sentence you to six years in prison." After the man made his statement, the judge decided to let him go free. What did the man say?'"<br>
<br>
Ronan pursed his lips for a moment, reaching up to rub his chin as he digested the words. Really, when it came right down to it, the response wasn't too difficult to figure out. "Well...the man said that the judge would sentence him ta six years in prison, o' course!" Ronan grinned at the mayor, shrugging. "I mean, think about it. If the judge said it was true, then he'd hafta sentence the man ta only four years o' prison, which would mean it'd be false. If he did sentence him ta six years in prison, then it'd be true, an' he'd be goin' back on his word." He leaned closer, as if confiding a great secret. "An' Lord knows that humanity hates ta admit that we were wrong, aye? So, o' course, the judge lets him go free ta save face.'<br>
<br>
One down. Two more to go.<br>
<br>
The mayor switched to the next card, tilting his head a bit to the side and adjusting his glasses as he did so. "All right, riddle number two! 'If your sock drawer has 6 black socks, 4 brown socks, 8 white socks, and 2 tan socks, how many socks would you have to pull out in the dark to be sure you had a matching pair?'"<br>
<br>
Pfft, even easier than the first one, really. Just a little simple math to do there. the calculation flew through his head quickly and, only a moment later, he offered the answer. "Five. Since there's only four colors, ye're guaranteed ta have a matchin' pair when ye take out five."<bR>
<br>
The mayor smiled at him, and Ronan knew he was doing well from it. "Aaaaand riddle number three...'Mom and Dad have four daughters, and each daughter has one brother. How many people are in the family?'"<bR>
<br>
He didn't even have to think. He merely spoke. "Oldest riddle in the book. There's seven people! If each daughter has only one brother, then that means there's only one brother, aye? So there's Ma an' Da an' the four sissies an' one brother. Seven."<br>
<br>
There was a bit of polite applause as the mayor dismissed him, and Ronan bowed dramatically with a grin before giving the crowd and the judges a little salute before he headed backstage. Thank GOD that was over!


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Midnight Sleeper ♪
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[align=right]Summer 21
Tag!: Judges, open
Round: Born To Run Bonus Time![/align]


"Alright, Collins! You're almost home free now! Just the bonus round to go and we're good to go!"

Chucking in anticipation, Charlie makes his way back to the dressing area, bow and arrow quiver still slung over his neck. Coming to the rather accurate conclusion that this might not be a good idea to parade around with a lethal weapon, the blonde is rather swift at walking. A brief moment later, and he finds himself in front of his suitcase for what will be one of the final times today. Humming happily, Charlie takes the bow and arrows and places them under his bench. With the fact that everybody and their dog is here, the man figures that he probably doesn't have to worry too much about losing his property. After all, if someone was going to jack something, it'd probably be something they could get some use out of, like a suit or something along those lines.

"Gonna get this right. No screwups! And even if I do wang chung in this, I'm giving it my all! Not going to be called a quitter today, no siree!"

Resolve steeled, Charlie goes about the process of changing out of his blue jeans and into something a little easier to run in; namely a pair of gray sweatpants turned inside out. Looks a little strange, yes, but the smooth side is certainly a lot cooler to have on the skin than the rough interior. Plus, it could be perceived as a fashion statement for all the young and impressionable youths in the crowd. Probably better fashion statements to make, but hey, if someone likes it and wants to imitate, more power to them.

Change of pants complete, Charlie tosses off his t-shirt and digs around in his wardrobe, grinning as he finds a wine colored tank top. While the blonde thinks that he looks better in green...a LOT better in green, he figures that a change of color might serve him in this case. Besides, most of the Obsidianites that know him are used to seeing him in green, so why not take the other Christmas hue and run with it? Variety is the spice of life, after all.

And now comes the matter of the shoes. Simple black sneakers here. Looking at the foot covers, Charlie chuckles at their state of repair. Or lack thereof. These bad boys have carried him everywhere in the world. Quite literally. That being said, even though they are on their last legs, so to speak, the blonde just doesn't have the heart to throw the things away. Not yet, anyways. As odd as it sounds, the shoes are a little more than shoes to him. Traveling companions, there with him wherever he goes. Seen all kinds of sights, heard all kinds of sound. In a way, these busted up old things are just as important to him as his iconic hat. Maybe even a little more so.

"Alright! Gentlemen that are in the running bonus, please report to the track! I repeat, gentlemen that are in the running bonus, please report to the track!"

"Time to go..."

Cracking his neck and licking his chops in anticipation, Charlie hops up from the bench, doing lunges as he makes his way to the track. May as well get a little bit of warming up in. It certainly would be quite embarrassing to drop in the middle of the track, clutching his leg in agony. Especially when it's such an easy thing to go and avoid. Now at the track, Charlie continues his stretching routine, exhaling sharply as his heel touches his lower back. Maybe stretching himself out a little too much, but at least he'll be limber for this.

Looking about at the competition, Charlie's eyes do catch something rather interesting: namely, Rooster Boy. Wes Richardson, wasn't it? The ladies man. Or so he likes to think. The guy that's been giving him all of those dirty looks in between rounds. Well, this is certainly an interesting development. As if Charlie needed any more reason to be fired up for this little competition. Although he's rubbed Charlie the wrong way today, the blonde isn't quite sure how much of it is his true self and how much of it is an act to hide something. After all, deep down, he's just like Charlie and everyone else: A living, breathing, human being. But it's no time to be waxing philosophical right now! There's a race to compete in!

"Best of luck to ya, Mister Wes!"

Grinning over at Wes, Charlie hopes that his little statement will show that there's not any hostilities on his end. How can there be really? After all, it's just a first meeting. He probably isn't that bad. He might be, but it's not right for the blonde to judge after knowing somebody for a simple afternoon. Besides, it's not like he's done anything to directly antagonize Charlie. Maybe Bucky, considering how much he's swooning over the fuchsia headed judge, but not the blonde. Exhaling, Charlie leans forward at the starting line, ready to go and get this little show on the road.

"On your marks! Get set! Go!"

At the utterance of the word 'go,' Charlie breaks out across the starting line, making sure to keep a good stride. Arms moving in synch with his legs, controlled breathing, it's all good. So far anyways. Truthfully, the thrill of competition is getting to the blonde, so much that he finds himself actually laughing ever so slightly as he runs along. Not to be cocky or anything, but simply because of how he feels about the joy of the wind in the hair, competition, and just a flat out entertaining afternoon. Next up is the first turn, something that Charlie leans into as he starts his turn...

RIP!

What? That's not good. Not good at all. Turns out that it might not have been a good idea for Charlie to go and wear his old shoes, as the right one has had the sole separate from the rest of the shoe. With the balance completely thrown off, Charlie finds himself stumbling awkwardly before falling to the ground in a loud thud. Pain immediately washes over the man's face as he takes the brunt of the blow with his right knee. Now breathing quite sharply, Charlie gets to a seated position and looks at his leg. Well, it's not the worst in the world, as the pain isn't enough to make him even think of crying, but the blood...well, it's doing a good job of seeping through the fabric of his sweatpants. The more the blood flows, the lower his chances, it would seem. Shaking his head and chuckling through the pain, Charlie takes his shoes off and sits on the track for a moment, watching as Bucky and Russell get closer to the track as if to scrape him off of it.

"Like I told myself...no giving up today. No quitting. No matter what."

Taking in a deep breath, Charlie slowly gets to his feet, trying his best not to lose his balance as the pain washes through his leg. Another deep inhale and Charlie begins running shoeless. He can see that the race in front of him is already over, no chance of him pulling out the win in this one. But there's the matter of pride and heart. He decided to see this through to the finish, and he's doing it come hell or high water.

"Charlie! You okay!?"

"Yeah...can't say the same for my sweats, though." Charlie replies with a chuckle as he picks up his pace, the limp becoming more noticeable. "I'm just going to do myself a little bit of running here. I'll talk to you guys in a minute..."

Giving Bucky a thumbs up, Charlie continues his run, breathing heavily now as the pain continues to come into his leg. Every step feeling like agony, although Charlie is fairly sure that it's just the shock of the moment responsible for most of his perceived pain, not the actual wound itself. Seeing the finish line fifty feet away, the blonde steels himself and breaks out into a full sprint. As best as his body will let him, anyways. His goal almost in sight, the blonde just wants to collapse and call it good. But if he's going to collapse, may as well do it in style. Closing his eyes, Charlie dives at the finish line, crossing over it before sliding through the dirt. Flipping over to his back, Charlie finds himself looking up at the clear blue sky. Strangely enough, despite the pain and exhaustion, the only thing Charlie finds himself able to do as the moment is smile and lift his arm in a thumbs up. Not a win on the track, but at least a victory for his pride.

"At least I finished...dead last. But I finished it. Gave it my all..."

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That would be not counting the header, but it includes me doing the text formatting in the actual post as I went along. Enjoy, hopefully! ^_^
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[align=right]Outfit: ~Clicky 1 || ~Clicky 2<br>
Tag: Juuuudgeeees~ || Talent![/align]<br>
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<br>
Still clothed in his attire for the free-for-all fashion round, Wes flipped his ponytail over his shoulder and almost reverently drew his hand over the cloth covering for his electric bass. If there was anything on this planet that he held close to his heart, it was this baby of his. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that if his house lit on fire this would be the first thing that he'd save. It'd cost him a hell of a lot of money, and God knew how many good times and gigs it had been with him through. But, finally, recognizing that time was precious here, he drew down the zipper and revealed the bass itself.<br>
<br>
All right, so maybe IT didn't quite look like the snazziest thing on the block, but who was anyone out there to step up and make fun of him for it? When he'd gotten it a few years back, it was one of the newest models out there and had cost him an arm and a leg. It was possibly the one time he'd ever considered prostitution as a career. With a little smirk, he threw the black leather strap over his shoulder and leaned back against the counter in front of his vanity mirror, lifting a leg slightly to rest the body itself against his thigh. It rested there easily like a glove and his smirk grew wider. God, he missed the time he used to have to play this little baby every day as long as he wanted to. He still generally took the time to head home after work each day and thump through a few patterns here and there, just to chill himself out and to keep himself ready to perform at a moment's notice, but that was so little compared to the days he would spend hours and hours with this thing.<br>
<br>
"Wes Richardson?"<br>
<br>
No matter. He glanced up at the stagehand with a grin, chin-popping him. "Yessir." When he had this thing pressed against him, he didn't need to be the best anymore. There was nothing he had to prove. He could just...flow with the music. He shoved himself to his feet and strode out to the catwalk, lifting a hand to flick a few spikes of loosening hair away from his face.<br>
<br>
"Hey there, everyone," he said with a greeting grin, giving an all-encompassing nod in the direction of the judges and the crowd. A stagehand hurried out with a stool and he settled himself back onto it easily, balancing the bass easily on his thigh again. The stagehands very carefully moved out a stacked series of amplifiers and speakers for him, and Wes spoke as they built them up next to him. Smart men. If one of those fell, the show'd be over and they'd be out thousands of gold. "In case you didn't already know, I'm Mr. Wes Richardson, the one and only, and I'm gonna play a little tune here on the bass for you." He grinned and looked toward the stagehands, being sure that the amps were settled nicely. They looked plenty steady, at least.<br>
<br>
If he was lucky, maybe he'd be able to take all of these people by surprise. He doubted any of them had heard a song played on the solo bass before, after all. It was a rare experience these days, and on a small island like that? He doubted any of them would be able to anticipate the sound he was about to create. "This song is called Epic Love, written by a buddy of mine back home." And then, with the stagehands skittering off the stage, he tilted his head down and began to play.<br>
<br>
His long, calloused fingers plucked the strings easily with no pain at the beginning, and a sense of contemplation immediately crossed his face. His friend had explained to him long ago why he'd wrote this song in the first place. Someone could write a love song all the live long day on guitar or piano or violin or something like that. They'd been doing that for thousands of years. But how did you capture the sweeping emotion of love on something like a bass? His friend had attempted and, while Wes had never felt love before, he had little doubt that the kid succeeded. He tapped his fingers on the bridge as if they were piano keys, creating an almost guitar-like sound that reverberated through the entire area.<br>
<br>
For Wes, it was as if all time had stopped around him. Instead of that flirty, cocky show he'd put on for the rest of the pageant competition thing, he now looked utterly...at peace. His shoulders lowered a bit, vanishing any sort of tension that had been inside of him. Something about him suddenly appeared more...real, more natural. In an area like this, where he wasn't running around the stage and jumping off amps and headbanging with the guitarist, he merely released everything. He let go and let himself flow into the music.<br>
<br>
The result was, of course, fantastic. He flicked his fingers across the thick strings easily, occasionally slapping his thumb against the strings near the base to achieve a more identifiable bass sound. At some point, his bottom lip slid into his mouth, concealed by his bottom teeth, and his eyes slid shut. The song was such a part of him that God knew he didn't even need to look at the bass itself. But why? Did he want to be in love one day? No, not particularly. And yet there was an emotion and a grace to the song that captured him as easily as any other. He could feel everything that his friend felt originally as he created. His heart took little leaps here and there. His stomach plunged as if he was riding a rollercoaster. And, inexplicably, a redheaded woman swam before his vision and gave him a little wink before she sauntered away.<br>
<br>
He came to a sudden pause after a swinging arpeggio, drawing in a deep breath as his fingers poised over the strings. God. What a high. And then he dove in again, very softly, plucking the strings intimately until he reached the ending chord. He paused there, opening his eyes, and looked up at the crowd with that same sense of naturalness and vulnerability before he grinned, the walls immediately flying back up. "Thank you," he said, standing to bow to them before he removed the cord connecting his bass to his amps and headed off stage, carrying the stool behind him. He had sprinting to get ready for.
<br><br>
<br>
<br>
[align=right]Round: Bonus || Sprinting~![/align]<br>
<br>
Sprinting. Here it went. Wasn't quite his best subject, of course, but that had been what the bass-playing and the eyelash-batting and the bicep-flexing part was for, right? Wes slid backstage, still riding high on the sound of the applause from the crowd behind him, and grinned at the chaps that he passed that were still heading up front to do their whole Talent Extravaganza things. He couldn't even tell you how relieved he was to get all of that out of the way so soon. But now? Sprinting. Christ.<br>
<br>
He slid the electric bass back into its cloth carrying case and zipped it up, beginning to whistle the melody of the song happily as he did so. At least he was an athlete, aye? Sure, he preferred to lean toward long-distance running, but when push came to shove, why would sprinting be any different? He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of his bag and sauntered back to the dressing room, a goal in his mind.<br>
<br>
But what was that goal? Getting first place? Making it that far without passing out? He shrugged and closed the curtain behind him, immediately stripping off his black blazer and tossing it onto the floor as his fingers danced down the buttons of his long-sleeved shirt. Whatever he achieved through this whole sprinting crap, as long as his legs were killing him by the end and he pondered throwing up he would know that he'd done well. No time for that, though. With his pants kicked aside, he set to throwing on the work-out clothes instead.<br>
<br>
At least there'd be plenty of time for preparation and all that fun stuff, right? He leaned back with a groan once he was fully clothed again, releasing a sharp hiss of combined pain and pleasure when his spine cracked in a few places. That couldn't be normal. Eh, whatever, it felt good and that made it okay, right? Not a chance, Richardson. If so, threesomes would be a whole lot more frequent.<br>
<br>
C'mon, kid, get your head in the game and get those t*tties out. He chuckled and shook his head, collecting his clothes in a heap and sliding the curtain open as he emerged yet again, making his way back to his chair and tossing the small pile on top of his bag. He'd sort them through out later. As it was, he supposed he might as well make his way out to the track. While he walked, he considered the competition around him. That guy with the muscles as big as Wes's face looked like he'd probably be more of a weight lifter. That guy with the armor...well, he didn't have a d*mn clue what to think of him, really. But that guy with the hat? He was pretty sure that he'd mentioned sprinting earlier. He was also the one who decided that shooting targets on a widdle horsey would be impressive too. Pfft. Maybe if he'd done it shirtless. Regardless, Wes still found himself considering that guy his primary competition. All the others were just...weak, really, in the physical or metaphorical sense as the case may be. Like that guy with the spikes on his head? Yeah, what game was he pulling. Spikes were only attractive when done right, like on Sir Richardson himself. He smirked, reaching up and running his hands through the red darts before he tossed his head playfully at a few members of the gathering crowd that he passed. At least he looked good.<br>
<br>
That sounded just a little too egotistic, actually. He might be a player, but he was a gentleman as well and he knew that girls were the ones who deserved to be showed off like the gems that they were. If he got a little recognition, that was sweet too, but hey, whatever, it wasn't crucial. As long as he got a little smooch before the night was over. He glanced over toward the judges as he walked, considering this. Drew was about as sexy to him at this point as construction paper, after working with her for so long that he found himself considering her more like a sister than anything else, and the fire in Chris was appealing but shoved aside by the fact that he actually had a healthy dose of respect for her. But Madison? He chuckled and shook his head a little, leaning down by the track to adjust the string bows on his tied-up tennis shoes. Not an ounce of respect for her in his body. To be fair, it meant merely that she'd joined an influential group of girls in his pasts: the ones that gave in without a hint of a fight. Drew over there would probably slap him if he tried to kiss her, and he had a feeling that Chris was more so the kind of woman to string him up by his d**k and laugh as he suffered if he tried the same with him. But Madison...oh, Madison.<br>
<br>
He eased his muscles into stretching, sliding out one long leg and sitting back on the other. The feeling of his hamstrings elongating was enough to make him sigh happily again. He was no masochist, but God, was there a better feeling than this outside of sex? Highly doubtful. It was the feeling that let you know that you were about to work. It was that same sense of soreness that you felt after you lifted weights all day and then realized you forgot to warm up or cool down. He lived for it. It kept that curtain suspended over his subconscious, over the things that he wanted so desperately to forget, over the-<br>
<br>
That's enough of that. The thought was sharp, fast, and biting, in a voice outside of his own, and he immediately complied. It certainly knew best. He sat back on his bottom and curled his legs in, pressing the soles of his feet together and drawing his feel in toward his groin as he leaned down and hovered his face gently above the ground. Flexible. He could focus on that. How sweet was it to be flexible, right? He ignored the random train of thought as it took off, shaking his head a little with a grin. Anything was better than that. Anything.<br>
<Br>
When he felt good and stretched out, he glanced up to see an official standing there nearby him. "Your run, Mr. Richardson." Wes grinned happily at him and took the hand offered to him, standing to his feet before he gave the man a hearty handshake. "Wish me luck, yeah?" he announced optimistically, running a hand through his hair as he made his way toward the starting line. It was there that he paused and took the runner's stride, hands gently touching the earth and one knee lunging in front of him.<br>
<br>
In those seconds before he took off, he felt time slow. All sounds stopped. All he could feel was the thudding of his heart and his slow, constant breathing. He was ready. Just forget the present. Forget the past. Forget the future. Focus on what you feel right now. Right here. The sun baking you. The crowd watching you. The music still playing in your head. Watch...and-<br>
<Br>
A flag flared in front of him and he took off without hesitation, all thoughts freezing in place as he immediately flew down the track, long legs pumping with energy and arms swinging tight to his body to help him find his stride. Just as he anticipated, he found it within a second. God, he loved this! The wind through his hair, the crowd cheering for him, his goal laying directly in front of him and approaching faster than the speed of light. It was fantastic! It was phenomenal! He grinned like the big dork he used to be as he merely merged into one force, every part of him working and pumping and sprinting and running and surging, until he flew across that line and heard the crowd explode with his energy. He had no idea what his time was, but God, that felt good. He looked over his shoulder at the crowd and the judges with a cheerful smile, giving them a broad wave as he slowed gradually down to a walk, nearly panting from the exertion he'd displayed.<br>
<br>
Yeah. That was what power was.<br>
<br>
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Semislay
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"No no, not the cool kind of nerds. The nerd nerds."
Villagers
[align=center]Summer 21st, Year 08|Around 3:00pm
Tag: The Judges!
Round: Talent[/align]

Craig had kept himself in his commando outfit, stretching his arms. He had gotten through the free for all fashion round, hoping his unique choice in outfits got him some points. He didn't really mind either way, truthfully suspecting an outfit with a history more violent then any in that crowd could guess, wouldn't get much. Heck even his buddy Charlie knew little of Craig's stories. While their friendship was getting stronger with ease, the topic of war stories was still taboo between them. Charlie still didn't even know of Craig's reason of joining the military. And why would Craig tell him? So Charlie could just think he was entirely a depressed, suicidal giant? Craig wouldn't expect that sort of judgment from Charlie, but he didn't find that assumption making it any more easier to possibly confess that to his rancher friend.

Speaking of Charlie...it was his time for the talent right? Craig grinned, wondering what crazy shenanigans the hat man had in store for the lovely lasses in the judges' seats. Charlie was a very unique fellow so Craig could only imagine what Charlie had in store. Singing, dancing, music playing. He doubted that would satisfy the curious case of Charlie's mind. No. Charlie would have something that would knock socks off and possibly even turn the whole competition upside down. Finding his curiosity peaked, Craig left the rooms to follow the crowd to the back of the estate and join the crowd to watch his friend have his moment of glory. Archery. Mounted Archery. ...Oh you tricky... Craig found himself grinning, watching Charlie. Jeez the knife throwing guy was something but mounted archery was going to definitely to step the competition up a notch. "Show how it's done Charlie!" Craig boomed from the crowd to give his friend a little encouragement. It was the least he could do. If Craig lost to anyone in the competition, he definitely wouldn't mind falling second banana to Charlie.

After the whole big bang event with Charlie, Craig made his way back to the rooms and took a seat, breathing in slowly. "You're a sneaky one aren't you? Taking this competition to a whole new level. I doubt I'll compare to you." Craig spoke with a slight grin at his blonde haired friend. "But that doesn't mean I’m going to simply give up and let you stroll into the winner's circle. They don't call me a brick wall for nothing. You won't getting past this obstacle that easily." He spoke, cracking his neck with a series of light, inaudible snaps.

"Craig Armstrong."

"Right over here kiddo." The man spoke, slowly standing up from his seat, towering amongst the competition. "Well Charlie time to show what I can do." He spoke, gently patting the man on the back. Even with the gentleness Craig tried so desperately to put behind his hand, Charlie might still stumble from the pat. Hopefully the man would take it in great stride, Craig expecting he would anyway. "Sir, that bag was really heavy. Why have all that in it?" The helper asked the towering behemoth who chuckled. "For juggling of course!" The man spoke loudly, shooting him a grin.

"JUGGLING!? Juggling is meant to be with lighter objects. Why all that?"

"Well because my large hands can't really keep grips on little objects. So I need much larger things." With that the man made his way to a table in front of the judges. Amongst the table were things you wouldn't expect a juggler to use. No small balls, no bowling pins, nothing of that sort. Amongst the table were several bowling balls. That's right. Bowling balls. All different brands and weights. There were little, childish ones around five to six pounds. Not that much but enough for a little armed child to struggle with. Needless to say, Craig would be throwing those around with ease. Then there was a ten pounder in there, the medium of the trio of weights. And for the cream on the cake, there was a single sixteen pounder. Juggling was a rare talent. Juggling bowling balls...that was something else entirely.

One might look at Craig and not expect him to have the ability to juggle. But all the years of explosives. Tossing grenades about and dealing with large explosives...they had given Craig the ability to move his arms and hands in the manner necessary for juggling. Besides he was naturally skilled with his hands and arms anyway. He had used them plenty of times throughout his life. While his large hands failed at delicate tasks of music or farming small crops, they excelled at juggling. His fingers couldn't grip things with ease but if he could use his hand entirely, focusing along the palms....then he could handle it.

"That's right ladies." He spoke with a grin. "Your eyes aren't deceiving you. These are bowling balls. And I'm going to juggle them. Didn't see that coming I bet?" He grinned and took the littlest of the bunch, tossing it between his hands with ease. He was warming up at the current moment, getting used to how the ball landed in his handed and getting used to the weight. He tossed the ball about at an arc, easily in his eye level, keeping track of it. Soon after beginning he stopped, grinning. "One, light ball is too easy right? Let's kick this up even more..."

With that he took the ten pounder into his left hand, making sure the judges could see before he began once more. First the right hand tossed the ball into the air, arcing it toward his left hand. As it reached it's zenith and began heading downward his left hand moved, tossing the second ball at his right. The trajectory changed to make sure a collision wouldn't happen and the balls wouldn't slam into his booted feet. Sure it wouldn't hurt but they would probably crack and ruin his act for now. The left hand caught it's target, palm left upward. The right quickly followed suit, catching it's bowling ball. After just a second passed, the balls were tossed back up air and this time, rather then being caught they were instantly tossed forward up into the air as they hit each palm. The balls didn't rest long else the rhythm would be thrown off.

Soon he stopped again and with a large grin, took the heaviest of balls into his right hand. Two rested in his right, one in the left. Right hand went first, tossing the lightest into the air. Zenith reached, the left moved and tossed the ten into the air. Second zenith reached, the right released the third into the air. The left hand caught the first and with that....the motion was completed. The large hands kept the bowling balls skillfully in the air, the man smiling at this. Seeing the excitement on the crowd's faces he kept the juggling going, deciding to add to the fun, much like his friend Charlie would. He began to take steps around the stage, keeping his hands going and the balls being tossed around. As he reached the center of the stage he decided it was time to bring a closing on the fun.

He turned and faced the judges, tossing the balls about faster. They were going about with ease, the large man simply enjoying the fun and the moment. No reason to take this too seriously. Though if he could upstage Charlie, just a little bit, perhaps that would be a little amusing. He ruined the rhythm to quickly toss the balls high up into the air, one after the other. He moved his hands up, quickly catching the ten pounded in his left, the five and sixteen in his right, just like when he began. With that he grinned to the crowd. "Hope you enjoyed that..." He turned and quickly returned backstage, placing the balls to the side of his bags. "Well Charlie....I doubt I compared to you but can you juggle bowling balls?"
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Midnight Sleeper ♪
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Whoops!
Mayor
[align=right]Summer 21
Outfit: Here
Tag: Open, Craig
Round: The Waitng![/align]

”There you go…all patched up, fella.”

Wincing ever so slightly at the added prescience of first aid spray and bandages on his right knee, Charlie shoots a thumbs up to the man that had just gone and patched him up. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the town’s doctor that tended to him. Rather, oddly enough, it was the pharmacist. Moon, if Charlie remembers right. The shorter haired blonde can’t really recall as he was too busy being prodded in the leg during their introductions. Strangely enough though, despite the fact that he’s a pharmacist, Caleb was acting more like a doctor than anything. Ah well. Maybe he’s just taken a lot of extensive training in first aid and the like. Either way, the knee is feeling a little better, despite the fact that he had jammed a twig in it when he had tripped, accounting for the blood.

“So no tears or anything like that you said, right?

”Mr. Collins. If you had any tears in your ligaments or the cartilage in your knee, there is no way on earth you would have been able to stand up and run like you did after falling over. You might want to go and get a follow up if you don’t believe me though. Whatever it will take to put your mind at ease.” Caleb replies with a slight smile as he takes a drag of his cigarette. ”But, now that I got you taken care of, I suppose I should go along and make sure that I’m there to help if someone else suffers some misfortune. Best of luck to you, sir.”

Chucking and nodding, Charlie watches as Caleb takes his leave. Looking over a few feet away to see Craig sitting there, the blonde finds himself smiling and chuckling at the knowledge. While he had told him that it certainly wasn’t necessary for him to sit around and wait for the pharmacist to patch up his leg, Big Man hadn’t budged from his spot. Certainly a really nice gesture. Something a friend would do. The fact that Craig considers him as good of a buddy as Charlie does causes the blonde to smile even broader as he gets to his feet. A couple of steps and the man finds that his knee is still fairly sore, though better than it was before. And not bleeding. That’s a step in the right direction to be sure.

”Well, this certainly won’t do at all.” Charlie muses as he looks down at the blood stained sweatpants. ”First off, I went and killed my sneakers. Following up that spectacular display, I decided that these sweats apparently needed to die to for no particular reason. For the announcements, I certainly can’t go out there wearing bloody sweats, a tank top, and no shoes. Especially if I were to somehow win this thing. Got to look somewhat presentable, after all!”

Mind made up, Charlie goes back to rummaging through his suitcase, pulling out the final wardrobe change of the day. Nothing too big and elaborate this time around. A dark green suit, light brown leather dress shoes, a green undershirt, and a white tie. Yes, Charlie’s mortal enemy in the world of fashion rears it’s ugly head once again today. Although, lesson learned after the free for all fashion display, Charlie makes sure that the tie isn’t as tight as it was the first time around. Although he still hates the idea of wearing the dang thing, he figures that it would probably look nicer to have it than to go without it. Sadly though, no hat for the man this time around. Although in hindsight, it’s probably for the best. If he were to go and wear a hat throughout the vast majority of the day, odds are that the judges and audience would probably think that he was some sort of a nut job or something. Although to be fair, they might not be too terribly far off. The blonde has been told that he’s off the wall at times, after all. But to be fair, really, who hasn’t been?

Now fully decked out in his finale threads, Charlie stands up from the bench and stretches his arms behind his neck, the dull yet receding pain in his knee a constant reminder of how much better his bonus round could have went for him. Granted, given the circumstances, he probably could have asked for a re-run based on the simple fact that he had equipment failure of sorts. But on the other hand, the man had brought it upon himself with his choice in footwear for the event. Plus, if he were to get a mulligan and he actually ran and won, how fair would that be to the fella that went and won the race the first time around? As kind hearted and cheerful as the blonde is, he would have to say that if he went through a bunch of work and effort to win a race, only to have it ripped away from him, he would feel just a slight bit of bitterness coursing through his veins. He’d get over it, granted, but there’s others that wouldn’t be so kind about the whole deal.

”Besides, it was just a bonus round.” Charlie thinks to himself with a weary smile. ”If I’m going to win and be the best Summer King I can be, I would like to think that it was based on everything else rather than how fast I can run. Although I’m strangely happy with what I did. That was nice to get that applause as I hurled myself over the finish line. Wasn’t graceful by any means, but there wasn’t any laughter at least.”

Making his way over to Craig, Charlie gives him a cheerful pat on the shoulder. That was certainly a hell of an impressive outing that the Big Man broke out for his talent. If he was to juggle anything, Charlie’s first guess about it would be that he would go and toss grenades about. Then again, that would probably be a fairly stupid idea to use live explosives in a demo like juggling. And thankfully for all involved here today, Craig does have an equal supply of brains to go along with that ample brawn. Besides, the bowling balls were still as impressive as all heck. As an extra bonus, Craig had done a good job of making the blonde laugh when he asked him if he could do it. One. Maybe. Goddess knows how many times he’d pass it back and forth before breaking a bone in his arm. And really, after that display, if anybody had any doubt of what Craig would do for his bonus round, that would probably have gone and shattered the notions of running or riddles. Though it might be entertaining as all heck to see Craig answering riddles like it was nothing while tossing bowling balls in the air blindfolded or something of the like.

”Ah, well. Nothing more to do right now than to watch and wait. And pray. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough…”
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Kel94 ♪
This looks like a job for....
Mayor
[align=center]No bonus, just the mind wrenching waiting period[/align]

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Tag: Open
"Just wait it out, man"
--------------------------------------

Gah, could time go any slower? To kill it, Wes thought fiddling on his guitar would alleviate some tension. It only brought more on, though. This part was nerve wracking. While the bonus round went about, anyone who wasn't participating was left to eat themselves alive. Who was gonna win? Who? The judge's favorite of course. Isn't that how these competitions worked? He wasn't going to win. Not enough man in him. Not at all. It really was quite silly, entering and expecting a reward for showing up. All these other guys, were so much better. Better looks, talents, etc. He really couldn't compete with that.

It made Wes more nervous. What if Lizzy had shown up tonight with Jill? Were they rooting for him? Of course they would. Isn't that what friends do? At first, the thought of them coming to support him was rather nice. Now, not so much anymore. Can't be everyone's hero, after all. Still, who would win this year? Would it be the other Wes? The big guy? The one who did flips? Knives? Even one of those boys over there, Spike ball and Pinky hair. Really, who dyed a man's hair pink? Disgraceful....

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Aqua Avon and Leon Uno-Cinco
"The Pinky and the Brain, the Pinky and the Brain, one is a genius, the others insane!"
----------------------------------------------------

"There is no way in hell anyone is going to be impressed by this!" Leon practically shouted at Aqua, a lone finger to his new hair style. "Why not?" Aqua shrugged. "Don't girls like pink?". "Yes, but in their own hair! I look like my sister now" Leon said despairingly. "Except, her whole head is pink, and not just the ends". Oh, so the odd hair coloring was a family thing! That made sense! "Really? How old is she?" "Nineteen this past Spring" "Makes no difference to me!" "Dude, its not like you're ever going to meet her" "What if I do?" "Run fast. Very fast". Oh good! Aqua was a fast runner! A little slow ever since he adopted the spikes, but still fast nonetheless! Was this sister cute by chance?

If Leon was ever asked that, he would totally tell you otherwise. His sister, the pink one, was a devil. Her name fit her perfectly. Sin Claire. She's always emphasizing that little "Sin" in there. Like she was proud of it. Just because she worked in that creepy voodoo shop. That place still gives him the shivers. C'mon judges, pick a winner already! So he could....not go home.
[align=center]
People say you've been talking, you got a big mouth. Saying words you know aren't true, what the hell are you talking about? So now we have a conundrum, and the problem is clearly you. This is the part where it gets ugly, and the solution getting rid of you. You'll never be safe in the shadows, I'll be waiting in the dark. With a shovel and a bag full of lime, and I'll say the devil made me do it.
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Semislay
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"No no, not the cool kind of nerds. The nerd nerds."
Villagers
[align=center]Summer 21st, Year 08|Around 3:00pm
Tag: Awesome Judges
Round: Bonus[/align]

Craig spent the next few minutes psyching himself up for his bonus round. Needless to say it was going to be the strength bonus. It was the only logical choice, given he wouldn't shine well in the others. He wasn't a truly bright man yet wasn't stupid. He wouldn't fail horribly at the wit round but he wouldn't shine either. And the speed round? Don't make him laugh. His massive size prevented him from having any true ability to move quickly. He could run, just not that fast. That and his run would also bring about a lot of noise from how his legs would stomp against the ground. No the weight lifting....he'd kick ass in it. And any others in it would pale next to him. Those muscles of his weren't just for show after all.

But those thoughts slipped away as the bonus round for speed was called. Seeing his pal stand up for it, Craig grinned slightly. "Running eh? I thought it would have been that or wit to be honest. Knock 'em dead though my friend." Craig spoke and gave the farmer a thumbs up for encouragement. After they left, Craig stood to go and get a seat in the audience, once more sticking out. He had to watch his friend whoop everyone after all, much like his talent round. He had a good feeling he might have to be trying to prove himself against Charlie for the bonus round. After all Charlie stood out for the talent, making Craig have to kick his game up a notch. If Charlie ran too fast, Craig was just going to have to lift even more weights. When the race started Charlie was off to a fairly good start. That was until he suddenly hit the ground with his knee.

Craig stood up suddenly as he saw the blonde take a seat and examine how his knee was now bleeding from the blunt of the force. Even from the distance Craig could spot the crimson. Craig was about to rush down and assist his friend, blinking as he watched the sight of Charlie standing and resuming his journey for the goal. ...That crazy son of a gun is going for it. He's really going for it... Craig grinned widely and yelled across the crowd, "That's what I'm talking about! Do it Charlie!" The sheer sight of Charlie pushing himself. How he wouldn't give up on his goal. That was the kind of personality Craig respected. It was a personality rather rare in war so seeing it for his own eyes was pleasing. Though Charlie's determination would now just make Craig fight harder to give his friend a challenge for the crown of Summer King.

When the round ended Craig made sure the medics went to tend to Charlie, nodding. He didn't have the time nor felt like getting in the way of the medics as they tended to his friend. He'd check up on him later though for sure. Craig rushed back to the back rooms of the stage to prepare for his weight lifting session soon. Keeping in his commando outfit he removed his shirt to prevent any sweat from getting it as he knew for sure he would sweat. He kept his gloves on though to help with gripping of the dumbbell soon. Making sure his joints felt loose enough, he smiled and closed his eyes softly.

...This one is for you pal. If you're determined for victory...so am I.

"All participants of the weight lifting round, please report to the stage now!"

Craig merely grinned and stood up slowly, popping his neck before slamming his fists together. "Let's do this!" He spoke to intimidate the competition. He took his spot in line, deciding to go last. If he went first and did his best to begin with it would probably demotivate the competition even more. He might as well give them a shot right? His eyes glanced about the weight set, seeing the various dumbbells. Some were one armed and they had a set of two handed dumbbells with the various weights ranging from small five pounders to one hundred pounders. He merely grinned to himself, making sure to pop his knuckles as the lined moved about. Oh this will be easy...

When his turn came he stepped over to the weights, laying down upon the bench. The stagehand was helping with the weights, Craig grinning. "Boy, you might as well put the hundred pounders on right now." Craig spoke before placing his hands upon the bar. As one hundred pounds were placed on each side, Craig breathed in. ...Two hundred pounds I guess right here. Assuming the bar is fifteen pounds. Easy... He took one more breath, pushing the bar up and moving it above his chest, easily moving it to where it clearly tapped his chest before he moved it back up. His arms didn't struggle under the weight, easily showing what would a huge amount to most was little to him.

With a grin he begin to bench the weights several times. First five, then ten, then fifteen reps were done. He closed his eyes, squinting slightly as he could feel how his testosterone was beginning to pump, trying to force his muscles to crave more. He could feel how the urge was telling him to lift more, go all out. Charlie did his best after all, why not him? His lips curled downward into a frown as he grunted slightly, looking up at the stagehand. "More weight..." He spoke, holding the bar still as the hand slipped on another two hundred for the greedy weightlifter.

Four hundred and fifteen pounds. And he still wasn't struggling. Infact his movement was getting a bit more rapid. His arms were fluidly pumping that bar up and down, letting it clearly tap his chest for the judges before his arms thrusted it upward. It was quite easy to see how this act of sheer, unbridled strength was almost terrifying for the stagehand. Craig was a behemoth to look at and right now he was proving he wasn't just a giant teddy bear. He had strength behind him. Unrestricted, primal strength. His muscles were beginning to echo his heart's pulse all throughout them, his arms shining slightly as sweat began to show upon them from this act. "More weight!" He yelled to the assistant, his face keeping a serious look upon it. He was definitely taking this strength round seriously. But the look...it looked more and more primal with each second.

Another two hundred pounds were added. Six hundred and fifteen pounds and now his arms were starting to struggle. But only slightly. They weren't wobbling against the bar, struggling to keep the weight from falling and smashing into his ribs. But the amount of reps he was doing was decreasing by a little bit. His eyes glared and kept their stare upon the bar as he grunted softly each time he lifted it. He could feel how the testosterone was causing his body to feel full of strength yet came with the price of clawing at his mind, trying to awaken the primal urges behind it. As the craving got worse he yelled once more to the stagehand. "MORE WEIGHT!"

Only one hundred pounds were placed upon the bar now by fearful hands. Seven hundred and fifteen pounds and now his arms were slowing down. They had gotten to their bare weight limit, wanting to show everyone just how much he could lift without any support. If he had assisting weight lifting equipment he could do even more. But no. He was showing off his bare strength. His arms pushed the bar up as his eyes opened wide. With a roar almost he sat up quickly before standing up, lifting the bar far above his head to show just how powerful he truly was. F**K. His mind yelled to him, his arms quickly moving the bar down, his hands forced to let go as the bar hit the stage with a loud thud.

Massive hands came up and pounded the man's chest, similar to that of what a baboon would do. "That is how you do it!" He spoke, booming loudly to the audience. However as the seconds passed and he realized what happened he coughed nervously, laughing as his cheeks lit up softly. "....Take it easy ladies." He spoke, turning and making his way toward the back rooms, his face somewhat solemn now since no one could see. ...S**t. How could I almost lose control of myself like that? Breathing in, he moved a hand along his head as his loud sigh was released. ...This strength scares even me sometimes...
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Indigo
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The competition is approaching its close! All contestants who have posted in at least 3/4 of the mandatory rounds (the interview, swimwear, fashion and talent) by the 28th are eligible to be judged. So far, those contestants are:
  • Craig Armstrong
    <br>Aqua Avon
    <br>Wes Nibai
    <br>Leon Uno-Cinco
    <br>Charlie Collins
    <br>Wes Richardson
    <br>Ronan Brennan
    <br>Abe Marrow
It should also be noted that, due to the absence of Drew Taylor, the third judge will be Zephyr Estan.
A reminder: deadline for all replies is in two days, on September 28th.
<br><BR>
If you have posted in all mandatory rounds and you are not on this list, please PM me and I'll fix it right away! :3
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After all of the contestants finished performing to the fullest, the judges met privately to discuss their thoughts and come to a decision. Soon after things were decided, several cards containing the final results were handed to the mayor, who then strolled up on stage. Smiling, he stood at the end, all eyes on him.
<br><Br>"Ahem, it's the time you've all been waiting for!" the stout man announced, as a silence settled over the crowd. "First up, the winner of best talent is none other than Abraham Marrow! Congratulations!" A burst of applause rose in the air, soon dying down as the mayor shuffled through the cards, and continued on. "Secondly, the contestant with the best outfit and flair was Wes Richardson! Give him around of applause, everyone! These two winners will receive crowns as well as 1000 G each to spend as they wish."
<br><br>
Another round of applause thundered out in the area, before soon settling down again as the mayor cleared his throat, his impatiently dancing mustache a signal to quiet down. Then, once a hush fell over the crowd again, he spoke up again. "Now, our second place winner is... Craig Armstrong! An outstanding performance, congratulations! You will receive the second place crown, as well as a cash prize of 2000 G."
<br><br>
Once more, a congratulatory applause fired up for the runner-up in the competition. After it had its run, a more profound silence seemed to settle across the spectators as the overall winner was to be announced. "Now, for the moment we have all been waiting for... the overall winner and our first Summer King is..." Mayor Thomas trailed off dramatically, a drum roll from backstage filling in the silence as he slowly opened the final card. He paused, his eyes reading the name twice before he looked up, a bright grin on his face as he announced the final name:
<br><br>
"Charlie Collins! Our dashing king will receive his very own special crown as well as 4000 G!" Here, the audience erupted into applause as all of the winners took the stage, claiming their prizes.
<br><Br>
Amongst the chaos, Mayor Thomas spoke extra loudly into his microphone, adding, "Thank you to all the competitors! You all performed wonderfully, and will not leave empty-handed! All others will receive 500 G and red ribbons of participation!" With these closing words, the Mayor nodded, folding up the cards, contributing to the applause for a bit himself.
<br><br>
When things finally calmed down again he smiled at the audience, a rosy colour in his cheeks. "Thank you to everyone for coming to watch our fine young men, too. The festivities are now over, but you are all welcome to mingle and socialize for a time before you leave. Thank you, and have a wonderful night!"
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